#ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? ARE YOU STUPID!? you trust the illegal file over your own antivirus!? whatttt!? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unstoppableforcce · 4 years

Text

dark side

CHAPTER FIVE: accuse

pairing: Javier Peña x reader (narcos)

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: the end scene of this one was what I had such a hard time writing, it went through a few different interations and thats why it took so long so sorry for the wait !! please let me know what you feel or you think is going on!

5 in the morning was too early for a drink but he wanted one.

He settled for a shower instead.

But no matter how long he stood under the rushing water, he couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Do you know the CIA is listening or do you just think—”

“We know.”

Fiestl’s answer was too quick, too confident. They had something, real proof of their accusations and they couldn’t tell him any of it, not until he was face to face with them in Cali. And until he could get on that plane, until he could get his boots on the ground and get the information first hand, this guilt settling in his chest wasn’t going to go away.

The bloodied phantom hand was right on top of his as he washed through his hair, rougher than it was a few hours ago when it held you against his chest.

Maybe you didn’t know about the wiretaps.

The CIA practically kicked you to the curb when they assigned you to spy on him. It was a base-level assignment and you were too smart for it, far too smart for it. The human and weapons trafficking, the guy you mentioned, that was what your focus was on, you made that clear and he trusted you when you said it.

Maybe you didn’t know. Maybe Stechner was purposefully keeping you out of this, maybe he thought the two of you were together, maybe you didn’t know about whatever the CIA was doing.

Or maybe you did.

He hit the shower wall, not with the full force his arm could muster but just enough for a pretty decent thud before reaching up to rub over his face again.

Was he wrong to trust you? Was this whole ‘we don’t talk about work’ thing something you used to keep this from him?

Did you even think you owed him honesty in this respect? The two of you were sleeping together, maybe it was more than sleeping together, but it wasn’t a real relationship, or at least, he could tell himself that. Maybe you were telling yourself the same. Maybe that was how you were keeping it from him…

But he trusted you. He trusted you now.

“You’re not coming back to bed?”

He was so caught up with himself, he didn’t even hear you walk your way into the bathroom. But now that he had, you were all he could hear.

He could hear your toothbrush clank against his in the cup as your pulled it out, he could hear his medicine cabinet open with practiced precision, he could hear you sitting back against the sink as you brushed. He swore he could even hear your head turn back to the shower when he didn’t give you an answer.

“I’ve got to fly to Cali.” He sighed, brushing his hair back again, finally washing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and stepping back to let the water hit his chest.

You spit into the sink before turning back to him, “It’s early.”

“I know.”

A few more seconds passed in silence, and he just waited for you to say something.

The curtain to the shower pulled back and you stepped in behind him, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his back as you held him.

This was real. What he felt for you was real.

That’s all he could focus on for now.

“How bad is it?” You hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to his spine, your body pressing up behind his.

“I don’t know yet, that’s why I have to go.”

You left another kiss, hot against his skin. “Is there anything I can do?”

He trusted you. If you were using him, it wouldn’t feel like this. Or maybe it would, maybe he was just being naïve to it all.

Turning around in your grip, he placed both his hands around your face and pulled your lips up to his. Yours eagerly met him there, your hands holding him at his sides as he back you up to the wall. The phantom hand was gone if he buried it into your hair and that had to be enough for now.

You tasted like the mint of his toothpaste...

You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as he hoisted you up around his hips, his hot breath landing on your neck as you pulled away and laid your head back against the tile. But as he moved to lay kisses along your skin, you stopped him, holding him still with your hand at the back of his neck.

“What?” He panted out against your cheek as you brought your head back forward.

“Whatever is happening in Cali… You have to be back by tomorrow night you know…” Your breath was just as ragged as you locked your eyes back with his. “The Ambassador’s thing?”

His head fell forward onto your shoulder, “Fuck.”

“Oh, someone forgot?” You taunted as he drew his lips back to yours, but in leaning your head back, you left his lips your chin instead as you kept talking. “It’s okay, just tell the Ambassador you can’t make it, I’ll wear my pretty dress for you another day…”

The Ambassador did these things every so often, parties with drinks and diplomats, something about securing relationships with the government and such. It meant drinking and socializing, playing nice and dressing up. And as DEA attaché, he had to be there.

He was so stupid, he had actually been looking forward to it. To having an excuse to being around you, playing nice and drinking.

But he had to be in Cali first. He had to figure out this CIA shit…

He kissed your cheek, “I can be back by then.”

“What’s going on in Cali?” You asked, grabbing his chin to level his eyes with yours again.

But he just shook his head, shaking it out of your grip gently, “I’m sorry, querida, you know I can’t…”

“It’s nothing I can help with?” Rubbing your hand over his shoulders, filled to the brim with tension and none of it releasing as you held him close.

“No.”

You let your lips land on his again, deeper this time, pulling him in closer as he kept you pressed against the wall.

“It’s a nice dress, so you better be back in time…” You hummed with a chuckle as his lips moved to your neck.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

He took the first flight to Cali.

And that was when his agents put the cold, hard proof in his hands and his stomach sank even further than before. There was no shower, no drinks, no nothing that could get him out of this.

It wasn’t just the one phantom hand, there were two of them, holding over his hands as he read through the files again and again, looking for some other explanation, some way out of this that didn’t implicate you. But he read them again and again…

They were CIA files.

Stacks of CIA files. Transcripts of private phone conversations, records of Stechner ordering the wiretapping on embassy phones and their personal home numbers, documents and… there were at least a hundred pages here.

“73.” Van Ness muttered, “It’s 73 pages.”

“Where the hell did the two of you get 73 pages of classified CIA documents?” He couldn’t even believe the words as they came out of his mouth, he couldn’t believe the papers he was reading, he couldn’t believe any of it and he knew why.

The two of them sat on the couch across from him didn’t, but he knew why.

“They were faxed to us…” Fiestl answered..

“By who?”

“It’s whom…” Fiestl corrected but bit his tongue when Javier shot him the meanest look he could muster, “We don’t know.”

Javi blew out a breath, a heavy breath before dropping the papers in his hand to the coffee table between them, “So, the two of you are in the possession of 73 pages of stolen, classified CIA documents and you don’t know who sent them?”

“They’re files which prove the CIA has been illegally tapping our phones, embassy phones—”

He scoffed, moving for a cigarette, “Which were sent to you illegally—"

“I think we should be more focused on what the CIA is doing, Peña,”

They couldn’t exactly see into his head, but that was exactly what he was focused on.

These records had everything, every phone conversation they overheard, even Fiestl’s conversations with his kid… But none from his home phone line. None from the phone he used to call you and that didn’t seem like a coincidence.

Was it because you knew about the wiretaps and had his home phone excluded so you wouldn’t get caught? Was it because you sent the files to his agents and wanted to keep your private phone records out of it once you found out? Or was he jumping to conclusion? Did you not know at all?

“What do we do?” Van Ness postured, breaking him out of his thoughts as he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

“We need to figure out why the two of you were sent these, who sent them…”

“No, what do we do about the CIA?” Van Ness reiterated but Javi just shook his head.

“Well, we stop using our phones, but we don’t know why these were sent to us… we don’t know what the person who sent these wants from us. Maybe they’re looking to catch the two of you with stolen files, or trying to bring down the CIA…” He inhaled another breath of smoke, “We can’t play into their hand.”

“What about that the agent in your office, would she…?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “I don’t know what anyone would do at this point…”

—

They reviewed the files about a thousand more times, looking for any clue as to who would send them the files or why would they send them the files… But nothing came up. Eventually, he had to head back to Bogota and get ready for the Ambassador’s party.

“You call me on the sat phones only.” He reiterated as he left with a promise to do more investigating on his own back at the embassy. And once he got off the plane, he went back to his apartment, got ready and headed towards the hell that would be the Ambassador’s party.

Because you were going to be there. And he was going to have to talk to you.

He was going to have to ask you some of the questions that were burning in his mind.

Did you know? Did you send the files? Did he trust you?

It would have all been easier if you weren’t wearing that goddamn dress.

Perched on the Ambassador’s desk, your legs crossed at the ankle , one heel over the other, and a drink in your hand, the dress only fell second to the plastered smile on your face as you entertained the officials around you. It was just a black cocktail dress, but it fit you perfectly, it made you a goddamn beauty right there in the middle of the room, catching his attention and taking his breath away immediately.

How the hell was he supposed to ask you if you either knew about the CIA’s illegal wiretapping or if you illegally smuggled documents to his agents…

“Agent Peña, I’m glad you made it.” The Ambassador quickly intercepted him before he could make his way to you though. “How was Cali?”

“It was fine, sir.”

“Get yourself a drink, socialize will you? People love to meet a hero.” He shook his shoulder slightly to shake the message through just in case it wasn’t clear why he was invited. He couldn’t help but laugh at it even as he walked further into the party.

He was there to be the hero, surely you were there to be smart and look good, just like Stechner used the two of out in the jungle. And while he was planning to head straight to the drink table, you seemed to be playing your role expertly, your legs and collar bones on display while you spoke animatedly to the officials around you.

That was, until you caught sight of him across the room, quickly finished your drink and excused yourself for another, making it to the drink table as he did.

“Welcome back, Agent Pena.” You cooed almost tauntingly as you sidled up to him at the table, a smirk painting your lips, one he wished he could mirror.

He wished he could play this game with you, he loved playing this game with you… It was getting you coffee and dropping it at your desk like it was nothing, it was following you into the file room to steal a few kisses, it was being fully immersed in an office romance and calling it anything but while trying to be casual.

But he didn’t have the heart for it as Fiestl’s words and the taunting lines of the files he just spent the past hours reading over and over again flowed through his head, taking over every thought.

He wanted to trust you, but he couldn’t do it blindly. He needed to talk to you, and if that risked everything… he needed to. He couldn’t have this with you without answers. He needed to know he could trust you.

“Is everything okay?” Your smirk fell away as he froze in thought, but even as he recovered and began making his drink with a nod, you certainly didn’t seem to believe him. You nudged him again, as best you could while staying casual around so many prying eyes before whispering, “Javi…”

“I need to talk to you.”

Those were some of the words he hated hearing in a relationship, he couldn’t even believe he was the one saying them. But you didn’t flinch from them as he always would. You just nodded and continued fixing your own drink.

“Okay, we can slip away—”

“Aw, look at my two favorite agents.” Because why would the two of you be able to escape Stechner for just two fucking seconds— “Is this for me?”

The balding CIA station chief wrapped his arm around your waist possessively as he reached for the fresh drink in your hand and Javi couldn’t help the sickness that rose in his stomach, he couldn’t even quench it by taking a hefty sip of his own drink.

“Agent Peña, do you mind if I steal my agent for a minute.”

He hated that he even asked, this man only spoke in condescension, it was disgusting. Like you were just a tool at his disposal, a weapon to keep strapped to his hip to use as he pleased. Javi hated it. It wasn’t even about the CIA wiretaps, it was just about you now.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He scoffed into his glass but Stechner just laughed.

“Well if I asked her, she’d have to say yes, she works for me…” He chuckled, turning his face to whisper something into your ear and you nodded. “Excuse us.”

You gave him a nod carefully, assuring him everything was okay as you were pulled away and he gave you one back. He’d just have to catch you when you came back.

That was if you came back.

He tooled around for at least an hour, talking to diplomats and soldiers he was hoping to avoid all together. He played nice though, while he waited. He sipped on his drink and smiled, he told brief Escobar stories and even laughed when he felt the Ambassador’s eyes on him, just waiting for you to come back.

And checking his watch as you walked back in, he knew you had been gone for an hour and a half before you stalked directly for him and excused him from his conversation.

“Let’s go home.”

He didn’t even have time to let his heart flutter around the idea of you calling going back to his apartment going home. You left his side and began saying your goodbyes before slipping out on his own, and left him no choice but to do the same a few minutes later, shaking the Ambassador’s hand and meeting you by his car.

That sly smirk you had at the drink cart was gone. Your whole natural disposition when the two of you were alone together was gone.

Whatever Stechner had said had set you off in some way, so the last thing he wanted to do was spark this for you before you were in private, before he had you back at home. But the second he got you back, opening the door to the apartment and letting you in first as he always did, you moved straight for his liquor cabinet.

“Querida, what did—”

“You said you needed to talk to me about something?” You didn’t let his question even finish, you just asked yours back and filled up a glass with more than a couple of fingers of whiskey before downing a heavy sip.

Now he wasn’t so sure if he did.

“Is it about what happened in Cali?’ You hummed the question the downed another sip, finally turning back to him and beginning to strip your heels off.

“Yeah, it is…”

“So?”

He took a step forward and inhaled a deep breath, with your eyes on him like this, he couldn’t hold off anymore. He needed to know he could trust you, he had to ask…

“My Cali team was faxed 73 classified CIA documents…” He shifted his gaze to his feet, he just couldn’t look at you and that dress, not if he wanted to get out all the points he needed to. “We don’t know who sent them, but they show the CIA has been illegally wiretapping the DEA embassy and personal phones…”

He watched you down the rest of your glass with a throw of your head back then place the glass back on the table. But you didn’t say anything, not right away, not until he moved to ask the question, enough time passing for you to finally process his words.

“What the hell are you accusing me of, Javi…”

“I’m not—”

Your scoff cut him off, bringing his stare back to your body as you turned to lean over the drink cart. “You’re telling me this morning in the shower, ‘we don’t talk about work’, but now we are, and you think you’re not accusing me of something? Why the hell else would you bring this up?”

“Because I need to ask what you know—”

“Oh, fuck you Javier.”

He had never heard your voice take that tone, not with him. He had heard it on the phone a few times but never directed to him, it wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear again. And as his face fell, his hand gripping the edge of his kitchen counter tight enough to nearly make his hand numb, he watched you take another step closer to him, the drinks left behind.

“Go ahead, ask me, see if you can do it without accusing me of either illegally spying on you or illegally faxing files to your agents, betraying my agency.” You fought, folding your hands over your chest almost defensively as he brought his hands to settle on his hips, chin raising to the challenge.

“Betraying your agency?” He scoffed, regretting it as it flowed from his lips, but he was too deep into I now. “You mean betraying the condescending man who treats you like a piece of meat that he owns, who undermines your ability and your assignments—”

“Yeah, he’s the condescending one…” you met his scoff with one of your own.

He tried to tell himself that it was the drinks that were fueling you and your smart mouth but that didn’t little to ease the slowly boiling heat in his chest.

“You think I am?” He fought defensively, his mustache twitching as his lips formed around the words.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Javier.” You shook your head, the exasperated words falling from your lips before you cared to stop them,“god, you’re accusing me of betraying my agency for what? For you? For this?”

For this? What even was this? He knew how he felt about you and he thought he knew how you felt about him but he was too blind in the moment to care about any of it. The heat in his vision paled in comparison to the heat of your body pressed against his, yet he kept shouting, hoping he’d feel less cold.

“It’s either that or you’ve been helping the CIA spy on my agents—”

Your chuckle was drenched in the same tone, “Which is a crime, you’re accusing me of a crime.”

“You work for the CIA and I’m not, I’m just asking because I don’t know—”

The hit at your agency might have been a low blow but was he wrong?

“And you have no proof—”

“I do have proof. Of the CIA, of you…” He took another step forward as your face twisted into confusion. “Of all the files sent over, Fiestl’s call with his kid, Van Ness and his mother… my phone calls weren’t there and I only ever call the office or you…”

You took an extra second to process that accusation, not a long one, but just one long enough to let you both catch your breath, to stop the interruptions and shouting.

Just long enough until you could only produce one word.

“Wow.”

Somehow that one hurt most of all.

His whole tone shifted, but yours merely hardened, “Querida, I don’t want to—”

“No, clearly you have it all figured out. 73 documents and it’s what you don’t have which caught me so clearly red-handed—” You couldn’t force more sarcasm into your tone if you tried but he wasn’t laying down just yet.

“I wanted to offer you a chance to tell me otherwise, I wanted to hear your side of the story—”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! God, I’m so stupid.” You brushed your hair back and scoffed, holding your hands atop your head. “When you trust someone, you don’t accuse them of crimes against their country, Javier. And clearly I was stupid to trust you—”

“I do trust you, but if you had what I had, you’d be asking me the same thing—”

“No, Javier, I wouldn’t. Because I’m the idiot who wore this dress for you.”

You could’ve worn any dress in your closet, hell, you could’ve gotten away with the pant suit you wore to work. But you knew he’d like this one, you wanted him to like you in this one...

“Querida—”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“The CIA is spying on my agency, I have proof of that, and I’m sleeping with a CIA agent. I have a responsibility to my agency to figure out what they know, what they’re using it for, and to exhaust every possible avenue to figure that out—”

He sounded like the DEA handbook and he didn’t like it, but the words just fell out, or more so, we’re pushed out by the heat still bubbling over in his chest.

“Oh boo hoo, Javi. You’re under stress? This is fucking Colombia.” You scoffed, reaching down for your heels and purse, “Stechner pulled me aside tonight to tell me he’s diverting funds from my human trafficking tracking program to focus on Cali and your stupid fucking drugs, and the man I’m just ‘sleeping with’ just accused me of a couple of crimes. But yeah, clearly you’re under stress, that makes this okay.”

“I didn’t accuse you of—” He thought about lifting his hand in a show of surrender but the anger within him wouldn’t even allow it, even if the alternative was to watch you walk away.

“I’m such an idiot…” You blew past him, knocking shoulders with him but he turned around quickly to grab your wrist, only to have you rip it away, “Goodnight, Javier.”

His hand held out where it last touched yours, embodied by the haunting grip now. It wasn’t foreign, it was him, and it just pushed the woman he loved right out the door.

As the door slammed shut behind you and he walked straight to the drink table and picked your empty glass up. He filled it once, downed it, filled it again, downed it, then took the empty glass and threw it as hard as he could into the wall, shattering the glass around his apartment.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t the stress. He did it. He could call it stress or the drinking or the fact that he’s never felt as alone as he did when his agents showed him files which implicated you... he didn’t want to believe it but it made sense. All signs pointed to you.

Except one. His gut.

His gut which screamed you wouldn’t, that he trusted you and you wouldn’t do either of the things he accused you of.

You wouldn’t betray your agency and you would have warned him if you knew about the wiretaps. He knew that, he trusted you.

What the fuck did he just do...

—

tags:

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon @tiffdawg @readsalot73 @way-too-addicted-to-anime @keeper0fthestars @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @magneticbucky @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @larakasser @littlevodika @mandoren @mistermiraclee (open)

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal

141 notes · View notes

k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

Blood for Blood: An Owl House Story Chapter 1 Part 4

Here’s part 4! Everybody clap your hands!!

As Luz was whisked back to the tent, and the stand, she had fled earlier, the words of the crazy lady rang through her head.

‘Customer.’

This woman was a saleswoman, and, going by the state of her wares and how she most likely acquired them, probably not a legal one. A soft smile climbed up Luz’s face. Okay, she could work with this. Maybe.

As she was plopped down in front of the stand, Luz finally got a good look at the stand, and it was indeed a huge mishmash of stuff of dubious quality and durability, but the most striking thing was how severely mislabeled some of the things were.

“NOW!”

With a jolt, she turned back to the woman, who she was starting to get the hint wasn’t actually crazy, leaning forward expectantly, giving the kind of grin Luz had been told repeatedly never to fully trust when shopping or making a deal.

“What can I offer a fine specimen such as yourself?” So she knew flattery, good start, but she was laying it on just a shade too thick. “How about a decapitated human foot?” She held up a crock. What?

“A torture device that forces you to chase it forever?” She plopped a slinky on the table. Again, what?

“I know, how about a shadow box that reflects only sadness?” She finally brought over a portable mini-TV, like from the 70′s or 80′s. That’s when it struck Luz, as she glanced around at the stand, taking stock of everything in the blink of an eye.

She literally has no idea what ANY of this stuff is or what it does! While that brought up further questions as to where exactly she was, it also brought up that spirit of adventure and generosity that just wouldn’t disappear.

As Luz couldn’t fight off the soft chuckle, she decided to throw the woman a bone. “That’s not all it can do.”

Glancing around to refresh her memory, Luz spotted a pair of batteries stored in a bowl labeled ‘Human Candy.’ Shudder. Here’s hoping no one was stupid enough to actually buy something from that particular part of the tent, especially when she spotted both a stick of deodorant and a thumbtack within.

Grabbing the batteries, and moving before the lady could protest, Luz deftly opened up the TV and slipped the batteries in, watching as a cringy Disco-exercise video started playing, probably whatever was put in last. As the video blared, a crowd of figures rapidly were drawn to the tent, each and every one clambering for the TV, desperate to buy it, and whatever else was available at the now much more interesting market stall.

As bids flew with greater and greater intensity, the lady turned an impressed glance Luz’s way, a slight hint of gratitude in her gaze; business must of been going pretty slow. “What did you say your name was?”

Realizing she and the strange lady had never exchanged names, which would honestly be common sense because, you know, stranger danger and all, but now Luz just felt embarrassed at her own poor manners. “I’m Luz. Luz Noceda.”

Well, Luz,” The woman began, shifting her weight to better move the goods being sold and the funds being received, which Luz noticed were definitely not dollars, “That was pretty impressive. For a human.”

Hello. If that wasn’t a flag, Luz would eat her lucky knife. It might’ve sounded dismissive, but Luz heard the note of interest, and well, she didn’t have anything better to do. Why not play along?

“That’s a funny thing for another human to say?” Yeah, this lady was definitely no human, but why spoil the fun she was having? Both of them, that is.

“Oh, I’m not like you.” With a dramatic sweep, the woman whipped off her headband, letting her impressive mane of wild grey hair run free, exposing her sharply pointed ears to the world. An elf? Sweet!

“I am Eda the Owl Lady! The Most Powerful Witch on the Boiling Isles!” Okay, so she was a witch. Even Better! This was like every fantasy she had ever had since taking her first life rolled into one! Or, at least, it felt like it could be. “I am respected. Feared!-”

“Busted!” Before Eda could build up her monologue any further, a pair of massive arms crashed onto the stall, goods flying and customers scattering, screaming about the guards.

“Eda the Owl Lady, you are under arrest for contraband, illegal potioneering and enchantments, and demonic misdemeanors!” Ooo... witch criminal! No wonder Luz found herself liking her! Welp, better see where this was going. Not that she would drop her guard. Huh, she punned!

With that thought, Luz quickly palmed one of her knives, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. She grew slightly more agitated at the sight of the guard roughly grabbing Eda by the arm.

“You are hereby ordered to come with me to the Conformatorium.” And there it was, that name just screamed bad news.

With a harsh jerk of her arm and a scowl, Eda easily broke the larger man’s grip on her. “Would you bozos quit following me? I haven’t done squat!”

Luz doubted that, but she wasn’t getting any genuinely bad vibes from Eda, so she thought it was safe to say that the charges were either bogus, or blown way out of proportion.

“And you are coming with us..” Say what? The guard leaned over and grabbed Luz by the back of her hoodie. This was a limited edition darn it!

Steadying herself, Luz, despite not being able to see the face, instantly recognized the type of law enforcement this guard was; corrupt, but not in the way that could be bribed, but the kind that reveled in their power and frequently abused it, seeing themselves as above criminals.

Yeah, she was gonna make this punk hurt. “... for fraternizing with a criminal.” Yep, corrupt, right on the money.

Seeing how this was going, Luz prepared herself to strike, waiting for the opening she knew in her gut Eda was gonna give her. “Ugh, fine, all right, you win. Just let me get my staff.”

There it was. As she reached below the Booth, Eda whipped up in a flash, clocking the guard in front of her. Spotting her opportunity, Luz whipped herself on top of the guard’s arm, knife flashing forward, the guard avoided an interesting scar by the skin of his teeth by leaning back in the nick of time.

As Luz flipped onto the ground, she was quickly scooped up by the overhead Eda, her staff soaring through the air, her stall compressed into an easy to carry sack slung over her shoulder.

Seeing the guards running after them, Luz decided to summarize the situation. “This is crazy. And not the fun kind! My mom is gonna kill me if I die!”

The amused look Eda sent her way was oddly more comforting than Luz thought it should.

Luz looked down, gazing at the rapidly shifting landscape, idly tracing the environment as Eda replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t let those morons hurt you. A human like you is worth more to me alive than dead!”

A bolt of fear rushed through Luz, one she quickly tamped down once she realized Eda would have no understanding of the true significance of what she just said.

Still, she had to ask. “Just what is that supposed to-” Any further words were cut off as the Staff and passengers took off into the sky, leaving the guards to curse in frustration, one in particular bemoaning how Eda got away again.

Eda gave an amused snort at the sight of the human girl’s eyes screwed up shut, but she supposed it was natural considering the sudden acceleration. Didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna tease her though.

“You can open your eyes now, human.” She watched in amusement as the girl’s eyes slowly peaked open, and smirked as the awe at the sight before her came into view. Seeing newbies react to their first taste of the view was always a treat.

As Luz tried to process the sheer bizarre majesty spread out below her, she decided to, once again, summarize her thoughts aloud. “Flying staffs, crazy monsters, YOUR A WITCH!! Just what is this place?”

Eda turns and gives a fierce grin, proudly flashing her gold fang. “This is the Boiling Isles, located in the ever scenic Demon Realm! Every myth your world has is a result of some of our world interacting with some of yours.”

Luz was a little dubious of that, but she wouldn’t start up anything, this was way too awesome to pass up after all. Before she could reply, she caught sight of something overhead. “A griffon!”

And it was, specifically a griffon with a pigeon head spewing spiders from its mouth. Huh, so that book on griffon breeds was right!

Eda smirked, feeling some measure of Isles Pride at the human’s amazement. “Yep. Griffons, vampires, werewolves, giraffes-”

Luz had to question that one, she knew for a fact that giraffes weren’t a mythological species. “Giraffes?” Noting the shudder and creeped out look Eda got at the mention of the long-necked beasts.

“Yep, we banished them a long time ago. Bunch of freaks.” She muttered the last part, easily climbing off the staff with the ease of long practice, not noticing the hand that popped off.

Luz had some questions there, but nothing pressing. Instead, she gently pried the hand off the staff, presenting it to Eda. “Here. You, uh, dropped this.”

Blinking lightly at how nonchalant the human was being about handling a severed hand, Eda had honestly thought they were wimpier than that, Eda never the less graciously accepted, popping hand back into place.

“Thanks kid. That tends to happen every so often these days.” Luz filed that away for ‘Things to Ask Later,’ before turning to the impressive home before her. It wasn’t the biggest or most fantastic she had ever seen, but it was definitely one of the most unique and fascinating in appearance.

Turning to Eda, Luz decided beating around the bush. “So. Earlier you said that you had a use for a “human like me.” I am taking that to mean you want something, either or object or a task, but you need a human to actually get it done. And I also assume you are gonna hold that portal door of yours as leverage. Am I right?”

Luz was a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. This whole thing smelled shady, but not the kind that she couldn’t get out of.

Eda blinked, both surprised and impressed at just how fast Luz had pieced it together, and how utterly unconcerned she was. It was, frankly, a little scary to the veteran witch how easily the girl was taking this.

But let it never be said that Eda couldn’t roll with the best of them. “Indeed. Let’s take this inside though, make ourselves comfortable before we get into the nitty gritty.”

With her piece said, Eda took the human up to her house, waiting for Hooty to respond. “Password please!”

Ugh, that voice of his! Not wanting to deal with this, Eda lightly jabbed Hooty in both eyes, just hard enough to hurt, but not enough for him to be angry. Hooty was an annoying idiot, but he was a loyal and powerful annoying idiot, and it wouldn’t due to endanger that, not to mention she did actually care about the menace.

“Never mind that Hooty, just let us in!” As Hooty grumblingly did as he was told, Eda noted how Luz never once reacted to the whole exchange. Thist just kept getting more and more interesting, eh?

“Welcome.” Eda intoned, dramatically setting off the lights inside. “The Owl House!” What could she say, she loved dramatics, and she was never gonna be ashamed of it. At least the human looked impressed.

Luz let out a low whistle, taking stock of the beautiful home, cluttered with garbage and knickknacks as it was. “I gotta say, this is a sweet place. I’m assuming the talking door knocker is your security system?”

Sure, its voice made her want to draw blood, preferably its, but it seemed loyal to her if it let her stab it in the eyes.

Once more blinking at how perspective the human child was, Eda quickly smirked, pleased that she didn’t have to explain as much.

“Yep. His name’s Hooty, and he’s as loyal as they come. Here, I hide away from the stresses of modern life,” She plopped herself down in one of her comfier chairs, “Also the cops. Also Ex-Boyfriends. HA!” Luz cracked a smile, appreciating how feisty the older witch was.

Taking a sharper look around, Luz admitted it was a very nice place, even with all the stuff cluttering everything. It honestly kept it from feeling to spacious.

“So, you live out here, all alone?” She was honestly curious, because if anyone could keep up with someone as spicy as the witch in front of her, she wanted to meet them.

Smirking in mischief, Eda decided to have some fun with this, subtly casting some spells that would screw around with the sound and echoes just a bit.

“Well, I do have a roommate...” With her piece said, Eda turned to the sight of said roommate’s seemingly hulking shadow skulking down the steps, footsteps thudding all the way. She looked at the human out of the corner of her eye, expecting at least some nervousness, and was a little put off that all she saw was excitement.

This girl really didn’t scare easy, did she?

“Who dares intrude upon I?” As the deep, rasping voice echoed down, the footsteps rattling, shadow hanging across the walls, Luz leaned forward in anticipation of the majesty about to appear before her. Her expectation slowly shifted to confusion, than curiosity, as the steps seemed to get lighter, and the shadow got smaller.

“The KING OF DEMONS!?” She would not lose control. She would not release her emotions. She would not run over there and hug that adorable little wolf thing for all it was worth. “

QUE LINDO~!” Okay, so she would do all those things.

As she eagerly snuggled the fiercely struggling creature in her arms, Luz couldn’t help but coo. “Whose a widdle guy? Whose a widdle guy? Is it you? Is it you!?”

Luz idly noticed the face of badly suppressed laughter across Eda’s face, and guessed this was something of a trick on both of them, but she didn’t really care.

“GaH! Stop! I don’t know who your little guy is!?” Still struggling, the tiny demon, still clad in his bath supplies, turned to Eda. “Eda, who is this monster?”

Finally getting her laughter under control, Eda decided to bring the situation back under control. Moving over to Luz, and marveling at how someone so composed could get like this so quickly, she deftly pulled her away from King.

“This is Luz, the human. She’s here to help us with our... situation.”

At that, the annoyance faded finally, and King cheered. “Oh, hooray!”

Getting herself under control, if only barely, Luz decided to address the situation. “Yep. But if I’m gonna help, I will need some more info to work worth, you understand, right?” No way was she going into this unprepared, whatever it may be.

Eda grinned, excited at the spunk being shown by the human, and decided to get things going. “Alright!”

With a twirl, she manifested a spell circle, which would detail King’s ‘Story.’ “King here was once a mighty king of demons,” gesturing to the fierce picture in the circle, “before his crown of power was stolen and he became” she turned, and caught sight of Luz snuggling King, an annoyed but resigned expression on his face, “This.”

Luz was having a little trouble believing it, and not just because of how cute King was, but she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Ah well, better play along and see how this plays out.

“You mean this bundle of joy!?” She made sure to inject just the right amount of skepticism amid her cooing into her voice.

Eda was amused, feeling that the human was more aware of this whole deal than she let on. Still, she could make this work.

“The crown is being held by the evil Warden Wrath, kept behind a magical barrier that prevents anything magical from crossing it. And what do you know, we just happen to have a magic-less human right here!”

She was really glad story time was done, the less she had to talk about that creep Wrath the better. “A human like you. If you help us retrieve the crown, we’ll return you to your realm safe and sound. What do you say?” Feeling she would need a little extra punch, she decided to bring out the big guns: King. “And really, who could say no to this little face?”

King squirmed in outrage; he hated it when Eda tried to weaponize his appearance, it was so demeaning! “No! Please don’t encourage her!” The less time he had to spend in that monster grip, the better, thank you very much!

Luz was far less worried than she probably should be. This whole situation was shady as hell. She was still concerned she might actually BE in hell. But, she couldn’t deny, this was way too fun to stop now! “Where do we gotta go?”

Eda grinned. She knew there was a reason she was liking this kid! “Somewhere super fun!”

Because I am starting to get tired, I’ll upload the last part of chapter 1 tomorrow, peace!

#the owl house #owl house au #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king the owl house #hooty the owl house #owlbert #Blood for Blood AU

5 notes · View notes

spooky-the-owl · 4 years

Text

Late night scribble but

My take on the DP/PJO crossover!!!!!

Camp half blood didn't know peace. It never had. How could it. With all the wars, monsters and dangers. All the insecurities of knowing their lives were in the hands of gods. Beings they would rather not trust with their lives. It was chaotic.

They didn't have peace but they had a moment to breathe. The Big War was over. Now the battles with monsters were just squirmishes and petty fights. Now it was a nicer type of chaos. A chaos they could enjoy.

Chiron smiled as he lay his horse body on the ground, enjoying the sunbeams and grass under him. Enjoying the children running around, playfighting, training, talking. This is why he stayed. When he said he enjoyed training demigods he meant he liked being with such rising heroes. Seeing their growth, knowing he had a part in it.

His tail swept the grass when he picked up a commotion at the entrance of the camp. He blew out his breath and put his legs under him. Never a moment of peace. But these were teenagers. Hundreds of teenagers with only one responsible adult to supervise them. So it was expected.

The kids made way for him as he tried to find out what they were crowding. Chiron stopped short at the sight of a new child. It would seem like one of the satyr had brought another demigod to camp. But this one was odd and the old centaur could tell it wasn't a demigod.

The boy looked around like he had been expecting something exciting and wonderful only to get disappointed. He turned to the Satyr. "I'm sorry, Siom, but I think this was a mistake."

Siom looked at him with understanding. "I know it can be a lot. But this really is your home. The only safe place for you. They'll help you."

"Nonono." He shook his head and hands. "It isn't. They aren't like me. I thought-" he looked wistful before dismissing it with slumped shoulders. "It was stupid. There was no way there'd be more like me."

"What are you talking about. They are half-bloods, just like you."

"No." The black haired teen looked over the crowd of kids. They were staring at him in confusion. They were probably expecting a new member. He wished. He had wished for too much. "I don't know what you are, but I'm not a half-blood. I'm a halfa."

Siom frowned and shuffled his hoofs. "What? You said. But you got through the camp borders. And you smell like power."

The self proclaimed halfa smiled at the obviously frustrated satyr. "It's fine. I thought too. It's just a misunderstanding."

"But then, what are you?"

"Don't worry about it, man. I'll just go back. It's not that-"

The boy straightened and suddenly turned to the crowd again, searching more closely for something. There. A teen, dark haired, about his own age, in the midst of the crowd. It was strange to see him as one of the crowd, like a king acting as a commoner.

The crowd gasped gasped when the strange boy tensed and bowed in their direction. They looked around in confusion when the boy looked up straight at Nico di Angelo. “Your majesty.”

Nico, who had been staring at him with narrowed eyes up until then, took a small step back. "You- you're definitely not a demigod. You’re dead- but no. Who are you?"

The new kid smirked, still in the bow. "My name's Danny. I'm a halfa. Half human, half ghost." He straightened as gasps and mutters surrounded him. "You're obviously not like me. So what are your species a hybrid of?"

The kids looked at each other in amusing realization that they were indeed hybrids. The teen Danny had been bowing to answered him cautiously. "We're half-bloods. Half human. Half gods."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "I can believe that from you, but wow your ego lacks nothing huh."

Nico made a face as a few adolescents cracked a laugh. "I'm not joking."

Chiron stepped closer to the two and Danny looked towards him, recognizing him as an adult and expecting an explanation.

Chiron was strangely surprised the kid didn't even glance twice at his hoofs, but gave him what he wanted. "They really are half gods. One of their parents is a god of Olympus."

Danny was taken a back. His eyes flitted up to the sky as if trying to see them. Then he studied the demigods around him. Then the satyr next to him and Chirons. "Am I in a different dimension?" He muttered to himself.

The kids laughed at his serious expression.

"You're the halfa?!" Nico stepped around a few kids to get closer to the boy, who squared his shoulders again and lowered his head lightly. Nico continued with surprised exasperation. "You're my dad's damage control?"

Danny froze. He slowly looked up. "I'm....his what."

"My father is so annoyed by you. You're halfway part of his realm but just out of his control. Not that he wants to expand the population under him," he added, "Just your general existence irritates him."

The half dead child made a face, not as bothered by the fact a god was angry at him. "My general existence is the root of much annoyance."

"Can relate," a boy in the crowd said.

"But I never remember applying for any job. What do you mean I'm damage control."

"You keep the leak from causing any problems. You keep the balance from tipping. You keep order on that side of the Underworld."

Danny's mouth dropped, then closed with a clack. "Oh. So it is the same dimension. The leak, you....you mean the ghost portal?"

Nico shrugged. "I have no idea what kind of leak it is. The breach. The barrier is very thin there so I assume there are multiple leaks. My father was getting a lot of headaches from that but one of his reporters told him about a halfa that was keeping the spirits at bay."

"What?!" Danny balled his fists, looking angry. "You mean I'm doing pest control for some dude who doesn't want to take care of it himself? I don't even get paid!"

Nico and the rest of the campers seemed taken back by the outburst. "My dad's the Lord of the dead."

"I don't care if your dad is Lord of the Rings! He's a terrible employer!"

Now the teens could see that Danny wasn't a normal kid. Apart from the slightly off vibe he was sending, an aura, he was now glowing slightly. Not to mention his bright green eyes where blue used to be.

"I've almost completely joined his kingdom mutliple times and not even a check?? Do I get offdays?? I got stuff to do! This is a full-time 24/7 job. Even the fact that I'm here is so risky. I'm counting on my friends to call me if it gets out of hand and I'll just have to find a portal to lead me there. Not even breaks."

One of the girls laughed and reached her hands out, trying to appease him. "Calm down, dude."

"I don't even get lunch breaks! That is so illegal. Don't tell me the oh so mighty Lord of the death is higher than the law."

"He is."

"I'm going to file in a complaint." He looked Nico, furious. "Where does he operate from."

Nico looked around, not knowing what to do to keep this agitated ghost from confronting the literal God of death. "He- uhh well... in the Underworld."

"That's- that the Ghost Zone right. Your highness, do you have any idea how big that thing is?? Where?"

Nico bit his lip. "Well there is a direct route straight to his throne, but it's a very specific place."

Danny wasn't deterred. "Write down the adress. I'm so sick of this. Please, write it down."

"Hold on, child." Chiron stooped down to hold him still by the shoulder. "Let's discuss this calmly. This is not a matter that should be rushed through."

Danny noticed how the man was having trouble keeping himself balanced as he put his hand on his shoulder and flew up to meet him at eye level. This earned gasps from the teens. The halfa grumbled. "Yeah, you're right. But I don't have that much time. The breach in my hometown allows very dangerous ghosts to cross. I'm not sure how long they'll manage without me."

"Then just go back now." The prince of the dead tried to convince him.

Danny shook his head, frowning. "No, no way. This is injustice. I deserve better. I'm still alive, I deserve to live it." He turned back to the centaur. He trusted this man. He was a grown-up. He had to know what Danny was going through. He would understand. He would help him.

Chiron could not believe this teenager. Why were all teenagers like this? Was it compulsive? To rebel against higher beings? Powerful beings? Did they have absolutely any sense of hierarchy? Couldn't they think past their own feelings of injustice and see people in power could do what they want?

Chiron smiled. How he loved teenagers.

"I see you're very certain of your decision." Danny nodded his head vigorously as Chiron continued. "But I implore you to this the demigod way. You're used to being on your own I assume, given that you mentioned you're the only of your species." Chiron noticed the uncomfortable face the boy was making and figured it was a little complicated. He moved on. "But here are multiple demigods that can strengthen the other's weaknesses and could greatly help you during your trip."

Chiron shifted his hooves until he was facing the crowd of excited teens. They could feel a quest coming up and were itching to do something after so much rest. They were also most probably very interested in this strange, witty, ambitious and outraged teen and would pay to see him file a complaint against the Lord of the Dead.

"We usually stay in here, where it's safe. But if something important must be done outside of it we go out in groups of three. It's the perfect amount of people to protect themselves but not attract too much attention."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Why do you stay here?"

"Our smell attracts monsters from the underworld," a kid in the crowd answered and got more amused the more incredulous Danny got.

"You- okay. I can see that happening." He sniffed the air experimentally. "I thought it was the strawberries rotting or something but now that I'm close enough I'm guessing that smell is y'all."

The expressions he got in return where as amused as they were exasperated. They got comments on their smell often enough.

"So who wants to come with me and sue a god?"

One of the teens pushed himself around others and ran up to him and Chiron, a wild grin on his face. "I'm coming! I call dibs!"

"You can't call dibs. That's not fair!"

Chiron looked a bit alarmed. "You are a powerful demigod and asset for the camp, not to mention your smell would attract more monsters than it's worth. Are you certain you wanna go through with this?"

The boy thrust his chin up. "Of course. The war is over, don't you think I deserve this?"

"You deserve some time to rest and recover and enjoy yourself." Chiron knew the teen had gone through far enough trauma. He didn't want him to be forced upon more.

The other looked at the centaur in the eye, begging him to understand. "You think I can do that here?" Chiron paused to consider this. Meanwhile, the other pulled Danny's floating foot down and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Besides, this dude looks like he knows how to have fun. We'll have a great time!"

"Percy." A blonde stepped closer to him. "Are you sure it's a good idea? It's so close after the war and we should train to be ready for anything that happens."

Percy waved the hand that wasn't around the halfghost's shoulders in the air, annoyed. "The war’s been over for months. You can take care of yourselves. And it's not like I'll be slacking off out there." He was resolute. "I'm coming." Then he added as an afterthought. "As long as the angry employee here doesn't mind."

Danny took a moment to realize he was being addressed. Honestly he wouldn't mind him coming with. He seemed like a fun, relaxed and headstrong dude. And Danny could tell the other wanted to leave this place. Like Danny, he wanted a break from all the responsibilities. He could vibe with that.

He grinned back toothily, showing off his fangs right in the boy's face. "I'd like that."

Chiron ignored Percy's shocked face and Danny's satisfied smirk. He turned to Nico, who'd been watching them warily. "Nico."

The boy shook his head. "No way. I'm not coming with them."

"Please. With you along they won't get many issues crossing past Charon. And if you do, you're best possible option to figure out another way. Not to mention that this very much involves your father, your domain, and you too."

"Fine," he huffed and Percy cheered.

"Yay, Deathbreath, join us!"

Danny smiled wide, lips quirking in mischief, and gave a bow. "Very honoured you agreed to help this paesant. Good to know at least some royalty is decent."

Nico deadpanned. "I'll be complaining the whole trip."

Chiron spread his arms to call the attention back to himself. "Looks like the quest is set. I trust Percy and Nico will fill our new friend in on everything during the journey. Ready everything and pack some ambrosia. You will leave as soon as you're ready."

#danny phantom #danny fenton #percy jackson #nico di angelo #gods of olympus #crossover #my writing #half ghost is angry at his boss and demands a raise #honestly a mood #percy is delighted #and nico is done #hades doesnt know whats coming to him

196 notes · View notes

cagestark · 5 years

Text

-Proxy Chapter 2-

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Warning: for some reason not of my italics have transferred over from AO3. My heart aches. Now you can’t imagine the wild inflections in my voice, if I were narrating this to you. i’m truly sorry. Thanks

Read here on AO3.

Whatever the hell that was—Tony can’t seem to put it behind him. It should be easy. All he did was hook up the young man he’s mad for with a beautiful woman. That’s normal. People do that all the time. So what if he watched them suck each other’s souls out. So what if he saw the kid hard. Big deal. Not the weirdest thing to ever happen to Tony. Not by far.

But he can’t stop thinking about it. The number of inappropriate erections (and really, there is no appropriate erection when it comes to pining after your nineteen-year-old mentee and teammate) he’s found himself sporting at all hours of the day increases exponentially. The seedy part of his mind that files away Peter’s orgasmic sounds is now teeming with new data: the flash of the young man's pearly teeth, the glimpse of pink tongue, the whine—

Tony is having more wet dreams now than he has in the last fifteen years combined. He fixes that by not sleeping. Genius solution.

He almost convinces himself that it’s sleep deprivation on Saturday when Peter returns from university, when he raises his chin and sets his jaw and asks if Tony knows like, anyone who would be willing to have sex with him.

“FRIDAY—”

“No stroke, boss.”

“Is that crazy to ask?” Peter says, pulling at his hair. “Who am I kidding, that’s like, totally crazy. Oh my God. I’m so sorry Mr. Stark. Please pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m actually not completely convinced that I heard you correctly in the first place, so run it by me one more time.”

“I just—the kissing lesson, it worked out really well. But, I’ve still got no other experience. I mean, obviously I’m a—a virgin,” Peter says. His face is red as a tomato. “There’s so much pressure! Everybody says that the first time has to be with someone special and it’s going to mean so much and all the build up has me so nervous I just want to be sick. I want to get it over with.”

“So.”

“So I was wondering if, you knew anybody who would be willing to be my…my first. Time. You know.”

Tony rubs at his forehead. Stroke or not, he’s getting a headache. His mind feels fit to bursting, and the whole thing makes him vaguely sick. What the fuck is he supposed to say to this? Part of him wants to tell Peter to go out the old-fashioned way: pick up a person at a fucking bar or something for God’s sake. But this is Peter. His Peter. Not his Peter—but totally his Peter. Does he want the kid in a bar, buying some stranger drinks? Does he want Peter’s first time (and yeah, maybe it’s not such a big deal as some people make it out to be, but it’s all relative anyway, and the point is that Peter feels vulnerable about it), does he want to leave it up to some fumbling college student?

“I—I’ll make a call.”

But ten seconds with his phone in his hand has him coming back into the room. He gets the briefest glimpse of Peter sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, muttering something under his breath before the kid looks up, eyes wide and wild.

“What kind of genitals are we talking about?” asks Tony.

“What?”

“I literally don’t know how to be more straightforward than that. Gender—sex—personal preferences for genitals and orientations. Because, to be perfectly honest, right now Natasha is at the top of my list again. What do you think?”

“Actually, I—I want a man. A cis man, I guess—the, you know, the penis—”

“You want a penis.”

“I mean, yeah, ideally. I’m pansexual but, I kind of want to—” Peter trails off, mumbling.

“I’m getting old, Peter, speak up—”

“I want to bottom. Oh my God, could I like, drop dead right now? Please?”

Tony is wondering the same thing—about himself. Peter wants a dick in his ass. Okay. Nothing wrong with that. Not like Tony hasn't taken a few himself in his time. Tony has a perfectly functioning sex organ that could absolutely fit the parameters that Peter is looking to fill, but there’s no reason to bring that up. Because surely if the kid was interested in Tony, he’d come out and say something.

“And sex workers, are you yay, nay—?”

“I mean, MJ says that s-sex is a service—”

“Got it. Go get some water. Lay down. Are you about to pass out right now? Jesus, kid, take a breath.”

Tony makes some calls. Sex work is still illegal in New York City, but Tony knows plenty of people who indulge. As long as everything is safe and consensual, Tony could care less; he figures he has real crimes to worry about. A friend leads him to a friend who recommends a man closer to Peter’s age than either of them are to Tony, and the description is, well, everything Tony could hope for, for Peter’s partner: blonde, built, flexible (“and I mean that in many ways, Tony, many ways,” his friend had guaranteed), and talented enough.

He can be at the penthouse in two hours.

Upstairs, Peter is literally shaking.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tony says. “I can call him off. You can call him off, at any time. There’s nothing wrong with waiting, kid, and there’s nothing wrong with being nervous about your first time. That just means it’s important to you.”

“I’m not backing out,” Peter says. His eyes are ablaze, even if they can’t catch on Tony’s for longer than a few moments at a time.

Tony feels like he’s leading the kid to the gallows. He turns away to plant his hands flat on the glossy wood of the bar and berate himself. “This is not normal,” Tony mutters.

“Nothing about my life ever is,” Peter says. When Tony glances over his shoulder, the kid gives a smile that (while it is shaky) is genuine. It hits Tony then, that this young man he’s infatuated with is actually going to fuck someone else, thanks to Tony. Of all the stupid, convoluted plans that Tony has cooked up or carried out, this one is truly up there with the worst of them. His self-destructive strategies are downright legendary. This is one for the goddamn books.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “A Mr. Finch is here. Shall I direct him to the penthouse?”

Tony looks to Peter. Peter nods.

“Go ahead, baby,” Tony says to her.

He braces a hand on the kid’s shoulder, lest he blow away in the draft from the air conditioning vent. Peter leans into the touch. This is Tony’s life. He gets to put warm fatherly hands on the kid’s shoulder while the man who fucks him rides up in the elevator.

When the doors part, there is a very handsome twenty-eight-year-old on the other side. He is taller than Tony and Peter, obviously well taken care of: dressed nicely, groomed, with soft looking hair and eyes cornflower blue. His clothes are well tailored to display his fit body, and Tony stands them side by side internally, measures them up so he can see all the ways that he falls short. This is the best choice for Peter. Peter deserves someone like this, not some broken old man.

“I take it you’re Peter?” the guy says. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder that he shifts to reach out and shake Peter’s hand, and the size difference between the two makes Tony swallow. The man flashes Tony a smile. He teases warmly: “I know who you are.”

“Most do,” Tony says. Tony ignores the outstretched hand. Still, he feels slimy. "Tony."

“I’m Daniel. Are you joining us?”

Tony nearly chokes. “No—just handing him off into your expert hands—”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says lowly. “Could I, could I talk to you about something?”

They leave Daniel on the sofa and convene behind the bar, standing close enough to whisper without being overheard. Tony literally can’t imagine what else Peter could want from him, maybe a blood oath, maybe Tony’s heart or head on a platter. But what the kid asks for is actually so, so much worse.

“Will you stay, Mr. Stark?” Peter looks at him with huge, swimming eyes. “I’m—I’m nervous. I’d just feel better if I wasn’t alone.”

“You want me to stay.”

“I mean. Yeah.”

“You want me to be in the room while you fuck Abercrombie and Finch over there?”

Peter groans, pressing his palm to his eyes. “Okay, never mind, you’re right, that’s way too much. You’ve already done so much for me, and of course you wouldn’t want to be there, that’s, like, that’s gross right? It’s just, I know you’d never let anything happen to me, and—”

The problem is that Tony can’t ever tell the kid no.

That’s how he ends up in the armchair of his largest guest bedroom watching Steve Roger’s Jr. and Peter sitting on the bed together, talking.

“A virgin? Oh, that’s awesome,” Daniel says. He's got a surfer vibe going to him, much better suited for Malibu than New York City.

“Really?” Peter asks flatly.

“Yeah. Virgins are really great partners: very teachable, very thoughtful. You get a guy who’s been having sex for years and they think they’re sex Gods or something, they think the way they’ve been doing it is the right way, just because they’ve been doing it for so long,” Daniel blathers. Tony squints. This punk isn’t talking about him, right? He’s not even glancing at Tony (except for sometimes, when he smiles soft and sweet). Surely, it’s just Tony’s own raging insecurities. He’s not like those people. He’s fucking Tony Stark. Adaptation is his middle name.

“That, actually that makes me feel a little better. Thanks,” Peter says. His hands are clasped in his lap, knuckles white. “Do we need to talk about anything else, like, like protection and stuff?”

“Condoms are a must, and I brought my own, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course—”

“I’m down for giving or receiving oral and anal, down for any light kink. No means no—if one of us says no, we stop. You trust me to do that and I trust you, that’s what this partnership is all about.”

“That sounds fair,” Peter says. Tony agrees from where he’s wishing to become a ghost in the corner. He idly wishes that maybe the floor will open up and swallow him whole, but Tony has never been so lucky. “I kind of want to receive, I guess. If that’s okay.”

“Of course. Don’t worry, Peter, I’ll do all the heavy lifting. You just relax and have a good time. Do you want to get started?”

“I mean, okay.”

Daniel ducks his neck, takes Peter’s chin in his hand and kisses him. This is worse, so much worse than watching him be with Natasha, because at least Tony likes Natasha, knows and trusts her. At least Tony knows the kind of person she is and that she wouldn’t take Peter’s vulnerability for granted. This stranger doesn’t even know the kind of gift Peter is giving him.

Peter seems receptive enough. Tony can almost see the cogs in Peter’s mind working while he remembers everything he learned with Natasha. Delicately, his hand comes up to rest on Daniel’s jaw, and the blond man hums. Their heads turn more, cheeks hollowing as their lips part and tongues touch. Suddenly Peter breaks off the kiss, pulling back a little, eyes fluttering open. He goes back in—but then he breaks off again, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Too much tongue,” Tony mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Daniel breaks the kiss, glancing over to the shadows where Tony is gathering dust like a perverted, decrepit vampire. The guy’s lips are slick and pink from how rough he’s been, and they’ve only been kissing for a minute or two. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Tony clears his throat. He waves a hand towards them. “You’re using too much tongue—the kid’s not into it.”

Daniel blanches. He looks to Peter who ducks his head, face red.

“It was great,” Peter says. “Just—wet.”

“Okay,” Daniel says, slow. “Less tongue. Got it.”

When they resume kissing, it’s obvious that the blond is taking Tony’s advice to heart. The kissing seems softer, more sensual, and Peter begins to shift on the lush bedspread like he’s antsy and can’t keep still. The erection he’s sporting might have something to do with that. Tony can’t help but be a little hard himself after a while, when the kid starts making these cute little noises in the back of his throat that Daniel swallows whole, when Peter shifts and kneels up a little until the two are equal height and Daniel pulls him onto his lap. He looks so tiny there, probably resting flush up against Daniel’s hard cock—because of course the guy will be hard, who wouldn’t get hard with such a sweet young man in their lap kissing them so feverishly?

Daniel coaxes Peter onto his back. His dark clothes blend into the dark bedspread, but Tony knows that when he’s naked (and okay, okay, somehow Tony didn’t even think of that, didn’t think that he’d been seeing the kid naked which now that he acknowledges it is quite obvious but also both terrifying and arousing), anyway, when the kid is naked, his skin is going to glow it will be so pale spread against the black sheets.

Tony lifts one leg to rest the ankle on his knee and hopefully obscure his hard on, because for some reason the kid keeps glancing over to Tony with this look on his face, like he’s wondering, Am I doing okay? Is this okay? Tony has no answers for those questions, because Daniel is pushing up the hem of Peter’s t-shirt exposing that pale midriff, the light pink nipples that are already pebbled from arousal. On his back like this, Peter’s erection is more obvious, a nice average sized bulge in his skinny jeans that makes him hiss whenever Daniel brushes against it.

The jealousy is intense. Worse is just the longing, the desperation to cross that room and push the blond aside and place the most sensual, sucking kisses along that torso, to feel the weight of the Peter’s cock against his palm.

This will ruin Tony; he knows it. There will never be a chance of recovery from this, not when he knows how the kid looks and sounds in the throws of passion.

This will change everything.

Daniel reaches Peter’s nipples and licks across one with the flat of his tongue. Peter keens, his hips jerking upward desperate for friction. God, Peter’s so sensitive (and couldn't Tony have already guessed that from 'senses dialed to eleven'?), tangling his fingers in the bedsheets, eyes squeezed shut, mouth fallen open just from someone tonguing at his nipples. Tony can’t help but watch his expression as he pants—but then the furrow between his flat brows is back, mouth pinching together. Tony flicks his eyes down to Daniel who is biting at what is surely one of Peter’s most sensitive places—

“Stop,” Tony says.

Daniel jerks back like he’s been stung, glancing over his shoulder at Tony, face exasperated. Beyond him, Tony sees Peter’s face though, and it is relieved. It is grateful. It is trusting, those whiskey eyes burning into Tony’s, mouth curling up a little. “What is it now?” Daniel asks.

“He’s sensitive—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“—just be gentler with him, look at him, he doesn't like it when you—”

“He’s liking it just fine,” Daniel says, reaching down to squeeze at Peter’s cock pointedly. The kid yelps.

Tony stands up, one heartbeat away from activating his suit, because that did not sound like a yelp of pleasure—the blond must see the expression on Tony’s face because his hands fly upwards. Stop, don’t shoot!

“I get it,” Daniel says quickly. “More gentle. Sensitive. Noted.”

Immediately Tony feels like a fucking idiot. What was he going to do, blow the guy away with one of his gauntlets? He resumes his seat, determined not to say another word. He’s just supposed to be here for moral support, a flower on the wall.

“I like it,” Peter pants. His face is bright red even in the dim lighting.

“You like what, baby?” Daniel asks. The guy glances over his shoulder at Tony, brow raised, a pointed see? that makes Tony want to light him up. “Me being a little rough?”

Peter blushes. “No—um. When Mr. Stark tells you how to do it.”

That revelation silences the room and holds it in anticipation for several long moments. Tony’s mouth goes dry, cock aching between his legs. Daniel looks baffled, glancing from Peter sprawled on the bed to Tony in the armchair with all the caution of a man walking a minefield.

“I—okay?” Daniel says. He looks to Tony, shrugging a shoulder. “You cool with that?”

Tony rubs at the space between his eyebrows. How to say that no he’s not fucking okay with it! but also, it's going to make him harder than he's ever been. He’s yet to perfect how to say two opposing things in the same breath, though. This is all too much, it’s crossing lines he never even imagined approaching (alright, there might have been some imagining, but certainly no concrete steps taken). As he opens his mouth to say no, he spots the look on the kid’s face: anxious, eager, imploring.

And he can’t tell this kid no.

“Alright,” says Tony.

“Are you sure, Mr. Stark?” Peter breaths. He’s still hard. “I know this is so, so weird.”

“It’s like you said, kid, our whole lives are weird. Okay—well—go on, I guess. Action?” Tony claps his hands like a fucking clapperboard.

Daniel’s mouth twitches. “What should I do? Mr. Stark.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Tony thinks. “Put your mouth back on his nipples, but be gentle with him this time. He’s sensitive. Whatever you’re thinking of as sensitive, you probably aren’t even close. It won’t take much just—” Daniel is following his direction, leaning down to lick a sweet, soft line over Peter’s left nipple. He takes it into his mouth and suckles at it, all soft and sweetness, and Peter whines, his hands coming up to clutch at the blond strands of hair. “There you go. See? That’s—that’s how he likes it.

“Switch, don’t overstimulate him too soon. He's likely to get overwhelmed by new stimulus. Use your hand to flick—yes, there you go. Gentle. He’s—” Precious, Tony thinks. He swallows. “He’s delicate.”

“Am not,” Peter moans, drawing the words out. His hips arch upwards, but Daniel is to the side of him and not looming over him, so there’s nothing for Peter’s aching cock to rub against.

“Shirt off,” Tony says. His mouth is so dry, he’d kill for a whiskey, neat. “It’s getting in the way.”

They sit up, puppets under his control. Let no one say that Tony doesn’t have control issues, that he doesn’t enjoy people following his explicit instructions, because all of this has him even harder than he thought himself possible to be without any physical stimulus, leaking precum in his pants, balls throbbing in time with his heart. Peter’s head disappears and then reappears as the shirt is tugged up and off, his curls rustled and messy. His eyes are heavy lidded—looking over Daniel’s shoulder at Tony.

“Kiss his neck,” Tony says, hopeful to get the kid to shut his eyes. That gaze is doing nothing healthy to him. “You know the drill. If you suck, suck softly. He bruises easily.”

Peter does shut his eyes, his head tilting back, mouth open in a silent sigh of pleasure. He shudders when Daniel kisses at the spot behind his ear, nipples beading to tiny aching points on his chest. “Please,” Peter breathes.

Tony inhales sharply. His hands are shaking where he clutches at the armrests of the chair to keep from palming his own cock. “Press him back down into the bed—lay over him. Give him something to grind up against. He’s needy.”

“What if he cums?” Daniel asks, already following instructions. Peter keens, his hips rutting up, ankles coming around to hook behind the older man's legs. Daniel mirrors him with a long groan, their hard cocks rubbing together, dry humping like two desperate teenagers instead of one. Meanwhile, Tony sits with the Eiffel Tower between his legs, trying to pretend like it isn’t even there.

“Hold off, Peter,” Tony says. His voice comes out a little harder than he intends it to, but the kid just nods furiously, eyes squeezed shut.

Peter whines unhappily, slowing his hips and letting his ankles come down from around the blond's legs until his feet are flat on the bed, toes curled. He shakes with the effort to hold himself still, teeth clenched. His eyes are misty and dazed when he opens them and searches for Tony’s face. “Yes Mr. Stark,” he says through his teeth. “I��I’ll try—”

Daniel snorts a little where he’s got his head in the crook of Peter’s neck, still placing wet kisses. “It really is like that, isn’t it?”

“What?” Peter breathes, distracted.

“You wish it was Tony Stark fucking you.”

Tony blinks. Peter shudders, eyes popping open.

“What?” Peter gasps. “I—what?”

Daniel resumes the grinding of his hips, the shock of his announcement waning the erection in the younger man’s pants. It’s simulated sex, the way he thrusts down, like they’re already undressed, like he’s stretched the kid open with his fingers and is balls deep inside him, thrusting to touch his belly button from the inside. The whole time, Peter’s eyes stare at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. “Yeah, that’s what gets you off, doesn’t it, baby? You like imagining dirty old men touching you and taking you, don’t you? It might as well be Tony fucking you right now, isn’t that right?”

Peter bursts into tears.

Tony crosses the room in three steps, planting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and wrenching him off the bed. The younger man sprawls across the floor, tailbone thudding against the carpet, still dressed save for his shoes that he dropped off at the door. “Get out,” Tony says coldly.

“Jesus, man, you’re not allowed to touch me like that—”

“Get out, before I have you escorted off my property.”

“Fuck, I’m going. Christ. I don’t need all this Shakespearean bullshit anyway.” Daniel grabs his bag that he’d left at the foot of the bed, the one with the condoms and lube that he never got the chance to use. He gives Tony a cold look. “By the way, my fee is non-refundable. Don’t ever ask for me again.”

“Be thankful if it’s just the door that hits you on the way out,” Tony says.

Peter is sitting on the bed cross-legged, weeping into his hands. His shirt rests abandoned on the floor somewhere near Tony’s armchair. Carefully, he edges to the bed and gingerly sits on the dark bedspread. Jesus, what a shitshow this turned out to be, he thinks to himself. He goes to place a hand on the kid’s shoulder but thinks twice, not wanting to touch the bare skin, not after what Banana Republic said to upset him so much. “Peter—I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I do have eyes and clearly you aren’t, but—are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head. Tony breaths a small sigh of relief.

“Want me to chase him down and let him kiss my gauntlet? I can have FRIDAY stop the elevator with him in it.”

Peter gives a wet laugh. He draws his palms away from his face, and his eyes are red and tender, cheeks damp with tears. Wiping at them with the back of his hand, he shakes his head again. “No—that’s illegal, Mr. Stark. He was just doing his job.”

“The offensive dirty talk? That wasn’t in his job description. I’m sorry, kid. He shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

The young man won’t even look at him, staring down at where his bare ankles cross, sniffing. “It wasn’t offensive,” Peter mutters, stopping Tony mid-sentence.

“Then—?”

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry,” Peter says, fresh tears dripping down his cheeks and off of his pointed little chin. He wrings his hands, knuckles white. “I really messed things up. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Peter, it’s okay,” promises Tony. “If anything, this is my fault. You just wanted more experience, and you trusted me to find someone—”

Peter looks him in the eye. There's a heat there, angry coals stoked back to blazing. “God, Mr. Stark. You’re so stupid. Natasha warned me, but I said there was no way you’d be this stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Daniel was right,” Peter says, voice raising with every word. “When, when I touch myself—I imagine it’s you. When I was with him, I just wanted to pretend he was you. When I asked you if you knew anyone who would help me with, with kissing and sex, I wanted you to offer, you dummy!”

#starker #nff #cagewrites #longfic

218 notes · View notes

monsteronfire · 4 years

Text

Dragon Hart | Pt 11

Hybrid!JM x Reader/OC x Hybrid!JK

Dragons are the most rare, sought after hybrids in the business. Considered the most dangerous of the hybrid class, they are categorized by very specific personality traits and are owned only by the highest standing of society. When Hart finds a pair that are considered “defective” because of their personalities, she knows they could be killed and feels obligated to take them in despite never having owned any before. Still a dragon is a dragon, can she really survive owning two at once?

———

“Hey, sorry!”

Tae pouts dramatically at you, shoving a bottle of wine into your hands without replying. Hobi’s carrying a cheese tray with crackers, fruit and various meats that he hands off to you before they both start removing their winter gear. Jimin and Jungkook stand silently behind you, a little on guard, though you’re sure not nearly as much since they actually know your two guests.

“Fuck I hate the snow,” Hobi finally says, ruffling his hair as if to get said snow out of it.

“Yeah, it really rolled around all of a sudden,” you mumble back, turning to carry the gifts into the kitchen. Jungkook follows diligently, his hands held out to catch anything you might drop. The others follow you as well, Jimin greeting them both with a soft smile.

“How’ve you been, Chimmy,” Taehyung questions and Jimin softens at the affectionate nickname, giggling a little.

“Good. Miss Hart treats us very well. She’s very kind to us.”

His cheeks are pink as he speaks and you can’t seem to look at him out of embarrassment when he praises you like that. Jungkook only greets Hobi once you’ve set everything down and he does it quietly, as if he’s afraid to even speak. You’re not sure if it’s because your friends are coming or because you being mad at him really fucks him up, but your mind is racing too much to go in depth about it.

“You’re sure you even want us here, Hart?”

“Yeah... yeah, of course,” you say, finally letting Jungkook do something and take the tray of food into the living room for you. You hand some glasses to Jimin who’s smiling sheepishly at you, though he’s trying to look sweet for you. He knows you’re still upset and it’s made even worse by your anxiety. You hand a few more glasses to Taehyung, grab what’s left and the bottle of wine, and urge everyone to follow Jungkook.

“You guys know way more about dragons than I do, so if they have questions I figure you’ll do better at answering them. Plus having other people here... helps me.”

A knock at your door makes you shoot up from placing glasses down and you feel yourself go slightly dizzy from the anxiety. Jungkook calls out to you softly, his hand warm on your lower back. They’re here already? You didn’t even need to buzz them in! Your head is a mess of racing thoughts, but still you move to open the door and greet them.

“You guys didn’t even buzz,” you say as you open the door. All three of them stand there in winter coats. Jin grins when he sees you, Namjoon grins when he sees Hobi and Yoongi doesn’t grin at all, but frowns even more when he spots Jungkook and Jimin behind you.

“Yeah, that hot girl that lives on the floor below you let us in.”

“Yeah after about five minutes of Jin flirting with her,” Joon adds. He slips past you and makes his way to Hobi, the two of them smiling before sharing a quick kiss.

“So what, you two dating now or something?” Tae asks, looking skeptical. Or rather more like he thinks they’re dumb and/or is teasing them. Hobi turns a glare on him, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe. So what if we are?”

“You guys have only met a few times and literally just drunkenly slept together like four nights ago.”

“I wasn’t drunk, were you drunk Hoseok?”

“Hoseok? Disgusting.” Tae’s smirking as he says it though, more jabbing fun at his friend than actually offended by their union. Hobi sticks his tongue out at the kid, shoving him lightly when Tae retaliates with his own childish gesture.

You let the other two in and finally notice that Jin is holding tubs of potato, and macaroni salad while Yoongi holds two boxes of crackers. You snort at the sight, remembering the cheese and meats tray on your coffee table. As if this were some kind of small party or something. Maybe it was their way of easing the tension and seriousness of the meeting. When your trio of friends finally cast their attention on your hybrids the room falls silent, reminding you why you’re doing this. You close the door and usher everyone into the living room.

“Well, let’s get this started.”

They all file in; Jin, Yoongi, Joon and Hobi taking the couch; Tae taking your armchair and the dragons standing opposite the sofa back by the TV. You stand in front of Jimin and Jungkook, each on either side of you, and thank whatever gods when Jin takes the time to crack open the food before you start. It gives you time to think and lets you know he’s not upset enough to let it affect his appetite.

“I’d like to start of by apologizing; not only because I didn’t say anything, but also because I put Yoongi in danger. You three are my oldest and closest friends, and I betrayed your trust by keeping quiet. I had my reasons, mainly your safety.”

Yoongi snorts derisively and it feels like a jab to your stomach. Still, you continue.

“This,” you motion from one side of you to the other, bringing their focus to first Jimin, then Jungkook,” ... is Jimin and Jungkook, the two dragon hybrids that went missing from my work.”

Jin immediately freezes, his hand poised halfway between the food and his mouth, and his eyes are wide. Yoongi looks a mix of shocked, pissed and a bit worried, and Joon is just pissed. He sighs heavily, his head falling into his hands when he sits forward.

“For fuck sake, Hart. Are you serious?”

You can’t tell if he’s pissed because you’re causing trouble, or because he’s worried for you. Jin puts down the cracker full of cheese and potato salad, still trying to process what you just said.

“I’m confused,” he suddenly says, “... are you telling me that the two hybrids that the police have been investigating about at your work- the ones that were stolen- are the two hybrids in front of me right now?”

“Yes...”

“You,” he pauses a moment to collect himself, his rage beginning to match Namjoon’s.

“You fucking stole two of the rarest and most expensive hybrids in the world, and are now keeping them in your home?!”

“Y-yes.”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Hart. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Yoongi is joining in now and- as you’d suspected- all three of your friends are furious with you. You feel Jungkook nearly pressing himself into your back, probably feeling the tension in the room and wanting to protect you. Or maybe he was just anxious himself and wanted your comfort. Jimin remains where he is, though his hand is now clasping your forearm just below the elbow, as if to comfort himself.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I was trying to keep it from you in case something happened. If I’d been found out I didn’t want you guys to get in trouble because you knew anything about it.”

“You fucking stole from your job! Why?! You’ve never even ran a red light before! What the fuck made you suddenly want to break the law?! Are you insane?!”

You wince at Jin’s shouting and now Jimin is crowding you just as Jungkook is, but you can feel his fingernails growing and sharpening. He’s starting to lose control. You turn and whisper to him, needing to put your hand on his cheek to bring his attention back to you.

“Jimin, calm down. They’re worried, that’s all. They don’t know else to express it.”

He looks at you, but you can still feel his claws poking your arm.

“Damn straight we’re worried,” Namjoon cuts in.

“Hart...”

Jin doesn’t even know what to say anymore, instead standing and beginning to pace the room. Yoongi remains silent on the sofa, just glaring at a spot just behind you. You call Jin’s name and urge him to sit down, but all he does is move back to his spot and stand there.

“Do have any idea what you’ve done? What could happen to you,” Joon questions, seeming more calm.

“Yes, of course. You really think I just did this on a whim? I had a reason.”

“A good one?” Yoongi gripes and you glare at him.

“Yes. Look, each species of hybrid has a main personality archetype. If their personality is outside this norm, they’re considered defective and a lot of them are usually euthanized for it. The less market there is for that species the more likely it is they’ll be killed. Dragons are the rarest breed out there and these two are labeled as defective. If they’d stayed at the center they probably would’ve been killed.”

“So you took them?!” Jin asks loudly.

“Well I can’t exactly afford them, Jin!”

“And I suppose you two helped her?”

He motions to Tae and Hobi, and both immediately shrink away from him.

“Well I don’t work with larger species of hybrid and I needed inside men. Plus I needed help with how to care for them.”

“This could get so bad, so fast, Hart.” Namjoon says.

“I know. I didn’t do this lightly, you guys. I thought it over for almost a month before I decided. Something like defective hybrids is rare at our facility. I couldn’t just let them die.”

“What if you get caught?” Yoongi finally asks.

“I mean do you have a game plan? What if they do what they did the other night only you can’t stop them?”

“I know the dangers. I know what’s at stake. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to force you into those dangers as well. Tae and Hobi agreed to help me. We all know what we’ve done. Yoongi I’m so sorry about the other night, that was my fault. I knew the risks of going out like that and leaving them alone. I was stupid and you all suffered for it. But I did this, it’s done. I can’t go back now. I illegally own two dragon hybrids for their safety. I can’t undo this. And I don’t regret it.”

The room is silent, Jimin has calmed down and Jungkook is now holding your hand. Hobi and Taehyung look somber, but determined as if they too were denouncing their regret for it. Jin, Yoongi and Namjoon look like they’ve all just received terrible news. Joon puts his head back in his hands, Yoongi is chewing on his bottom lip and looking off to one side, and Jin finally falls back into the sofa. You don’t know what else to say, so you simply stand there waiting.

“I’ll understand if you guys want to distance yourself from me for a while. Until we’re sure things have cooled down. I can’t hang out much until these guys imprint anyway.” You finally say sheepishly, smiling weakly and holding up the hand Jungkook is holding. Jimin is pushing against your side possessively.

“Imprint,” Joon asks.

“Yeah, that’s sort of why they flew off the handle the other night. Dragons are pretty protective and possessive to begin with, but their emotions are unstable until they imprint on their new owners.”

Still they’re silent after that and when Taehyung stands-heading for the kitchen- he pats your shoulder on the way.

“Give them some time to process. Hobi’ll stay and talk it out with them,” he mumbles quietly to you. You nod and motion for the two dragons to follow him. They do albeit hesitantly.

“I’ll leave you guys alone to... process.”

And you leave them. You enter the kitchen where Jimin is moping at the island, Jungkook is fidgeting on the other side and Taehyung is busy rummaging around in your cupboards. You let out a puff of laughter and make your way to the island. No one says anything for a long time while you all sit in there, but you hear mumbling and talking out in your living room. Taehyung snacks on random things and while you give him looks, you don’t really have the heart to tell him to stop every time he pulls out something new. You’re in there for nearly an hour Hobi finally enters and sends you in to talk to them.

“Yoongi...”

He’s up and making his way to the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets though he looks much calmer. He shakes his head and shrugs, looking off to one side.

“It wasn’t something you could control. And I guess I get why you kept it from us. Just be careful, okay Hart? It’s water under the bridge for us, but Jin’s really worried, so.”

He thumbs behind him and you nod, wanting to hug him to solidify his forgiveness, but thinking better if it. Jimin can still see you from the kitchen. You thank him quietly before making your way to the sofa to speak to Jin and Namjoon.

Yoongi continues on into the kitchen, accepting the offer of a bag of nuts Taehyung is holding. He watches the hybrids out of the corner of his eye and while the taller one- Jungkook- seems to not be paying him much attention, the smaller one is watching him. Jimin’s eyes are so sharp and clear that it makes Yoongi’s skin crawl, and when Taehyung finall leaves the kitchen to use the bathroom, the dragon moves closer to him. The hairs on Yoongi’s arms and neck stand on end. There’s tension in the air and he gets the feeling this Jimin kid isn’t planning to apologize.

“She’s ours, you know,” he finally says, his voice low and even- breathy and calm.

“Eh?”

“Miss Hart... She’s ours now. She brought us home and took us in to be her hybrids. One big difference between dragons and your run of the mill mammal hybrids is that we claim our owners as much as they claim us. You may be her long time friend and she may care about you, but she belongs to me.”

Jimin turns to fix Yoongi with a heavy, unblinking stare. Not a glare, not full of anger or hate. There was no desperation or anxiety in his eyes. They were simply calm, steady and dangerous, and Yoongi can’t look away. They promise harm should he ever cross the line again.

“She’s mine. You won’t touch her ever again.”

Feeling idiotically bold, Yoongi decides to test him.

“And if I do?”

I rumble comes from both dragons, though Jimin’s mixes in with his words. He speaks in a growl.

“We’ll have a similar encounter as last time, only she won’t stop me from killing you.”

The day ends with the boys forgiving you for the most part, though Yoongi seems to be keeping himself more distant than before. Still, Jimin and Jungkook seem calmer around Jin and the others, and when they finally leave early in the evening you have to say you feel much better. The boys are even being more affectionate and comfortable around you than before. You end the evening with Jimin snuggling into your side and Jungkook falling asleep on your shoulder while you all watch a movie.

———

Previous :: Next

a/n; So the first part of the texts between Hobi, Tae and Hart are to be read to the tune of Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler. 😂 I just wanted some comic relief. This is so long and I’ve had a fuckin day y’all. Anyway enjoy!

@mygukandonly, @j-i-m-i-n-e, @spongebobgotstruckbylightning, @hannahdinse8, @morgsstudies-blog, @asifetch7, @flowerbin131

43 notes · View notes

onisiondrama · 4 years

Photo

PART 7 - video #13

(Click here for mirrors)

what’s up

(Sorry for the offensive language in this one. He’s pretty pissed.) - He wants to discuss the legal case. He filed an anti harassment protection order against two individuals. One of them has been harassing him for the last 8-10 years. This person deleted earlier videos, but Greg’s life is this guys’s obsession. It’s crazy how obsessed he is. Greg is no doubt on this guy’s mind 24/7. It’s creepy and weird. Lately he’s been documenting ever aspect of every interaction he has in Greg’s world. The dude just make $20,000 on attorney’s fees on a case Greg had dismissed. You guys payed some dude to show up to court and hear the case was dismissed. Numbskulls. If you’re a Youtuber and someone tells you to stop talking about them, why would you hire an attorney to go into court and speak for you? Dude couldn’t even speak for himself. He was just sat there smirking like a jackass while he’s losing his hair and gets fatter. Total idiot, punk ass bitch. Greg was overwhelmed be how much of a bitch he was. - Greg was standing there with his bulletproof vest and people wonder why he was wearing that. “Christina Grimmie anyone?” He knows she wasn’t shot in the bulletproof vest area, but life is a danger when you show up to a court room where a bunch of people thinks you prey on children. Where are the children by the way? Who even made this up? Because he was blackmailed into sleeping with an 18 year old, now he’s into kids? He doesn’t understand the leap in logic. - The other person the case was against was someone who used to specialize in going after people who go after children. He’s trying to make it look like Greg would want to go after a child like that. It’s pathetic and one of the dumbest thing he’s ever seen. When he dated Shiloh when she was 17 1/2. They spoke to the police and they cleared him of any inappropriate images on his computer and everything. He was 100% cleared with Shiloh. Another relationship where he’s still married to the person, so that worked out. Another relationship where someone was 19. Another who was 18 1/2. Someone we don’t know about was 26. Someone we don’t talk about was 24. The wife before was 24 when they separated. People obsess over these relationships and try to relate it to children. They don’t want to go after people who go after 12 year old, they go after people who date adults. - Says this is the funniest thing: “Well they’re still mentally a child,” There are 50 year olds who are mentally a child and there are 18 year olds that are mentally 90. That’s a fact. When he was 17 he had the maturity of a 40 year old male. He was a little dark and goth, but very capable. - At the court case Greg is sitting across from this pasty, greasier than him, looks like he never saw the sun in his life, beta male, pathetic, he’s definitely getting a double chin soon.[Greg is laughing] He’s smirking at the judge and Greg thought he was an idiot because he’s smirking in court like an ass hat. Judges likes to see people taking it seriously. - Greg went to court and asked for it to get dismissed because anti harassment protection orders are more open and close when the person isn’t a public figure. The problem is you have an ex who hates your guts and now he wants to stalk you, that’s illegal. Now he started a tumblr about you so now in court he just has to say he’s protected by the Constitution, freedom of the press and freedom of speech. Your lawyer can argue that they’re a stalker, but that’s stressful. Now you have to argue the constitution. He avoided going in there and arguing the constitution against people who are Youtubers, not journalists. Journalism used to mean you work for someone, now it means you have a blog. - [This section is sarcasm btw.] Chris is still a journalist even though he was released from his contract after someone killed themselves. He’s a journalist because he livestreams, which is what a 13 year old could do. Congratulations. - Being a youtuber isn’t a prideful thing. If you think you’re a big deal because you have a few million subscribers, you’re a joke, Youtube is a joke. Youtubers who take themselves seriously and think they have an impact on the world are jokes. They’re all pathetic because there are real hardworking people out there like soldiers, construction workers, and scholars. Youtubers are morons. - Real journalists go to Iraq or go in a storm and talk about the weather. A journalist isn’t a dude who works with a dude who is perused in court for sexual assault while dating a much younger women while going after people online who date younger women and act like they’re predators. That’s “retard paradox.” - A journalist from Newsweek approached him in the courthouse and it was one of the most bleh experiences he had in his life. “Pathetic” is too much of a dignified word for this person. He walked up to Greg and said, “yo Onision. I really want to hear your side of the story. I’m not anti-o. I really just care about the truth, you know?” Greg ignored him and kept looking at his phone. The guy said, “Ok I get it, I get it. You don’t trust me but you gotta know you can trust me.” Greg wanted him to fuck off. He doesn’t trust a single reporter on this earth because they are looking for headlines, just like Youtubers. Especially Newsweek. The articles they write about him are totally baseless. They don’t care. He sees no credentials. He sees someone who flunked out of high school or didn’t go to any journalism school working for Newsweek. This guy followed Greg into the bathroom even though he knew Greg didn’t want to talk to him. “Just say one word Greg.” His name is JAMES. [He lists his old names.] They’re too stupid to get his name right. “I’m Greg James bitch!” [I have no idea what he’s quoting but he’s been saying that for a while now.] - He gets in the court room and there are emo girls with dyed hair everywhere. Fucking morons. “When did this court room become a clown show?” He mimics them giggling and saying “that’s onision.” He says he should have just brought mace. [He pretends to spray mace onto the people in the court room and laughs.] These chicks are taking pictures and saying look at his snow boots. He says he doesn’t have dress shoes so he wore snow boots. Those are his ass kicking boots. One stomp and you’re done. He came prepared for war. - Hansen’s lawyer comes up and says he was never served so they want it dismissed even though he’s well aware he’s supposed to be here cuz he sent me. Legally, Greg guesses, you have to get served in order to show up, but Chris publicly acknowledged he was supposed to be there. He could fly across the country to have the cops called on him but he can’t fly across the country to show up in court. Pussy, moron, douche bag. Where is the money going? What is he spending it on? His debts? You guys don't realize you're getting played because you paid someone $20,000 for $2,500 in fees, which he says probably wasn’t even that much because the case was open and close. The attorney wasn’t even there for an hour. You have pussy boy who has an attorney speaking for him and Greg speaks for himself. He tells the judge he got legal advise and is taking a different legal avenue. He is literally doing it right now. - Some dumb ass hoes, dumb ass bitches follow him into the elevator. This girl was sitting next to her sugar daddy who had a beard and was a blimp. She’s holding up her camera and she was a midget and she asks him if he’s having a good day. He’s standing there thinking, “all these stupid ass whooohhmmms”. [seems like he was going to say whores but stopped himself] He’s silent because if he says anything it would wind up being te-he-he bullshit. He had sunglasses on so he didn’t have to look at the dumb bitch in the eyes. - 2nd floor happens, elevator opens. No one got out. Bitches are going to follow him all the way to the first floor. They’re there because they want to see the circus, they’re the clowns in the circus. He was surrounded by fucking idiots. They show up because they want him to do what? Like when Hansen showed up at his house he was surprised Greg’s obviously fake videos weren’t real because he’s a boomer. He asks if people could start saying “ok boomer” because this is an actual boomer. He does math and says not exactly, but pretty much. - Court was stupid. He didn’t have a good time. He treated himself to taco bell and treated people to dinner because he saved money by not hiring an attorney. He knows the other guys spent a shit load of money. It’s amazing they could have done it for free. They hired an attorney so they could continue to harass someone. How low life is that? If someone took him to court for harassment he would just stop talking about them. He could move on. - When you file an anti-harassment protection order you can’t talk about that person either so it’s like a mutual contract to F off. He says that last thing was just speculation. He doesn’t know what the actual rules are. - He thinks it’s creepy and says a lot about a person when they fight an anti-harassment protection order. Why is it so hard to leave people alone? They’re harassers, it fits the definition. Not everyone is sane or reasonable. Just gotta keep going at it. People will keep cashing in on Greg. Greg owns all the channels. They get the revenue, but Greg gets the face time because they always think about him. Their whole job is him. “Fuck you.” He doesn’t know how you could waste the most precious thing you were given, life, on someone you hate. - He tells the emo girls that showed up to court to get a fucking haircut and to dye their hair a normal color.

47 notes · View notes

anactualcaseofthetruth · 5 years

Photo

Call Me A Safe Bet, I’m Betting I’m Not - Chapter 14

(AO3 Link- Chapter Fourteen)

Even though scientists are still quite baffled after multiple millennia of medical and technological advances of exactly how the soulmarks work, there has been enough research and study that we now know when and how to expect them… There has yet to be one soulmate coupling occur before the female has experienced a menstrual cycle and the male to begin producing sperm. In short, soulmarks have never appeared before entering puberty…

There are many, many more cases in which two people have insisted they are soulmates only to not mark with one another. All in all, only about 3% of couplings are correct in predicting they are soulmates before marks form.”

***

Betty Cooper is four years old when she meets Jughead Jones. She knows he is her soulmate, he’s not so sure.

Chapter 14

“It’s been much disputed and we decided to settle it here: first-time sex, did you wait for a soulmark or do it on your own time? Is it better to wait for a soulmark or do it simply when it feels right?

Kayla, 23: I met my soulmate at 19, and we didn’t wait very long. It was my first time, but it wasn’t his. It was awkward, but there wasn’t as much pain as I thought there would be. I’m glad I waited. He says he wishes he did too, but that could just be him sweet talking.

Chelsea, 28: I didn’t wait, I didn’t think I would even get a soulmate. A few in my family have marks, but not many. I had sex at 14 because the guy I was with made me feel like we didn’t need marks, and it was what I wanted to hear. I was a stupid kid. It wasn’t good, and he was older, more experienced. I’m still not marked, but I wish I would have waited, at least until I was old enough to know what a big deal sex should be.

Kristen, 25: I fell in love at 17, but we weren’t marked. We had sex and it was pretty much a disaster, but I don’t regret it. We were together until we were almost 20, it just didn’t work out. I have a soulmark now, my soulmate waited for me and was disappointed I didn’t wait for him, but I was young and in love. Love doesn’t only exist inside soulmark-relationships, and good sex has nothing to do with a soulmark in my opinion.

Read more on our website www.cosmos.com/firsttimesex/soulmarks?

From Cosmos Magazine, 2019

Archie looks to Veronica, who refuses to look at him and instead clings to Betty. Without any kind of reaction from Veronica, Archie squares his shoulders back and decides on his answer. “Veronica and I, we marked.”

“You what?” Betty asks at the same time Jughead says, “How?”

Before their questions can be answered Veronica is heading for the door.

“Ronnie!” Archie starts after her, but Betty cuts him off.

“Don’t, Arch,” she insists with a hand on his chest. “She has… issues with this. Let me talk to her,” she finishes and gives Jughead a look meaning ‘keep him away’ that her soulmate nods at.

Betty catches up to Veronica as she’s struggling to enter one of the faculty bathrooms—meaning private. “Ver—”

“H—How do you get in here? Why is a bathroom locked?” Veronica asks, almost hysteric, as she jiggles the door handle repeatedly.

“Here, wait,” Betty says as she takes a bobby pin out of the back of her hair. She gently pushes her friend aside to get the metal into the lock.

“Are you seriously trying to—”

“Sh, I have to hear the click,” Betty orders softly before smiling in accomplishment as the door opens. “There, c’mon.”

Veronica bursts into the bathroom and is instantly tearing at her gloves before standing at the sink to run her hands under water.

“What’re you doing, V?” Betty asks after locking the door behind them.

“Cold water,” Veronica answers as the liquid washes over her skin. She must sense that Betty is confused because she goes on. “It—it’s supposed to help with panic attacks. Something about freezing temperatures on the extremities.”

“Um, okay, I’ll file that away for later,” Betty mumbles more to herself. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Do you want to? You don’t have to,” she says in quick succession.

Veronica snaps the water off with shaking fingers. “Just give me a minute,” she murmurs and leans over the sink while trying to control her breathing.

Betty hesitantly rubs a hand over the brunette’s back to comfort her. After a moment Veronica flings herself into Betty’s arms altogether. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” she says into Veronica’s ear as the girl lets out tearless sobs.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Veronica apologizes as she pulls away soon after as if remembering where they are and exactly how many people are on the other side of the door, and how it would look if she came out looking a mess after a full break down. “I know,” she stops to sniffle, “He’s your best friend. I don’t mean to be so—”

“Stop, Veronica. I understand you have concerns regarding soulmarks. Just because mine is the best thing that ever happened to me doesn’t mean it has to be the same for you,” Betty assures her.

“I just can’t believe this is even happening,” she mumbles and makes an attempt to fix her make-up. “This is why I wear the gloves. How could I be so stupid?”

“How did it happen, V? Did you take your gloves off?” Betty questions.

“No, I,” she pauses to shake her head. “We were dancing. He asked me to dance when Kevin ran off to show pictures to Josie after her set,” she begins. “I mentioned that I loved the song Mad World as it came on and—” she chokes on her words. “He asked me to dance, and I said yes. He pulled me so close. You know that thing guys do when they wrap their arms completely around you and you just… you feel so safe?”

Betty nods. “Definitely.”

“He did that and I kind of shivered, I guess. He asked if I was cold, then pulled me closer before I even answered. I—we were so close that my lips brushed against his neck, then I felt this warmth, I guess? It was in my arm, and it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t normal. I felt overwhelmed, by what I didn’t know, so I pulled away and,” she finishes by lifting her arm. On the inside just above her elbow is a burgundy lipstick stain, much like the color she is wearing, but the edges look smudged.

“Oh, wow,” Betty breathes as she inspects it.

“We both looked and instantly knew what it was,” Veronica tells her. “I couldn’t be there with him right then. I called for you and I don’t know. It was just instinct to flee.”

“Veronica—”

“I know he’s your best friend and it isn’t right to ask you to—”

“Hey, stop. You’re my best friend too,” Betty counters. “You both have hang-ups when it comes to marks. Your parents have issues, his do too. I mean, they are practically separated, and I know something more is going on that he won’t tell me. Not to mention he’s in an illegal relationship with Grundy—”

“What!?” Veronica exclaims.

“Oh, fuck,” Betty swears and instantly panics. “I—no one is supposed to know except Jug and me. You can’t say anything, okay? We’re working on it, on him,” she insists, but sees the realization in Veronica’s eyes turn to anger. “Veronica, you can’t say anything, please.”

Veronica simply shakes her head before tearing up once more.

“Shit! I am messing this all up and making it worse,” Betty mumbles more to herself than her friend. “Look, V, bottom line,” she tries again. “Just because you marked—it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, or you’re not ready for it to.”

“I don’t know what I want, Betty,” Veronica admits. “But I know I’m not ready for any of it, not that it matters since apparently, he’s screwing our music teacher.”

“Look, V, I am not going to defend him. What he is doing is wrong, and I have told him that. Jughead has told him that. But I—we can’t help him if we piss him off enough to have him cut us off. He doesn’t get that it’s wrong, he thinks he’s in love with her,” she stops as Veronica shudders. Betty doesn’t know if Veronica notices her movement or not. “But he’s wrong. He’s lonely and confused and all mixed up.”

“You don’t have to convince me, B,” Veronica finally manages. “I know he’s a good guy, and I won’t lie and say I haven’t made my fair share of mistakes. But this mark, to me, right now, it doesn’t do anything for me. I’m not suddenly in love with him or want,” she stops as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“That’s okay,” Betty assures her. “You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to the dance like nothing happened. He wants to talk. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t,” she chokes on her words.

“You don’t have to,” Betty responds. “Look, let’s get out of here. We’ll get you home and—”

“No!” Veronica exclaims, pushing off the sink to look Betty in the eye. “I am not ruining your weekend. Please, it will make me feel ten times worse. You are not changing your plans for tonight, I won’t let you.”

“I’m not leaving you alone, Veronica.”

“You won’t. It’s obvious I can’t be here anymore, but I’ll call my mom. That’s who I really want anyway,” Veronica insists.

“If you say so, but I’m not leaving you without visual confirmation you’re with her,” Betty says. “I won’t let you do this alone. You’re not your mom, you’re not passive at all, Veronica. You don’t have to be scared and you shouldn’t keep it from her. It’ll only hurt her to know you didn’t trust her with it.”

Veronica nods. “I know, you’re right.”

“Good, because I am,” Betty says with a smile that makes Veronica mimic the expression. “C’mon, let’s get some air and you can call your mom,” she suggests while nodding toward the door.

“Don’t think I forgot you failed to mention to me that you can pick a lock,” Veronica comments as they exit the bathroom. “We’re definitely having a conversation about that at a later date.”

Betty laughed. “Jughead gave me the Nancy Drew Handbook when we were kids. I was obsessed. It taught me probably too much to be honest.”

The two make their way through the mass of students milling around the hallways to get outside. As soon as they exit Betty spots Jughead and Archie and inwardly curses herself.

“You go make your call, I’ll handle this,” Betty whispers before going towards the boys. Archie instantly makes a move to go for Veronica, but Betty blocks his path. “Arch, don’t.”

“Betty, I need—”

“You need to give her space,” Betty cuts him off. “She has her issues with this and if you try to force anything right now it will only push her away.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let her ignore it and forget it ever happened?” he demands.

“It’s not like that, Arch,” Jughead steps in. “She’s not ignoring it or acting like it didn’t happen, at least I don’t think so. She probably just wants time to get used to it, and that’s fair,” he says. “Not to mention you have your own shit to settle.”

“What shit?” Archie asks.

“Grundy,” Jughead answers in a hushed tone. “You’re all gung-ho to run after Veronica, but did you forget about your girlfriend? You planning on a poly thing or—”

“Jug, don’t be crude,” Archie pleads.

“I’m not, but you need to wake up, dude,” Jughead insists. “You are in a secret relationship with your music teacher and you just marked with one of our friends. You think that doesn’t change things, even just a little?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” the red-head admits as he pulls at his hair.

“Archie, man, you are my best friend. In every way besides blood, you are my brother,” Jughead informs him. “But I’ve been trying to get you to wake up and see your relationship with Grundy clearly, but nothing I’ve done is working. I’m not saying this means you should jump into a relationship with Veronica, or that you should even break up with Grundy, but do you get it now? Are you going to finally tell Veronica who you’re with? What about Grundy, do you tell her you marked and who with? What happens then?”

Archie scrubs a hand down his face as he groans.

“What do you even want, Archie?” Betty asks as she stops closer to Jughead for heat. The night has brought on a chill that her dress does not fight well. “Do you want to be with Veronica? Was she even on your radar before this? Just because you have a mark doesn’t mean you have to be with that person.”

“I know that,” Archie insists.

“Do you? Because… I know you’re struggling with your parents, I totally understand that, but,” Betty starts hesitantly. “You don’t look like a guy who is madly in love with his girlfriend right now. You look like a guy trying to convince your soulmate to give you a chance you haven’t even asked for yet.”

“Okay, maybe I don’t know what I want, but I…” he stops and looks passed their heads towards Veronica’s direction. “It means something, doesn’t it?”

“Only if you want it to,” Betty answers. “But you need to know that she has issues with marks, something I am not going to share with you because it isn’t my place. If she asks for time and space that is what you need to give her.”

A silence settles over them as Archie takes in their words and Betty shivers from the cold. Suddenly a coat covers her shoulders and Betty turns to find Jughead only in his white button-up.

Betty smiles in thanks and Jughead wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. He kisses her temple and she snuggles into his chest.

“Uh, hi,” Veronica appears, as she often magically does, next to them. “My mom is coming to get me.”

“I thought Smithers was—”

“I want him to take you two back to Jughead’s place,” Veronica interrupts. “I told you, I’m not ruining your weekend, and I meant it.”

“Veronica, I want—”

“My mom is taking me away. We’re going to our cabin on Shadow Lake. It’s a couple of hours away, very secluded, and just what I need. She’s picking me up, we’re going home to pack, then head out in an hour or so. I promise I will be fine, and it will only make me feel better if you follow through with your plans,” Veronica cuts her off once more.

“We’re not leaving until I see your mom pick you up,” Betty insists.

“Yes, ma’am,” Veronica agrees then the two come together in a hug. “Thank you for everything, B.”

“Shush, none of that is necessary,” Betty tells her as they part. “Do you need me to find Kevin? Tell him the sleepover is off?”

“Oh, shit,” Veronica mumbles while pulling out her phone. “No, I’ll text him. Thanks for reminding me. He would’ve killed me if all this happened and no one told him.”

She turns to walk away for a little privacy but Archie can’t help himself. “Ronnie!”

Veronica’s back goes pin straight at the sound of his voice. “Archie, I—”

“I know you need time or whatever,” Archie stops her. “And I don’t even know what I want, but I would like to know if you’re okay, at least. Are you?”

“I don’t know, Archie. I’m in shock, honestly,” she answers. “I don’t know what I want, but I know that it doesn’t matter either because you’re with Grundy anyways.”

“What? I—” Archie stops and looks to Jughead and Betty.

“Don’t blame Betty. It slipped out and it would have come out eventually anyway. As far as I’m concerned, don’t let me stop you. I do think that it’s not something you should be doing, but if you’re going to end it don’t make me the reason,” she tells him. “I think of you as my friend, this mark doesn’t change that.”

Archie looks down as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”

A horn honks, making them all jump, and Veronica nods to her mother in the driver’s seat. “I’ll text you when I can, Betty. The lake doesn’t have the best signal.”

“Okay, just let me know when you get on the road?”

“I will. G’night, guys,” Veronica says quietly before heading for her mom’s car.

The three watch her drive off before anyone says anything.

“Ugh, fuck,” Archie grumbles into the night. “I don’t want to ruin your guys’ weekend either. I think I’m just going to go home and hit the punching bag for a few hours.”

“Arch, if you need us, we’re here,” Betty tells him. “We can go to Pop’s or—”

“No, I,” he starts and sighs, “I think I need to be alone, get my head straight, or clear, at least.”

“Do you know what you wanna do? With Grundy? Or pursue Veronica?” Jughead asks, his arm slung over Betty’s shoulders again.

“I don’t know, that’s what I gotta figure out,” Archie answers and holds a hand out for Jughead. They do that bro-handshake guy’s do, then he moves in to give Betty a hug. “Don’t worry about me, Betty, I’ll be alright.”

“Don’t tell her not to worry, she hates it,” Jughead advises as they separate.

“I do,” Betty agrees while leaning into Jughead’s side. “But text us? It’ll make me feel better to know you’re alright. Maybe hang out with Kevin? You both could use a distraction and he’s been asking you to help him train for wrestling.”

“I’ll look into it tomorrow. I really just want to be alone tonight. You guys take the car, I’m gonna walk,” he says while waving a hand in goodbye.

“And then there were two,” Jughead murmurs into her hair.

Betty pulls her phone out of her clutch purse to find the screen illuminated with a text. “It looks like there really is only two. Kevin’s going to an after party with the Pussycats. Veronica told him plans were off and that she would call him with details once she got on the road.”

“Probably trying to give us time to get away before he hounds us with questions,” Jughead comments.

“She knows Kevin shockingly well,” Betty mumbles while putting her phone away. “So, boy’s choice, go back to the dance or head out?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Fair enough. I think Smithers is parked over there,” Betty says with a head nod towards the large SUV. “I normally wouldn’t take up Veronica’s offer because your place is only ten minutes away, but my feet are starting to hurt.”

“Alright, then,” Jughead says before picking her up bridal style.

“Jug!” she squeals.

“What? I can carry you to the car. I’m the whole package, babe.”

Betty wraps her arms around his neck as she giggles. “You certainly are.”

Minutes later Smithers is pulling up to Jughead’s trailer. The ride was mostly silent besides pleasantries.

“Thank you again, Mr. Smithers,” Betty says when the car comes to a stop.

“Please, Miss Cooper, I told you it’s not necessary. And enough with the Mister, just Smithers is fine,” their driver insists.

He goes to exit the SUV—a must for the Lodges is to be escorted out of their cars—but Betty stops him. “No, no, please, you don’t have to,” she insists. She nods to Jughead to open the back door, and he does. “We can take it from here.”

The old man smiles warmly at her as she slides out of the car with Jughead’s help. “Have a good night Miss Cooper, Mr. Jones.”

“Mr. Smithers,” Betty says before they close the back door. “How about I’ll stop calling you ‘Mr. Smithers’ if you stop calling me ‘Miss Cooper’?” she suggests.

“Yeah, I don’t prefer Mr. Jones too much,” Jughead comments.

“It’s a deal,” Smithers agrees. “Have a good night, kids.”

“We will, but you enjoy the weekend off. I feel like it doesn’t happen much for you, right?” Jughead questions.

“It sure doesn’t,” the old man chuckles before they close the door and he drives off with a wave in the rear-view mirror.

“C’mon,” Jughead urges while linking his hand through Betty’s. “Let’s get you out of those shoes.”

“Ugh, yes, please,” Betty grumbles as she starts up the few steps to the entrance of the Jones trailer. She pauses for a moment to let Jughead’s hand stretch forward and unlock the front door for her.

Immediately she’s hanging onto the nearest object to get balance while wiggling her heels off. As they drop to the floor, setting her toes free, Betty can’t help but let out a noise that can only be described as a moan.

“You’ve never worn high heels, so you don’t know how good this feels, but it feels so fucking good, Jug,” she sighs, now holding onto him as she massages her own feet. “Jug?” she asks, looking up at him for some kind of response, but he’s just looking at her with a dazed expression. “Jug!”

“What? Sorry,” he says and shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. “I was just thinking that if you make the same noises tonight that you made taking off your shoes just now I’ll know I’m doing an alright job.”

Betty smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. “Juggie, you know I don’t expect some sex god, right? I certainly don’t have any moves I plan to amaze you with.”

“So, what you’re saying is I’ve set the bar low, so anything I do tonight will be remembered as good?” he questions with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, my God,” she laughs and buries her face in his shoulder. “The bar’s not low, we’re both clueless. Why would I expect you to be an expert when you’ve done as much as I have?”

“It’s not about expertise,” he mumbles with his arms tightly wound around her, his lips moving against her shoulder.

“What’s it about then?” she asks and breathes him in—that wonderful mixture of soap, the cologne she bought for him once long ago that she loves, and so he continues to buy the same exact kind, and a musk that is inherently Jughead Jones.

“It’s about…” he starts but trails off as his lips ghost up her neck.

“Hm?” she hums. “What’s it about?” she prods when he doesn’t go on.

His teeth skim along her pulse point. “Making sure you get to… completion,” he admits quietly.

“We haven’t had a problem before, why would we now?” she asks and pulls away to look him in the eye.

“Because I want it to happen when we’re, you know,” he mumbles and avoids eye contact.

“Juggie,” Betty murmurs, using a finger to lift his chin until his iris’ are staring back at her. “Hey,” she starts and can’t help but smile at the sweet boy in front of her. “It’s our first time and I can’t say how it’s going to happen, but we have the whole weekend to ourselves to get it right. Personally, I have no problem locking the trailer doors and not leaving until that happens,” she says with a knowing grin.

“Well, I guess we better get started on these plans, huh?” Jughead asks as he swoops down to pick her up bridal style.

“Jug!” she squeaks.

He takes the few steps to his bedroom, his strides longer and more purposeful than usual. He angles so her feet knock the door open for them to enter through. As he puts her down gently Betty immediately notices the cleanliness of the room.

“I love when you clean for me,” she sighs dreamily, twirling to face him and notes how his dress shirt is both untucked and unbuttoned, and his tie missing altogether. His shoes had been discarded at the door along with hers, and his coat had slipped off her shoulders around then too.

“Anything for you, baby,” Jughead responds with a wink that makes him look more like his father than ever. “If I tell you something will you make fun of me?”

“Mm, depends on what it is,” Betty teases, her nerves reigniting in the pit of her stomach. They are both nervous, there’s no use dwelling on it, but it’s not something so easily ignored so close to the act.

“Never mind then,” he sighs while solemnly looking to the floor, fully playing up his kicked puppy dog look.

“Jug, what is it?” Betty insists in a laugh as she brings him close by tugging on his shirt.

The action sends his feet fumbling forward, but his hands swiftly cup her jaw with more grace than anticipated. It makes Betty’s breath catch for reasons she can’t explain. Their noses brush against one another and she tilts up for a kiss, but Jughead artfully dodges it while still keeping their lips incredibly close.

“Jug,” Betty drawls out and nibbles on her lower lip.

“I may have made something for you,” Jughead admits in a low voice, in a tone that sends shivers down her spine.

“Your bed?” she questions and accompanies it with a coy smile. She hopes he can’t feel how hard her heart is pounding but knows he can see that her breathing has picked up. Betty squeezes her thighs together and it’s then that she feels it—the wetness. She’s so wet while wearing the laciest underwear in the world—really, it shouldn’t even be able to be defined as underwear. And so, it’s not going to hide or contain anything. She bites down on her lip harder and tightens the pink muscle, but thinks all she’s done is made it worse, imagines it oozing out of her.

God, what if there is a stain?

“Betty,” Jughead says, and she snaps out of her thoughts.

“Hm, what?”

“We’re supposed to be having a moment here,” he reminds her. “Actually, quite a few moments, remember?”

“Yeah, and you were telling me something?” she asks while clearing her throat.

“Well, I actually told you already, you weren’t listening.”

Betty’s eyes widened. “You did? Oh, my God, Jug, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims. “I was—”

“I know what you were doing,” he cuts her off as his hands slide down her body, all the way from her throat to the curve of her ass. “You trying to hide something from me, baby?” he wonders, his hands making fists in the material of her dress underneath her bum.

Betty visibly swallows. “I—no, um, what were you trying to tell me?”

“How about we make a deal?” he suggests and swoops in to ghost his lips over hers.

“Mmkay,” she whispers, putty in his hands, literally, and they both know it.

She notes his change in demeanor, the confidence he’s now bursting with, and it doesn’t help her situation at all. It’s why it was so easy to soothe his worries earlier—whenever they get intimate Jughead changes, becomes more aggressive, daring, and very, very enticing.

“I’ll tell you what I said if you spread your legs for me,” he proposes, a shit-eating grin taking over his lips.

“Spread my…?” Betty coughs as heat drips down her spine. Their lips come together in a kiss, one so soft Betty’s not sure it even happened, except for the fact that she’s chasing it, but he won’t let her catch him.

“Your legs, Betty,” he reiterates. “Because you have them practically glued together right now.”

“Oh, I,” she stops and just nods, her heart in her throat. “Okay,” she breathes and shifts so her thighs aren’t touching.

“I said spread, Betty, not just open,” he insists with one eyebrow raised.

She almost whines as she does as she’s told, and honestly isn’t sure if the noise that happens after is real or just in her imagination. That couldn’t have been her wetness sticking together, could it?

Jughead smirks and slips a hand up the slit in her dress.

“What were you going to tell me?” she asks again as her hands clutch to his shoulders.

“What I said when you were obviously thinking about something else,” he begins, his fingers nearing her core. “Was that I think I channeled Archie this week because I made us a playlist,” he admits. “But you were thinking about…” he trails off as he hits her underwear and his grin intensifies.

“Ah!” she squeaks and tries to stop her knees from buckling.

There’s a faint squish as Jughead sinks his fingers into her folds. “You little minx,” he accuses and dips his lips down low to kiss her collarbone. “Have you been like this all day?”

She shudders at his touch and nods. “The closer we get to… the more anxious I get and the more… excited I get,” she admits between pants.

All too quickly Jughead’s fingers are gone and she’s being turned around. He pulls her backside flush against his front. “Me too, baby,” he murmurs, and she feels his hands move to the zipper of her dress.

It sags along her body, the only thing now holding it up is Jughead’s form pressed against hers.

“On the bed, Betts,” he tells her, and she practically falls forward onto the old mattress, leaving the dress in a puddle at his feet. She flips so she’s facing him and settles with her head against the pillows, her body laid out in front of him, wearing nothing but the piece of lace between her thighs. Jughead simply stares at her as he shucks off the now wrinkled button up and continues to rid himself of everything except his boxers.

Betty tries to hide her shaky hands by slipping them underneath her torso. “Did you really make a playlist for me?” she asks with a smile fighting to overtake her lips.

Instead of answering Jughead climbs onto the bed with her and then reaches for his laptop underneath the twin frame.

Betty brazenly lifts her legs out from between his as he sits on his haunches and wraps them loosely around his hips. His eyes flick up to her as he sifts through the programs on his computer but says nothing. She responds with a puckering of her lips, keeping with the silence.

Soon music trickles from the speakers and he sets it down on the bedside table. It’s slow with a steady beat and she doesn’t recognize the band but loves it all the same.

“Archie would be very proud,” she teases and feels her insides quiver.

“I should say I was inspired, or maybe Archie would say that, but that wasn’t how it happened,” Jughead admits as he begins with feather-light touches starting at her ankles and slowly glides up her body, moving much slower than she would have liked.

“Hm, I don’t inspire you, Jughead Jones?” Betty attempts to tease, then gasps as he hits a ticklish spot on her stomach.

“You know you do, I’m just not Archie,” he replies as he skips her breasts entirely and sets a hand on either side of her head to lower himself down onto her. “This is the part where I’m honest and tell you I had a bit of a freak out over how thin these tin walls are and wanted something for background noise in case someone comes too close, and so we don’t hear anything out there.”

Betty hitches her legs higher on his hips and smiles. “Always taking care of me, huh?”

“Always thinking of the worst possible scenario,” he corrects in a chuckle. “Don’t want any hoots and hollers from passing Serpents who will be able to tell exactly what we’re doing, you know.”

“My hero,” Betty murmurs, then bites her bottom lip.

Jughead leans in and kisses her gently and sweetly. It could have been considered innocent even if they both didn’t know what was to come shortly.

Gaining confidence, Betty removes her hands from underneath her and slides them up the plains of Jughead’s back. Her mouth opens, and he takes the hint, still moving slowly though, letting her set the pace.

“Thank you, Jug,” she whispers as they part for air, stopping him before he swoops back in.

“For what?” he responds in the same quiet tone.

Betty thinks on it for a beat before a laugh bubbles up her throat. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “For being my soulmate, for doing everything you could to make this perfect for the both of us. I mean, you made a playlist for me and worried about something I didn’t even think to worry about.”

“Just doing my job as your soulmate,” Jughead says with a tint of pink on his cheeks. He’s never been good at receiving compliments, even from her.

“But it’s not for you, that’s just it,” Betty insists while tightening her hold on his hips. “It’s not a job or a duty or an annoyance. You’re thoughtful and attentive and a giver and I never take you, or this, for granted and I need you to know that.”

“Same,” Jughead murmurs, then shakes his head. “I mean—”

“I know,” Betty cuts him off and cups his jaw. “I just—I love you so much and—”

He swallows her words in a kiss and she sighs under his touch. Neither push for anything more immediately and instead enjoy the gentle caresses and kisses they’re familiar with, things they know how to do and that the other likes.

When she feels his erection increasingly getting harder and pressing into her thigh, she reaches down to pay attention to it, but Jughead quickly stops her.

“I want this to be about you,” he murmurs against his lips.

“It’s your first time too, Jug,” Betty whispers as her fingers play with the hemline of his boxers.

“Betty, I’m going to be inside you tonight,” he tells her bluntly, and she can’t help but blush. “That’s… I don’t need anything else. That’s already going to be more than enough.”

“Is it going to be like this forever?” she teases, her cheeks still flushed pink. “Am I never going to have to blow you again?”

Jughead cracks a grin too. “Maybe not for the next day or two.”

“Okay, so are we going to get right to it or,” she stops and clears her throat nervously.

Jughead gets up on his knees and looks her up and down slowly, so slowly Betty’s sure her entire body is pink. “Or,” he answers finally with hands pulling on her panties until she lifts her lower half so he can take them off.

“Oh,” she puffs, the coils of nerves in her stomach tightening.

“Betty Cooper, you should know when it comes to you, I am always prepared.”

“Who knew you were such a boy scout?” she teases.

“Only for you,” he says with a wink while lowering himself down until his head is hovering above the V in her legs. “I did my research,” he states proudly.

Betty can’t help but laugh. “Of course, you did—oh, fuck! I wasn’t ready,” she breathes when he sinks his tongue in between her folds. She feels his mouth turn into a smile and she opens her mouth, fully prepared to kick him down a notch about being so smug, but her mind goes blank as his tongue flicks her clit just so. “Like…fuck, just like that,” she pants instead.

She knows he likes it when she’s vocal, so she doesn’t hold back the hisses and curses and praises pouring from her mouth. He’s always been so worried about pleasing her, but he’s never not been good at anything they’ve tried, and she briefly wonders if it’s because he loves eating so much that it’s universal, that he is good at eating anything.

“Jug, Jug, Jug,” she chants as he pumps his two middle fingers in and out of her. When his fingers curl to hit her spot her eyes roll into the back of her head and she’s seeing stars. “There, oh, my gosh, Jug.”

Instead of taking her over the edge Jughead slows his movements and removes his tongue from her completely and she seriously thinks she might cry. “Shh, calm down, baby, I’m going to take care of you,” he promises with his cheek resting on her inner thigh as she whimpers.

“I was so close, Jug, so clo—” he cuts her off with his lips on hers and she tastes herself on his tongue. Betty clings to the back of his neck so he can’t move away, so she can keep taking the taste of her off his mouth.

“Relax, baby,” Jughead murmurs against her cheek and she instantly does as she’s told, her arms falling from around his shoulders and letting her legs slump farther open instead of tensing at his hips. “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he breathes hot on her neck and she feels a third finger enter her, stretching her.

He’s never used three before, and it doesn’t hurt, but it’s different. It’s then that she gets it, why he’s not already inside her like she thought he would jump at the chance to—he’s getting her ready, making sure she’s open for him, wet for him, trying to do anything to make their first time as painless as possible.

Betty falls limp against the mattress, her trust fully in Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, and it’s like every worry, every possible awkward moment that ran through her head, everything that she was nervous about falls away. Jughead is taking care of her, like he always has, like he always will.

She’s aware he’s now paying attention to her breasts with his mouth and free hand, that the three fingers are inside her, slowly pushing in and out, spreading ever so slightly make room for more. And she wants more, she wants it now.

“Jughead, please, I want to come,” she breathes and her eyes open to see his mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking and nibbling in a way that makes her toes curl. “I want to come with you inside me, I w—”

“Shh,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head, then blows on her wet nipple, making her shiver. “No, you’re going to come on my fingers first, Betts,” he tells her.

“No, please, I want it to be with you inside me,” she stops when he shakes his head again.

“You will, you will, I promise, just not yet,” he says and his fingers start to move faster, to curl in just the right way, and her breathing picks up. “Do you want my mouth on you or do you want me up here with you?”

“I want your mouth, I want that thing with your tongue,” she pleads breathlessly.

“What thing, baby?” Jughead asks, his lips already ghosting down her sternum, pressing a soft kiss every few inches.

“Where you, where you—ah!” she squeaks when he sinks his teeth into her hip and begins to suck hard, and she knows there will be a purple bruise tomorrow.

“I’m waiting, Betty,” he speaks up, and she realizes she never answered, but instead got lost in his touches. His fingers still for a moment when she still doesn’t speak.

Betty lifts her head to look down at him and finds him simply staring at her pussy, and after a moment he licks his lips, then blows on her wetness. A strangled noise exits her mouth and Jughead grins. “When you suck on my clit, then,” she clears her throat, “then flick it with your tongue.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” he mumbles before descending upon her.

Betty can’t do much more than moan and chant his name. Her hands thread into his hair and grab on to hold him there, fully planning on not letting him go until she comes on his mouth.

It’s quicker than she thought it would be. Knowing Jughead has a flair for the dramatic, she thought he would hold out until she is begging him, but he doesn’t. Instead, it’s quick and intense with his fingers hitting that spot, his tongue doing that thing, and his free hand massaging one of her breasts.

Betty lets loose a low, guttural moan that’s louder than intended, and it turns into a wail when Jughead doesn’t stop. He keeps going until she literally pushes him away and curls into herself to protect her too-sensitive clit and catch her breath.

“I love you so much, Betty,” Jughead whispers in her ear, now the big spoon and pulls the sheet over the both of them as she recovers. “You’re so beautiful.”

Betty doesn’t respond, and instead reaches for his arms to wrap further around her and burrows back into him. She’s too blissed out to do much more than to listen to the sweet nothings he continues to whisper in her ear and relish in his calming touches.

“You know I was thinking,” she finally mumbles when she can do more than tremble in his arms.

“Yeah?” Jughead says against her earlobe.

“When you were doing that,” she continues and shifts so she’s on her back with Jughead looming over her.

“Really? I don’t think I’m doing it as well as I thought, then,” he comments with that shit-eating grin she loves so much.

“No, that’s just it,” she starts. “You’re too good at it, like so good at it I think I started to cry for a minute there.” His grin widens and his hand caresses the bruise forming on her thigh thanks to his teeth. “Like, you’re so good at eating it extends to everything, you know what I mean?”

“Mm, well, if that’s so you’re definitely my favorite meal,” Jughead states. “How are you feeling?”

“Satisfied,” Betty answers after a pause, “but I could be better.”

“Oh, really?” he asks in a laugh and rests his top half over hers. “Let’s see what I can do about that,” he insists as his hand travels down her body.

Her legs part for him automatically and that makes his grin widen. Jughead’s finger slips into her folds before capturing her lips in a kiss. It doesn’t last long, it’s like he’s testing the waters, so to speak, that she’s still wet and open for him. Of course, he still has his fun and flicks her clit and teases her in a way he knows drives her wild with his tongue and leaves her panting into his mouth.

When he moves so he’s hovering over her and reaching for his nightstand, Betty grabs his hand. “Jug,” she stops him, and instantly there is panic in his eyes.

“Betty, it’s okay, we don’t—”

“Shut up, no,” she cuts him off and holds him over her with her knees. “I’m not backing out, I just—I don’t want to use a condom.”

Jughead deflates, the fear leaving his eyes, but he still looks at her worriedly. “Betty, we—”

“I know the histories with our families, but… I don’t want anything between us for the first time,” she explains. “Don’t worry, I’m, well you know my mom put me on the pill as soon as I came home from the internship because of Polly, and I’m like you, I did my research, you know.”

“What?” he questions with furrowed brows.

“I track my period, there is an app and everything, and there are tests you can take. I’m not ovulating, so,” she stops with a shrug.

“You’ve been planning this,” Jughead states, an eyebrow now raised.

“I just want you with no barriers, at least for the first time. We’ll use them later, but,” she stops when he kisses her.

“As long as you’re sure,” he murmurs against her lips.

Betty simply nods as presses her mouth against his, her arms winding around his shoulders. His hand slides down between them and Betty’s follows, not one to be left out.

“I want to try something, okay?” Jughead says, his face still so close their lips touch as they talk.

“Okay,” Betty answers easily in a breath.

He sits up on his knees with her legs bracketing his hips. Betty is both curious and entranced as he takes her hand and lays it atop his cock, making it twitch at the touch. He guides her wrist until he is slipping in between her folds, but not quite inside her.

“Fuck,” Jughead chokes, his fingers tightening on her wrist, while she forgets how to breathe for a moment. He pulls his hips back and thrusts forward again, spreading her juices over himself.

His tip pushes on her clit and Betty’s head falls back onto the pillows in a strangled cry. “Holy—”

“Shit,” he finishes for her and repeats the action again and again until he’s completely coated in her wetness. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles to himself and shifts until he’s more lined up with her and then leans back down on top of her.

“I’m so fucking ready, Juggie,” Betty pants, nuzzling her nose up against his.

“Let me know what you need, okay?” he asks, and it isn’t until after she nods that he slips his tip inside her.

Betty gasps back against the pillows and Jughead moves his mouth to her neck, trailing soft kisses and licks anywhere he can reach. “Go, go, more,” she prompts and he does as he’s told, slowly sliding inside her, this time not stopping until Betty hisses.

Her eyes squeeze shut, but not from pain exactly. It’s different, a glorious burn, but it doesn’t hurt. She feels Jughead’s thumb rubbing over her nipple as his lips travel along the column of her throat, trying to keep her stimulated in some way, to give her pleasure in more than one way.

“All the way in,” she speaks up after a silent minute.

“Betty,” Jughead says softly, almost warningly.

“I want all of you inside me,” she insists with her eyes looking into his, showing absolutely no fear or pain.

Jughead presses his lips against hers and in one quick, swift movement completely sheathes himself inside her.

Betty gasps again, loses herself in the stretch of his cock inside her, and feels utterly full. It’s mesmerizing, especially since she didn’t know how wholly empty she felt before. Then, before she can help it, her pussy clenches down on his dick, hard.

“Holy, fuck! Betty,” Jughead coughs, his face buried into her neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathes and tries to let go, but her muscles won’t relax.

“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect,” he moans into her ear, and the word doesn’t even register in her ears as a bad thing.

“You can move,” she pants and Jughead instantly responds, his hips thrusting in and out.

“So tight,” he breathes against her skin as his speed intensifies like he’s unable to help himself.

Betty, herself, is lost in the sensations and can do little more than tremble and mewl.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Betty, we have to stop,” Jughead speaks up soon and it’s only then that she comes too.

“Wha—no, I—” she starts, but is cut off by Jughead pulling out. She decidedly hates the feeling of being disconnected from him, of clenching around nothing. “Juggie, I—” she doesn’t finish because he kisses her quickly.

“I was gonna cum and,” he stops to shake his head. “We need to switch positions, I think.”

Betty simply nods, sitting up as he falls to her side, and untangles their legs enough so she can straddle his hips. She grabs ahold of his cock and situates herself above him, but stops short to look down at her soulmate. “Are you okay, do you—”

She is never going to be able to finish a sentence it seems, because he sits up to kiss her. “I’m okay, I just…” he trails off to kiss her more softly this time. “It’ll be easier for you to cum if you’re on top, and quicker too, which I kind of need right now, so.”

Betty nods again before settling down on top of him and her head falls back as her eyes close in euphoria. “Juggie,” she cries quietly, her nails digging into the skin below his belly button. It’s not better, exactly, but it’s wonderfully different.

“I’m right here, baby,” Jughead responds to her after his own silent moment, and takes her hands in his, intertwining them together. “You’re so warm around me, and so fucking tight. Fuck, I’m never gonna be the same,” he grumbles, and his hips buck up into her, spurring her to move.

She wants to relish in it, to engrain the feeling of him inside her into memory, but knows Jughead is struggling, and how important it is to him that she finishes with him, so she finds a rhythm that has her squeezing his hands and clenching around him, chanting his name under her breath.

“Juggie, Juggie, I,” she stops and simply presses their combined hands against her sensitive clit and he gets the message. He shakes his hand free and rubs her nub fast and hard in a way that has her mewling and throwing her head back again, unable to stop the noises from exiting her throat.

Betty knows she’s lost in the motions, that she doesn’t have much time before Jughead comes, and bites down on her lip, willing herself to come on him, with him inside her. She’s so close, but not there yet.

“Ju—Jug, I need,” she starts to cry and it’s like he knows what she needs, what she’s trying to say when she barely knows the words because he sits up, his hand never slowing between them, and sinks his teeth into their soulmark and colors explode in Betty’s vision, her pussy clenching down on him so hard that a strangled moan exits Jughead as well and she knows he’s coming too.

Her body keeps grinding down into him, unwilling to stop the friction, but Jughead falls down to the mattress panting, his hips uncontrollably bucking. Her inner muscles are fluttering around him, and it feels better than she ever imagined, and like Jughead said, she’ll never be the same either.

As they slow, after she’s milked him for all his worth, and her muscles aren’t clamped down on his length anymore, Betty collapses down on his chest in a panting heap.

Instantly, Jughead’s arms are around her, keeping her warm and safe, and that feeling of connection remains.

“I don’t know if I’ve said it in the past two minutes, my brain wasn’t really functioning for a while there, but I fucking love you,” he murmurs into her ear.

“I love you too,” Betty whispers, too comfortable to even open her eyes or do more than nestle into his warmth. “Juggie,” she speaks up a moment later, her voice soft and sated.

“Hm? You need something? Anything? I—”

“Sh,” Betty hushes him and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, all while managing to barely move. “Happy Birthday.”

Jughead simply tightens his hold around her in response, then kisses the crown of her head. “Best birthday ever.”

Betty only wakes in the morning, or mid-afternoon, she’s not sure, because of the sound of buzzing.

It finally stops, making her smile into the pillow and burrow back into Jughead’s arms, hoping for a little more sleep, but then it starts again.

It continues until there’s a plop on the floor and Betty knows. So, she grabs hold of Jughead’s wrist and tugs, pulling until he grumbles behind her.

“I know I’m sixteen, and I’m supposed to have all this stamina, but gimme a break,” he insists before yanking his arm free.

She laughs against the pillows and changes tactics to elbow him in the gut.

“Ow, fuck, it is my birthday, you know,” he insists.

“Your phone is ringing Forsythe!” Betty exclaims. “Unless you don’t want to talk to your little sister on your birthday and let her keep calling and calling and—oof!” she grunts when he lunges across her to reach for his phone, which is now buzzing on the floor.

“JB?” he asks into the phone, probably without even looking and just taking her word for it.

Betty hears his little sister practically squeal on the other end and smiles to herself. Jughead misses his little sister more than he lets on. They text every day, make a point to call one another every couple days, and she even calls Betty at least once a week, just to catch up and so the older girl can help her with her homework.

Jughead rights himself on the bed and Betty flips over to rest on his chest. Jughead throws his free arm around her. She kisses their soulmark as his little sister finishes singing the birthday song to him.

“So how does it feel to be sixteen? Any different than yesterday?” Jellybean asks, and Betty can hear her excited voice through the speaker.

Jughead combs his fingers through Betty’s hair. “Actually, yeah, more different than you know,” he answers and Betty can’t help but giggle against his chest.

“It scares me that you’ll be driving soon, honestly,” his little sister says, and this time Betty snorts.

Jughead tugs on her hair playfully. “Hey, I’m going to be a good driver. Do you think Betty would really let me be bad at it?”

“That’s true. If Betty will ride with you, so will I,” Jellybean says.

“Deal,” Jughead replies. “So, how’s school? Ohio? Anything I haven’t heard about in the last two days?”

“Nope. Besides, today is about you, not me. It’s your birthday, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Jughead asks while tugging Betty in closer. “I’m just doing the usual, you know, Pop’s and the Bijou, you know.”

“Of course, you’re so predictable. I don’t know how Betty deals with you, you’re so boring.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he muses. “I miss you, Peanut Butter,” he sighs moment later.

“I miss you too, Butthead,” she instantly replies. “And I know you wanna get back to bed, and we both know I only call you in the morning to annoy you as my sisterly duty, but I also had another reason for calling this early.”

“And what’s that?” Jughead asks, his fingers now playing with Betty’s.

“Some girl named Veronica and Kevin posted a bunch of pictures of you guys at Homecoming last night on Instagram. You both looked great, by the way, and I definitely am going to be calling Betty to talk about that dress—”

“Your point, JB?” Jughead insists.

“Mom saw them,” she tells him You know she’s on that ‘I’m hip’ kick so she actually has an Instagram, which sucks for me. And because of the dress—”

“Betty’s mark, fuck,” Jughead stops her ramble and sits up, pulling Betty with him.

“Yeah, she’s freaking out, asking me a million questions, trying to call Dad, the whole works,” she goes on. “You’re lucky you answered when I called. She’s been trying too, probably only stopped to be dramatic about it, you know her.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think…” he trails off and groans while rubbing his free hand into his eye.

Betty looks down and is only now aware of the soreness in her lower half, the ache that radiates in places that never hurt before. The shine the morning had before Jellybean called is fading, reminding her of all the things they have to face outside of the trailer.

Her parents. Polly and her baby. Archie and Veronica. The Serpents. The Jingle Jangle spreading like wildfire through Greendale, slowly pushing through the edges of the southside.

Jughead hooks a finger under her chin to make him look at her, and there is ‘sorry’ written all over his eyes. “Hey, uh, JB, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“And what should I tell Mom?” she asks.

“Tell her to call me when it’s not because she finds out Betty is my soulmate or just because it happens to be my birthday and you reminded her,” Jughead answers honestly.

“Jug—”

“Please don’t today, not on my birthday,” Jughead pleads before his sister can make a case for their mother.

“Fine. I love you. I’m sure you’re going to go call Betty now,” Jellybean sighs.

“I love you too,” he says before hanging up. “Betty, that wasn’t how I meant it—”

“I know, Jug, I’m not mad, really,” she whispers. “I just wanted—I wanted a day for you and me, even more so for you because it’s your birthday. Just a day where no one else existed, no crises happened, no one needed us for anything, but—” she stops and simply shrugs. “That’s just not how we do things, is it?”

“Unfortunately, not, baby,” Jughead breathes and gently pushes a loose hair behind her ear.

“I guess it’s for the best because I really should check on Veronica. Archie too, you know? They probably need someone to talk to after—” she’s cut off by Jughead kissing her.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, and you’re going to listen because it’s my birthday, but only because it’s my birthday, okay?”

“Okay,” Betty murmurs.

“We’re going to get up, make breakfast because I know you and my dad conspired to get groceries so you could, then we make our calls to our best friends, and then we’re going to go back into our first time bubble, alright?” he practically orders.

“What about your mom?” she asks quietly.

“You let me deal with Gladys Jones,” he insists.

“Okay,” she answers.

“I know you’re only agreeing because it is my birthday, but I’m kind of liking this soft side of you, Betts,” Jughead teases.

“Well, don’t get used to it. Tomorrow these conversations are happening,” she warns him, but he can’t help but simply smile at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tomorrow they would deal with the outside world.

Today… today was going to be for them and only the two of them.

To be continued…

Notes: Thoughts? I also went a different route with the stat this time around, how’d it feel? I am SO SO SO SO SO SO sorry this took so long. It has been such a busy year for me. A boyfriend, a break-up, a new job, I moved out on my own, I adopted a dog (I love him so much, yet he ruins my life daily), and have been dealing with just being an adult in general. I also didn’t have internet from October til February because of my landlord - long story. My Word froze it wasn’t connected to the internet to confirm it was, like, bought I guess? So I couldn’t write. I refuse to use Notepad. I’m an elitist, ha. Thank you all so so so so much for sticking with me through all of this. I also had a complex of this chapter being so looked forward to that I felt like I couldn’t live up to it. It took some butt kicking from @jandjsalmon to get in gear.

#riverdale #fanfiction #bughead #call me a safe bet #update #chapter 14 #writing

156 notes · View notes

stellar-imagines · 5 years

Text

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝conspicuous truth.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「Bakugou was never the type to work with people but this was a case he couldn’t avoided and he needed help from the police. He discovers a person with an interesting quirk ― the ability to read’s someone’s mind.」

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"Hah, the Police?"

"Yes, yes. We need their help if we want to know where their group will attack next. They say that they're gonna interrogate the villain today!" Kirishima said with a smile as he stepped into the main building of the police station.

Bakugou and Kirishima's agency had been chasing after a group of villains who had been attacking the city recently. Their attacks were rather confusing and it didn't seem that they're targetting a specific location. None of them had a lead on what they were trying to do. Whenever they arrived the scene, the villains would have already made their escape. They didn't do anything significant, only breaking in, capturing hostages, shutting down survelliance cameras and nothing else. At first, there were no quirks involved and they left it to the police but it started to get a little bit out of hand and the villains began to use their quirks for big scaled invasions and the such.

The Police force consisted of people with inadequate quirks and only arm themselves with weapons. Bakugou knew that being a hero was no different than being in the police, because you're both working for the safety of the civilians. However in the modern society, people tend to rely on heroes as they have abilities to do feats that a mere policemen/women can't do. As soon as the two Pro Heroes stepped into the building, a man greeted them and guided them to the interrogation room.

"We really appreciate your help on this case. To be honest, it was merely a small case that we could handle at first but when it started to get a little bit more violent, we needed your help." he said with a small smile.

"No, we're surprised that the Police has been handling this case for so long."

"Yes, although we were really worried when they started using quirks. By that time, we decided to reach out to you, Pro Heroes for some assistance."

The conversation was just boring but Bakugou listened anyway, hoping that he would get any information regarding the case they were dealing with. He stayed silent throughout the entire walk to the interrogation room. When he arrived, he was led into a room with no windows. Bakugou had ever seen interrogation rooms from movies and he couldn't help but agree that they were no different than what he's familiar with. Within this room, there was another where the villain was sitting in. They were cuffed with the custom made quirk-cancelling handcuffs. He looked like your average man, nothing much stood out, save for the mouth mask he was wearing. The room the suspect was in, was bleak. Only two straight up chairs without arms, one each for interrogator and suspect with a long table in between.

From where they stood, both Kirishima and Bakugou could observe the current interrogation and hear every single sentence and response. The glass seemed to be visible only from the outside. The interrogator was asking questions but failing to get answers.

"This one is a hard case to crack, he just refuses to say anything about their plan. So I guess its time we bring her here. She must be finished with her case already by now."

"Y-Yes, I'll be back in a bit."

"Her?" Bakugou rose a brow, wondering about whoever they were referring to.

“Ah, truth is, ever since we got a new partner, interrogation is easy thank to her quirk. But I wouldn't advise you to get too comfy with her." Both Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a look.

The sound of the door opening caught their attention and they saw the man who had left earlier. With him was a girl with [Eye Color] eyes and [Hair Color] hair. The moment you entered the room, there was an unknown yet awkward atmosphere in the air. Bakugou turned to see you making a beeline towards the interrogation room, not bothering to ask for any information or details about the villain you were going to interrogate. Sitting atop the table inside was a brown envelope which you assumed was the case's details. You looked through it for a while before asking questions. The villain's answers were the same but no one told you that. Instead, they all kept silent and watched.

"In two days, at 8:00 pm they will launch a simultaneous attack at the harbor and the resort hotel. But the attack at the hotel will only be a decoy, their main objective is to obtain a certain container in the harbor." you announced. Both males were surprised to hear you say this so confidently.

"For further information, they have been launching simultaneous attacks this whole time to distract us from tracking their main force. Judging by all the items they’re gathering, they’re probably illegally selling things.” you further added.

Soon, everyone started to get busy. Some decided to drag the villain into their designated cell while the others decided to file a report and all that. Eventually, you were left alone with the two Pro Heroes. You exhaled and turned towards the two males.

“You both must be confused. I’ll guide you both to the cafeteria. I’m sure you’re hungry.” you said before leaving the room.

The two males had no choice but to follow you. Once seated in the cafeteria, Kirishima and Bakugou couldn’t help but notice that there were some who stood up to leave when you arrived.

“So....how did you manage to get those answers?” Kirishima broke the tense atmosphere between the three of you. Bakugou grew curious as well but didn’t show on his face. The ash blonde merely kept on eating while wondering how you managed to interrogate with ease.

“I understand your curiosity. It’s the work of my quirk.” you said before taking a bite of your egg roll.

“Why not? I don’t see the harm in it.” Kirishima shrugged. You remained silent after hearing his question, looking a little bit uncomfortable. Bakugou noticed this and stabbed a piece of meat before taking a huge bite out of it.

“If she doesn’t want to then don’t pester her.” Bakugou snapped at the red head whilst chewing.

“I don’t really mind telling. My quirk is basically thought reading. I can read the thoughts of people around me.” you told them. The two males remained silent for a while. They now understood why people distanced themselves from you, it was because they were afraid of becoming a victim of your quirk. Everyone has thoughts that they prefer to keep to themselves after all.

“Yeah, so it gets a little bit lonely. They come for me when they need my quirk. They only turn to me when they need my help but they stay away to protect their privacy. No one seems to trust me but they need me, so I guess it’s fine.”

Bakugou found out that it was kind of stupid at first. You had a very useful quirk that helped in interrogation. Although it doesn’t sound like it would be useful in combat, it was suitable for a job like this. When he heard you talk about how it felt nice to know that you’re needed, he couldn’t help but think that it was a little sad.

With every case he was presented, he was always somehow involved with the police. And every single time, you would be the police inspector in charge of the case. That was mainly because no one wanted to deal with Bakugou’s explosive personality. He didn’t mind it though, you had became someone that he was able to tolerate and you seem to overlook his rude attitude so that was a plus. After handling so many cases together with you, he had developed these weird feelings towards you.

The two of you were friends but there was this voice at the back of his head telling him that it wasn’t just that. Bakugou’s feelings towards you was more than just friends. He enjoys your presence, sometimes he looks forward to working with you. Kirishima had teased him for having a little crush on you. And Bakugou can’t believe that he was thinking that Kirishima might be right. He had been feeling this way for a long time and there was no way he could just confess to you.

He decided to ask on instict. Sometimes he offered to walk you home and sometimes, he would take you out for dinner. For someone who had dealt with so many people and could easily pick up small signs from their behavior, you were so damn oblivious to his feelings. To the point where it was irritating. Bakugou was literally dropping hints at you like a kid making incoherent noises to attract attention.

“Hey, Bakugou? Are you listening to me? Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked.

“You’re so stupid.” he said all of a sudden.

“Huh? What did I even do? All I asked was what you were going to get because I’ve never eaten here before.” you mumbled before shifting your attention to the menu.

“Then use your quirk and find out what you should get because I’m not saying it out loud for you.” Bakugou said nonchalantly.

“.....I’m not using my quirk on you Bakugou. I promised myself that I wouldn’t use it outside of work.” you replied, putting down the book.

“Just do it because I say so. I gave you my permission too.” he muttered. You sighed, shoulders falling as he said that. You never really liked using your quirk on people because it felt like you were invading their privacy. But maybe this was fine, because Bakugou gave you his permission. Your eyes glowed red, into a color that could rival the intensity of Bakugou’s own eyes.

“I like you, idiot. Fucking get that already.”

Out of reflex, you deactivated your quirk, staring at the ash blonde who sat across you with a small, knowing smirk. He had planned this! Was he messing around with you to tease you? But you know Bakugou, he was not the type to say things like that to mess around!

“Wh-What do you mean?” you mumbled.

“What does it mean to you?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I wanna fucking date you. Save me from embarrassment, do me and yourself a favor, be my girlfriend.”

Total: 1730 words Published: 11.04.2019

Thank you for requesting! (ㅅ•᎑•) Really liked the idea of having a truth quirk. We decided to make it more of a ‘being able to read thoughts’ quirk. Hopefully the ending wasn’t too rushed.― author Lou

Thank you for requesting! We assumed that a truth quirk will work this way; Once activated, the target won’t be able to lie. But we thought being able to read someone’s mind was cooler. Hope you liked it anon! ― author Natsuki

We opened up an ask meme [?] If you’re interested please have a look here

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos

145 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

Stalkers and Masks

Septics Inverted

A JSE Fanfic

These are two moments that I really wanted to address, but I felt both were too short for their own story. So I took one and made it a framing device for the other. One’s about Stacy and what she’s going through, and the other is about Marvin and one of his problems. Ehhh, probably not my best work but I’ve done these two plot points all the justice I can.

Read the intro story: Part One | Part Two

Various other AU-related stuff found here

Taglist: @evyptids @awkward-bullshit @watermelonsinmyattic @asunachinadoll @a-humble-narcissus @metautske @odysseus-is-best-boi @acuriousquail @beerecordings

Stacy liked to think that her computer was secure. She kept up-to-date on her antivirus software, didn’t give trust anything that asked for her security information, and kept her passwords on a sheet of paper in her nightstand drawer instead of anywhere digitally that could be hacked. However, she quickly learned that all these precautions were for naught when it came to the living glitch who decided he wanted to check on her every ten hours or so. She’d be browsing the Internet and suddenly the webpage would freak out. That didn’t mean she was being hacked (actually, technically she was) it just meant Anti decided to pop in.

Honestly, she was starting to warm up to him. Maybe that was because he hadn’t showed up in person for the last week so she didn’t have to deal with his personality. Occasionally she’d get an email or text from a blocked user, asking her how life was, if she was safe. And, well, life was better. She’d gotten a new job at a department store with better pay. The hours were good too, now she had time to spend with her kids and also get enough sleep. Things in the city seemed to have calmed down, in that there was less death and disappearance on the news.

But...something was off. There were times when she was out and about, driving the kids to places or running errands on her own, when she felt like someone was watching her. When she looked around, she usually didn’t see anyone. But there were times when she thought she saw...him. To the point where it was starting to freak her out.

One night, after putting the kids to bed, she sat down at her computer and typed a simple phrase into Google: “how to tell if someone is stalking me.” Immediately, the page froze. She hit enter several times, trying to search, but a strange, rapid staticky beeping just came out from her speakers. And it was that moment when she realized it wasn’t just something wrong with her Internet.

A fizzing of pixels later, Anti was sitting on her desk, legs dangling off the side. “What are you, seven?” she asked before her brain could catch up with her mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anti said. “So what’s up with that search?”

“Are you spying on me whenever I use Google?”

“No, I just installed a program to let me know when certain words were searched. Such as ‘stalk’ or ‘stalking.’” His eye narrowed. “So? What’s the deal? Is it him?”

“I’m...not sure,” Stacy said slowly. “Sometimes I think I see him, other times I just get a...a vague sort of sense that...someone’s watching me. It’s probably nothing, I’m probably just being stupid, but...better safe than sorry, y’know?”

“Definitely, especially considering they could be magically tracking you.”

Stacy gaped at him and his nonchalant statement. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, you were there that night at the diner. You saw that magic was real. Didn’t you think something like that was possible?”

“No, I didn’t.” Stacy leaned back in her swivel chair. “I guess it never occurred to me that that was a-a possibility. I didn’t know the rules for this sort of thing. Sorry, I should have thought—I should have known.”

Anti stared at her, then glitched off the desk and into a standing position. “No, you really shouldn’t have, because nobody told you. It’s not your fault, so don’t assume it is. I could possibly give you a brief overview, let you know what you’re in danger of.”

“Oh! Th-thank you!” Stacy hadn’t realized she was apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. Force of habit, she assumed. She looked at the computer screen, where her question still lingered, unsearched, in the search bar. “Do you think...I-I mean, I know Chase doesn’t have any magic, unless he does and I didn’t know, so...are they teaming up?”

Anti considered this. “Probably. Your ex and the magician aren’t on the best terms, but they’re civil. You’d be in more danger of having the doctor or the vigilante stalking you for him, those guys are closer.”

For some reason, that simple statement made dread pool in her stomach. “H-how many of them are there again?”

“Five.”

“And...and they could all help Ch—help him follow me?”

“Mmm, probably.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Stacy sat on her hands to keep them from shaking. She’d never done anything in her life to warrant so many enemies. And, if she remembered correctly, these guys were responsible for most of the current chaos and terror in the city. She worked hard to take deep, controlled breaths. “Do you...do you have any, uh, um, any info on these guys I could see? You’re all computery, do you have files on them or something?”

“I do. But you don’t want the full files, you’ll lose sleep. I can maybe give you some edited versions...” Anti’s head tilted to one side. He stared intently at her computer screen. She watched as her browser closed and her file explorer opened. By itself, the computer navigated to the downloads folder, then five new folders appeared, each one labeled with a name, followed by (edit).

“Huh...that’s handy.” Stacy scooted her chair closer to the desk, grabbing the mouse. She stared at the folder with his name on it for a while, but she couldn’t bring herself to click on it. Instead, she clicked on the next one down, opening up the folder to reveal various .txt files.

“There used to be photos and videos in here,” Anti said, peering over her shoulder.

“Why’d you remove them?”

“How squeamish are you?”

“I mean...my daughter broke her arm once. It was all bent but I could look at it.”

“I probably made a good call then.” Anti pointed at one of the files, and it opened up. “Brief overview: guy’s a doctor. Not really, ‘cause he got booted from medical school for maltreatment. Didn’t stop him from faking graduation, getting a job at a hospital, and then stealing the patients who wouldn’t be missed.”

“This sounds like the backstory of a horror movie villain,” Stacy laughed nervously.

Anti didn’t laugh. “I’m sure the patients thought they were stuck in a horror movie.” He gave Stacy a dead-eye stare until her smile faded. Then he turned back to the screen. “Police in his home country found out. He ran, ending up here. Started a nice little black-market clinic and kept up his hobby.”

“You know I think I’ll read this one later, when it’s lighter outside.” Stacy hurried to click out of the folder. She opened up the next one instead. This one had videos as well as text files. “...should I be worried about these?” she asked, circling one of the videos with the mouse.

“Nothing explicit, just violence like you’d see in a movie. Criminals get the shit beat out of them. The works.”

“Wait...this is for that vigilante, isn’t it? The one on the news?” Stacy looked at the folder name. “That’s his real—”

“Yep. So if you see a guy who looks like this—” He opened one of the videos, fast forwarding until he got to a good image of the vigilante’s face. “—and he introduces himself to you as that, you better run. Actually, don’t, he’s probably faster than you. Distract him until you can sneak away.”

“He can’t be that bad, can he?” Stacy asked, skeptical. “I mean...getting rid of the criminals in the city? It’s like a real-life superhero.”

“Well, superheroes don’t beat confessions out of mob members and then murder them. He’s probably the safest to have a conversation with, though. Assuming you haven’t done anything illegal.”

“O-kay...then...” Stacy was starting to realize just how deep this trouble she was in really was. She could feel the beginnings of panic edging in on her, but she pushed it away. She’d let herself freak out later. “Wh-what about that magician guy? I think you called him Marvin in the diner? Can he really...magically track me?”

“Probably.” Anti closed the vigilante’s folder and opened up the magician’s. There were a lot of images in this one, what looked like pictures of pages from books. “I’ve been trying to keep track of the spells he knows, but it can be difficult. There’s a good chance he knows a tracking spell, but he probably wouldn’t use it unless someone, like your ex, asked him to.”

“...do I want to know why?”

“Eh, he doesn’t really care for spells like that. If they can’t produce effects he can see, he won’t use them unless necessary. He’s a flashy bitch like that. Has a style and sticks to it. Like that cape, which he only takes off maybe one day per week, and that mask, which I actually haven’t seen him take off yet.”

“Really? Never? Not even to sleep or take a shower or anything?”

“Sleeps with it on. And I’m don’t know about that shower thing, I didn’t put a camera in their bathroom.”

Stacy briefly wondered if his knowledge about sleeping with the mask meant he’d put cameras in the bedrooms, but she pushed that out of her mind for now. “Why? Seems uncomfortable...”

Anti laughed. “Well, a long time ago, he tried a spell he wasn’t ready for, and it blew up in his face. I’m pretty sure he’s embarrassed about what it looks like underneath there...”

“Schneep! I know for a fact you’re in there!” Marvin banged on the door. When there was still no answer, he sighed, looking around the reception room of the clinic where he was standing. He didn’t like this place. It was that kind of almost-nice that looked like it was trying to fool you into thinking it was less shady than it actually was. The good doctor really needed to upgrade his decor.

Having enough of contemplating his dislike of this place, Marvin turned back to the door and started banging harder. “Hey doc! I’m not against melting your door down if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds!”

The door flung open, and Marvin barely jumped out of the way in time to avoid getting a whack to the face. Schneep poked his head out. He was wearing his mask, which he proceeded to pull down in order to scowl at Marvin. “There is no need for such a commotion, my friend!” he scolded. “I was in one of the back rooms, I did not hear you for a while and then it took me a tick-tock to get here.”

“Whatever. Get a security camera wired up here, or a buzzer or something. I could’ve been a customer who just decided to take business elsewhere.”

Schneep barked out a laugh. “If people come here, it is not because they have options to take business to. But enough of this, what did you want?”

Marvin shifted on his feet. “I...need you to take a look at something.”

“Oh, is that all?” A wave of relief crossed Schneep’s face. He stepped back, opening the door wide enough for Marvin to pass through. “Come in, come in, I can see what it is back here.”

Marvin let Schneep lead him into the operating part of the clinic, but he refused to sit down on the table. “It seems not so serious, so if you would please wait a moment while I take care of this...” Schneep vanished through one of the metal doors leading deeper into the building, leaving Marvin to tap his feet impatiently. He didn’t like this. First of all, this place looked like it was thrown together, and also needed an upgrade. Second of all, he was already having doubts about this, he didn’t want them to have time to fester.

Schneep reemerged, tossing an empty syringe on a nearby tray. “There we are, we will not be disturbed now,” he said. “What is it you need help with?”

Marvin started fidgeting, pulling on his fingers. “Okay. So. I am—look, I’m trusting you with this. You can’t tell anyone, alright?”

“That is no problem.”

“I’m serious. I will literally put a fucking curse on you if I find out you told anyone.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been working on one that can make it feel like pins are being shoved in your eyes whenever you look at something, and that something can be as vague as a specific color. Y’know, like the literal version of ‘cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.’”

“Now you are going overboard with this. I have no intention of telling anyone whatever it is this is about. This secret of yours is safe with me.”

Marvin exhaled slowly, and looked toward the ceiling. “Okay. Okay, good. Fuck. Here goes nothing.” Before he could change his mind, he reached up and undid the straps of his mask, then pulled it off. He slowly looked back towards the doctor.

Schneep’s eyes were wide. He stepped forward until he was uncomfortably close to Marvin. He raised his hand. “May I...?”

Marvin hesitated. “...fine,” he grumbled. “But take off your gloves, they’re still messy. And be careful.”

The doctor pulled off his gloves, then put his hands on either side of Marvin’s head, turning it from side to side so he could get a better look. “My god,” he muttered. “What happened to you?”

“That’s not your fucking business,” Marvin said through gritted teeth. “But they’ve been...itching for a while now, and I’m wondering if they’re infected or something.”

“I would be surprised if they were not. They look...angry.” Schneep’s eyebrows furrowed. “How old are they?”

“I think about...four years at this point?” Marvin started turning his mask over in his hands. It was hard to remember sometimes.

“Really? I would think only a couple months.”

“Doc, I’ve been living with you for two years and haven’t once taken off my mask. You didn’t think there was a reason for that?”

“Ah yes.” Tentatively, Schneep reached out and tapped Marvin in the middle of his forehead. “What is this?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Marvin yanked his head back.

“Excuse me, I am concerned! That looks like bone!”

“It’s not bone, it’s just—making my first mask out of ceramic was a really bad idea, ‘cause even magically-enhanced pottery can still shatter.”

“Why do you have ceramic embedded in your face?!”

Marvin resisted the urge to touch the places where the shards had ended up lodging. He had them memorized by now, mostly because of the dead spot in his nerves there. Forehead, upper cheeks, one between his nose and left eye, one above his right. He could have dealt with the rest of the scars, if only the shards weren’t there. “Look, I was wearing my old mask at the time this happened, it broke, I ended up getting pieces of porcelain fucking stuck to my face, can we move on?!”

Schneep raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Okay, okay, fine!”

“Thank you.” Marvin began spinning his mask around his pointer finger, using one of the eyeholes. “Anyway, can you tell if they’re infected? And can you help if they are?”

Schneep bit his lip, eyes scanning the damage. “Well, I would have to know what caused them. They look a bit like burns, but in the pattern of knife slashes. Like hot glass.”

“What?”

“Bits of broken glass, heated up so they will burn, flung at your face. That’s what it looks like. There are also parts where I am reminded of Lichtenburg figures.”

“What?” Marvin repeated, exasperated.

“When things are struck by high voltage, patterns will appear. These are not quite the same as scars of lightning, they are...bigger. But I am reminded of them.”

Marvin sighed. “You know what? Let’s just work under the assumption that someone took a hot, electrified knife and repeatedly applied it to my face, that’s probably as accurate as you’re going to get. There might also be some lingering traces of magic in there.”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Well, I cannot do anything about that, but if they are itching and irritating you, I have some salves that may help. They are in the other back room, the storage one, if you would kindly follow me.”

“Alright, alright, but I hope you find this stuff quickly. Chase is making me watch his ex for him, and I don’t feel like getting into a shouting match with him over not actually doing it.”

It was around midnight when Stacy decided to go to bed. She’d tried to read through the file Anti had given her on the magician, but had to stomp halfway through. Some of these spells...why would anyone want to use spells like that? Instead, she switched to reading the vigilante’s file, managing to finish it. Then she realized it was way too late, and she had to get up early to make breakfast for the kids, get ready for work, take the kids to school, and go to work herself. That was only four things, but that was too much.

She was walking down the hall to her room when there was a knock on the front door.

Fear jolted through her. Who could be knocking this late at night? Nobody good, probably. She stood shock-still in the hallway, waiting for something else. When nothing happened, she swallowed her nerves and crept toward the living room and the front door. Maybe it was nothing?

When she flipped the lights on, the front room looked exactly the same as it had earlier that day. Except for one thing: there was now a brown envelope sitting on the floor, in the perfect position to have been pushed through the mail slot. Stacy slowly stepped forward. She peered through the peephole on the door, seeing nothing on the other side. So she looked down at the envelope on the floor, then bent over and picked it up. She turned it over in her hands.

There were words written on the back of the envelope. “Hello sweetheart.”

Stacy recognized that handwriting.

She collapsed on the couch, staring at the envelope, listening to her heart pounding in her ears.

He’d found her.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #dr schneeplestein #septics inverted au #invertedau #brigid writes fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

confusedunit · 6 years

Text

The Other Side Looks The Goddamn Same - Chapter Fourteen

Gabriel needs to know.

He knows he does. He needs to know what happened in the past, what he can’t remember. He decides on Sombra’s room as his place of research. It’s likely the most secure room on base. Or...one of them, at least.

He asks Sombra to help him. While he doesn’t need her help to get into his own files, he knows he needs...the emotional support. He’d have asked Gerard as well, but with the man always running off on his own self decided ‘missions’, he doesn’t exactly have the option.

“Guess it’s just the two of us, huh?” Sombra looks over at him. “...Are you sure you want to open these, Gabe?”

“They’re my files. I might as know what the hell they are.”

She’s quiet for a bit, watching him settle on his beanbag. “...Okay. Opening files...now.” She taps a few of her holo-keys, before she looks at him. “Which one to start?”

“Might as well start with the earliest. Password’s-”

“7-3-2-7-3-7, I know.” She smirks. “You’re not subtle. How has no one realized who you are?”

“First of all, I took my codename literally because I wanted those close to me to know who I am. Secondly, I wasn’t ‘Reaper’ before now, so no one had any hint at my password. Third of all, shut the fuck up and open it already.”

She chuckles and opens the file. “Yeah yeah, hold your horses.”

The holoscreen lights up in front of them, Gabriel’s face coming into view.

He panics, slamming his hands on the keys, pausing it.

She looks over at him, quickly. “Gabe?”

“...” He can’t help but stare. “...It’s been...A long time.”

She blinks, confused, before her eyes widen. “...Oh. You don’t look different because you’re hurt. You...look different because you forgot what you look like.”

His eyes are wrong: red and black, several smaller ones surrounding his left eye today. His face is ashen, facial hair too dense, bruises under his eyes and along his cheekbones.

“We can stop, if you-”

“Just...give me a minute.”

It takes him almost ten minutes, but his face is closer to how it had been. His eyes are back to two, and brown. His facial hair is closer, but still not quite right. The bruises are gone. But the ashen skin remains.

“...You could talk to her about that, you know. She’ll help you.”

“...It’s unimportant.”

“No, it isn’t-”

“Sombra. Drop it.”

She sighs, shaking her head slightly.

“Play the file.”

She taps a few keys.

The Gabriel on the screen looks amused. Recorded in his office, from what can be seen of the background. Nothing broken, no injuries, so before a mission it seems like. “Well, I know I haven’t had much to document for the last while, but that’s because everything else is either classified, which means documented somewhere else, or Jack’s problem, which also means documented somewhere else. Future me’s gonna hate that, but that’s a problem for him to deal with.”

His voice isn’t right, anymore. God, has it really been so long since he heard his own voice that he...forgot that too? What else has he forgotten?

“Buuut, we got a new team member. Not like the kids, either. Joining of her own volition, which is a refreshing change of pace. Pretty sure if we had people join in any shadier ways, I would literally disappear.”

He was so happy, at the time. So pleased that they were finally following rules. What a fucking fool. Rules were never safe, for him. He should have known.

He smirks at the camera. “She’s some kinda doctor, I think Jack said. He seemed kinda unsettled by her, but I gotta admit, she definitely gets results. I’ll do my best to keep an eye on her, make sure that it’s all on the up and up. But having our own in squad doc? That’s gonna take tons of pressure off of Angie. She’ll probably be pretty happy she’s here. Maybe now, the kid can finally take a breather, I swear, she’s gonna work herself half to death someday.”

He’s so stupid. Keep an eye out, and he saw nothing. Did he really see nothing? Or did she trick him? Was he corrupt? Can he even be trusted? Can he trust-

“Anyway, I better go check in with her. She should be landing in a few minutes, and I don’t want to be late. She seems pretty punctual. Maybe we’ll get along.”

Gabriel can’t take anymore. He reaches out and slams his hands on the keyboard, closing the file entirely. He’s shaking.

Sombra startles. “Shit-” She’s almost instantly up and at his side. “Are you okay?”

He hunches over, wrapping his arms around his knees. How could he not have known? She’d been off since they met, and he’d done nothing...

“Gabe?”

He looks up at her. “...I should have known.”

“I should have known not to play this for you, not with next month coming up.” She sits next to him, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. “...Do you want some tea?”

“Lemon.” He looks away.

“Gabriel...”

“Please.” He pretends that his voice didn’t just sound strained.

She sighs, slowly pushing herself to her feet and leaving the room.

Jack grumbles as he wakes, pressing at his face. He slowly sits up, looking around the room.

He’s still in his old office, but it looks...different. It takes him a few more moments to realize why: The empty booze bottles are gone.

He grunts once, reaching for a half filled bottle on the floor. He brings it to his lips for a sip.

There’s a knock on the door, before it opens.

He startles badly, dropping the bottle to the floor and scrambling for his mask.

The door clicks shut. There’s a tired, long suffering sigh. “Jack.”

He tenses, mask halfway to his face. He slowly looks over. “...Wilhelm.”

Reinhardt smiles at him, sadly. “Are we not on first name terms, anymore?”

He lets his mask fall to the floor, grimacing when it lands in the puddle of whiskey. He sighs. “...Ana send you, then?” He looks away, rubbing at his temples.

“No. I sent myself.” He takes a few steps closer. “It wasn’t hard to realize what you were doing.”

“Save it. I don’t need, or want, your concern.”

“I know you don’t. That’s why I’m here.”

He blinks slowly, looking over at him. “...Huh?”

“You don’t want help. That’s why I’m here. Because you need it.”

“I’m not your charity case, Wilhelm.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my friend. And I don’t want to have us lose you.”

He huffs. “We’re soldiers. I’m gonna-”

Reinhardt rests a hand on his shoulder. “That is not what I meant. I meant the drinking, Jack.”

He’s quiet for a bit. “...I have my reasons.”

“I know. I am...familiar, with them.” He looks over at him as he sits next to him on the couch. “...Do you remember when you first met me? How I used to make jokes about why I drank more beer than water?”

“You used to say your German beer tasted better than our filtered water.”

“Yes. I was lying. Attempting to cover up a problem with a joke. But someone caught me.”

Jack closes his eyes. “...Gabriel.”

“He confronted me. Do you know why I joined Overwatch, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“It was his death I was mourning. Wondering what would have changed. Hoping that if it was a little bit easier to get through the day, maybe I could do half of what he did. Being with all of you helped me. By the end of the Crisis, with Ana’s help, I had stopped drinking.”

He opens his eyes, looking over. “...You started, again. After Ana.”

“...For a bit. McCree set me straight, though I doubt he remembers it.”

“...How did you know I was here?” He changes the subject, uncomfortable with thinking about the implications.

“I noticed your office was getting a lot of use. Athena wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell me. So I used my codes.” He makes a face. “I don’t like doing that, but it was the only option I was left with.”

“Codes?”

“...” He sighs. “...After Zurich fell. I...was the fourth in line to take over your position. You, Ana, Gabriel, and myself. And I was the last one left.” He looks off. “We were all grieving, and I had to try to pick up the pieces.” He’s quiet for a bit. “...Attempt to contact last of kin.”

“...Oh.” Jack closes his eyes. “...Well, guess you know, then.”

“We’re still here, Jack. We’re still your family.”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t be. It will only put you all in more danger. I’m keeping secret for a reason.”

“You’re keeping secret because you want to die, Jack.” Reinhardt’s tone is a bit more sharp.

Jack blinks, looking over at him.

“...I do not mean to sound harsh. But it is the truth.”

“...You’re not wrong.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you are scared. But you don’t have to be alone. Not anymore.” He pulls Jack into his arms.

Jack barely keeps from trembling. “...”

“...He wouldn’t want to have done this to you.”

He feels a string he’s held tight for years, since the explosion, since he’s lost everything, suddenly snap. He collapses against Reinhardt.

“We are here for you.” Reinhardt holds him close. “We are here for you, Jack...”

Angela is about to regret even speaking, she can already tell.

She’s pushed through her crying, and her breaths have calmed somewhat. She knows what’s coming.

Zenyatta gently runs his fingers through her hair. “...If I may ask...”

She slowly sits up, pulling a bit away from him as she rubs at her face. “...We were working together, doing research, before...Before I joined with Overwatch. I was trying to work on the Caduceus, mainly the wings and my staff, at that point. She...had been working on genetic mutation, and attempting to develop a strong healing spray/salve. The amount of good that could have done for the world...”

“Easy...” He rests a hand on her shoulder.

“We were...close. But she was too driven, at times. Her empathy, even then, was slim. The greater good was more important, always.” She quiets, looking down at her hands. “...Almost always.”

“...Did she ever-”

“No. Not on me. ...Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use some of her research.”

“...You got self experimentation from her, then.”

“Do not credit her with what she doesn’t deserve.” She speaks with disgust. “It is illegal to do certain tests on others. It is not illegal to do those tests on yourself. We followed the same book. That does not make us the same.”

“I...did not mean to imply...”

She calms, slumping slightly forward. “I know. ...I know.” She lets out a soft breath. “...She had been doing tests on herself for a while. One day...” She rubs at her eyes. “...She went too far. I tried, but...”

“...” He gently takes her hands. “I’m here.”

“I panicked. There had to be something I could do. I tore through her research, and mine, looking for an answer. And I found one. ...Two.” She looks up at him. “I had been coming up with a series of nano machines, designed to be administered after muscle loss, so that they could take a patient’s genetic code and rebuild new muscle, perhaps in the future even bone. Meanwhile, she had started development of a serum that was supposed to push the body’s own electrical signals to cause function enough that even dormant nerves could be revived. I...” She pulls her hands away, rubbing at her eyes again. “I combined the two.”

“And it worked?”

“I tested it on myself, first. You tell me.”

“...Oh. That’s why you...haven’t changed.”

“...I will discuss that at a later time. But I...used those both to revive her. She was...the happiest I ever saw her.” She’s quiet for a bit. “...But after that...she changed. I don’t know if it was a side effect of her self experimentation, if I was just too late, or if she had pretended the whole time, but...her empathy was gone. We parted ways shortly after.”

“...I’m so sorry, Angela.”

“I was young, and stupid. It never meant as much to her as it did to me.” She takes a rough breath. “...I never knew she would go this far. If I had known...” She covers her mouth. “If only I had known...”

#*confused fanfiction noises*#The Other Side Looks The Goddamn Same #Reaper76 #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch fanfic #not rvb

18 notes · View notes

danvssomethingorother · 6 years

Text

Success in Progress

chapter 1

A03

Summary: Brock gets invited to Venture compound by Jonas himself to protect his son.

(yes this thing has a name now and I am in too deep. I hope you all love my weird ideas for the origin of this man we saw for five seconds. I just love successful Rusty, ok?)

---

The tour was just for show, the safe version you showed dying kids whose last wish was just to see the Venture Compound because they loved Rusty Venture so much. All the secrets and interesting stuff safely locked up, out of sight and if you wanted to see more, Jonas’s dazzling show man smile and the flare he gave to the mundane things everyone knew about was all it took to get you to shut up.

Brock sat in the very back of the people mover keeping his eyes on Venture’s heir, quietly sitting there every once in awhile turning towards the albino and opening his mouth as if to say something but remaining quiet when his father glanced his way.

The only one eating up Jonas’s show and bullshit facts was Billy who was even asking questions and excitedly trying to tell Jonas and Rusty fun facts he had heard about their own compound.

Brock took this time to take in the security measures silently taking notes for him to check it out more later.

After what felt like hours of being on a tour from hell, Brock noticed the albino sleeping soundly against Rusty’s shoulder. Rusty was annoyedly trying to knock him off but stopped moving each time his dad’s eyes hit him.

He only found some strength in himself to complete the task after they came to a stop by a building that definitely wasn’t intended for the public to ever enter. Pete scowled at the rude awakening but seeing Jonas’s eyes on the pair, didn’t attempt anything on his son.

“This, gentlemen, shall be our working quarters,” Jonas said easily stopping the people mover and stepping out, “I apologize it is so far out, I would usually just use the down stairs lab for something like this but with the Spinx threats and the recent fire, I felt we needed a more secure place for a project so important.”

“Fire?” Billy questioned just as alarmed as Brock himself was at this news.

“Yeah my last body guard went crazy and tried to burn us alive,” Rusty said with a shrug, crawling over his friend who wasn’t getting out of the vehicle fast enough for his liking.

Pete, who had seemed like he was on the up and up of Venture history looked surprised by this, sitting there a moment longer before Rusty and Billy whined for him to hurry up.

Brock trailed behind them listening to the history lesson for once on this building. It was fire proof, he had been using it as a fall out bunker of sorts for his most prized inventions Jonas didn’t wish to be destroyed by any of the sieges on the castle.

The first floor was for show, filled with junk from the Rusty Venture show Jonas had collected over the years instantly brightening up Billy’s mood once more. Jonas chuckled and told him he could take what he liked later, but now there was science to be done.

Jonas popped open a trap door at the end of the room and disappeared down it, Rusty didn’t hesitate to do the same. His friends however stood nervously looking at each other before glancing back down into the dark tunnel leading only god knew where.

“After you Billy,” White said with a smile extending his hand towards the entrance.

“No way, this is reminding me way too much of the time Jonas’s brain was taken over by pod people who were trying to steal everyone’s brains. This is a trap.”

“Its not a trap, you are being a big wuss, its just a scary hole in the ground in a junk garage.”

“Dude, this is all first edition merch from the Rusty Venture show, its far from junk! And if you aren’t scared, you go down there!”

“I am going to toss you down there if you don’t hurry up,” Brock snarled at Billy and Pete who instantly stopped bickering, Pete disappearing first while Billy took a nervous glance at Brock before he too disappeared. Brock was the last down, quickly scaling his way down the secure rung ladder.

“What took you so long,” Rusty sneered at them as they finally caught up to the Ventures in what appeared to be a normal looking lab, but normal labs were never this hidden from the public. Something about all of this just wasn’t sitting right with Brock as he stepped towards the nerds gathering around Jonas who was by a white board fiddling with some equations while he waited for them all to catch up.

Written at the top of the Board was the title ‘Problem Light’ and under it was a crude rough sketch of a box with a red eye in the center.

“Excuse us for being a little nervous of the weird secret lab,” Pete scoffed playfully punching his friend in the arm before leaning close to Rusty and whispering as if Brock couldn’t hear him, “What is with the secrecy anyway? This illegal? Should we be letting that fella in here?”

“It may be frowned upon later but its hardly illegal,” Jonas chuckled.

“You, um haven’t been to the Amazon lately have you?” Billy asked nervously wringing his hands.

“No brain slugs up here,” Jonas chuckled lightly tapping his own head, “No this is a safety precaution because of Spinx and of course the Guild or anymore unexpected fires. This is so nothing destroys our progress and makes us have to restart our work.”

“And even if it was illegal, I would permit Brock down here, he is here to help keep you three safe and safety is the most important thing.”

Rusty snorted at that but said nothing.

“So, um…what are we going to be working on?” Pete asked leaning up against the counter nearly knocking some glass vials on the floor making Brock snort, it didn’t seem like safety was that important since Jonas just chuckled at that and didn’t scold him.

“We are going to work together to put a stop to something that has been plaguing man kind since the beginning.”

“A cure for Cancer?” Billy ventured a guess.

“Bad hair days,” Pete joked nudging at Rusty who swatted back at him.

“While those are equally as bad,” Jonas said with a bit of an eye roll and shake of his head, “I was talking about death itself. A way to put a stopper on it before it can take the best and brightest minds away from us before they can really make progress on the world.”

“And how we gonna do that? That seems pretty impossible,” Billy said finally showing some good skepticism in the man.

“Everything seems impossible at first, but great men like us have always been able to find a way to beat the odds.”

He turned towards them with a smile that would make any weak-willed person sway to it, his words promising anything was possible. Well, he was Jonas Venture, he had done some impressive feats in the past, so why wouldn’t these idiots just take everything he said at face value?

Rusty didn’t seem to share their new-found enthusiasm as Jonas began rambling about his little ideas and being generous enough to allow participation from the rest of the class.

Jonas had introduced this as Rusty’s project, yet he seemed to have very little say or control over it, constantly being talked over by his dad and just standing back and letting him talk finally.

Brock would have been more concerned with that if Rusty’s ideas didn’t seem utterly stupid, even to someone like Brock who barely knew anything about science.

----

After a long day of Brock just standing in the back of the room and watching a bunch of nerds spit ball ideas, Jonas finally lead them all to the living quarters and it seemed even here secrets were hidden. On opening the door, Brock picked up the faint sound of babies crying and Rusty pushed past both Brock and his father, both glaring at their charge, as he instantly ran up the stairs.

“Rust is a daddy,” Pete said with a giggle at Brock’s confused state, “Little baby twins. Little boy adventurers in the making.”

“I did not want my grandchildren on his files,” Jonas said after not so gently ushering Billy through the door, “The higher ups of course know but it is listed as classified until I choose to reveal them to the world. I fear I revealed Rusty himself too early in my excitement and that caused nothing but problems down the line.”

Brock thought that was an understatement, Rusty’s first kidnappings was at three and according to his files, was nearly sacrificed on a satanic alter by one of Jonas’s ex-girlfriends. Whether or not that ex was Rusty’s own mother, Brock didn’t know, his mother’s identity was also classified.

“I trust Rusty set you two up in your quarters last night?” Jonas asked turning a serious look towards the scientists looking ready to tear his son a new one if he hadn’t.

“Oh yeah, Rust showed us our room, but it doesn’t seem like there will be enough room for this fella since Kano and that other guy live here too.”

“Rodney is moving out,” Jonas said with a chuckle, “I am sure Billy was happy to see Action Man before he retired from Team Venture.”

“Billy got him to sign his autograph book,” Pete chuckled walking over to the couch and making himself at home, “Ya better watch out Jonas, he will be trying to get you next.”

“I will gladly sign your book,” Jonas said bending to Billy’s level like he was an actual child and gripping his shoulder reassuringly, Brock thought Billy would pass out from excitement just the way stars flew from his eyes.

Jonas turned his attention to the staircase as Rusty finally reappeared, a baby in each arm and a large Asian man walking behind him.

“How are the Junior members of Team Venture doing?” Jonas asked a seriousness laced in his gentle words.

“They were fine while we were gone today, Kano is actually competent with children unlike Helper,” with just the bitterness alone in his tone Brock could tell there was a history there.

“Helper was designed to take care of children,” Jonas chuckled holding his arms out expecting Rusty to hand him one of his grandchildren but Rusty did not, he kept going to the couch before sitting with Pete who took the blonde one instead.

“Little Hank is a dead ringer for Samson, you not telling us something, Rust?” the albino chuckled holding the baby up and Brock just stared back at the drooling creature he was not informed about. He was also not informed most of Team Venture had left. Or that Jonas was trying to make some kind of immortality machine.

“No, my son is not related to the hired help,” Rusty grumbled back swatting at his friend who kept bouncing his son in his arms.

Brock tuned their bickering out easily staring at the man’s father’s easy smile that was always seemed to be hiding something.

He knew he was going to get no answers from Jonas, all his information was under the heavy lock and key of his charismatic smiles and easy lies and misdirection but Rusty, he might be able to answer him.

“Will dinner be ready soon?” Jonas asked with his usual smile as he turned to a mini bar preparing himself a drink and Kano merely nodded not saying a word as he disappeared into the kitchen where Brock caught the site of a blue robot running around with a chef hat on.

This was the weirdest job he had ever agreed to be apart of and he had once fought David Bowie in Berlin over some sacred artifact that was rumored to grant immortality. Boy would Jonas have loved to have that thing, too bad it melted in Lava…

Pete had already turned on the TV, some sitcom was on that he and Rusty seemed to be arguing over. Rusty was of the opinion it was lame, Pete thought it was high art.

“She’s a teenage witch and her cat talks! What else do you need?”

“Something that isn’t garbage?” Rusty growled back failing to swat the remote from his friend without jostling his child, “Besides the stupid cat gives Hank nightmares, you know that.”

“It gives you nightmares,” Pete hissed back sitting on the remote, so his friend couldn’t steal it, “Hank here loves the damn cat. Don’t ya Hank?”

“Cat!” Hank gurgled reaching towards the black cat on the TV.

Jonas like the king he was, sat high in his arm chair, legs folded and one arm over the back and whiskey in hand like he was posing for a fashion magazine. Keeping a close eye on everything going on in the room, not paying any attention to Billy leaning over the arm of the couch, rambling to him about the man’s own many adventures.

“Brock, please have a seat,” Jonas commanded, and Brock did as he was told not wanting any trouble to come from the first night on the job. He sat in the middle of the circular couch, just between the nerds arguing and the babies getting fussy on his left and the nerd groveling to the personification of God himself.

There was nothing for Brock do here, so he got up to leave, maybe go collect his duffle bag from the car and do a perimeter check before dinner and finding a way to sneak into Rusty’s room later tonight to get some real answers from him. Something just didn’t feel about this entire situation. Nothing. Keeping Rusty’s children a secret, having only two assistants who were rather new to the field of science for such a large project, all the blacked-out information on Venture’s files, the last body guard losing her mind after being here six months.

He felt Jonas’s eyes watching him as he got up to leave and was just at the door when Jonas called for him. He turned his head back noticing the only ones still making any noises were the fussy infants, he momentarily locked eyes with Rusty who mouthed something to him while Jonas’s head was turned from him and it only made the oddness of this assignment sink in more.

‘You can’t just leave.’

“Where are you headed?”

“I was going to get my things from my car---”

Jonas merely chuckled cutting him off with a wave of his hand, gulping down the rest of his whiskey before he said firmly.

“Its all already been taken care of, I had Helper bring your things into your new room while we were busy today. Just relax, have a drink, go take a dip in my pool, unwind my dear boy. You must learn to relax.”

“Your robot touched my car?” Brock almost sneered and Rusty seemed to sense the danger like a second sense, collected his other child from Pete and was already hurrying back up the stairs, Pete dragging Billy with them.

“Relax, relax, Helper didn’t harm your car,” he chuckled, “You left the keys in the hanger! He just merely unlocked the trunk and transferred your one duffel bag to your new room. If you would like I can show you there?”

“What’s your game?” Brock couldn’t help but question out loud.

“There is none,” Jonas said like a father trying to comfort his child, “You have been on the front line so long, I think you are just looking for one. Spinx isn’t here right now, you can let your guard down sometimes. You must learn to do so or you will lose yourself, trust me on this.”

“I have watched you look for a threat all day, Spinx like the Guild before them is not subtle, you will know when you need to prepare for battle. I appreciate you take your job more seriously then the last hack they sent here but you are young, Brock, you don’t need to be so tense. Don’t go looking for threats that aren’t there. I hired you in case of emergencies to keep my son safe, that doesn’t mean you must lose your sanity looking for a threat every waking moment. It is the first day, just breath and get used to the surroundings gradually, that is all you have to do.”

He patted Brock on the shoulder gently, “Your room is down that hallway on the left-hand side, Kano’s is right next door if you ever require anything. Upstairs,” he pointed his glass the way Rusty and his friends had disappeared to, “Is our sleeping quarters. Mine at the very end of the hall if you ever need me, Billy and Pete’s to the left-hand side and Rusty and his sons are to the right. That is the lay out I know you must have been dying to scope out for yourself, but you don’t need to. You only need to ask Brock. We aren’t the enemy, we may do things you don’t understand but we do them for a reason.”

“I asked for privacy as a top operative of the OSI myself, I helped fund the organization back in ’62, I feel I have earned my privacy in their files. You know what the Guild has done to my Rusty and what they have continued to do to him to this day and now Spinx is in the mix, I don’t want Rusty fearing for those boys lives like I had to, so I leave them out of our documents.”

Brock did know, that was some of the stuff that wasn’t classified. A few months ago they had been sending dead snakes to the Venture compound making demands for Venture’s son or the entire compound would be destroyed, they had yet to make due on that threat.

“Are the boys the former body guard’s…” Brock began before Jonas cut him off with a frown.

“Dean and Hank are not her sons, she came to that conclusion herself when her and Rusty began an intimate relationship and she became a tab bit too attached,” Jonas said with a sigh and shake of his head, “The compound catching fire? That wasn’t Spinx or the Guild.”

“And you still want OSI protection after that?”

“I am getting old, Kano is getting old, Team Venture is barely holding together because they are all married and wish for more time with their families instead of keeping things like they always have been,” Jonas chuckled a tinge of sadness in his eyes, “One psycho doesn’t automatically change the fact the OSI is a competent organization with people like yourself willing to help me. Not only with Spinx but to protect Rusty when I am gone. I love my son, my greatest project, my legacy, more then words can tell but he is weak, and he needs someone to look after him always.”

“I can’t guarantee I will be here forever,” Brock grumbled shaking his head.

“I can’t force it on you, but I hope you can one day call yourself a member of Team Venture, Mr. Samson, I can already tell you are a reliable young man.”

Jonas patted Brock fondly on the arm before leading him to the bar to share a drink with him and Brock didn’t feel he could refuse him. Rusty’s warning stuck on his mind though and left him lying in bed staring at the ceiling long after he had retired.

‘You can’t just leave.’

A part of him almost wanted to trust Jonas, he didn’t seem like that bad of a guy and well his son did seem like a bit of a pompous, ungrateful little asshole but he still couldn’t shake that warning. Would he be able to leave when this was all said and done?

#venture bros #the venture bros #brusty #docbrock #rusty venture #brock samson #pete white #Billy Quizboy #jonas venture #Dan's fics

9 notes · View notes

softnow · 6 years

Text

burn and keep quiet

nsfw. rebecca x nathaniel. (ao3) title is taken from this frederico garcía lorca quote. inspired by this prompt from @lozkelly.

“Is that what this is? Is she Reese Witherspoon? Was the elevator not good enough? Too much room for personal space? Did the big movie director in the sky decide to try again, somewhere smaller this time, where there’s no escaping the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body and the feel of his skin and—”

Of all the things Nathaniel Plimpton III has done to her—buying out her boss, kicking her out of her office, threatening to fire her friends, seducing her in an elevator—Rebecca thinks this might be the cruelest.

For starters, she has a wedding to plan and about two billion pieces of ribbon at home, waiting to be tied into bows for the mason jar candle holders, and the mason jar confetti holders, and the mason jar utensil holders. And what’s more, it’s a Friday night, when she should be with her fiancé and her best friend and miles away from her asshole boss kneeling in the dirt, picking the lock on the back door of the Fifth Street Soup Kitchen.

“Nathaniel!” she whisper-shouts, frantically surveying the parking lot to make sure nobody is coming. “This is illegal!”

“Says the girl who exhumed dead bodies to blackmail a cemetery,” he says, not looking up from the tools he’s using to jimmy the lock.

“Well, technically it was Paula who did most of the exhuming, but that’s—that’s different!”

“How?” he asks, standing and brushing the dirt from his knees. He opens the door with a flourish, beckons her in with an after you gesture. “You knew the cemetery was in the wrong and needed the evidence for a client. I don’t see how this is any different.”

Rebecca huffs, casting her flashlight around the darkened kitchen. One of their biggest accounts, Ransom Dodge-Toyota, a new and used car lot down the road, wants to expand. They’d been on Fifth Street Soup to sell for months, but the kitchen has continually refused, no matter how hard Plimpton, Plimpton, and Plimpton (and Whitefeather & Associates) dogged them. Ransom was getting antsy, and Nathaniel was worried they were close to backing out, and it just so happened that he’d recently gotten a tip that the good folks down on Fifth Street were dealing a bit more than soup.

“Still,” she says. “I don’t know why you needed me for this. Couldn’t you have sent Tim? Or George?”

“Oh, come on, Rebecca, you’re smarter than that,” Nathaniel says in that chiding tone she hates so much. “Tim and George would just screw everything up. As much as it pains me to say it, you’re the best I have. I mean, you did do a good job with the cemetery case.”

She follows him to the small office at the back of the kitchen, simultaneously offended and perversely flattered.

“Plus,” Nathaniel adds, his voice overly casual and his attention fixed on the desk in the center of the room. “I figured, you know, you could probably use some overtime, with the wedding and all.”

Rebecca blinks. “Wow, that’s…not awful.” He shoots her a bemused smile, an eyebrow quirked. For a moment she can almost hear him saying, Don’t be a dick. Then his eyes drop back to the drawer he’s searching, and she wanders to a file cabinet next to the window.

“How’s that going, anyway?” he asks, still perfectly polite. “Pulling off a wedding in two weeks?”

She takes out a file, leafs through it without really seeing anything. She thinks about this morning and how she cried—just a little, an understandable amount for a bride-to-be—when she realized she’d ordered brown yarn instead of twine, which is not, as one might suspect, the same thing at all.

“Oh, it’s great,” she says. “Yeah, so great. It’s so much fun and—and satisfying. Honestly, I think more people should plan their weddings in two weeks. It’s thrilling. Like a rollercoaster. So exhilarating.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says, drawing out the word. There’s an edge in his voice, something close to mocking. “Wow, sounds great. And Josh? He’s being helpful?”

“So helpful,” she says. “Or, at least, when he’s there. I mean, he’s just been so busy lately with work, and church basketball, and that’s really important, you know? Helping kids shoot hoops for Jesus.” She mimes a free-throw. “That’s…big. This stuff—wedding, crafty, artsy stuff—it’s not really his thing, but that’s okay, because he trusts me. And loves me. And trusts me.”

“Sounds convincing.” He closes a drawer and turns to the desktop computer, shaking the mouse to wake the monitor.

Rebecca’s forehead wrinkles in frustration. Her mouth opens, closes. She shoves the file in her hand back into the file cabinet.

“Are you sure they’re even dealing, you know—?” She puts a finger to her nose and sniffs, crosses her eyes like she’s dizzy.

“Pretty sure, but not entirely. That’s why we’re here. To find something that proves they’re—wait, what would you say?—a bunch of filthy, flimflamming dope peddlers?”

He gives her a smile—a genuine one, with no hint of malice—and Rebecca can’t help herself. She barks out a laugh and claps a hand over her mouth.

“Is that your impression of me?” she asks, giggling through her fingers.

He shrugs, mock-humble.

Her shoulders heave as she fights to get herself under control. He watches her, smiling. There’s a softness around his eyes that she doesn’t want to interpret, something gentle and pleased. As her laughter dies away, a palpable silence fills the room between them. His smile falters, but his eyes—big and intense and so blue even in this gloomy flashlight-darkness—never leave hers.

Rebecca’s feet take a half-step towards the desk on their own accord. Nathaniel pivots in the desk chair, tracking her movement. She takes another step. He leans forward by a fraction. The back of her hand brushes the corner of the desk.

And the room is thrown into sharp relief, headlights cutting through the gauzy curtains over the window.

Nathaniel’s jerks, leaping up from the chair, and Rebecca looks from the window to him with saucer-like eyes.

“We have to g—”

“No time,” he says. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her around the desk, opening the door to a closet and shoving her inside. It’s small and mostly empty, only a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. There’s just enough room for two. He steps in after her and pulls the door shut as they hear the door to the kitchen—the one he picked—open.

They click off their flashlights.

Without the light, the closet is entirely dark, the sort of dark that makes your eyes hurt to look at. Rebecca’s heartbeat sounds too loud in her ears.

“This is your fault,” she hisses, stabbing a finger in the direction she thinks is his chest. “Breaking and entering, are you stupid? If we go to jail—!”

Nathaniel’s hand claps over her mouth as footsteps approach.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispers, his words barely more than a puff of air.

They stand there, barely breathing, his large hand cupping the bottom half of her face. They hear the click of the light switch. A thin golden line appears around the edge of the door, bright enough to ease some of the discomfort of the darkness but not enough to allow Rebecca to see anything.

Beside her, Nathaniel shifts. She feels him lean in to the door, listening. His other hand, the one not currently becoming damp with the perspiration of her breath, comes to rest casually on her lower back.

Rebecca stiffens, thinks, this is not happening. She hears Paula’s voice in her head. It’s happened to Reese Witherspoon, like, eight times.

Is that what this is? Is she Reese Witherspoon? Was the elevator not good enough? Too much room for personal space? Did the big movie director in the sky decide to try again, somewhere smaller this time, where there’s no escaping the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body and the feel of his skin and—

No. No. No, no, no. She is not going there. She shakes her head to clear it like an Etch-a-Sketch and rubs her mouth against his palm in the process. Okay, no, bad plan. She stands perfectly still instead, making her body into a statue. A perfectly still statue, cold and stony and definitely not feeling any tingles in her stony statue lady limbs. Nope.

On the other side of the closet door, a drawer opens. The mouse clicks. The desk chair creaks under somebody’s weight.

On this side of the closet door, Nathaniel’s thumb moves against her back. She passes it off as a twitch, but then it happens again. And again. And again, until he’s drawing small, gentle circles there.

Statue. Stony. Stony, stony statue. Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on the mantra, focuses on keeping her muscles rigid. But then he begins to apply a subtle pressure, and she finds herself wondering if he’s taken massage classes before, because that’s really nice, actually, and she has been tense lately, and her body begins to relax into his touch.

His hand skims up her back, pausing to rub one of her shoulders. Then he brushes his fingertips down her arm, his touch feather-light. She feels her skin reacting, waking up as if for the first time in days. She shifts her weight and leans into the touch.

She feels Nathaniel straighten beside her, and then his mouth is at her ear, his lips brushing the lobe, his words electricity and wind.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had an invisibility cloak right now?” he whispers.

Rebecca takes a long, slow breath, and she can feel it when he smiles against her. Cocky bastard, thinking he can get her that easily.

She grabs the hand on her mouth and pulls it away, tilting her face to lay her cheek along his. A few days’ worth of stubble scratches at her and she can feel it all the way down to her toes.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back, teasing the shell of his ear with her lips. “I’d settle for a nice, big wand.”

Nathaniel makes a satisfyingly undignified, muted sound low in his throat. His hands find her hips and pull her firmly against him. Outside, the keyboard continues to report rapid bursts of typing, but Rebecca barely registers it. Her world has shrunk to approximately four square feet. She rubs her hands over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles, the way they jerk under her touch, before gripping his neck.

The air in the closet is warm, humid, tight. It presses in on her, cradles her, makes her feel a little lightheaded. Makes it easy to forget why this is such a bad idea.

He turns his head at the same time she does, and their mouths come together easily. It’s different from their first kiss, softer. They’re both aware—vaguely—of how important it is to be silent. She fits his bottom lip between both of hers, testing, teasing.

Their last kiss was all pressure, the collision of two orbiting planets. But this… This is fired glass, liquid and raw.

Rebecca presses up onto her toes to get closer, and he helps her, his arms wrapping around her back to support her. He meets her for another chaste kiss and then opens his mouth to her, melting into her as she melts into him. Her hands wind into his hair, nails scrape gently over his scalp, and she feels him shudder against her.

He kisses her until she feels gooey and dumb, all thoughts having packed their bags and headed for the hills. Then he tears his mouth from hers and peppers hot, open-mouthed kisses along her her jaw. He swipes her hair behind her shoulder and secures it against her head with his hand. He kisses her ear and then drops to her neck, finding the pulse point and sucking.

Rebecca takes a rugged breath and exhales a soft moan. Nathaniel freezes. His grip on her tightens.

“Shhh,” he breathes and shifts her backwards until her back touches the wall, moving in slow motion so as to not make any noise.

Outside, a file cabinet drawer slams. They both jump, and then Nathaniel’s on her again, kissing her like a drowning man trying to reach the shore. His hands find the hem of her shirt and hover there.

“Can I?” he whispers against her mouth.

She nods, not trusting herself to speak, not trusting herself not to moan his name the way she so wants to. It’s there, strangled at the back of her throat, and she’s afraid if she stops kissing him for even a moment, it will push its way out and ruin everything.

Nathaniel’s hands dive beneath her shirt, pushing up, up, sliding beneath her bra, cupping her breasts. She jerks and rolls her hips, finds him hard and wanting against her stomach.

Some distant—very, very distant—part of her brain wonders if this is such a good idea. One rando kiss in an elevator is one thing; it was late, their defenses were down. There was the wind. But this… This is a different sort of thing altogether, the sort of thing she moved her wedding up to avoid, the sort of thing that could ruin her forever.

But then Nathaniel’s fumbling with the button on her jeans with one hand while the other continues to massage her breast, and he’s kissing her hard enough to bruise, and his fingers are skimming along her overheated skin, testing the waters, if you will, and she loses all cognitive ability.

“Can you be quiet?” he whispers into the hollow beneath her ear. His breath is rough and hot.

She bites her lip and nods.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she manages, a single exhale of air, and then his fingers curl into her and his mouth comes over hers to swallow the sound of her gasp.

He works her deftly, like he’s a well-trained musician and she’s his favorite instrument. Her hips rock, searching for the right friction. When she finds it, her head falls back, and a choked sound builds somewhere behind her teeth. She clings to his shoulders, and he replaces his mouth with his other hand once again, pressing firmly to keep her silent.

She doesn’t know if her eyes are opened or closed, but it doesn’t matter, because all she knows in this moment is him. His overheated skin, his long fingers, his hungry mouth that seems to be everywhere at once—this is what makes up her entire universe.

Her climax washes in like the sea, wave upon wave of rolling pleasure, and Nathaniel buoys her through it with the attention and skill of a long-time lover. When she finally comes down, she sags against him. Her legs feel not altogether present, like perhaps they’ve been detached and hidden here in the dark somewhere.

He keeps her pinned to the wall with his body. His hand slips from her mouth to cradle her jaw, and his lips find hers once more in the darkness. The kiss is unhurried and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he’d devoured her only moments ago.

She may be sated and soft, but she can feel him, and he’s anything but. Her hands fall to his waist, sliding along his belt, and he gasps into her mouth when she takes ahold of the buckle.

On the other side of the door, the desk chair creaks. There’s a whiss as it’s pushed in, then footsteps. The one-two click of the light switch and the doorknob follow. The sliver of golden light framing the closet door disappears, and they freeze, listening.

A minute passes. Two. No sound.

“I think they’re gone,” Nathaniel murmurs, his voice low and rough. It makes her ache.

“Mm..hmm. Yeah.”

“We need to get out of here.”

He moves away from her and the air that rushes to fill the space he’d occupied is cold, sobering. His flashlight clicks on, and Rebecca is momentarily blinded. When her eyes adjust, she sees him leaning against the door, ear to the wood, checking. Her stomach clenches.

He looks like he’s been through a wind tunnel. His hair, normally so neat, juts in all directions. His shirt is rumbled, halfway untucked, and when did the top two buttons come undone? Rebecca tries to remember and can’t. His mouth is red, lips swollen and damp. When he meets her gaze, his eyes are heavy and a little unfocused.

The realization crushes her like a cow tossed from the tornado of her own self-hate. They just— He just— She just…

Nathaniel must see it on her face, because he carefully schools his features and straightens his shirt, retucking it as best he can with one hand.

“I think we’re clear,” he says and pushes the door open.

They both tense, but the office is empty. They spill from the closet. Rebecca glances down and feels her throat tighten with shame. Her pants are still undone. She zips and snaps them with shaking fingers.

With her back to him, she forces out, as evenly as she can, “What about the evidence?”

“Forget it,” he says. “This was obviously a bad plan.”

He means because they almost got caught breaking and entering, she’s sure. And yet there’s a twinge in her gut like small, icy knife when she considers what else he could mean. Which makes no sense, because she shouldn’t care if he thinks that was a mistake. Because it absolutely, one hundred percent was a mistake. A horrible mistake. An awful, stupid, intense, thrilling, mind-blowing mistake that she’s definitely not going to think about later in the shower as she—

Needs to leave. Right now.

Nathaniel follows her out into the night, taking care to lock the door behind them. She’s halfway to the sidewalk, making a beeline for her car stashed inconspicuously in the parking lot of a church down the street, when he catches up to her.

“Rebecca—”

“Nope,” she says, not slowing, not looking at him. “We’re not doing this.”

“Hmm, too late for that,” he says.

His tone is infuriatingly casual, ridiculously smug, and she spins on her toe to jab a finger into his chest as she says, “Nothing. Happened. Okay? Nothing. We did nothing.”

Nathaniel holds his hands up in submission, but he doesn’t look chastised one bit, and his hair is still mussed, and she cannot look at him right now. She resumes her angry speed-walk, shoulders hunched, hands balled into swinging fists at her sides. He doesn’t try to stop her. She doesn’t acknowledge the disappointment blooming in her ribcage.

She’s at her car when he calls out into the night, “Oh, have fun with your wedding planning! Hope it’s as satisfying as doing nothing!”

Rebecca flips him off with both hands before flinging herself into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. She doesn’t look in the rearview mirror as she peels out of the parking lot. Just like she doesn’t think about the patch of skin where her neck meets her shoulder that is red and raw from his scruff.

She doesn’t sleep at all when she gets home. She stays up all night, ties two hundred mason jar bows. She only cries twice. She tells herself it’s the most fun she’s ever had.

#rebecca x nathaniel #rebecca bunch #nathaniel plimpton #rethaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #cxgf #myfic #this isn't entirely canon-compliant #but it's not NOT canon-compliant #it's canon-flexible #cxg

21 notes · View notes

teddywancurlobi · 6 years

Text

pretty little liars [01.22]

it’s over.

me @ myself:

why y’all acting surprised? all these busted ass men in rosewood have a thing for teen poon. this was bound to fucking happen because of these creepy fucks. not supporting the actions of grown ass dudes filming teen girls in various states of dress and undress, just preaching the truth about rosewood dudes. ARREST THEM ALL. CLEANSE ROSEWOOD OUT... WITH THE PURGE.

so i’ll just be creeped out over here by myself.

rosewood has a few dudes that got off to young girls. there is three i can name right off the bat: wren, ezero, and ian. they aren’t the only ones and conveniently and casually two won’t get named because people wanted them together. call them all out because they are all fucking gross.

you are just kids in all of them. being teens changes fucking nothing.

how about you stop playing detective and give those videos to the fbi? oh right. conveniently stupid and willing to get themselves into danger. can’t end the show this fast, gotta drag it out.

you trying to keep your illegal relationship on the dl, but ezero’s name is right fucking there. if someone saw that or you even left your phone someplace by accident, that someone is gonna know who it is because how many ezra’s are in rosewood. getting busted is what needed to happen and their relationship should have been on the wind down. fuck your little feelings, aroo. go to prison, ezero.

cleb doesn’t deserve all this grief and these tears. he is a damn bonehead and deserves to fucking fall into a volcano.

i can walk from the station, daddy? y’all... i need an adult.

why did you take your sweet ass time to answer that, pam? you bitch. scaring your daughter like that.

glad aroo hit him, but he deserves to be in a cell.

these two need to find people their own age. y’all know this is fucking wrong. that way you two don’t have to worry about dodging the police, worried about if y’all had been found out while y’all are looking guilty as all hell.

aroo: i’ll show you my room

me:

mona.... as protective as you are about hanna, she deserved to know about the letter even if i want cleb to drown in the volcano of bitchidgaf.

honestly, this is why alison should have never been brought back and remained then. the thought of her murder being solved, figuring out who A really was, and seeing her only through flashbacks, through the eyes of others was amazing. she was a conniving and manipulative bitch. you could have learned about her home life in a couple of special episodes and how she turned into the teenager she was which ended up leading to her untimely yet predictable demise. this could have ended by at most season four. y’all had no fucking clue what to do with it after season five and just ran around like you ate spencer’s edibles.

mona is just trying to care about hanna and be there for her and all of them ditch her. mona deserved better.... including better friends. i’ll sign up.

if that was shay’s attempt at a midwest/southern accent, then she should never do it again. it broke my soul.

garrett is probably keeping jenna busy. and i just made myself sick.

i wish someone would have walked in and busted these two very unsubtle dumbasses.

the jealousy is strong with aroo. maybe she should have just dumped him.

aroo: until today.... you were the one guy who never lied to me.

aroo (s04):

garrett screams shifty and shady as fuck and y’all trust him? y’all must be high or stupid. it might be a combination of the both.

so this asshole saw nothing? he had to have had seen those girls running behind the bush.

spencer, the smartest of the group does the stupidest shit by bring the burner phone that she used to contact ian with her for thise bullshit tension.

spencer’s stupid count in just this scene alone: 2

she or someone should have made extra copies of the videos so that in case of death, the files are sent to the police or fbi.

no fucking way that old ass elevator got up there that fast. bullshit.

if the black hoodie we see that saves spencer from ian’s violent hand was supposed to be alison, then why was ian’s question “what are you doing here” instead of “you’re alive?” that leaves me to think that either a) alison being alive was no planned from the beginning and it was thought of on the spot or b) ian knew she was alive. i go with A because this whole show is about A.

it’s far from over. y’all can stop thinking that now.

so the cops won’t ask why the ropes look tampered with? shocking. /sarcasm: offline

A: it’s not over til i say it’s over. sleep tight.... while you still can bitches.

me:

#pretty little liars #pll #return to rosewood #gogh returns to rosewood #playlist: return to rosewood #the rosewood glitch #this is the end of season one #please turn over your tape #to play season two #01.22 #finally #song: landscape below #artist: floating lights #song: vibe.#artist: jojo

2 notes · View notes

himbowelsh · 7 years

Note

Re: Harriet Welsh WHAT ABOUT lesbians Harriet completely in LOVE with Kitty??? 🌸

!!! AM I ALLOWED TO DO A THING

Going for a run today was probably a bad idea – a really bad idea, considering it’s ninety degrees without a cloud in the sky. Harry is soaked through. She feels like she’s just fallen into her neighbor’s swimming pool. Her curls are frizzing, her forehead is dripping, and she’s pretty sure she can feel her eyes melting.

So, she thinks as she collapses against a curve. This is how I die.

She doesn’t even like running. The only reason she went out in the first place was to get away from her pest of a younger brother, who’s been hounding her to teach him how to drive all summer. She was so eager to escape that she didn’t think to grab anything except her phone and earbuds. No water, not even sneakers. She’s been running the past mile in flip-flops. If she dies now, she thinks she deserves it.

She flops forward, head between her knees, and tries to remember how to breathe. Her chest is burning. Oh, the sunburn she’ll get later isn’t even going to be funny.

She’s so busy fighting off a heart attack that she barely even notices the car that rolls up in front of her. All she sees are large wheels and the bottom of a silver Ford Flex. That’s all she really wants to see, besides the gravel road beneath her, and maybe the undersides of her eyelids. If she ignores the car, maybe it will go away.

Of course, she has no such luck.

“You okay?”

Harry looks up, as much as raising her head seems like an undue amount of effort. The car leaves her expecting a suburban soccer mom – in this neighborhood they’re as common as gnats – but as she raises her eyes to the driver she finds herself taken aback. The girl is a teenager, Harry’s age, with a heart-shaped face and creamy skin dusted with light freckles. Blonde curls are pulled into a loose ponytail at the back of her head, and round green eyes peer at Harry with something not far from concern.

The car’s window rolls down a little further, and the girl leans out. “Do you need a ride or something?”

It takes a second for her brain to comprehend the offer. She’s not sure how her luck did such a sudden about-face, and she’s a little afraid to embrace it. Sure, this girl’s gigantic, air-conditioned Mom Van looks a lot more welcoming than the sweltering street, but Harry is very aware that she doesn’t know this girl. Also, she’s soaked through with sweat and probably smells gross.

Sensing her hesitation, the girl’s tongue flickers out to brush over pink lips before she says, “Please? I’d feel bad just leaving you out here. You look a little bit…”

“Like I got run over by the sun?” With no small amount of effort, Harry pulls herself to her feet. She can feel her curls frizzing out of her ponytail, and hopes she doesn’t look as ridiculous as she feels. “Yeah, I know. Then he fled the scene.”

“What a crime,” the girl replies, smiling now. Her entire face lights up with it; she looks younger, even more out of place in this PTA mom car. Harry walks around to the passenger’s side door, and she leans over to open it for her.

The air conditioning is heavenly. Harry feels like she’s going to pass out as soon as that first cool blast hits her, and she melts back against the seat like all her bones have turned to liquid. The girl giggles next to her, and turns up the air.

“Oh my god,” Harry moans; then, after a moment, she remembers that she’s in a strange cute girl’s car and she hasn’t even introduced herself. “My name’s Harry. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Kitty,” the girl replies, smile widening. “Glad to be your knight in shining armor.”

Harry learns a lot of things about Kitty that afternoon. She doesn’t have her own car, so she borrows her mom’s whenever she needs to get somewhere. She listens to Halsey and Hayley Kiyoko while driving, and likes to turn the music up loud. She has five little siblings, and is the type of big sister to help them with a lemonade stand in the middle of a heat wave.

She was headed to the grocery store for more sugar when she spotted Harry. For lack of any place better to be, Harry follows her.

“Okay,” Kitty hums, frowning up at the shelves. “Do you think the granulated sugar is better, or the brown sugar? Isn’t that supposed to be healthier?”

Harry snorts. “Putting brown sugar in lemonade should be illegal. I think it is.”

“Okay,” Kitty says, fighting back a laugh. “Name brand?”

“No way, go with store. It’s just as good, for half the price.” Harry lifts the bag of sugar down from the shelf and clutches it to her chest while offering Kitty a wink. “Trust me, I know these things.”

“I’m so glad to be shopping with the expert,” Kitty replies. Harry grins.

They spend five minute struggling with the self-checkout before giving up and going to wait in line. The cashier rings up their items quickly, and Kitty pays; she won’t let Harry pay, no matter how much she tries to insist. Harry thinks it’s the least she can do for getting sweat all over Kitty’s car seats, but Kitty has a better plan.

“Buy a cup of lemonade and we’ll call it even,” she says. Harry pretends to consider this for a moment before smiling so wide that her cheeks ache.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Kitty has four brothers, and one little sister who is barely out of pre-school. None of her brothers look anything like her. While Kitty is blonde and fair, all of the Grogan boys are dark-haired and suntanned, some with freckles, some without. A few have brown eyes, the others have blue. Kitty is the only one with those sparkling emerald eyes that seem to dance whenever Harry makes her laugh.

“You sure you weren’t adopted?” Harry asks, watching the stream of smaller Grogans file through the kitchen. Kitty shakes her head, setting a large, empty pitcher on the cooking block next to the bag of sugar and bowl of lemons.

“That’s something I ask myself every day.”

Harry counts four brothers vanish into the front yard, and she’s sure that’s it until a tall, dark-haired boy steps into the kitchen with a little girl hanging off of him.. She’s got her arms around his neck, and her mop of blonde curls almost burying his face. He’s holding up well, considering. One hand supports the child, while the other holds her hair out of his eyes.

He steps up to the counter where Kitty stands an mutters something to the child. She releases his neck, landing on the counter with a small thud, and quickly makes herself comfortable with her legs dangling over the edge. Free of his burden, the boy’s intense gaze locks onto Harry.

She can’t help shifting uncomfortably, running a hand through her frizzy ponytail. “Uhh,” she says to Kitty, “does he belong to you too?”

“No,” Kitty replies, half-distracted by the little girl (and finally a sibling who looks like her) chattering about how many people have come to the lemonade stand so far. “That’s Ron, he – wow, a whole family stopped by! Very nice! They must have bought a lot of lemonade! – He lives next door. Ron, this is my friend Harry.”

“Hey,” Harry says. Ron blinks back.

She knows him, of course. Everyone at their school has heard of Scary Speirs, more of a legend than a student at this point. Stories of Ron Speirs’s exploits vary, but Harry has heard everything from him locking a teacher in a closet overnight to fighting a bunch of kids behind the gym. The number of kids ranges from five to fifteen, but according to the rumors, he sent them all to the hospital.

Harry’s seen Speirs before, but she’s definitely never come face to face with him. Kitty lives next to this guy?

“Hi,” Ron says after a few seconds, nodding at her. Harry offers an awkward smile back.

Kitty is tolerating her little sister’s help mixing together the lemonade, but it’s clear that pre-school enthusiasm is becoming more than she can handle. “Okay, Marie,” she says, running her hand over the child’s messy curls. “We’ll have more lemonade in a minute, and then we can go back to serving it. Ron, can you take her back outside, please?”

“Sure,” Ron replies, and holds out his hands for the little girl. She pouts, shaking her head.

“I wanna stay! I can help, I wanna help!”

“You have to help your brothers outside. Your face is the moneymaker,” Ron says very matter-of-factly, like he’s talking to another student his age. Harry is awed, and a little confused.

Kitty must see the look on her face as Ron leads tiny Marie out of the house, because her laugh bubbles through the newly-silent kitchen. Harry can’t help the way her face flushes, and knows better than to think her freckles will cover it. Making Kitty laugh is one thing. Being laughed at is another.

“We’ve grown up next to each other. Ron’s practically family. He helps with the kids all the time,” she explains. “I know, surprising, right?”

Harry takes a moment to process this before she manages to shake her head. “No,” she replies. “It makes perfect sense.”

When Kitty gestures her own, she’s not sure exactly what’s happening. She obeys anyway, because Kitty doesn’t have to say a word to be compelling. Before Harry knows it she has her arms full of a lemonade pitcher and is helping Kitty stir it in smooth circles.

“You have to get the texture just right,” Kitty says. With Harry holding the pitcher steady, Kitty is close enough that their foreheads are practically brushing. Harry can feel a stray lock of Kitty’s hair brushing her cheek. Her eyes are downcast, but it’s easy to get lost in them, like a forest canopy lit up in the afternoon sun. Her voice is soft. “You want the lemonade to taste perfect. So you have to mix until it doesn’t feel like you’re mixing anything at all. Like you’re dragging your spoon through air.”

Harry is nervous, and maybe that’s why her stupid mouth doesn’t know when to keep shut. “You have a lot of practice, huh?” she asks, and then wants to hit herself for how stupid that sounds. Instead of rolling her eyes, however, Kitty hums in agreement.

“I used to be the lemonade stand queen. I did one every summer for years.”

“An expert, then,” Harry says, echoing Kitty’s words from earlier. “Great to know.”

When Kitty looks up at her, Harry feels her breath catch in her throat. There’s something in the other girl’s face, light and amused and so happy, that makes her feel like all the air has been knocked out of her chest.

“I guess you could call me that,” Kitty replies, and Harry almost feels giddy at the sight of the other girl’s grin.

She winds up sticking around for four cups of lemonade, sixteen customers, eight embarrassing Kitty stories courtesy of the little Grogans (plus one from Ron), and four hours.

It’s the nicest afternoon Harry can remember spending in a long time. She and Kitty help out the kids, but there’s not much to really do once they’ve found their rhythm. Ron leads little Marie up to the corner of the street, waving a brightly painted sign advertising lemonade. Kitty and Harry lounge in the backyard, ostensibly watching over the other kids, but for the most part doing their own thing. They show each other pictures on their phones (exchanging numbers in the process). Kitty plays a few of her favorite songs for Harry to listen to. Harry talks about the upcoming soccer tournament she’ll be playing in at the end of the month. They each take turns on the tire swing in the Grogan’s front yard, shrieking and laughing in harmony with one another. Once they’ve tired themselves out, they collapse at the base of the tree and talk about anything and everything.

By the time the sky begins to darken, the kids are ready to close up shop for the day. Harry helps with the clean up process, but once everything is put away she announces that she should start her walk home.

“What?” Kitty exclaims, a pout on her lips. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“I’d love to, but my mom will worry about me. I’ve got to get back.”

“Well, you can’t walk. I’ll drive you.” Kitty declares this as if it’s the most certain thing in the world, and somehow Harry knows that arguing will get her nowhere. So once again she finds herself in the passenger’s seat of Kitty’s mom’s car as music blares over the speakers and Kitty’s painted nails drum against the steering wheel.

Kitty almost passes Harry’s house before Harry tells her where to stop. She can’t help it; the last thing she wants to do it end that wonderful day they’ve had together. She’d love to spend hours more with Kitty; she’d love to eat dinner at her house, stay the night, and wake up the next morning to the other girl bleary-eyed and bedheaded in the morning light.

All things, however, have to end. Harry lingers for one moment in Kitty’s car. The warm light shining from Harry’s home casts them both in profile. She can no longer make out the color of Kitty’s eyes, but she can see them fixed on her.

“I’ll text you,” Harry offers. She wishes she could find the words to say more.

“Yeah.” Kitty’s hand lingers over the back of Harry’s. Her palms are soft, her skin warm. “We can do this again sometime. The kids would love another lemonade stand.”

“Sure!” Harry agrees, too quickly. “Or, you know, we could do something else. The fair is this weekend, if you aren’t busy – or if you want to take your siblings, we could do that too – heck, even Ron, he’s tall enough to get on all the rides – or if you just wanted to go to the mall or something, that’d be awesome, I mean –”

“Harry,” Kitty says, and leans over.

Her lips taste like vanilla chapstick and lemonade. For a second, Harry finds herself blinded. Her eyes are wide open, because she can’t stand the thought of not looking at Kitty, not being able to take in every detail of her face when it’s pressed so close to Harry’s own; but her brain is lost in euphoria. She can’t think of anything except Kitty, can’t feel anything but the warmth of the summer sun and drops of lemonade against her bare skin. The pressure against her lips is gentle but determined – a promise.

When Kitty pulls away, she blinks at Harry. Harry blinks back. Then they both grin at the same time.

“See you soon,” Harry says, and climbs out of the car.

She hears Kitty’s engine start up behind her, but doesn’t look back as she makes her way up the walkway towards her house. The big, dumb grin on her face will ruin her cool exit. besides, she’ll definitely see Kitty again soon enough.

Maybe she really did die in the summer sun, because Harry feels certain she’s just fallen head-over-heels for an angel.

#i got SO INTO THIS #kitty grogan #harry welsh #fembob au #i probably could have genderbent ron too but i just loved the idea of speirs with a small child #my writing #harry/kitty #jim-bones-spock

26 notes · View notes