Could you do an edit of JRM in Bend it like Beckham ? 💕
hmu if you want anything specific otherwise i’m just gonna gif him in that black shirt first bc its superior
1 note
·
View note
the bad boy’s secret | chanyeol
↳ pairing : badboy!chanyeol x reader
Genre ➞ bad boy AU, fwb AU, college AU, smut
Warnings ➞ sub!chanyeol, dom!reader, bondage, oral (m. & f. receiving), edging, unprotected sex, riding, mild dirty talk, mild degrading, creampie, face riding, cum eating [ sorry not sorry ], reader is in denial , overuse of the word please
Word Count ➞ 8.2k
chanyeol is a bad boy with a nasty reputation. he’s sexy, mysterious, and entirely untouchable. well... to most people, that is. to you, on the other hand-- he’s something else entirely.
posted ; 6.04.20
there was an angry chill in the air. it bit at your face and hands as you strode to the campus lot where your car was parked. all around you, brightly colored leaves fell to the earth as strong gusts of wind broke them free of the branches they so weakly clung to. they blanketed the ground in shades of vibrant reds, tempting oranges, and dull, blotchy browns.
it was actually really beautiful. you'd always been a fan of the cool undertones of fall. especially the reds. ugh, red was such a gorgeous color. practically everything you owned was red, or some varying shade of it. it was just so sexy and dangerous and—
"(y/n)!" you were snapped from your inner thoughts by a barking voice.
quickly, you averted your eyes from the ground and onto the face of the girl walking beside you. her name is Mina, you're pretty sure. you grimaced at her irritated expression, realizing you must have zoned out again. getting lost in your thoughts at inappropriate times was a pretty frequent occurrence for you.
"huh?"
she scoffed in disbelief, eyes narrowing, "where's your head at? i've been talking for a solid five minutes and i'm pretty sure you stopped listening six minutes ago."
you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck as an apologetic smile touched your lips, "sorry. i was just thinking about the leaves."
"you're so weird."
you didn't know why she felt comfortable saying that to you. you weren't even friends. at least, not by your standards. maybe acquaintances. maybe.
and that was only because you happened to have the same afternoon photography class and just so happened to sit next to each other. you supposed in her pea sized brain that was enough to qualify for a friendship. but you had standards. and she was god damn rude.
regardless, you didn't have the energy or patience to start any sort of altercation. so you shrug, head bobbing lazily in agreement.
"i know."
that seemed to satisfy her as any remaining glimmer of annoyance was swept off her features with one last eye roll and replaced by a light grin, "whatever. hey, there's this party at my boyfriend's frat house tonight and you should totally come."
"no thanks." was your swift, concise rejection. but of course, that was not enough to satisfy her.
"what? why not?" her tone demanded an explanation that you really didn't feel like giving.
sighing heavily, you kicked a pebble across the sidewalks. "parties aren't my thing."
that was maybe half the truth. you actually did like parties. just not frat boy parties. they were like beacons for girls with low self esteem and insecure rich boys with superiority complexes. they were loud as fuck and made your head ache. not to mention they reeked. apparently, a lot of guys didn't learn in high school how to put on deodorant. your preference stood with more low key parties, with a more controlled number of attendees and some chill drinking. maybe getting a little baked if you were in that vibe.
"you can be such a buzzkill," she groaned loudly, head rolling back as she stomped her foot childishly. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
"i know."
"do you ever just let yourself have a good time? like ever? we're in the prime of our lives for god’s sake!" and there she goes again with the 'prime of our lives' bullshit. please. maybe this was the best life would ever be for her, but you had other plans.
"i have to finish an essay for my business class." no you didn't.
"but it's friday! you have all weekend to finish it!" why was she trying to argue with you? you'd already said no, so why was she still trying to convince you. spoiler, you weren't about to change your mind anytime soon.
"i prefer not to put work off until the very last minute." also a lie.
"(y/n)," she whined, "come on, i personally think it would be pretty healthy for you not to spend another friday night pent up in that little apartment of yours—"
all at once she was cut off by the distinct roaring of an engine. both your gazes shifted towards the road ahead of you, watching as a flashy red motorcycle came tearing down the street. an excited gasp exploded from your–barely–acquaintance's mouth while a low groan escaped yours.
fantastic. just what you needed. your daily dose of—
"Yeolie!"
you winced as she squealed his name, waving energetically. you silent prayed he'd just keep going. but of course, he didn't. his bike came to a gradual halt in front of the sidewalk you stood on. it purred as he planted his feet securely on the cement.
now this next part you could almost see happening in slow motion.
he reached up with his leather glove clad hands, pulling off his sleek black helmet to reveal a pair of thick, pink lips, a sharp, defined nose, charcoal black eyes, and a head of silver locks. you could practically feel Mina swooning as he swung his head to the side, effectively flipping his hair like some kind of wannabe fetus Justin Bieber. it took less than a moment for those dark eyes to fall on the pair of you, and a slow smirk to crawl across his face.
Mina immediately rushed up to him (all too energetically for someone who already has a boyfriend, mind you), squeaking out sweet greetings as her touchy hands found purchase on the sleeve of his leather jacket.
what was up with him and the leather anyway? it was only on shockingly rare occasions that you witnessed him donning something other than his signature black leather outfit, decorated with silver zippers and complimented by a thick chain around his neck and a single silver earring. how much cheesier could he get?
you'd think after high school, people would be over the whole 'bad boys are so hot' thing.
apparently not.
because at your uni, Park Chanyeol was hot shit. every girl and every guy wanted to get their hands on him in one way or another. he was dangerous, sexy, mysterious, hard to get. he rode a blood red motorcycle and smoked blunts behind the main building for god's sake.
he was the definition of a cliche. but it seemed you were the only person that could see through his whole charade.
"(y/n), don't be rude! come say hi to Yeolie!" Mina suddenly whipped around, waving you over.
this bitch—
the corner of your lip twitched in a subtle sneer, but, ever the pacifist, you obliged, slowly moving to stand at her side. his irritating smirk widened upon your approach, tongue swinging over the corner of his lip as his eyes dropped to do a brief once over.
"Chanyeol," you grunted with a less than enthusiastic tone.
"(y/n)," was his swift reply, voice as deep and smooth as ever, "wonderful seeing you again. you look as happy-go-lucky as ever."
the sarcasm was palpable.
"yeah well, it seems i just can't contain myself with you around," you bit back with just as much satire, lips curling dryly.
"i'm flattered," he all but cooed, head tilting downward as his teeth latched onto his bottom lip.
he stared boldly into your eyes, and you stared right back with just as much fire.
"um... do you guys, like... know each other?"
"no."
"yes."
you both responded simultaneously.
confusion plastered itself across her face, eyes jumping back and forth from your face to his. a taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "we actually went to the same high school, isn't that right, (y/n)?"
you huffed in annoyance, shoulders slumping, "yeah. we did."
"and you never told me this because…?"
because you weren't close in the least and you hadn't even told her when your birthday was let alone about your high school life.
"didn't seem like important information."
she gaped at you in disbelief, "anything regarding my Yeolie is important information!"
was she trying to stroke his already colossal ego? if his head got any bigger, it might just explode.
Chanyeol’s grin broadened at her statement, and you silently groaned, knowing exactly what was coming before he even opened his mouth, "yeah, (y/n). anything regarding me is important information. so why didn't you tell her? trying to keep me all for yourself? how greedy of you."
"please." you scoffed.
Mina glared at you sharply before plastering an innocent smile across her face and twirling a strand of her platinum blonde dyed hair. "ignore her, Yeolie. i was actually wondering if i'd be seeing you at Jake's party tonight?"
"wasn't planning on it," he admitted, and Mina pouted, lips puckering, over dramatically whining in protest. suddenly, his eyes shifted to you, that stupid smirk touching his features, "but maybe if a certain buzzkill was attending... i'd be more tempted to make an appearance."
buzzkill? oh, you.
"i'm not—"
"of course (y/n)'s coming! wouldn't be a party without her!" Mina rushed to cut you off, throwing an arm over your shoulder and yanking you into her side with a grip tight enough to bruise. you looked at her like she was crazy, brows furrowed, eyes wide, lip raised in a disgusted sneer. but her hold was enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs and steal away your ability to refute.
Chanyeol’s brows jumped in surprise, an amused grin spreading across his face, "really?"
"wait, no—"
"yes! i was surprised when she agreed, too! but guess she's finally breaking out of her shell!" you were going to kick her ass if she kept cutting you off.
"well isn't that great to hear." there was a mischievous flicker in his dark eyes, a look you knew all too well.
"so... you'll come?" she asked hopefully.
"sure." you were annoyed at how easily he agreed. he was still smirking smugly as he began pulling his helmet back down over his head. shooting you a wink and a two fingered wave, he spoke again, "see ya tonight."
with that final word, he was speeding off down the road, tires kicking up dust and pebbles as they spun.
as soon as Mina's grip loosened from around you, you were ten feet away, swiftly walking in the direction of your car. "(y/n)! wait!" she cried out, running after you in her five inch heels. you didn't slow down in the least.
"i'm not going, Mina," you said sternly, not even bothering to look back at her.
"b–but i told Chanyeol—"
"no."
"please?"
"not. happening."
⋄⋆⋄
you ended up going.
not because you wanted to, of course. but because Mina decided it was necessary to show up at your apartment and quite literally drag you out. she was surprisingly strong for such a small person, and fiercely persistent. she'd even gone the extra mile of forcefully applying makeup to your eyelids and lips. that's not to say you didn't put up one hell of a fight. but conflict was never your strong suite, and you eventually ended up going pliant under her ministrations.
unsurprisingly, it was just as you expected it to be. loud. stinky. and filled to the brim with horny bastards looking for a quick fuck. you'd been there for all of ten minutes and you'd already gotten your ass grabbed six times. slimy assholes think it's acceptable to touch someone without permission. all the more reason you didn't want to stick around for long.
not to mention, Mina had ditched you the minute you walked in the door to suck faces with her fuckboy boyfriend. since then you'd been gravitating from room to room, searching for the best place to sit without being squished by a horny couple practically dry humping against you.
luckily, you found your solace upstairs in an empty bedroom. the music was muffled the moment you shut the door, the stuffy air that smelled of sweat and marijuana also clearing out. finally, you could breathe.
you spotted a candle and lighter on the bedside table, and quickly moved to light it. the dull, soothing glow that filled the room, splashing light across the walls made the headache that had begun to swell at your temples ease up. exhaling softly, you fell back onto the neatly made bed, body relaxing into the soft duvet.
but of course, your moment of tranquility was short lasting.
because before you could so much as shut your eyes, the door was opening, and a painfully familiar voice was purring, "there you are~ i've been looking all over for you, (y/n), you sly girl."
"fucking hell," you growled under your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him properly, "what do you want, Chanyeol?"
he gently nudged the door shut behind him, before walking over to where you lay. "isn't it obvious?" he murmured, leaning forward to press his hands against the mattress on either side of your ankles.
"spell it out for me."
he chuckled softly, knees meeting the bedding as he began to crawl upwards, until his face was hovering over yours. even you couldn't deny how beautiful he looked up close, with those big, dark eyes, boyishly grinning lips, smooth, tan skin...
"i," he began, nose nudging against your cheek, "want," his lips feathered over yours, "you."
a dark chuckle rolled off your tongue as you met his hooded, lustful gaze. "you we're so greedy last time... and still... you couldn't get enough," you replied smoothly, voice deepening as your desire for him grew.
"what can i say? i'm insatiable."
you scoffed, the corners of your lips curling as you lifted your head slightly, leaving only the tiniest of spaces between your mouth, "i don't think you deserve it." your whisper caressed his lips all too temptingly. A chill rolled down his spine, eyes fluttering as he felt himself falter briefly.
"maybe i don't... but i can earn it..."
now that caught your interest.
a smirk touched your features, "and how might you do that?"
he bit his lip, trying his best to subdue a grin, "by doing whatever you ask of me."
"you willing to take that risk? after that little stunt earlier? i might just decide not to go easy on you." your voice was taunting, but the challenge and threat were very real.
"i can handle anything you give me."
you raised a brow, amused by his naive confidence. then, in the blink of an eye, you had him underneath you, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head. the action had been so sudden that he could only gasp in shock when his back collided with the bed. you stared down at him with dark eyes, the tip of your tongue sliding over the corner of your mouth.
"you sure about that, big boy?"
he inhaled deeply when your head lowered to the curve of his throat, lips just barely grazing over that sensitive spot. "most definitely." he let out breathlessly, eyes fluttering as he tilted his chin back, offering himself to you. something dark alighted in your eyes, a sinister gleam in your smirk as thoughts of how you could absolutely ruin him flooded your mind.
"you're going to regret saying that."
you didn’t offer him the opportunity to respond before your lips crashed down on his. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed beneath you, returning the kiss eagerly.
see? you much preferred Chanyeol when he wasn’t running that big mouth of his. he was always so much more fun when he was choking on desperate moans and trembling uncontrollably under your touch.
truth about the infamous Park Chanyeol? he was a bitch.
in fact... he was your bitch.
it started back in high school. when you were the chill girl who wasn't too well known by anyone outside of your friend group, and when he was the untouchable bad boy that everyone drooled over.
to keep it to the point, you'd both attended a mutual friend's party your senior year, got wasted, and hooked up.
but, it wasn't what you'd expected it to be. no, because you'd expect Chanyeol to be the kind of guy to pin a girl (or guy) down and dominate the fuck out of them. but the moment your voice took on an authoritative pitch, he was putty in your hands, whining and moaning and begging... it stirred something to life inside of you that you had no idea was there.
and it was good. really good. so good, in fact, he came running back to you within the next week practically begging for more. and shit, you gave it to him. he was one of the first guys you'd dominated like that. it was empowering, controlling a guy as big as Chanyeol was. it was an addictive sensation.
but you'd made it very clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than sex. it wasn't romantic, you weren't friends, and you had no intention of getting to know him on a deeper level than his body. though, he seemed suspiciously intent on worming his way into your life one way or another. the boy was relentless. luckily, you were equally as stubborn. a match made in hell, aren’t you? what a spectacle.
you drew away from the kiss at the feeling of his tongue prodding at your lips, a low whine following soon after. you scoffed softly at the sight of his pouting face, “so needy.”
“you can only blame yourself.” he shot back easily, eyes already hooded and darkened with lust. excitement glimmered within them as you reached down between your bodies, fingers slowly undoing his belt.
“is that right?” you murmured, not breaking eye contact for a single moment, a lazy smirk resting on your face. he swallowed, trembling pupils jumping noncommittally from your intense stare down to where you were making easy work of his belt buckle.
“i— yes.” you don’t think he knew what he was saying yes to, his mind already becoming a muddled mess from the promise of what the night had in store for the two of you. his rationality had a nasty habit of hopping out the window whenever you got him in this position.
“what are you hoping happens tonight, Chanyeol?” you asked softly, slowly pulling his belt from the first loop of his jeans.
he swallowed thickly, head beginning to swing back and forth is slow swoops. “i– i don’t—” his voice broke off with a strangled whine as you allowed your fingertips to caress ever so gently over the ever growing tent in his pants.
you raised a brow into a questioning arch, stifling a smirk of amusement at his already flustered state. “it’s a simple question.”
his cheeks pinkened. “i just… want you.” it almost came out more as a question than a statement, words shy and hesitant.
“want me to what?” you pressed.
“to… to kiss me.” his gaze fell onto your lips, his own parting.
“kiss you?” you repeated, tone on the verge of taunting. “asking for a lot there, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
you were teasing him, but he didn’t seem to mind, blinking slowly as he dragged his tongue over the pink swell of his thick lower lip. “want you to touch me…” his voice lowered an octave, deep, lustful eyes looking up at you intensely.
“where?”
“everywhere.” he replied without missing a beat. “anywhere. just— just want your hands. or your mouth. i’ll take anything that you give me… but you already know that.”
you really loved the sound of his voice when he got like this. it was softer than cotton and smoother than silk, rumbling so deep in his chest that you could almost mistake it for purring. it spilled off his lips like the thickest, sweetest honey, so lush and lovely, dripping with shameless desire. something about it was so soothing. and the sounds he made were even better, his guttural groans and melodic moans were nothing short of symphonies. and you were the conductor.
chuckling, you smirked down at him. “you’re right. i do already know that.” he gasped as you suddenly yanked his belt completely free. “now be a good little bitch and grab onto the headboard.”
he eagerly complied, capturing his lip between his teeth as he watched you bind his wrists above his head. his eyes slowly dragged over your face, drifting over the length of your neck, following the smooths swells of your chest beneath your black tank top. a low groan slid from his lips as you pressed your hips forward slightly, just barely grinding against his growing erection. his eyes snapped up at the sound of your soft laughter.
“my eyes are up here, sweetheart.” you hummed, pulling his belt taught before looping it around one of the vertical wooden bars.
“and beautiful eyes they are.” he grinned up at you in that boyishly charming way, shooting you a playful wink. you scoffed, hands drifting down to rest on his firm chest before one raised to grip his jaw, tilting his head upward. lowering your own head, you allowed your lips to caress teasingly over his.
“maybe i should gag you, too. keep that pretty mouth in check,” you mused, dragging your thumb slowly over his full lips, “but unfortunately i think i enjoy the sound of your voice almost as much as you do. especially when you're moaning my name. god it’s so hot.”
you almost growled as he took your finger into his mouth, moaning softly around it. you swooped down, swiftly replacing your finger with your lips. the kiss was deep, rough, and hungry. distracted by your weaponized tongue, he didn’t process that you were unbuttoning his jeans until they were being pushed down his thighs and your hand was gripping his arousal through his thin black boxers.
“fuck, (y/n),” he groaned deeply into your mouth, arms gently tugging against their restraints. you dragged your lips away from his, face lowering so that you could suck your mark onto the expanse of his neck. he sighed blissfully, hot breath rushing over your ear as he subtly rolled his hips, body temperature rising steadily. you bit down on his collarbone, hands pushing up under his shirt to feel at his toned, well built torso. he was so hard, muscles rigid and protruding, so warm to the touch.
it was rather amazing. a guy as big as Chanyeol, as strong and as confident, could easily get the upper hand over you if he wanted. he could flip you over and pin you down without so much as breaking a sweat. but he didn’t. he let you pin him down, tie him up, dominate him, mind and body. he allowed himself to submit to you, to be taken by you: slowly, quickly, roughly, gently, he didn’t care, but dammit he enjoyed every second of it. and if that didn’t give you a rush of power, then you don’t know what could.
goosebumps rose across his honeyed skin as you pushed his shirt up to fully expose his tight body to your ravenous eyes, a chill rolling down his spine when you lowered your mouth to latch onto the smooth swell of his pectoral. he moaned quietly, back arching as you peppered kisses down his abdomen, slowly shifting lower, lower, lower… until your face was level with his bulge.
a sound of excitement flooded past his lips, his breathing becoming rapid and deep. “really?” he asked hopefully, voice breathless and light. a slow smirk crawled across your lips and you chuckled at the way he jolted with a moan when you pressed a slow kiss to his clothed arousal.
“really.” you hummed in confirmation. “you said you wanted my mouth, didn’t you?”
he frantically bobbed his head. “yes. yes, god yes. please.” you almost laughed at his shameless display of desperation. he let out a deep, strained groan as you flicked your tongue over his clothed erection, head falling back.
“ah ah, eyes on me, baby.” you scolded mildly, squeezing his thighs in warning. he lifted his head without argument, face flushed and glistening with faint perspiration, lip caught in a tight grip between his teeth, brows furrowed.
from your viewpoint, he looked rather beautiful: arms bound above his head, exposed chest rising and falling dramatically with each deep breath, messy silver hair falling flawlessly over his hooded, lustful eyes.
and he in turn was also quite taken by how perfect you looked between his legs: smirking lips hovering right over where he needed them most, dark, penetrating gaze making his body tremble with an unspoken need.
your fingers slipped under the elastic of his boxers, slowly easing them down his thighs until his length sprang free. “there he is,” you murmured, tongue dragging over your lower lip as you admired him, long and thick and swollen, precum spilling over his hot, red tip. he shuddered in delight as you traced your finger over a vein.
“(y/n)…” his usually deep voice was pleading and airy, hands curling into tight fists above his head, “please.”
you smiled up at him innocently before delivering a teasing kitten lick to his sensitive tip. he whined softly, hips twitching as his need for you increased tenfold.
a slightly more sadistic side of you rather enjoyed watching him squirm. perhaps it was that hidden part of you that wanted nothing more than to tease him into oblivion with insubstantial caresses and borderline torturous kisses until he was writhing helplessly and there were tears spilling from those beautiful big brown eyes.
however, a larger part of you craved the sight of his stunning, fucked out expression. the one where his face glistened with sweat, thick pink lips swollen and red from being ruthlessly and relentlessly attacked by those pearly whites, puppy dog eyes hooded and fluttering, fighting to remain open against his mind's desire to just melt completely into the pleasure coursing like hot lava through his veins. that was the face you wanted to see more than anything.
a broken moan flooded from his gaping mouth as you fastened your lips around his tip, the taste of his salty precum immediately lathering your tongue. he trembled as you hummed lightly around him, mouth silently forming the words ‘oh god’ as the vibrations sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body like static shock.
“feels good, (y/n),” he whined weakly, stomach tensing, “feels so good.”
your response was to thrust your head down and as much of him into your mouth as possible. he cried out, hips snapping up at the feeling of your gentle sucking. you were quick to pin them back down, a warning glare darkening your gaze.
“‘m sorry—,” he slurred, panting heavily, “i’m sorry.” he was quick to submit, fighting against the painfully strong urge to fuck himself up into your warm mouth and forcing his quivering body to go pliant beneath your ministrations. satisfied for the time being, you dragged your tongue from his base to his weeping head, tracing slow, taunting circles over his most sensitive place.
a broken moan was all he could manage as his cock twitched tellingly, precum spilling down his throbbing length. you fixed your lips back around his tip, sucking gently. his thighs trembled at the sensation it sent shooting through his veins, a breathless ‘oh’ pulsing from his pink-bitten lips.
“(y/n)— (y/n), if you keep doing that—” the warning was clear, but you wanted to see just how close you could bring him to his release before stealing it away last second. it was always fun to watch how hard he came down from his high when he was denied of it. it was delicious, the way he gasped and trembled, shuddering hips desperately seeking out more frictions, but never receiving it. he was so cute when he got like that.
“you gonna come, baby?” you cooed, replacing your mouth with your hand and shifting upwards so that you could look directly into his eyes. you wanted to be able to see the look in his pretty brown eyes when you stole away his release. he whimpered, head bobbing rapidly as he caught his lower lip between his teeth.
“please.”
you only offered a low, contemplative hum before a wicked smirk struck your features. “not yet.”
a sob broke from his lips as you drew away from his throbbing dick, his high stolen only moments before it could come crashing down over him. his hips bucked, desperately seeking the friction you so cruelly denied him of, but finding nothing but empty air in place of your warm touch. his muscles trembled, broken pleas spilling from his quivering lips.
“(y-y/n), no— please,” he gasped out, arms tugging against the sturdy binds, fingers aching to touch you, grab onto you, hold you.
you hushed him with sweet words, pressing a soothing kiss to the cut of his jaw, hands massaging the bulk of his muscular thighs and holding still his stuttering hips.
“fuck– i hate it when you do that.” he cursed weakly, glassy eyes peering up into yours.
“no you don’t.” you chuckled softly, brushing his damp bangs out of his face in an unexpectedly tender gesture.
“you’re right, i don’t.” he relented easily, the corners of his lips curling subtly.
a sudden silence fell over you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was looking at you with those eyes— the ones you knew all too well. the ones you’d told him plenty of times to drop. because those weren’t the kind of eyes you were supposed to look at a fuck buddy with. those weren’t the kind of eyes that just anybody could be on the receiving end of, most definitely not you.
“don’t look at me like that.” you warned, hardening your expression.
“i can’t help it.” he breathed. you felt your stomach twist. damnit.
“then close ‘em, Park. before I decide to blindfold you, too.”
it seemed your threat wasn’t very well received, as the smile adorning his features only expanded, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly.
“that doesn’t sound too bad.”
a dry laugh burst from your lips. “god, you’re so fucking submissive. how has nobody else untangled your little ruse, hm? acting all big and tough on the outside when all you really want is to be tied up and fucked like a horny little bitch. am i really the only one that’s got you figured out?” you hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingers down his throat and caressing his collarbone.
“you’re the only one, (y/n).”
for some reason… you had a strange feeling that that sentence held more meaning than you were willing to decipher.
“you tell all your little side fucks that?” you taunted, disguising the slight tremor in your chest with a dangerous smirk.
he shook his head, gaze not wavering for a moment. “there’s no one else. only you.”
fuck. you needed him to stop talking. so, you did the one thing that always did the trick: shoving your fingers down his throat. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion, a sound that easily melted into a low moan, his tongue immediately getting to work lapping at your digits.
“you talk too much.” you murmured, taking him off guard and eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat as you ground yourself down on his naked length. “you came to get fucked, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
he eagerly nodded his head, hips nudging up excitedly against your own.
“thought so.” you chuckled.
through wide, glassy eyes, Chanyeol watched you push yourself upright, straddling his thighs. just as he was about to ask what you were doing, you grabbed the hem of your tank top and peeled it off over your head, discarding it onto the floor, your pants fast to follow.
“fuck. you’re so beautiful.” he groaned deeply, ravenous gaze raking over your nearly naked form. you smirked at him cockily.
“i know.”
a surprised laugh erupted from his lips at your blunt reply, eyes glinting with something akin to admiration. “as you should.”
smiling to yourself, you swiftly climbed back on top of him, not wasting any time before grabbing hold of his throbbing dick. he let out a breath of appreciation at the contact, biting at the inside of his cheek. every muscle in his body tightened as you teasingly traced his tip over your clothed heat, his precum slickening the thin fabric.
“are you wet?” he asked weakly, voice so airy and strained that you almost missed it.
grinning devilishly, you toyed with the elastic. “do you wanna find out?”
“yes,” he all but hissed out, muscular arms straining against their secure restraints, “fuck— yes, please.”
“mmm, you sound so hot when you're desperate to get fucked.” you groaned softly, nudging your underwear to the side in order to slip his head through your hot arousal. he shuddered at the sensation, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched you tease not only him but yourself as well with fleeting caresses of his needy length against your burning core.
“(y/n).” his deep voice had become little more than a breathless whimper singed with molten desire. you felt your pulse jump at the very sound of it, your own want for him swelling with every passing second.
Chanyeol let out a broken gasp as you sunk down on him, cursing weakly as you took him in inch by inch. a low hum vibrated on your lips at the blissful stretch, hot tendrils of pleasure igniting throughout your body.
“sometimes i forget just how good you feel inside of me.” you breathed out heavily, peering down at his already fucked out expression with a coy smirk.
“i could never forget.” he moaned, roughly biting his lower lip. a slow, deep grind of your hips had his head of unruly silver locks tossed back into the plush pillows, an unsteady groan of your name filling the hot, heavy air surrounding you.
“fuck, go faster.”
he realized his mistake only when your fingers were pressing into the length of his throat, all motion ceased. “is that how you ask for things?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.
he was quick to shake his head, eager to right his wrong. “please. please go faster.”
“that’s better.”
a rough sob is pulled from his flushed throat (which you’re almost certain will be raw tomorrow morning) as you fuck yourself down onto him. the pace was fast, hungry, rough. his back bowing off the mattress, hips pulsing upward, desperate to meet each thrust half way.
“(y/n),” you almost moaned at the sight of his body rolling beneath yours, muscles flexed and trembling, toned arms straining against the tight hold of his belt, the leather biting pretty red marks into his wrists, “i wanna touch you— please let me touch you. let me feel you, baby. you know i can make you feel good.”
his begging caused a playful grin to draw itself across your face. “should i?” you murmured thoughtfully, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles. a low, throaty moan vibrated in your chest as he thrust himself up inside of you, just barely brushing over that perfect little spot.
“i can be so good for you. please… let me be good for you, (y/n).”
“well when you say it like that…” you sighed, feeling any remaining resolve come crumbling down.
excitement ignited in his dark eyes, and he watched with bated breath as you reached up, getting to work on freeing him from the binds.
the very moment the belt fell slack, releasing his hands, they were on your skin, eager and impatient, tugging you down into a heated kiss. it was messy and rough, all biting teeth and lashing tongues. not that you minded much, it was always fun reminding him who was in charge, one way or another.
his wandering hands eagerly explored the expanse of your body, squeezing, pressing, pulling. and you let him have his fun, let him push the limits, testing your boundaries with every curious prod and trembling caress.
it was only when you felt his fingers pressing into the swells of your ass and begin guiding your movements that you drew the line. it took all of a few seconds for you to have his wrists pinned down on either side of his head.
you pulled away from his lips was a disappointed sigh, tongue clicking. “still no restraint, i see? i’m disappointed. i thought you said you’d be good for me, yeolie? was that good?” he all but whimpered, his head, too muddled from pleasure to form coherent words, shaking remorsefully. “no… that was very bad. bad boy, yeolie.”
his dick throbbed so hard inside of you that you could’ve sworn he’d almost just come.
a scoff of both amazement and disbelief escaped your lips. “you like being called a bad boy?”
how ironic.
color flushed into his cheeks, embarrassment shining in his big, glassy eyes that were now refusing to meet your gaze.
“look at me.”
he gasped as you purposely clenched around him, thrusting your hips back until he was balls deep, successfully forcing his attention onto your face. you grabbed his chin securely between your thumb and forefinger, and lowered your head to the point where your lips were just barely brushing over his. his pupils were blown and trembling as they met yours.
“you wanna be my bad boy, baby?”
his jaw fell open, a thunderous moan breaking from his chest.
“yes.”
“say it.” you all but growled, tone leaving no room for argument.
at this point, he was too lost in his own desire to feel any real shame.
“i wanna be your bad boy.”
a triumphant smirk curled onto your face, and you rewarded him with a gentle kiss to his quivering lips. “you gonna come for me, bad boy?” he was already bobbing his head frantically before you’d even fully gotten the question out. you chuckled sadistically at his unabashed desperation. “should i let you?”
“(y/n), please— i don’t think i can— fuck.” he panted out, voice shuddering and breaking as you fucked yourself down on him at just the right pace to keep him teetering dangerously on the edge without completely throwing him over. you bit your lip, pleasure exploding like firecrackers in your veins as he thrusted into you. fuck, if he didn’t stop hitting that spot…
his hands curled into tight fists where they were pinned to the mattress, dull nails biting smooth crescents into his palm. noticing this, you took it upon yourself to weave your fingers through his, holding his hands in an unexpectedly tender display. only because you didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself… that was all.
but, perhaps it was a mistake.
because that look returned to his eyes with vengeance, his features melting into bursting admiration and unspoken emotion. this time, you ignored it, too gone in your own pleasure to spare it a second thought. that’s what you convinced yourself of, anyways.
he was pulsing intensely against your slick walls, twitching cock threatening to erupt at any given second. you could tell he was fighting to hold himself back, the veins in his throat growing prominent from the strenuous effort. it was admirable in a way, how desperately he wanted to please you, even if it meant denying himself of the greatest pleasure of all. you’d encountered very few men with that kind of will power. so you couldn’t help but to respect it when you saw it in Chanyeol.
“you look like you’re about to explode.” you taunted breathlessly, lips pulled into a lust hazed smirk. “it’d be cruel of me to tell you to hold it, wouldn’t it?”
he whimpered helplessly, obviously not sure which answer would satisfy you and which would coax you into further torturing his already wrecked body.
you offered a rasping chuckled. “you’re lucky that i’m feeling rather generous today.”
something between a sob and a moan are thrown past his lips as you slam yourself down on him, purposefully squeezing your walls around him. he cries out your name desperately, imploringly. you know he can’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard he tries. his body was going to come whether he liked it or not. you felt in the way he throbbed and twitched inside of you, heard it in the way he groaned and sighed, saw it in the way his eyes rolled, body shuddering uncontrollably.
“come.”
and he fucking did.
his body stalled, back arching off the bad, hips sputtering up in sharp, quick thrusts, the sound of skin on skin contact resonating through the room. you cooed, relishing in the way he quivered and keener beneath you, mouth gaping silently for a few moments before growling moans finally broke through, rumbling so deep in his chest you could have easily mistaken it for thunder.
you let him fill you up, painting your walls with his release, knowing damn well your intentions once he was finished.
“that’s it, baby…” you cooed, releasing one of his clenched fists to caress his feverish face, tracing the lower line of his plump lip, swollen and red from his relentless biting.
“oh! look at that. you made a mess, sweetheart.” you purred, smirking wickedly as you watched his arousal drip out of you and onto his now half hard cock. he moaned at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I think it’s only right if you clean it up.”
his eyes snapped up to meet yours, excitement immediately burning with his hazy, blown pupils. that was your boy… always eager to clean up after himself. especially if it meant he could put his tongue and lips to proper use.
“fuck. ride my face. wanna taste you. wanna make you come.” he groaned breathlessly, freed hands reaching down to grip at your thighs, tugging at them impatiently.
you chuckled at how eager he was, happily obliging. you climbed up, repositioning yourself to hover over his flushed face, caging his head between your thighs. his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you down and into reach of his greedy tongue. you couldn’t help the sigh that slid from your lips at the first contact, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his tongue dragging hungrily through your come soaked folds.
“that’s right. eat your come, baby. lick it up.” you breathed out heavily, fingers weaving through his damp silver locks.
he moaned against you, the vibrations sending chills rolling down your spine. it was like white hot electricity in your veins when he rolled his flattened tongue cover your clit, a sharp moan erupting from your throat.
“fuck, just like that. right there.” you panted, hips grinding down against his skilled tongue. “you’re so fucking good with your mouth, yeol.” his determination spiked at the praise, lips encircling your clit and sucking purposefully.
pure euphoria rushed through your veins, head falling back as your grip on his hair tightened. his rapacious hands danced across your body, fingers pressing hotly into your skin, obviously not having learned his lesson the first time around. though, you weren’t too keen on correcting him. especially not with the fire his touch was igniting across your body.
your hips stuttered as his tongue pressed inside of you, lapping at you hungrily. “tastes… so good…” he groaned brokenly against your arousal, hooded eyes devouring the sight of you falling apart above him.
if there was one thing Park Chanyeol loved– it was being the cause of your pleasure.
snagging your lip roughly between your teeth, you meet his searing gaze, your walls clenching around his invading tongue at the almost unbearable intensity of it.
“you like it?” you moaned, feeling yourself begin to climb your way towards release. he nuzzled against you, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue teased your entrance.
god… if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was trying to suffocate himself. knowing Chanyeol, he’d probably consider it the perfect way to go. perhaps you would have laughed at the thought had it not been for the molten pleasure numbing your mind and senses.
“i’m gonna come.”
at your breathless declaration, Chanyeol is quickly replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, fucking them up into you steadily while his mouth gets to work on your clit. it feels so good… you’re numb to pretty much everything else but the feeling of him, the sight of him.
and you find it’s just that that finally sends you tumbling over that ledge: the sight of those beautiful brown eyes, dark and eager, burning with unspoken emotion, pooling with crimson seduction. he’s breathtaking.
you shift off of his face carefully, a hazy, satisfied smirk settling across your face.
“what a filthy boy.” you purr softly, more so to yourself than him, delighting in the sight of his face, glistening from a mixture of both his and your own release. his lips curl upwards at the corners, sinful tongue peeking out to drag over them and savor the lingering taste of you, a low hum of appreciation rumbling deep in his chest.
his hands don’t leave your hips as you carefully lift yourself off of him, offering some much needed support for your still shaky legs. you flop down on the mattress beside him with a soft ‘oof’ and shut your eyes, taking a moment to catch your breath and gather your scattered wits. a few moments of silence pass, before your brow twitched in irritation.
“stop staring before i smack you.” even with your eyes closed, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of your face.
he chuckled unabashedly, not all too torn up about being caught. “sorry. i can’t help myself,” he paused, “you’re just so beautiful like this.”
sighing, you roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “what’d i say about calling me beautiful?”
he pouts, looking like a scolded puppy. “not to say it after sex.”
“that’s right.”
“but it’s the truth!”
“Chanyeol.” you groan, throwing an arm over your face.
he huffs in annoyance rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his palm. “what’s so wrong with me saying that you're beautiful?”
“you know exactly what’s wrong with it.” you grumble, shooting him a pointed glare, one he is quick to return. rolling your eyes, you turn away from him. “i’m too fucked out to try and argue with you right now so can you just drop it?”
one of his arms snakes over your waist, and you inhaled sharply in surprise as he tugged you into his chest.
“Chanyeol—”
he was quick to disregard your warning tone, nuzzling his face into your neck. “i like to cuddle.”
“you know—” you began, scowling as he cut you off a second time.
“i know what we agreed to but come on… a few minutes won’t kill you.” he grumbled, low voice raspy with exhaustion.
the slight tightening of his hold around you told you that he had no intention of letting go any time soon. your features twisted into a scowl, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.
but your resolve to remain unphased wavered.
because, for a moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of his body against yours, allowing yourself to melt into it. it was a strange sensation, the comfort it brought you… the security. perhaps it was the aftermath of your orgasm. or maybe the exhaustion from a stressful week. or maybe something else entirely… regardless, you found yourself relaxing into him, into his hold, into his warmth. it wasn’t something you could really control. and even if you could, you weren’t sure if you would do anything different.
minutes passed. maybe two. maybe five. maybe twenty. you weren’t really sure. you could hear the muffled music still pumping through the speakers somewhere downstairs. dull footsteps and low voices passing outside the door every now and again. the soft glow from the still candle flickered soothingly over the pale walls.
a strange sense of calm had settled over you at some point. you weren’t sure quite when. all you knew was that if you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the steady beating of Chanyeol’s heart. his breathing had become slow and heavy, warming the side of your face with every exhale.
“are you…” you swallowed, throat unexpectedly dry, “are you asleep?”
you were met with silence.
sucking your lips into your mouth, you slowly turned your head. your heart faltered in your chest. “geez.” you muttered softly, a faint smile touching your lips.
he was knocked out cold, cheek smooshed up against the pillow, lips parted and puckered out, hair cast across the white pillowcase, a few locks stuck on his eyelashes. you lifted your hand carefully, gently brushing the silver strands out of his face. your fingers lingered on his skin, caressing ever so lightly over his cheek and jaw.
“beautiful.”
it took you a moment to realize that that word had just come from your lips. you jerked away like you’d been stung, eyes wide, and heart suddenly racing.
shit.
you were so fucked.
1K notes
·
View notes
Gratitude
A/N When we last saw Jamie and Claire, they’d crashed, burned (somewhat literally) and declared their mutual interest in each other in their individual ways. Whither now, our pair?
All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.
The song by Big Red Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.
June 1, 2018, Costa Coffee, Whitechapel, London, England
“It feels like ye might be avoiding me, Sassenach.”
It occurred to her that Jamie knew her schedule and habits to an uncomfortable degree for him to be at her favourite coffee shop at exactly the point in her shift when she could no longer resist the siren call of caffeine.
Since the fire in their building and Jamie’s subsequent profession of love, they’d been living under separate roofs. Claire was sleeping on the couch at the home of one of her fellow medical students, and Jamie was bunking down with his uncle. Their flat had escaped the flames, suffering only smoke damage, but it would be at least eight weeks before the building was declared structurally sound and they could move back in.
Heading to the counter, Claire purchased her usual extra-large oat milk cortado with a fruited teacake, then added a flat black with raw sugar for Jamie. Settling across from him, she slid his coffee across the tiny table before splitting her teacake and balancing half on his saucer. He nodded his thanks, but was otherwise silent, waiting her out.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she began, surprising them both with the frankness of her opening salvo. It helped, she found, to be paying undue attention to stirring her coffee as she spoke.
“That doesna sound like ye, mo nighean donn. Why don’t ye tell me what part is vexin’ ye, an’ we can see if we canna bash our brains t’gether til we come up wi’ a plan, aye?”
She knew what he was doing. Cleverly depersonalizing their situation so that she could approach it like any other problem. Part of her resented his easy manipulation, grounded as it was in how well he knew her. But there was a secret part of her that thrilled at the emotional intimacy. To be seen, truly seen, in all her messy complexity, was a novel experience. Jamie knew the architecture of her heart, all its dark corners and blind hallways. He must have recognized something worthy, to be willing to so patiently coax her away from her solitude.
Plus, she’d spent the last year training him to leave the toilet seat down. That wasn’t the sort of work you just walked away from.
“It’s... god, where do I start? It’s having no idea what it means to be in a healthy adult relationship. And the crippling fear that if I fuck this up, it’ll ruin our friendship, which is so important to me, Jamie. I don’t think you have any idea... Plus our living situation...”
“We arenna livin’ t’gether for the moment, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. He had leaned forward across the table as she stammered through her recitation, and his curls had flopped across his brow in that boyish way they had. Her chest tightened, torn between affection and blind terror.
“No. That’s true.”
“With yer permission, I’d like tae make a suggestion.” At her cautious nod, Jamie continued. “For the next two months, we willna be roommates. I’d like tae... court ye...”
“Court me?!” Claire blurted out. “What, like in a Jane Austen novel?” She couldn’t help but smile at Jamie as he blushed, but he continued undeterred.
“Aye, like that. Ye’re used tae havin’ all the answers, Sassenach, but this isna one of yer wee tests tha’ ye can study for. We’re gonna have tae wing it, and see where it takes us. But I promise ye, I willna play ye false and I willna walk away. Will ye at least give this thing between us a chance? If it doesna work, we can go back tae livin’ t’gether as friends, no questions asked.”
At some point during his speech, their hands had met across the table. She could feel Jamie’s trembling through his fingertips. He was scared too, but he was being brave because he felt it was worth the risk. How could she dare to do otherwise?
“Alright,” she conceded, and his smile warmed her face like sunshine. “What do you propose, then? Shall I don my best parlour gown and set out the petit fours, Master Fraser?”
“Och, I dinna mean tae be makin’ me call me master quite yet, Sassenach,” he teased, delighting in her blush. “I’ll be at yer door t’morrow. Three sharp. Wear somethin’ comfortable an’ bring a jumper for after dark.”
Finishing his teacake in three large bites, Jamie hopped up from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his jeans. With a mischievous grin and a cock-eyed wink, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“Until tomorrow then, milady.”
Jesus Christ, what had she just done?
***
To her relief, Jamie showed up at Joe’s front door in his usual jeans and Henley, not a frock coat and jodhpurs He wasn’t even carrying flowers. Joe tried to buttonhole him with talk of the previous night’s football match, but after a few minutes of polite chitchat Jamie ushered Claire out the door, joking that he’d have her home before curfew.
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his behaviour. The Jamie she knew had always been charming, when he wasn’t busy putting his foot in his mouth. Now she marveled at his apparent ease as they descended the steps into the Tube.
Heading west on the District Line, thoughts continued to assail her. Was he always this self-confident on a date? How often did he go out with other women, anyway? She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about Jamie, but maybe she was wrong. Before Frank, her last date had been back in nursing school, and a VHS player and copious cheap beer had been involved. Despite the over-zealous air conditioning in their train, her palms began to sweat.
“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie’s soft burr interrupted her quiet panic attack. “I’m no’ going tae suddenly turn into some man ye dinna recognize, just because I’m tryin’ tae romance ye a wee bit.”
Once again, with only a few words Jamie had peeled away her layers of confusion and doubt to strike at the core of what was bothering her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and immediately recognized Jamie’s scent; a blend of laundry detergent, his vetiver bar soap, and a touch of chlorine left over from the morning’s swim. It set her at ease. He hadn’t worn cologne. His left boot had a frayed lace that had needed changing since March. His cuticles were as inexplicably perfectly formed as always. He was her Jamie, and she could trust him to behave in accordance with what she already knew of him, even in this uncharted territory.
“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked after the crackling announcement for St. James Park had died away.
“Would it ease yer mind a wee bit, tae ken?”
“Maybe a wee bit,” she confessed.
“Well, then, how can I refuse? Have ye e’er been tae the Chelsea Physic Garden, Sassenach?”
***
As it turned out, by some grievous oversight she hadn’t. Wedged between a high brick wall and the Thames was a three hundred and fifty year old urban oasis, filled with plants that could either treat your ailments or kill you. Naturally, she was enchanted. Jamie followed her between the beds and down the shaded lanes of pea gravel, a soft smile held between his lips.
When the garden closed, they walked along the Embankment and over the Thames at Chelsea Bridge, stopping to watch the sun set over the murky water. A food truck beckoned with its aroma of chips and burgers, which they ate on a nearby bench, going back for extra napkins when their choice in toppings proved especially messy.
It was the least romantic meal she’d ever eaten, and she was soothed and smitten in equal measure.
Washing grease from his hands in a drinking fountain, Jamie turned to her in the half-light.
“Now, I have a verra important question of ye, Sassenach, and how ye answer will determine the future course of our evening t’gether.”
Here it was, she balked. The hook at the end of the line. The sour amongst so much sweetness. She shouldn’t have expected...
“Are ye,” Jamie continued, unaware of her inner monologue, “afraid of heights?”
... no different than any other man, with his...
“Am I what?” she blurted, once her brain caught up with her ears.
“Afraid of heights? An’ a bit of a scamper up some scaffolding?”
Jamie was pointing over her shoulder. She peered into the night, but all she could make out was the hulking shadow of the derelict Battersea Power Station.
***
It was a convoluted story, but the outline went something like this: the massive coal-fired station, with its four spire-like chimneys, was slated for redevelopment. Jamie had taken part in an onsite review of the location by the London Fire Service, and had befriended a representative of the developer. Somehow, this friend had granted Jamie access to the site, which is how Claire now found herself over fifty metres above the ground, climbing a seemingly endless series of metal steps, with her curls trying to escape the confines of a workman’s hard hat.
“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Jamie Fraser,” she grumbled as they came to a landing made out of scaffolding. Above them, a white chimney ascended into the dome of the sky.
“Ye canna say I dinna take yer breath away, Sassenach,” he teased.
She was about to retort when they stepped around the base of the chimney tower, and all words failed her.
Rolled out far below their feet, the Thames was a black carpet reflecting millions of pinpoint gems skyward, broken by belts of light where it was traversed by a bridge. Beyond the eastern bend in the river, the City glowed with its eternal hum. The colossal space taken up by the station was a palpable presence behind their backs.
“It reminds me of yer Uncle Lamb’s saying, about makin’ our present out of the bones of our past. Twasn’t the original plan, but here she stands, still vital and strong, being remade anew. An’ a beautiful vision fer all tha’.”
She wasn’t convinced that Jamie was talking about the power station.
A cool breeze blew off the river, and she shivered. A jacket still warm with body heat immediately covered her shoulders. They stood side by side in silence, just taking in the view.
When their hands bumped, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to thread her fingers with his own.
“You’ve set the bar impossibly high for any future dates, you know,” she commented eventually.
“Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye dinna ken what I have planned next.” His grin was impossibly smug, and she fought the urge to kiss it right off his beautiful mouth. He must have read the impulse in her eyes, because his face was slowly approaching her own, eyes a volatile mix of hope and trepidation.
Her own eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. Just as their lips should have been meeting, their was a ductile crunch, and their heads bounced apart with comedic timing. Their hard helmets had collided. Jamie swore softly beneath his breath, but Claire couldn’t stop giggling.
“Oh, thank god. It is you. I was beginning to wonder.”
***
It was late when they finally exited the Tube, but Jamie insisted on accompanying Claire all the way to the Abernathy’s front door. She handed him back his leather jacket, feeling suddenly awkward in the brightly lit hall. The date had been magical, far beyond her wildest expectations, and it felt strange to return to the prosaic reality of their lives.
“Thank you for a wonderful time, Jamie.”
“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach. I’ve missed ye, these past few weeks. And I really hope... well, you’ll tell me if you want to do somethin’ like this again, aye?” His hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture she knew well. Bless the man, he had no idea the effect he had on her. It was well past time to let him know.
“I’d love that. Truly. I’ve got final exams to study for, but maybe sometime next week?”
"Well then,” he replied, clearly delighted with her response. “I should let ye get some sleep. Good luck on yer exams, Sassenach. And thank ye, fer bein’ willing tae give this a chance. Twas a day I’ll ne’er forget.”
He began to walk away.
“Jamie!” He turned around.
“Aye?”
Walking forward to the beat of her pounding heart, she halted when their bellies were practically touching. Lifting up on tiptoe, she pressed into his mouth. Time slowed to a syrupy drip as their lips met for the first time. His rough exhale was the only sound in the cocoon of sensation that enveloped them. It felt like she was falling through an endless cloud. Too soon, she had to pull away to capture her breath, and the spell was broken. Judging by his moonstruck expression, Jamie had been equally affected. She smiled when she realized his arms were still held aloft, like he was trying to hold on to the memory of their kiss.
“Goodnight, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” she purred before she disappeared from his sight.
51 notes
·
View notes
random snippet again
as promised, @feralgoblintea here's the (temporary) scene where the two sisters meet for the first time since one went missing as a child
note about the nickname: Rachel's middle name is Miranda; everyone has called her 'Andy' from that since she was a little kid. it's explained in her story, but not in this scene, so I just wanted to explain it here lol
"Your parents are very eager to know where you've been and what you've been going through all these years," the doctor told her, deep voice oddly gentle and soothing. Rachel smiled sadly; his voice reminded her of Amadeus. "Most of all, they want to know that you're alright."
She knew he thought she was crazy. Her parents definitely shared that opinion, which was why she was here to begin with. Still, she couldn't help asking, "And, in your professional opinion, am I?"
He caught her lightly mocking tone and snorted, leaning back in his chair to mirror her pose. "In my professional opinion," he shot back, though the sarcasm left his tone before he even finished his sentence, "you've been through Hell, Rachel. The trauma you've suffered is very, very real. If you're asking, do I believe in demons and portals and time travel, I'd have to say no. But that pain and fear came from somewhere... I'd like you to come back in for regular sessions, if you're up for it; see if we can cut through the fantasy, see past the demons and find the real monsters who hurt you."
"That's why I'm not coming back." She stood, shaking her head a little. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me - I probably wouldn't believe it, myself, if I hadn't lived it - but it's a bit frustrating. What I told you isn't metaphors or delusion. It all happened, and I'm not interested in having someone rip it all apart and try to make me doubt my own memory."
"They call that 'gaslighting' these days."
Startled, the blonde whirled around to face the source of the new voice; a woman she sort of vaguely recognized was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, smiling at her. After a long moment, her brain helpfully edited the image before her to make it make sense; wild red hair to dirty blonde, violet eyes to mismatched green and blue, face younger and body smaller and more plump. "...Beck?!"
Rebecca's smile widened and she stepped forward with a nod. "Hey, Andy."
"Oh my god!" With a laugh and a delighted screech, she launched herself across the room and threw her arms around her little sister. "What are you doing here?"
Nearly squeezing the breath out of her, the younger woman murmured, "I heard you were back and had to see you. Stand your ground, Andy. Don't let them make you forget or doubt that it was all real. We know the truth." She released her, only to bring her hands up to grip the sides of her sister's head. "Magic is real."
Rachel froze, staring at Rebecca's mouth long after it closed and the two long, wicked fangs that had drawn her attention were hidden from view. "...What happened to you?"
"Not here. I'll tell you everything, but not here."
"Okay." Without so much as a backward glance at the shrink, she followed the redhead out of the office, past their fretting parents, and out into the bright sunny day that made Rebecca hiss.
She cringed and immediately donned a beat-to-hell baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Fuck, I hate sunny days."
"You always did." Rachel couldn't help smiling faintly; so many years had passed, more than anyone in the world around them could ever understand, and yet so little about her baby sister had changed.
"Yeah, well... I've only gotten more sensitive to it."
Once they'd made it deep enough into the woods behind the Industrial Park that there was no risk of anyone overhearing, they stopped, and Rachel asked her point blank: "You're a vampire, aren't you?"
Rebecca laughed, gratefully leaning back into the shade of the nearest tree. "Only in our lives is that a casual conversation starter. And yes. Thankfully I'm old enough that daylight won't kill me. It's just unpleasant."
With her own accidental time travel in mind, the blonde asked, "How old are you?" Thirty-seven, she knew, in the eyes of the people around them; to them, Rachel herself had only just turned thirty-nine, and yet both sisters looked at each other with exhausted, haunted eyes millennia older than they could ever hope to make anyone else understand.
"As a vampire, or in general?" She smirked, shrugging off her own question before her sister could answer. "In general is harder to pin down, but I've been a vampire for about six thousand years, give or take a few."
Leaning against a tree roughly opposite Rebecca's, Rachel mirrored her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was Queen of an entire planet, and then POW and slave on a second, then a fugitive... I managed to send my older daughter home, before I got stuck on a third planet with my boys and little girl. It's been about ten thousand years."
"You have kids?" Rebecca grinned, once again showing those distractingly long fangs. "Me, too! I have two daughters, Madeline and Alice."
"Senna, Kieran, Caspian, and...Cassie," Rachel told her in answer to her unspoken question. She couldn't help blushing as she listed her children's names; she'd since learned what senna was, and hadn't actually given her younger two children names beginning with the same sound on purpose. It had just sort of worked out that way.
"Twins?"
She shook her head. "Caspian's my stepson, kinda, and Cassie was named after-"
Rebecca flinched, remembering. "After Cassie Wade, right? I was so focused on figuring out what happened to you, and then fighting to survive, I'd forgotten she went missing with you."
"She..." Clearing her throat, the blonde squared her shoulders and pulled her strong front around herself like a familiar safety blanket. "She saved our lives; she didn't make it. And, yeah. I named my youngest after her. Anyway, they're all grown, and Kieran..." Jaw clenching, she forcibly dismissed thoughts of her rapist and merely said, "He's my perfect warrior prince. Well, King now. I love them all, and desperately miss Senna, but Kieran, despite his more questionable choices, has a special place in my heart."
Rebecca took her sunglasses off and studied her for a moment before venturing, "Y'know... I literally eat rapists for breakfast."
That got a startled bark of laughter from her big sister, who shook her head. "Even if my boy hadn't already killed him, I doubt his gross, rancid blood would sit well with you. He wasn't human."
The redhead shrugged, smirking again. "Doesn't have to be. I've eaten Fae, elves, one vampire that pissed me off royally..."
"Not such a picky eater anymore, huh?" she teased, grinning. "Was it some badass revenge on your sire or something?"
Laughing, Rebecca shook her head. "Nope, no sire. I'm the OG vampire, babe. The first of the species. My younger daughter, Alice, is the first of the natural born vamps."
"So, wait... You could still get pregnant after you were turned? What?" Rachel frowned, beyond confused. "And how the fuck...?"
"I'm not dead," her little sister explained with another laugh. "Everything's slowed way the hell down, but hasn't stopped. I can't have kids with a human, or probably most Fae, but a certain trickster God..."
"...God?"
She grinned and nodded, though her haunting violet eyes looked sad. "Loki. He's Alice's dad."
"Huh. So the Gods are real." Rachel snorted. "Go figure. And my sister banged one."
"I loved him," the other woman whispered, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth as if to speak further, then seemed to reconsider and closed it again, clearing her throat.
To spare her from some clearly painful memories, whatever they were, Rachel asked, "What's a Fae?"
"Fairy," was the simple enough answer. "Fairies are real, too. Maddie - my oldest - is Fae."
Is she Loki's, too? She didn't dare ask - Loki was clearly a touchy subject - but she was dying to know.
As if she could read her mind, Rebecca, still avoiding her gaze, explained, "I was still mortal when I had her. Her father was Fae."
As the light breeze shifted the leaves above them, making the light dance across Rebecca's ghostly white skin, Rachel finally noticed the scars. At first, they'd looked like tribal tattoos, done puzzlingly in a silvery-white. When she realized they were actually a complex web of ancient scars, she also noticed they covered every inch of her sister's flesh that she could see around her shorts and tank top. Her face was the only place free of the oddly beautiful swirling lines, though she did spot a faint scar on her forehead, running from hairline to cheekbone and through the outer edge of her eyebrow.
"Is Madeline's father why you hunt rapists?" Is he the one who tore you apart?
"He didn't rape me... Technically. But yes, he's the one who scarred me." At her startled look, Rebecca smirked; it utterly failed to reach her eyes, but it was a start. "I can read your mind. I'm trying not to - I find it unspeakably rude and invasive - but when you're actively thinking about me, it tends to cut through my shields. The scars are from a spell he worked on me; blood magic. It's what made Maddie's conception possible, and chained me to him for years."
"Kieran's father was my greatest enemy; Crown Prince of the people who'd been attacking and slaughtering mine. King by the time I escaped." She didn't know what made her suddenly share this, but it felt like the thing to do. Her sister had told her something deeply personal and troubling; it seemed only right to meet candor with candor. Besides, Rachel and Rebecca had been two peas in a pod as children, as close as two sisters could possibly be. There was no amount of time that could strain their relationship. "I was captured in battle and kept as a slave for around a year and a half."
"How did the other three come about?" She smirked again, shoving her wild red hair back off her face impatiently. "Even when we were kids, I'd have bet just about anything that you're gayer than a rainbow, so how do you have so many kids?"
Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes. "Political marriage gave me Senna - born in a dungeon, thanks to me being pregnant during the battle and not knowing it yet. She was smuggled home to her father after she was born. I made a friend in that Hellhole, Emil, and he'd been raising Caspian; he's not his biological father, but that never mattered, just like it didn't matter to me that I didn't give birth to him. That boy's just as much my son as Kieran. We were supposed to go back to my home when we escaped, but something went screwy and we ended up on Achlys, instead, where I met my girlfriend and we all decided to just settle and raise the boys."
"So you cheated on your husband?" Rebecca's grin was teasing - and, thank god, reached her eyes at last! - but Rachel still threw an acorn at her when she said, "You whore!"
"I never saw him again! And he wouldn't have given a shit," she explained with a laugh. "I was, like, his third or fourth wife. And like I said, it was purely political; I was Queen, he was my advisor, he wanted power and I wanted an heir. Enter Senna, who boosted Raziel from random noble to father of the next Queen, and assured that there would be someone to take the reins if I died."
"So..." Her sister began ticking points off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shrewd political moves gave you Senna, you're co-parenting Caspian with a friend, we won't speak of Kieran's origins... How and why was Cassie a thing?"
Rachel shook her head, gaping at her. "A thing? That's nice, Beck. Real nice."
"Gods, you've missed so many cultural shifts, dude." Rebecca shook her head right back, trying not to laugh at her. "Just answer the question, old lady."
"Emil and I, and my girlfriend Trinity, all talked and decided to hell with conventionality; we all love each other, so we'll all be together. Em's my exception, I guess; the only man I've ever been attracted to even after seeing him naked. Our boys were grown, Senna was long gone, we'd made a whole new life for ourselves, so we decided to have another baby. Enter Cassie." Rachel sighed, staring off into space. "And now she's grown, Kieran's back in that awful place trying to turn it around, married to a great girl, Caspian's there with them to help..."
Though she had a feeling she knew the answer, the vampire asked softly, "And your lovers?"
"...Dead. Cassie - Cassie Wade, I mean - died in prison, Trin and Em were killed in the second war." A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Kieran and Cas are running a third."
"There's always another fucking war," Rebecca grumbled. "I've watched so many of them come and go, fought in two, myself... It never really ends."
2 notes
·
View notes
Spn prompt! I have a HUGE love of incoherent/delirious Sam and panicking/worried Dean, whether it's head injury, curse, blood loss, or dangerously high fever 👉👈
Your wish is my command! It ended up... longer than anticipated... but here you are! Unbeta’d, we die like men. This is weechesters and involves a kid being hurt, so if that’s something that’d bother anyone, feel free to skip over this!
(Posted to Archiveofourown as well.)
Sylvester Sharpe turned from the beat up Ford truck he'd parked on the corner of A Street and Cotton Circle after a voice coolly demanded his attention. The boy that met his critical stare was about half his age — youthful, maybe somewhere between sixteen or eighteen: dirty-blonde hair; strange old necklace; a charcoal black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, darker with sweat around a neckline littered with holes that implied he really loved that goddam shirt. Sylvester furrowed his brow, put out his cigarette on the lip of a truck bed full of trash and beer bottles and stolen shit he'd been selling to good buddies who know a thing or two about loose lips getting busted, and squinted at the boy like he were pea-sized.
"What?" Sylvester said, the clipped sound one of impatience.
"I said," the freckled boy replied back, terse, "Do they call you 'Sly' around here?"
Sylvester snorted, loose-limbed and careless and ready to move on to the nearest liquor store to get a new pack of Marlboros. He turned toward his open truck door to move along. He said, "Yeah, I'm Sly."
The kid lunged, and they were on ground in a few seconds flat.
An old man in an ivy cap walking his dog watched as the teenager started to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.
**************** **************** **************** ****************
You don't mess around when it comes to concussions. Concussions are traumatic brain injuries — sometimes it doesn't feel like that, because you think "oh, well, they just shook some screws loose; they just have some stars circling around their head, and they'll be fine in a few hours". But real life ain't cartoons.
If there's one thing you could give their old man credit for, it was that he never undervalued a trip to the ER when it came to the safekeeping of his son's brains. Dean had a concussion before, himself. Just before he turned fifteen; got thrown into a wall by a ghost before returning back to their hotel room and vomiting his guts out in a toilet not even worth pissing in. Sam had been about eleven, casting the kindest and most worried shadow over the hunch of Dean's back, rubbing his shoulders and nervously parroting Dad about how he absolutely shouldn't go to sleep, no matter how much he slurred he wanted to.
Dad looked up the nearest ER and drove him down.
The nurses had to stand there with their mouths in a thin, concerned line while Dean rambled on and on about how he'd caught a Chupacabra in a giant net once in Texas and ganked a vampire last week in Pasadena. And, of course, Dean also asked where Sam was — over and over and over and over — until Sam had to lean forward in his waiting room chair and wave at him, a constant reminder that he hasn't been left behind anywhere. Sam had tired lines around his mouth, then, and worry in his eyes that had been overcast with exhaustion. That's one of the few things Dean could remember about that night. Just thinking, 'Man, Sammy, why you look so tired?'
If he hadn't been so fucking concussed, the answer'd be obvious.
**************** **************** **************** ****************
Stuck in some half-dead town in Nevada in the summer of '95, Dean was more than a little restless; Dad had left them to go wipe a vampire nest a few small towns south, and apparently Dean hadn't been "big britches" enough to handle a hunt of that scope yet. Which was total horseshit, because he was sixteen; he could outdrink any old chump at the bar and he'd gotten a kill list so long that it rivaled a suburban mom's grocery list.
They settled into an apartment with no furniture save for a two-seated couch and some mattresses — and exactly two months worth of rent covered with no plans to renew — but at least it also had a television with a few channels, too. Sweating from the heat, he traded the urge to hunt with the privilege of kicking up his feet and watching The People's Court. School had ended an hour or so before, but Sammy'd stayed behind for some extracurricular club he'd been practically vibrating to join, and Dean had no plans to shoot it down while Dad wasn't around to comment on it.
There was a small struggle at the front door to unlock it, and Dean listened with a quirked eyebrow.
"You forget how human hands work, Stuart Little?"
The door creaked open a fraction in response, and then stayed that way for a moment. Through the sliver of open air, Dean heard a small sob that made his stomach fall through the couch, and as he swung himself up onto his feet Sam walked through the door and nearly right into him — it was easy to see why, because his right eye was completely swollen shut, purpled and shiny. Dry blood clung under his nose and matted one side of his head, and he swayed on his feet when Dean's hands jolted out to grab his shoulders. The kid's backpack was nowhere to be seen. Probably dropped and abandoned.
"Sam. Sammy." His hand reached to touch, and he found the bloody, clumped hair hid a lump the size of a golf ball, split and oozing. The kid shuddered with pain, and tears continued to leak down one side of his face. The fear mutates and splits off, leaving a new, fresh wave of emotion: fury. This isn't a monster. These aren't claw marks or some bruise caused by a furious ghost. Some punk-ass kids must have jumped him at the school and left him like this. And his brother walked all the way back here like that. He would even bet they aren't Sam's age. Sam wouldn't have let them do this without a hell of a fight.
He could barely stop the snarl of his lips, the cold calmness. "... Sam, who did this?"
"I don't..." Sam licked his lips, looking around like he wasn't sure where he was. Garbled words took time to form with a tied tongue. Dean could bet if he peeled the other eye open, the pupils would be mismatched in size. "I don't remember. I'm... I don't know. Dean."
The fury had to wait. He moved to walk Sam to the couch, planted him there and squeezed his brother's shoulder; another cold wave of outrage washed over him when Sam winced in pain, like something was hurt there, too. "It's okay. It's okay, little brother, just don't move. I'm going to clean you up, and we're gonna — get you to the urgent care. You hear me? It'll only take a minute."
He got the first aid from the bare kitchen cabinet, dug around for all the things he'd been familiar grabbing any time Dad had gotten his bell rang. He fumbled with the supplies with all the grace Sam had opening the front door. Uttered a sorry before he carefully pressed the gel icepack to Sam's eye. The other eye locked onto him, red and wet, glazed with delirium.
"Dean," Sam wept, and Dean had to focus hard to make out what he was saying: "Dean, I think I'm dead... I tried to find help, but nobody — nobody stopped... I think they can't see me. I think I'm a ghost."
Jesus. Yeah, the kid was concussed. Bad.
"No way. Not my little brother. Never gonna let that happen." His smile was strained as he grabbed Sam's wrist and raised the hand to the boy's own face. "Ghosts aren't big on crying, right? The salt would burn like a bitch."
"Dean..."
"Yeah?"
"My ears're weird... Sounds weird," he admitted weakly, like he'd done something wrong.
"It's okay, dude. You're concussed."
"... Oh." Sam sat for a moment. Looked around the small, unlived space. The People's Court was moving into a commercial. "Dean... Don' tell Dad. Don't tellem I messed up."
Dean pressed a palm to Sam's chest, his thumb gently rubbing the hill of his collarbone to soothe him. Usually about now they'd be wrestling over some stupid fight, or he'd be getting him into a headlock to test his reflexes, or Sam'd be throwing pencils at him for interrupting his train of thought at the kitchen table.
"You didn't mess anything up. I promise." It was a Herculean effort to keep his hands soft and caring, because all they wanted to do now was rip someone to pieces. He was gonna. As soon as Sam was good, he was gonna split his knuckles knocking someone's teeth out. He was gonna paint the dirt with it. Gonna blacken both eyes and bleed both nostrils and break a few things in someone's body.
... But only after making sure Sammy'd be alright.
Sam was missing a backpack and about forty bucks in money he'd earned from mowing lawns for the balding, dorky librarian living across the street. That same librarian ushered the boys into the back seat of her Sedan and made a beeline for the nearest ER. With Sam leaning against him, his knobby elbow jutting into his ribs, Dean answered a question nervously asked from the driver's seat.
"I don't know who did it. But I'm real good at hunting down whatever I got to."
**************** **************** **************** ****************
There was a gratifying sound of Sylvester's skull hitting the side of his own truck after Dean threw him into it headlong. Storming forward, he doesn't hesitate to pick Sly back up by his flannel jacket to do it all over again. "Taking from the grown-ups not good enough for you?! You think you can fucking steal from kids, huh?! Think you can beat up some kid a third your size, huh?! You fuck—"
Wheezing, Sylvester tried to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his truck, a feeble effort to escape his punishments. A small crowd from a barbershop across the street formed, but kept their distance — older ladies mostly who knew better than to put their hands between a dog fight. Dean ignored them to grab Sylvester by the front of his collar and hoist him a foot up from the seat he'd slumped on. Their faces were inches apart, so that he could look into hazel eyes seeing red. "If I ever see you again, I'mma kill you. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear? I'll sleep like a baby after."
Sylvester didn't reply, but he did moan in pain, and Dean considered that an answer. He dropped him and stepped over his heaving chest with dust-stained boots to retrieve a backpack out of the truck bed. Then he reached into the man's jean pocket with swelling knuckles, digging more than forty dollars out of the billfold he finds there and shoving the wad into his own pocket. Then he chucked the rest of the wallet across the unleased dirt field.
"Go fuck yourself," Dean said finally, and left just as he'd come.
**************** **************** **************** ****************
Dean and Sam could barely fit on the apartment's couch together, legs crammed together under a quilted blanket while the television had cast an ever-changing glow over them. Sam's face was still a mess of Dean's least favorite colors, but now he could see both of his eyes, and that helped loosen the knot in his stomach. John had been called from the ER, told the story from front to back, and he filled the teenager with grim vindication when he complimented Dean's recent successful hunt.
The verdict: a 24-hour observation in the hospital, during which John Winchester strode in to keep vigilant watch over Dean as he kept vigilant watch over Sam; he hadn't stopped watching him since they'd gotten home after, either. Dean could hear his father's snores through the door into the one bedroom. Who knows when the last time Dad slept had been; he'd come straight back from the end of the destroyed vamp nest, no pitstops.
"... Dean?" Sam asked after him, wearily. If he had a nickel for every time the boy said it today, he'd be a millionaire. But there was an awareness in Sam's eyes this time that had been frighteningly missing earlier, as he stared at him from across the short couch. In the ER, it had taken a lot of coaxing and promising that Sam wasn't as dead as he'd thought he was, and now Dean was very confident he finally believed it a day late and a dollar short.
"Yeah?"
"Your hands."
He glanced down at the bruised, scraped up knuckles, and just shook his head at the sight of Sam's apprehension; he hadn't told Sam exactly what happened, but his brother was smart. Smarter than most people who came and went in their lives. Smarter than Dean had ever felt he could be. He sighed as he flexed his hands. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jail for murder or anything. Just... rest, okay?"
Sam's chin sunk into the blanket. Not appeased, but relenting.
The battered kid mumbled, "You're the one who looks tired," then he smiled in that way that made Dean regret his bleeding heart. Dean's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He played it off as best he could, but the rough emotion in the way he glanced aside and rubbed a hand down his mouth was hardly subliminal. "Yeah, well. Sometimes worrying too much is exhausting, dude."
Sam bit his lip. "I'll try not to worry you as much, then."
Dean reached out, patted the bony knee near his.
"... I might have to hold you to that."
But really? He would never.
24 notes
·
View notes
the benefits of fake dating | p.p.
summary: although incredibly annoying, flash thompson’s arrogance was just what you and peter needed.
warnings: some cussing, flash being an idiot, and 5K WORDS I POPPED OFF SO HARD
+ + +
"Flash, I don't know how you got into this school with that pea-sized, misogynistic brain of yours, but somehow it still leads you to think that you telling me how I feel is attractive. Just fuck off, please," you sigh, shutting your locker with a bang.
"Alright, for now," the boy says, smug smirk on his face. "although I know you're just denying your undying love for me. I'll wait."
Your eyebrows furrow. "Did you not hear a single word I just said?"
"Nope," a new voice pops in and you turn to see Peter, words and expression monotonous as he stares at Flash.
"Aw, and the protector swoops in to save the day. Aren't you two a cute couple?"
"Oh-" the two of you blurt at the same time.
"We're not-"
"a couple," Peter finishes for you, roses blooming on you guys' cheeks.
"It's the only explanation for little Y/N's 'disinterest'. See you later, babe," Flash nods, walking off with a wink that only bewilders you more. You and Peter look at each other.
"Did he just call me babe?"
"Apparently," Peter shrugs.
Peter should be in theatre considering the acting he does around you. It enrages him to see such a jackass bother you constantly, and the pet names only make him even angrier. If it wouldn't ruin his hero image, he'd totally wipe Flash out during one of his patrols.
"I swear, that kid makes me question things I shouldn't have to even worry about. For example, why isn't part of the requirements for getting into this school common sense?" you ask, shaking your head.
"No clue," Peter sighs. "Sorry to cut this off, but I gotta go to-"
"Physics now, yup. See you later, shithead." you nod, shoving him the other way, laughing as he almost crashes into the cheerleaders.
You resume your way to AP Calc, letting your mind inevitably fall back into your conversation with Flash. Every freaking time Peter steps in, he immediately calls him your boyfriend. But, honestly, the thought of that didn't sound too bad.
+ + +
"MJ, you're not helping."
"All I'm saying is: you tell Flash he's your boyfriend, he leaves you alone. In addition, dating Parker doesn't seem so bad, especially to you, right?"
"MJ!" you groan, falling back onto the pillows of your bed. "It's fake dating. It's not like we'd..."
You suck in a breath.
"It's not like we'd actually date."
"Yeah," she scoffs, "tell that to the prolonged hesitation in the middle of that sentence."
Goosebumps ran across your skin at the gust of cool midnight air that rushed through your window, but you didn't bother close it. You were too comfortable.
"Whatever, MJ. I'm just saying, if Flash and the rest of the school thought we were dating, not only would that jackass leave us alone, but everyone else would. And maybe even Tony and the rest of the team."
And it was at that point that Peter, donned in his Spider Suit, landed on your fire escape. You didn't notice though, too preoccupied in your conversation with MJ to change your focus. He peeked through the window, the words "fake dating" immediately making him spin around against the brick wall, telling Karen to project your conversation to him.
"Imagine having the Avengers ship you with your partner in crime. Couldn't be me."
"MJ," you groan, "It's not like they actually think Peter and I like each other."
The boy's eyes widen.
"They just saw the opportunity and took it. We're each other's age and work well together. Seems like an easy target to me. Plus, they were probably getting tired of making fun of Nat and Bruce," you explain.
A small pain rips through Peter's heart. Even though he didn't act like it, he loved the way everyone acted like they were dating. It made him feel like it was real.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get you to believe it, Y/N. But seriously, I don't see anything bad coming out of a fake relationship with Peter Parker," MJ states. You can practically see her shrugging smugly right now.
"Well," you say, firing up, "something bad that could come out of a fake relationship with Peter Parker-"
The poor boy outside, already looking stupid and stalker-ish, becomes even more flustered.
"- is that I could lose control of the feelings I already have, MJ. Do you realize how much that would mess up our friendship?"
Your words sting like icy-hot. On one hand, it sucks to Peter that you sound totally opposed to a relationship with him, but on the other hand, he's now 99% sure that you like him too.
He couldn't bare standing there any more. He swung home, all-consumed by his thoughts.
It would be a long night for Peter Parker.
+ + +
The bags underneath Peter's eyes were enough of an example of his insomnia last night. As if his brain didn't already love to overthink, the conversation he eavesdropped last night was enough to send him into overdrive, going over possibilities, how the two of you'd act, and just the very concept of fake dating itself.
Little did he notice, you shared the same look of under-eye bags (which you failed to cover with concealer), kept up by the same conversation.
The two of you were, obliviously, on the same page. You both thought that it was a pretty smart solution to the dilemma, but both were terrified of confrontation.
For being Avengers, the two of you sure were cowards when it came to love.
The school day passed quickly and slowly at the same time, the two of you fighting to stay awake as your history teacher rambled on and on about the Sokovia Accords. It was a Thursday, so the two of you kept your weekly plans to hangout at Peter's after school to study and just hangout. Needless to say, you two almost failed to miss your stop on the subway due to your sleep deprivation.
You enter the apartment, immediately greeted by May.
"Hi, you two," she smiles, grabbing her keys off the counter and swinging her purse over her shoulder as she talks. "I have a shift in a few minutes, so you'll be on your own, but I trust you."
"Thanks," you smile.
"Of cour-" she frowns. "Y/N, did you sleep at all last night?"
You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and cringe. "What? Oh, yeah, I did, I'm just... stressed, is all."
"Okay.." she eyes you, half-playful, half-serious.
"She's fine, May," Peter nods, which eventually eases the woman.
"Okay, fine. Don't keep her here too long, Peter, you both need some rest."
You give him a look and the two of you say goodbye to her before you go to his room. You eye him closely.
"Peter!"
He jumps. "Goodness, what?"
"Why do you have bags under your eyes?" you furrow your brows.
"I should be asking you the same thing," he huffs.
His attitude catches you off guard. "I asked first," you retort.
"Okay, okay, fine. I couldn't sleep."
Well, that was slightly underwhelming. "Why not?"
"I was... thinking about stuff," Peter shrugs. "not that big a deal."
"What stuff?"
A sigh of exhaustion and desperation falls from his lips as he shuffles through his bag, not looking for anything in particular, but rather a distraction. You clear your throat and hear his breath hitch.
"Do you want to date?"
Whoa there.
...
What the fuck?
The breath catches in your throat before your voices finally regains itself, a bit louder than you meant it to be. "What?!"
"No-" he sputters, eyes wide, "Like, fake date."
By some force of nature, his correction of fake dating surprises you more than just straight-up asking you to date him. Your mind becomes invaded by thoughts; questions about how he thought of that and oh shoot did he hear me last night? You sit down on his bed.
Silence fills the room that sends Peter into a thought spiral similar to your own, just about to make him break into a nervous sweat before you pipe up.
"Did you hear me last night?"
His chocolate eyes widen.
"You heard my call with MJ, didn't you?"
"How.. how would I even do that?" he stutters, rubbing the back of his neck with the hint of a crooked smile. You give him a look and he sighs. "Okay... maybe when I was on my way home from patrol I stopped on your fire escape, and maybe when I was about to come in through the window I heard you say my name, and just maybe that made me hide and listen to the rest of your conversation. And maybe I got Karen to hack into the call so I could hear it."
You shoot up from his bed excitedly, "Gotcha!"
"Whatever," he jumps back, startled, but with a smile.
You raise an eyebrow at him and plop back down on the bed, letting your back fall against the mattress. Peter marvels at how your hair is sprawled across the mattress before he, too, lays down next to you with a thud, making you laugh.
"So, fake dating, huh?" you tease.
"You're the one who came up with the idea in the first place!" he scoffs. A huff falls from your lips and Peter looks over at you. "Do you actually wanna do this?"
You shift your head to look at him. You feel that familiar feeling of the tingling in your stomach; the butterflies fluttering, the fireworks going off. Still, you hide it. "Eh, why not?"
The two of you sit up on the bed, legs criss-crossed and your foreheads less than a foot apart. Words began to fill the air as the two of you devised an intricate plan to fool everyone- well, except for MJ. And maybe May.
You came up with a set of rules:
1. No exposing yourselves to the public (duh)
2. Make it seem AUTHENTIC (hand-holding, nick-names, kisses on the cheek)
3. Go to and from school together
4. ONLY kiss on the lips if put under pressure and make it QUICK!
5. Love letters (????)
These were all scribbled on a scrap piece of paper from your journal, donned in your messy yet legible handwriting.
The whole process of coming up with this was a bit weird for the two of you. On one hand, you were super awkward with romance; your dream relationship was one where you could make fun of each other and laugh at rom-coms. On the other hand, as much as he hated to admit it, Peter Parker was a hopeless romantic. He wanted to be able to show you off and make you smile. Hence, rule #5.
He'd seen Instagram posts with clips of To All The Boys I've Loved Before. And, although he knew that movie didn't make sense to you, he found the idea of writing you love letters every day an incredibly good tactic to get you to fall in love with him.
Because, let's be honest, a huge reason that he was doing this was in hopes that just maybe the two of you would actually date. For real.
Little did he know, you felt the exact same way.
With a sigh, you folded up the scrap paper and handed it to him, getting a puzzled look in return.
"What?" you ask. "If anything, you're the one who's gonna mess up about this."
He perks up, an offended look painted on his face. "How would I possibly do that?"
"I don't know, you'd probably accidentally let it slip that this isn't real-"
Ouch.
"- or go too far with it. I've seen the look in your eyes whenever we watch rom-coms, Petey." you raise an eyebrow.
Jeez. Not only did you hit him with the already incredibly enforced friendzone (again), but you called him out for his love of rom-coms and called him Petey, a nickname that pulled at his heartstrings every time.
Guess he'd be hearing that name a lot more now.
He scoffs and shakes his head. "Whatever."
The paper crinkles as he unfolds it, scanning over the list one more time.
2. Make it seem AUTHENTIC
Hmm.
"Y/N?"
You hum.
"How are we gonna make it seem authentic if you can't even hear the word 'babe' without making a face?" he asks.
"Yeah, that's a good question. Maybe we should... practice?"
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you cringe. A crooked, smug grin tugs at Peter's lips and you scold him, only getting a boyish laugh in return before he pounces onto you, teasing you with lovey-dovey words and tickling you.
"PETER I WILL NOT HESITATE TO SEND A POWER BLAST RIGHT INTO YOUR CHEST RIGHT NOW!"
Your words make him freeze and he hovers above you, chocolate curls hanging over his forehead as the two of you pant, slight smiles on your lips. You raise a brow.
There go the butterflies again.
Peter's eyes light up and he plops down beside you, beginning to wrap his arms around you. You slap his wrist.
"What?" he asks accusingly.
"I should be the one asking that! What do you think you're doing?" you question, slightly bewildered.
"Jeez, Y/N, I'm trying to cuddle with you."
His blunt words practically knock the air out of your lungs, but you and your stubbornness refuse to let that happen. You relax slightly at way his eyes give you a look of "just let me do this" and you give him a small sigh and nod of approval.
Peter tries to hide his happiness and content as he turns onto his side, turning you with him. His arms wrap around your waist gently and pull your back to his stomach, lacing your fingers together.
As much as you hated to admit it, this was nice.
And it was especially nice when you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a relaxed sigh.
A few minutes pass and you lay there, eyelids getting heavier by the second.
"Pete?"
He hums.
"Are we supposed to fall asleep?"
He shifts, opening his eyes drearily. "Yeah, that's kinda the point."
"Alright, dumbass, I was just checking," you say with a smile, pausing for a moment. "Okay, my turn."
Peter furrows his brows at your words before he feels you shift in his arms, turning to face him and settling into his chest. He lets out a soft hum that makes you scrunch your face with a smile, feeling him pull you closer and entangle his legs with yours.
So, who's the one that made Peter Parker a god at cuddling?
You ignore your thoughts and eventually let sleep pull you in, relaxed by the soft breaths of the boy you were so close to- not just as best friends, but now physically.
When May got home late that night, she walked into her nephew's room to catch the sight of you two, having to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from letting out an excited yelp.
Naturally, she left the room with at least fifty pictures of the two of you.
+ + +
Despite the deepest sleep you two had ever had, your restfulness was broken within a split second by the piercing noise of Peter's alarm. You shoot up, eyes wide, only to be dragged back down by Peter's strong grip.
"Peter!" you yell.
"What?" he muffles into your hair, pulling you closer.
No time to fall into that. No matter how hard you want to.
"It's morning!" you exclaim, finally receiving the reaction you expected.
The boy practically flies up, expression matching yours. His eyes shift over to the clock, which, although inanimate, makes him jump out of the bed and begin hunting around his room.
"May!" he yells.
You snatch your bag and begin rummaging through it for your phone when Peter's door busts open, a very tired-looking May appearing in the doorway.
"Peter, what is it?" she pants, messy hair correlating with her exasperated expression.
"You let us fall asleep!" he exclaims, running his fingers through his hair.
Which- not that you notice- somehow looks even better in the morning. You completely ignore how its normally styled chocolate curls have gone wild and how it makes him even more attractive to you.
Yup. Totally ignored.
"Oh, honey," May sighs, a tired smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, "I called Y/N's mom last night to let her know she was sleeping over. I couldn't stand to wake you two up, especially considering the position you were in."
You whirl around to look at her, cheeks bright red as she wiggles her eyebrows playfully.
"May," Peter groans.
She laughs. "Not sorry!"
The door shuts and you two let out a collective sigh. You begin putting your bag together, feeling a bit out of place. The sounds of ruffling in the background makes you furrow your eyebrows.
"Pete, what are you doing?"
"Oh, uh," he turns from his dresser, shirt in hand. "I didn't think you'd want to go to school in the same stuff you wore yesterday."
Your breath hitches as he tosses you a t-shirt with a science pun on it. Classic.
You hum, smirking.
"Thanks, babe."
His expression is priceless.
"What? Might as well get practicing now," you shrug innocently.
Peter lets out a small laugh and the two of you resume with your routine, leaving the apartment with lunches from May and intertwined hands.
And, in addition, a sweatshirt from Peter that smelled just like him.
The two of you walk to school, sharing headphones and getting mildly surprised looks from the other daily commuters on the subway, surely pondering about how the quiet schoolboy from Queens was holding hands with a new mystery girl.
The looks only amplify once the two of you step onto campus.
Your hands are sweaty, fingers having been locked together for a solid twenty to thirty minutes. Still, it's easy to ignore when suddenly you're getting looks from mutual classmates whose gazes now have a weird magnetic pull to your hands. The two of you are mere inches away from your locker before MJ veers in front of you, smirking and clearly satisfied.
"Looks like the idiots finally got their heads out of their asses," she smiles.
"Michelle."
Her eyebrows raise in (impressed) surprise. You never call her Michelle.
"Fine, whatever, I know what's up," she shrugs.
Peter squeezes your hand reassuringly, a silent message of "everything's okay."
"However-"
Oh boy.
"Let's not waste time pretending you both don't want this to be real."
"MJ-" Peter blurts, pleading in his voice.
Right in time for Flash Thompson to enter the scene. Both MJ and Peter can practically hear your annoyed groan at his presence.
"I'll take that as my leave," the curly-haired girl winks before she beelines the other way.
"And that'll be my entrance," Flash smirks. "Parker, I see you've taken the whole protection thing up another notch?"
You practically feel the boy next to you puff his chest up in pride (whether it was fake or not was beyond you). "Well, as her- um- boyfriend, I'm pretty sure it would be a problem if I didn't stand up for Y/N."
You look up at him, smirk on your face. Maybe you were a little peeved at the idea of having to have a boy stand up for you, but you'd let it slide in this situation.
"Boyfriend, huh?" Flash asks, a hint of confusion written in his expression that you pick up on immediately.
"Boyfriend," you nod firmly.
God, if you and Peter were alone right now you'd totally intimidate him to get rid of his rising ego.
"Well then. If the two of you are dating, why don't you kiss her, Parker?"
Or Flash can do that for you.
You look over to see his cheeks bright red. He stutters for a second before Flash raises an eyebrow, prompting Peter to lean over and plant a quick kiss on your cheek.
There.
"On the lips, dumbass."
Nevermind.
"I... uh," Peter chokes out. He's not the only flustered one anymore.
"Oh, don't be a wuss, Parker. Just give Y/N a kiss or I'll do it," Flash smirks.
Whoa there, bud.
You squeeze Peter's hand both anxiously and reassuringly, frantically trying to silently tell him to just do it. Thankfully, he gets the message, taking a deep breath and turning to face you, fingers still loosely intertwined. You give him a slight nod and he slowly leans down, minty breath lightly fanning over your lips before a loud yell erupts in the hallway, making you two jump, as well as everyone around you.
"Eugene Thompson!"
You two, free-handed (which feels refreshing), look up to see Principal Morita speeding over to the boy in front of you.
"You're coming with me," he mutters angrily, grabbing a spluttering Flash by the wrist and dragging him down the hallway.
Grateful smiles bloom on you and Peter's faces and you laugh, resting your head on his chest.
"This isn't the end of this!" Flash shouts, pointing back at you two.
"Yeah, okay, Flash!" Peter yells back, donning a boyish grin. He speaks again, whispering, "What are we gonna do?"
"I don't know," you mutter, resting your head on his shoulder and smiling as he wraps his arms around you softly. "Jeez, cuddlebug."
Peter's face burns at the nickname, but he smiles, drawing circles on your back with his thumb.
"Whatever," he murmurs. "We're definitely not bad at PDA, though."
He got that right.
+ + +
You had everyone fooled.
The news spread quick, to both the school and the Avengers team.
You and Peter became relationship experts, holding hands in the hall, giving the other occasional cheek kisses, following all the rules you two had layed out.
Essentially, you both were living out your dream relationship.
You'd both be lying if you said you weren't trying to somehow make the other fall in love in hopes that the relationship would turn into a real one. You both went the extra mile- in your own ways. You'd make sure to give him plenty of kisses on the cheek- which he'd return- and call him Petey, all while wearing his clothes and using TikTok videos to guide your way (hehe). Peter would take extra thought into every word he wrote in his love letters and made sure to keep them interesting, writing them on leftover bags, old notes, or gum wrappers.
You open your locker, alone for the first time today after spending every second possible with Peter and talking to friends about your "relationship." A small, folded piece of notebook paper flutters to the ground and your face lights up, realizing it was your first letter from Peter. You unfold the paper with a smirk on your face.
"My favorite element is Uranium because I'm in love with U.
- Peter ;)"
The air in your lungs flies out. Of course he'd use a nerdy pickup line, but god, if it didn't make your stomach flutter.
"Hey."
You spin around.
"Speak of the devil," you say, waving the paper in the air.
He lightly smiles. "Was it good?"
"Are you made of Copper and Tellurium? 'Cause you're Cu-Te," you respond, getting a confused look from Peter before he's struck with realization.
"Nice."
"I know."
It almost made you want to write notes to him, but you'd figure you'd find a better idea rather than steal his.
The two of you walked into the Avengers Headquarters, fingers intertwined (as always).
"Well, well, well," Sam says, shifting his gaze from the TV over to the two of you.
The group was split in half when you and Peter announced the "news" about your relationship. One half was immediately ecstatic, running up to you with bright smiles on their faces and asking hurriedly about details. Opposingly, the other half didn't buy it one bit. When they heard the news, they gave each other wary looks and analyzed the two of you.
"Hi, guys," Peter greets, giving your hand a slight squeeze of anticipation.
"What on Earth-"
Tony is cut off by the sound of squeals from Wanda, Bucky, and Bruce, the group eagerly running to you with the biggest smiles you'd ever seen.
"FINALLY!" Scott yells as he runs down the stairs, ice cream covering his mouth and bowl still in hand.
It was a bumpy road.
You lay on your stomach, working on a physics worksheet, nearly falling off the bed when you heard a knock at your window. You raise your head to see Spider-Man gazing in. A sigh falls from your mouth as you roll off the mattress, stumbling over to the window and sliding it open.
"Peter, what are you doing here?" you yawn, falling back onto your bed and nearly crushing all of your papers.
He pulls off his mask. "Why are you so tired?"
"Pete, it's nearly one in the morning."
"Oh," he says quietly. Late nights never got to him.
You close your eyes. "Why are you here, again?"
"Well.. I uh," he hesitates. You grumble and he continues. "I was thinking about this whole relationship thing and it's authenticity and I don't know I kinda missed you and I was thinking maybe we could cuddle just cause it might help with the chemistry and stuff you know-"
"Just get in bed, Peter."
He shuts his mouth immediately, hesitating before piling your papers and neatly placing your things on your desk. Then he looks down at himself.
"Do you by chance have any-"
"Top drawer."
He pulls open the drawer to see a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt you'd stolen from him a few weeks ago. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth at the knowledge that you'd worn these and kept them. He glances at you before pressing the spider at the center of his chest, feeling the suit loosen and fall to his feet.
You open your eyes.
Of course, you and Peter had seen each other in just underwear; you'd known each other for ages. But it was different now.
Your eyes scanned over his body, just donned in a pair of plaid briefs as he dressed himself. You look away as he turns around, clothed.
The boy then walks to you, picking you up lightly and adjusting you on the bed, pulling the covers and sliding underneath them behind you. You let out a sigh of relief, easing into him and letting sleep overcome you.
+ + +
You should've seen it coming.
Sure, you did, but you never acknowledged it. Your subconscious was playing a manipulative game and you desperately wished to have a talk with it.
You were in love with Peter Parker.
It was known well within you, but you'd never fully registered it until now, here, in the middle of a training session.
Heavy breaths flew out of you as you panted, sweat dripping off of your forehead. Peter stood a few feet away from you, in fighting stance, panting and sweating just how you were. His front curls were getting soaked in sweat, hanging over his forehead as he bounced on his feet. You couldn't help but let your mind get pulled away from your session and towards the fact that he looks so incredibly hot right now.
And then you got angry.
It made you mad that you'd held these emotions in for so long. You'd loved Peter your whole life and never once thought about making a move. It was stupid.
You didn't even give him the nod you normally do, throwing a punch and just barely skimming him in the gut. His eyes widened.
"Jeez, Y/N! You know I have fast reflexes, but that doesn't mean you ignore the signal," he pants, exasperated.
Your hard gaze meets his soft one for a split second before you begin laying it on him, the hardest the two of you had ever sparred. The poor boy was trying to talk to you the whole time, letting out pleads between his pants of desperation, trying to get you to calm down.
"Wow, you two really like getting at it, don't you."
You pull back, snapping your head over at Sam, open door behind him and smirk on his face.
Peter stops. "Uh, now's not a good ti-"
"Get out, Wilson, or I'll shove my finger up your nose so hard that-"
"Okay, okay, jeez," Sam smiles, walking out and shutting the door behind him.
An exhausted huff falls from Peter's lips as he looks at you.
"Y/N," he pleads, "what's wrong?"
You shake your head, entering fighting stance again. He sighs, doing the same before you resume your session, taking a swing at him and barely missing.
"What's wrong," you huff, knocking him out from underneath and pinning him to the ground. "is that I'm in love with you, dumbass."
His eyes widen. You let out a sigh, relief and sympathy immediately washing over you. You look down at yourself, practically straddling the boy on the ground.
And then he flips you around, hands on opposite sides of your head and his breath fanning over your face. He has a soft look, mixed with exhaustion and what seems to be relief and joy. Finally.
Peter Parker smiles, tilts his head down, and lays his lips on yours.
Fake relationship my ass.
+ + +
goodness gracious that took so long to write
21 notes
·
View notes
In the Shadows : One
Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his back from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. ({coming soon: Ao3 link & Masterlist))
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC
Warnings: Blood, light violence, cursing
Word Count: 5k+
A/N: Huge thank you to everyone who has supported me through my recovery and an even bigger thank you to @the-gargoyle-queen for letting me use her OCs in this fic (Lily and Myra). She is the most amazing friend I’ve ever had and she is my biggest source of inspo as well as my biggest supporter. Thank you for your gorgeous moodboards (like the one up top) and for being my beta <3
Part One: On the Night of the Moon
Basil. She needed basil, as fresh as possible. Gods, why did she run out at a time like this? Her flashlight bounced across the ground as she tried to find the green plant she so desperately needed to bring down Sweet Pea’s fever. It had spiked so suddenly and she hadn’t even realized that she was out. He had managed to croak out where to find his recipe for a simple potion to bring it down. It was in his grimoire, towards the back where most of his remedies were.
She had everything but basil and all of the plants in her garden seemed to wither at once the day before. It was a sign. A terrible sign that she didn’t even want to think about decoding. But sooner or later she would have to. Something had arrived here, something rotting and horrible. Something that sucked all the magic out of their garden.
Her nervous eyes looked up at the moon, beautiful and full. Full. That was the issue. No one on the Southside went out on a full moon if they knew what was good for them. Actually, no one went out after dark anymore. Not with what has been going on. Not with the red circle and their guardsmen out with guns full of silver. She looked human at least. She had no reason to fear them, per se. But what they were after? That was something anyone would be afraid of whether they were armed or not.
Something caught her eye, bright green leaves sprouting from the forest floor. The light shook in her hands as she dropped to her knees to collect as many leaves as she could without killing it. Who knows when she’d need more. She took out a leather pouch to put them in. That’s when she heard it.
A low, feral growl sounded in the unusually quiet woods. Wolves weren’t much of a danger for witches, not normally. This wasn’t any regular wolf though. It was the creature that had plagued Riverdale with so much death and destruction the past few weeks. It was the catalyst of the rift between those that were human and those that were not.
Dry leaves crunched loudly under heavy paws. The underbrush swayed, adding to the noise that had the fair haired witch frozen in place. The flashlight in her hand moved as she managed to project the light onto the shaking bushes. She didn’t want to see what it was, not really. However morbid curiosity had her looking anyway. Something about wanting to see death’s face before she met him.
Slowly it broke from the brush. A face that probably should have been white was actually grey with smudges of mud. She’d seen plenty of werewolves before, most of them were harmless if their heads were on straight. This one however even smelled like death as frothy drool dripped from its gaping mouth. Eyes a bright sunshine yellow that seemed to glow in the dim light. It was about three and a half feet tall, which made it about a head taller than any healthy wolf.
It wasn’t at full height though. Shoulders were hunched as it crouched low to the ground so that it could spring at any moment. Their eyes were connected and she could not find even a trace of humanity in them. No, this creature was too far gone. Too far settled into madness. She realized that it probably didn’t even know what it was.
Suddenly it shifted its weight onto its back feet before lunging forward with a powerful leap. She couldn’t even scream as terror strangled her.
It happened so fast.
A black blur tackled down the pale wolf that was now in midair. A dark furry mass growled, staining the already dirty fur with red. It was a hard hit but the newcomer did not have a good grip with his teeth. The smaller wolf was thrown off in less than a minute.
Lily grabbed the pouch full of basil leaves and scrambled backwards out of the way. The two wolves fought vehemently, the dark one letting out sharp yelps of pain more than a few times. The white one was thrown back again finally as howls let out in the distance. It seemed to cock its head at the sound before snarling. Promptly, the large wolf turned and bounded away.
Lily shown her light on her savior. His once fluffy coat was slicked back in places with thick liquid that she knew was blood. He wasn’t putting weight on one foreleg. His eyes were on her, a dark gold color with specs of honey. There was sanity in them, a kind of calmness. A breath escaped her chest, one she had not realized that she had been holding.
The wolf padded towards her with a heavy limp. It looked at her curiously, head cocked as if to ask what she was doing here.
That’s right, the herbs! Lily looked at her pouch and saw she had plenty of basil in it now. She bit her lip, looking towards the werewolf before glancing back towards the cottage where she lived in the woods with Sweet Pea.
“Come with me,” she finally said softly, “I can heal you, just come with me.” She stood up and offered her hand to him as if he would take it. Suddenly she felt foolish, a blush light on her cheeks as she put her hand away. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”
She turned, hoping that he’d follow her back. After taking a few steps she heard him behind her, following without any objection. He found himself wondering who she was or, more specifically, what she was. She didn’t smell totally human. In fact, she smelled like warm sunshine on an early summer morning. It was pleasant if not somewhat intoxicating. Hopefully she’d be aware that he could not change back until the moon set. This is the form she’d have to tend to for now.
The walk back was short, only about fifteen minutes. Every time she heard a leaf crunch or twig snap, Lily stopped and listened. She waited for a sign that the vargulf had come back to finish them both off. The dark wolf behind her hadn’t done much damage to it during the fight. It only left because it heard the rest of his pack coming closer. It was sick, not stupid.
Once outside the stone house she looked back at her pursuer. He blinked up at her with those same beautifully captivating eyes. She felt her breath catch in her chest again before unlocking the door and walking inside. “Sweets?” She called out into the darkness. He groaned a response from the worn couch he was laying on, half-conscious.
“I need your help.” She said as she walked in. The wolf hesitated at the entrance, looking behind him, scanning the edge of the woods for any sign of someone following them. Once he was satisfied with the silence of the trees, he hobbled inside.
The door shut behind him on its own. He noticed that the girl had flicked her wrist towards it slowly. A thought clicked on in his brain as realization hit him. She was a magic user, most likely a witch. Though he had never met a witch that smelled as wonderful as she did.
He heard the creaking of furniture and shuffling of feet. A tall man wrapped in a multitude of blankets appeared looking more pitiful than intimidating. He smelled woody, like the earth after a fresh spring rain. It was pleasant and much more witch like, the wolf mused.
The male witch spotted the wolf and halted, a scowl spreading across his face. “You brought that into the house?!” He snapped at the witch who dwarfed in front of him, “Daisy is right in the other room! Are you crazy?” He stepped between the two that had just entered protectively. He cut off the wolf’s path towards the rest of their home.
“Nathaniel, calm down.” Lily said dryly and he flinched at her using his real name. “He saved my life and he’s hurt. I need your help healing him.”
Sweet Pea huffed indignantly, “you know my magic won’t work while I’m sick.” He replied in a sour tone. “Even if I wasn’t sick, it won’t work on him in that form. Did you get the basil?”
Lily rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the way. She walked up to the werewolf who was now sitting on the wooden floor. Her hand softly pet his head between his ears, a warm smile on her face. “Go back to the couch and I’ll clean him up.”
“Him? What about me?” Sweet Pea asked in an offended tone. Shouldn’t he come first? He was her best friend and the father of her child. Certainly she should be healing him and not this stranger donned in fur.
She sighed in annoyance of his obvious jealousy, “I’ll brew your potion first then, okay?” Her voice was heavy with frustration. The warlock on nodded in response before sulking back to his place on the couch, his body lost under the layers of blankets.
Lily grabbed his moleskin grimoire. He had wanted a leather one but moleskin was all they could afford. She had been saving up for months to buy him one for his birthday. Unfortunately their daughter, Daisy, became extremely ill and needed to see a doctor in town. It was a sickness beyond anything they could handle with simple potions and magics. Every penny she had pinched was gone.
These thoughts perturbed her as she went to the bookmarked page. A frown was on her delicate face as she began to brew the easy concoction. Hopefully this would be all he needed. They couldn’t really afford another doctor visit. Not without skipping out on a bill or two.
She added the basil to the part she had already half brewed. Once she finished the rest of the steps, she poured the contents into a mug with a broken handle. Purple tinted steam rose up out of the dark liquid. A light, herbal scent wafted from it.
The mystery wolf sat in the entryway still, not daring to overstep his welcome by going somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. He watched the sad look on the witch’s face and wondered what caused such a sullen expression. He was frowning too, though you couldn’t really see it. Emotions didn’t translate too well in this form.
Once the potion had cooled enough so it wouldn’t burn going down, Lily took the mug to Sweet Pea who was almost asleep on the couch. She peeled back the layers of old quilts and crocheted yarn blankets to see his tired face. “Here, Pea.” She whispered to him as she handed over the mug.
Sweet Pea sat up enough to swallow the earthy liquid. It tasted like soil and was bitter going down, but almost instantly he felt relief. Chills stopped running up his spine as he lay back down. A small cough sputtered from his throat as he closed his eyes. “Thanks, Lils.” He mumbled groggily, the medicine taking effect.
She watched him fall into the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks. A smile lit up her face as she tucked him in lovingly. The wolf, watching them intensely, mistook this tenderness as affection. It wasn’t. Not truly. Sure they had tried the whole dating thing, tried to make things work even after Lily mistakenly became pregnant. But in the end they were better as friends than lovers. They were compatible, sure, yet not quite compatible enough to last.
So while it looked like they were a couple, it really wasn’t something so serious. Lily cared deeply for Sweet Pea and he cared deeply for her. But love? They were never in love. It was just the comfort of not being alone that they loved. After all, they had no one else in their lives. Orphans with only each other.
But of course, he did not know any of this. He didn’t understand the pang of regret he felt in his heart. Especially since he had his own fair haired woman waiting for him on the Northside. Though admittedly things were not so great between him and Betty at the moment. The more violence that the Northside rallied for, the more uneasy it made him, and the less she understood why he found himself not wanting to ever risk crossing the railroad tracks. The only reason he did these days were to see her.
Lily set the mug down on the small end table next to the couch and walked over to the werewolf. She kneeled down, still smiling that beautiful smile that had his pain fading away. “I guess you can’t change back yet. I’ll still clean you up though, okay?”
He cocked his head at her, not wanting to be too vocal and wake up the sleeping members of the household. She pet his fur between his ears again, making his mouth open and tongue lull out. It was perhaps the most non threatening image of any wolf that had ever existed. He looked like an overgrown puppy that just wanted attention.
Which was somewhat true. He did want attention, but only hers. Quickly he cursed himself for even thinking that way.
Lily got up and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. He trotted, nails clicking against the hardwood floors. The sound caused her smile to grow ever so slightly.
Once they were in the kitchen she went under the sink to grab a few towels and what appeared to be a modern first aid kit. He felt this to be a little strange for a magic user to have, though he truly didn’t know a whole lot about witchcraft and what could and couldn’t be done.
Simple cuts and burns, bug bites and bee stings, didn’t really need magic. It could be seen as a waste of energy. There was such a finite amount that using it on any little thing was truly a waste. Lily practiced magic when it was absolutely needed and she strictly only used white magic.
Sweet Pea wasn’t as reserved as her, using all kinds of magic (though mostly black) to do whatever it was he wanted to do. She tried to stop him, tried to get him to change, for black magic always comes with a price. Eventually you will owe more than you can give. This scared her deeply, not wanting to see him hurt in any way.
Lily put her hand on his head for a moment and closed her eyes, “What is your name?” She asked him then. It wasn’t out loud, rather a voice inside his head and he knew what she was doing.
“Jughead Jones.” He thought back to her. She drew her hand away, not wanting to use any more energy than she had to. Her smile faltered a fraction and he knew exactly why. It was his surname. Jones. His father was the alpha of the largest wolf pack in Riverdale. Those woods they had been in was his territory and he made sure all of Southside knew that.
“Jughead,” She repeated out loud and he found himself adoring the way she spoke his name. “Interesting,” she giggled then before wetting one of the rags. “I’m Lily Owens and that’s Sweet Pea on the couch. Just ignore him though, he’s being an overprotective grump because he’s sick.”
She started to wipe away the blood on his fur. The white rag began to turn pink with it. Jughead sat perfectly still, despite the tiny sparks of pain that flurried through him any time she hit an open wound. If Jughead had anything on the gods’ green Earth, it was control.
But if Lily had anything it was the master ability of picking up even the slightest changes of body language. It was magic that required no energy for her, so when she did touch these places on him she noticed the way his eyes seemed to change for a fraction of a moment. She found herself apologizing in a soft voice whenever this happened.
“You shouldn’t go back out tonight, in case it comes back. You won’t be able to defend yourself, I don’t think…” her voice trailed as the uncertainty in her heart made it waiver. Some of the places were inches deep from long canines sinking into soft flesh. The blood was thickest there, sticky with clots and almost black.
The healing ability of werewolves was fast but not nearly as fast as legends would have you believe. These cuts would scab and fade within a few days rather than a few minutes. It was totally possible to die from things other than silver bullets, though bullets would certainly do the job faster. Regular leaded ones. Silver bullets were actually quite inaccurate due to their weight and hitting something with on was more based on luck than marksmanship. This was something The Red Circle had yet to figure out. Some legends were created as a protective cover for the supernatural. Silver bullets was one of them.
By the time Lily was done cleaning off most of the blood, the rag she had in her hand was a dark and blotchy red. Jughead felt almost a weight lifted off of him as he could feel his fur no longer clumped together with his viscous life force. To be completely honest this was the cleanest he had felt in a very long time.
The witch didn’t need to convince him to stay. Her offer was quickly accepted. The black wolf nodded his head slowly to show that he would remain there with great appreciation of his hostess.
Lily smiled a beautifully genuine smile as she stood up, tossing the red piece of cloth into the sink haphazardly. She’d deal with it in the morning. As of now it was late, past midnight, and she was exhausted. Daisy would be up early without a doubt, though she’d probably pester her father first.
“Do you want me to get you a blanket or pillow or…something?” She asked, unsure of what a wolf would need for comfort. He chuckled inside his head at her, amused by how much she wanted him to feel good.
His answer came in the form of him limping towards the brick fireplace and laying down, curling into a tight ball of fluff. Lily understood this as a sign of him not needing anything and retreated into her own bedroom to try and get some much needed sleep. Although, to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure if she would even be able to knowing she had a Jones in the living room. Would FP come looking for him when he didn’t return home? Hopefully not.
+++
A purple haired demon clicked her long stiletto nails rhythmically across the oak table, obviously bored out of her mind. Waiting on assignments from her boss was even more tortuous than hell itself. She groaned after looking at the clock for the hundredth time.
The old door that led into the old house creaked and the demon’s black eyes lit up with hope. A petite blonde woman walked in, wearing a dramatically heavy robe. Dark makeup swirled around her equally dark eyes. “Have you eaten?” She asked cryptically.
Lav grit her teeth, almost compelled to tell her to go fuck herself however the small mark on her pulse point burned at the mere thought. “It’s been a few days. As you requested.” She finally replied in a strained voice. She could not disobey, not without severe consequence. Though sometimes Lavender wondered if living in hell would be less painful that walking the mortal realm under the heel of Myra’s boot.
And curse Satan for creating something as monstrous and evil as Myra’s father. The demon which taught her everything he knew. The demon that created an even bigger evil than himself. Probably, Lav thought bitterly, an evil even greater than the devil.
She was so impossibly hungry. The longer she spent on Earth with mortals the more she had to eat just to stay sane. But Myra, oh this fucking creature spawned in the depths of hell, forced her to starve herself for the past two days. It wasn’t good for someone as young as her. It wasn’t good at all.
“Excellent,” Myra said with a feverish grin that showed pointed teeth. “I have a very special conquest for you. There is a warlock in Riverdale. He’s been writing checks his body can’t cash and now my father requires his soul.”
“And that’s where I come in,” Lav drawled out in a bored tone. “You want me to fuck his brains outs.”
Myra snorted back a laugh at her crude comment. “Well, I can’t account for how much brain matter he actually has. Fuck his soul out instead.”
“But he’s a magic user. He’ll know what I am.” Lav countered, knowing that bedding a warlock could be dangerous. There were powerful spells that could seriously harm her kind. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at hiding her own darkness from others. She was easy to spot…if you knew things like her existed and walked the earth at least.
However, none of this was Myra’s problem. Myra’s problem was her father demanded this witch’s soul and her enslaved soul sucker just had to seduce him to get it. It shouldn’t be hard. Lav was good at what she did, whether she hid herself or not. Talent begets talent and her mother had been one of the best.
Lavender was in truth a hybrid. Her father had been human, her mother a demon. Though most demon women were infertile, barren, and totally incapable of breeding; her father had had just enough of a touch of magic to allow her to be conceived. It was nothing short of a miracle. The high ranking demons demanded the girl be recruited for the army of hell. An army that was to rise up and overtake the mortal realm of earth one day.
In short, the apocalypse.
And in the end, the prince of demons himself would have her under his thumb. Well, more specifically his daughter would have the hybrid under her thumb. Asmodeus bragged more often than not about how his daughter was the one to obtain a virile hybrid into the ranks of hell.
“I don’t want you to just obtain his soul, Shoshanna.” Myra added, her voice dropping to something that sounded more grave for a heavier impact. The use of her old mortal name had Lav on edge, “You are to conceive his child.”
Lavender froze, “You want me to have a baby?” She asked, completely confused as to why anyone would want this. She had been told that because she was a hybrid that she was capable of breeding and that any lesser demon would use her for this purpose, but Myra assured her that she was not a lesser demon.
It would seem that Myra, as she had many times before, twisted the truth when she tricked Lavender to serve under her. “And on top of that you want me to kill that baby’s father?”
Myra scoffed, not seeing what the issue could possibly be. “He won’t die. Magic users can live without a soul, in fact it makes them all the more powerful. He will be thanking you by the time you’re done.”
Deep down Lavender knew she didn’t want to do what was being asked of her. She had no desire to have children, at least not at this point in her immortal life. “So I have this child and then what?” Lavender asked, the inverted pentacle on her throat was burning now. It felt like a fire hot brand was being pressed against her sensitive skin just from thinking about how much she didn’t want to do this.
And if hurt this much at the thought, then what would happen if she actually went through with disobedience? It was beyond sinful.
“You give the child to me.” Myra replied as if her minion was the dumbest demon that walked the Earth. “I will raise it to follow Asmodeus’ whim just as I was raised and just as I’ve commanded you to. They will join the legions of hell and we’ll be one step closer to our goal.”
The gears inside the succubus’ brain clicked into place. “My child is going to start the apocalypse?” It was a bit of a reach, however she knew how Myra operated. She knew what the endgame was and she knew what was needed to get there. A child. A very special kind of hybrid to be exact.
Myra smiled, cruel and wicked, “as it is written. The child will bring hell on mortal Earth.” She moved closer to the young demon and cupped her face in what could almost be seen as a loving manner. “You are the key, Shoshanna, that is why I have cultivated you into the best seductress on this side of Hell. Do this for me and I will set you free.”
Freedom. The thought rang suddenly, as clear as a church bell in Lavender’s mind. Freedom which she had been dreaming of for over twenty years was now within reach. Bringing on the apocalypse couldn’t possibly be that bad of a price. After all she was already guaranteed her run of the Earth and her fill in the souls of mortal men. What did she have to lose?
The burning disappeared suddenly and all thoughts of deserting the cause vanished with it. “Deal.”
Suddenly the door broke open, a lean and very naked man stumbled in, holding a shoulder that was drenched in thick dark blood. There were a few other scrapes and obvious bite marks across his arms and upper torso, but his shoulder was definitely the worst.
Lav glanced out of the window and saw the sun was rising. The newcomer collapsed onto the stone floor, his breath ragged and rough. Myra moved at a speed that Lav had never seen before, at his side instantly and scooping him into her arms. The purple haired demon watched with growing curiosity.
“Leave us,” Myra demanded then and Lav sighed. She stood and left after giving a small wave by flicking her wrist nonchalantly. Once she was gone Myra began to brush back the man’s dark hair.
He groaned as he rested his head against her, clearly exhausted from the battle with the moon. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened since sundown. He wasn’t even sure how he had gotten here. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was safe within his demon princess’ arms.
“The Jones boy,” Myra practically growled with seething hatred. “He will pay for this.” She could smell his scent all over her lover as well as the death and decay that her rabid wolf had brought. The blood was not all his and that she knew for sure. The wolf just breathed a heavy sigh in response, not knowing who Jones was or what Myra meant by what she said.
Myra chanted a spell in a demonic language that was older than the Earth itself. At once all of the wounds on his body began to close and heal. The magic slowly worked its way throughout his body so that there was nothing left but the blood that had come from his wounds and from his attacker. His mouth was full of it. Coppery and earthy, it was actually a comforting taste.
“Kurtz,” She said softly as he began to fall asleep, his body torn from the change that caused him to run rampant across Riverdale. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my love.” Her voice was light and almost human.
Hazel eyes peered in through the window, watching with an absurd amount of intrigue. In the two decades she had been enslaved to the blonde demon, she had never seen her act…tender. She had brief lapses where she wasn’t quite as horrid but she was never sweet. Lavender thought she was incapable of such things. Myra was so distracted that she couldn’t even feel her presence there right outside the ramshackle house.
That was perhaps a good thing, as Myra would have tortured her with rage had she noticed.
Myra managed to get the man she called Kurtz up and into the bathtub. She ran him a bath of hot water, adding a few herbs into the mix to help soothe his broken body. The change was so hard on him. The madness wracked his body, causing him to shake in the milky bath water.
She grabbed a washcloth and began to scrub away the blood as he relaxed against the tile, his head falling to the side as he fell in and out of sleep. “The white witch, did I get her?” He asked suddenly in a broken voice that had her withered heart wrenching.
“No, not this time.” Myra replied in a tone that showed no disappointment in him. She was too worried to care if the witch was dead or not. He had come close, she could feel that, but the black wolf got in the way.
They had finally crossed paths, light and dark, and Myra feared that she may be too late to stop them. There was one way the final prophecy could fail, only one, and of course those two had something to do with it. At least as far as she could tell. Decoding ancient texts was not an exact science, rather a fine art.
But there was still time, her slave was now on course to become with child. Soon no one would be able to stop her from raising the depths of hell.
“Soon, my wolf.” She said with a bite to her voice now. Anger bloomed as the water began to turn pink. She stared intently at a sprig of fresh lavender that floated by, “We will get her soon.”
tag list: @the-gargoyle-queen, @southside-vixen @wayward-river @redhairdontcare732 @cigarettesafterserpents message me if you want to be added!
65 notes
·
View notes
I don't know if someone requested this already--- But I would like to see something about TFP Starscream and a fem!human s/o~ please! Like, they're first meeting? Or something different if you want! Also, I really love your writing! And sorry for my English, isn't my first language
Starscream X Reader – Undeserving Part 1 of 3
A/N – Hey, your English is incredible, you’re doing great sweet-pea.
Warnings – Angst.
Rating – T
Starscream gritted his dentae, hissing as he forced his arm to bend, breaking free of the icy build-up within his joints. The cold was locking up his mechanics every few clicks, but that was the cost of setting up his base in the Antarctic. His current problems of freezing up could be easily rectified if he went inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to… not yet anyway.
Until now, he thought the day had went well. He’d taken a risk, attacking the Autobots for some much energon in one of the dilapidated mines, long since picked dry by Megatron. Instead of finding energon, Starscream managed to capture you from that bumbling oaf Bulkhead. After that, he’d taken you back to his base where he’d formed the perfect plan to trade you for a functioning T-Cog; it was simple and elegant. Starscream didn’t care where the Autobots got the T-Cog from, they could tear one out of themselves for all he cared, so long as he got one; hell, they probably would do that to save one of their pet humans, but what did it matter? They weren’t flyers anyway, inferior Autobots.
By all accounts, Starscream should have been happy, but as he felt the ice locking up his knee joints, he still didn’t want to go inside. Although he’d never met you before, he remembered all previous encounters with the other Autobot pets. They were rude and full of insults which he pretended to ignore until the time to recharge came, when the ugly words scarred his mind, almost making him believe them. Despite always claiming to be perfect, after millennia of being harassed and tortured for any minor inconvenience, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Starscream to view himself as anything but worthless.
With a heavy sigh, Starscream fought away the darkness in his processor that threatened to be his downfall. He left the icy tundra in favour of the base which could protect him from the cold but left him vulnerable to the much shaper attack of your words.
Putting up his usual façade of confidence and superiority like a knight donning armour, Starscream passed you, frowning when you said nothing. He turned to check you were still there, despite knowing escape was impossible. Sure enough, you were huddled in the corner, rubbing your arms to keep warm; Starscream didn’t recognise the action and he didn’t care enough to ask what you were doing.
Under Starscream’s scrutinous glare, you began feeling awkward; maybe that was why you gave a small wave. Starscream stepped back, shocked by the action.
“Sorry,” You said bashfully, retracting your hand. “I don’t really know what the social convention is for being uh… kidnapped.”
“…Yes, well… It’s not that,” Starscream answered almost dutifully.
You nodded slowly, “Right, yep, noted. I um- Sorry, could you tell me what you’re planning to do with me? I mean, I don’t really know what the protocol is for this, usually you take Miko or Raf, y’know.”
Starscream eyed you curiously.
You felt more pressure to end the silence, “I um- I think I’ve made things weird and not the good weird, it’s more like the weird you get when you call a teacher dad or something. Should we start again? I feel like we should. You should go out and come back in and I’ll be quiet and then you can say something, and I’ll follow your lead.”
Starscream had no intention of repeating the unusual interaction, but he did find your assessment correct; the situation had indeed become ‘weird.’ Despite the unusual situation, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with the usual insults, escape attempts, and general bad behaviour; it was about time he got a reasonable captive.
“To be honest,” You babbled, “I’m just glad you came back. You pretty much left straight after putting me in here and without you, I’d starve. You shouldn’t just leave like that okay? What if something bad happened to you? I can’t call for help in here, what would happen to you then?”
“I won’t kill you, human,” Starscream said in an attempt to regain control of the derailed conversation.
“I gathered that much, but it still begs the question, what are you going to do with me?”
He grinned, eager to monologue his brilliant plan to a civilised hostage for once. “Well, if you must know human-”
“(Y/N).”
“What?”
“My name,” You told him. “It’s (Y/N). Sorry, no more interruptions, carry on. I was just setting the record straight… Take it away.”
Starscream bit back a lopsided grin, turning it into his trademark scowl. How was it possible for you to be so awkwardly uncharismatic? More importantly, why did he find your social ineptitude so endearing? Concluding that he was simply starved of intelligent conversation, Starscream continued, “Whatever hu- Ah, (Y/N). To put it simply for your tiny organic brain, I’m going to trade you back to the Autobots for a T-Cog.”
“What’s a T-Cog?”
Starscream rolled his eyes, wondering how he was going to get anything done with your constant interruptions.
“You don’t need to know what it is, only that I plan to trade you for one.”
“Does it have something to do with your alt-mode?” You persisted.
“How did you-”
“When we were in the mines… You didn’t use your alt mode. To be honest, I’m impressed you managed it, I mean, your missiles must be very effective to trump Bulkhead’s brute strength. Oh, and how did you get the ground-bridge to work without a console? Did you rig it up to a remote or something?”
Starscream was astonished that you’d figured all that out from an educated guess. If he was honest, the ground-bridge remote didn’t work according to plan; after he’d taken you, and barely escaped through it, the remote lost all power and without the proper tools, he knew he wouldn’t be able to repair it. “Ugh, why do you ask so many incessant questions?” He huffed. “Never mind, I have much work to do-”
“Do you have more plans?”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless you have more plans that I don’t know about, you don’t really have that much work to do. All you have to do is call the Autobots with your demands, right?”
“Uh, well I-”
You patted the floor, indicating for Starscream to sit outside your cell.
“You expect me to lower myself and sit on the floor?” He said disgustedly.
You shrugged, “Sit, don’t sit. Either way, I think you have time to talk with me, come tell me about yourself.”
Starscream stared at you somewhere between hope and suspicion, “Why?”
You smiled, “Would you relax? I can’t do anything from in here, I just wanted to understand you better. You seem like a smart guy, I think it’ll be nice having you to talk to while I’m here, and from the looks of things, I’d wager you’d like a bit of decent conversation as well, right? So, tell me about yourself.”
Starscream raised an eyebrow plate before relenting, “Very well, I suppose I could spare a few clicks.”
Starscream didn’t know what he was doing, hanging around with you like you were his equal. He’d even considered letting you out of your cell more than once, which was insane; if you were free, you would run, and he refused to lose you like that. He hadn’t even called the Autobots yet, and they were bound to be searching for you and him by now; it had been exactly three weeks since your capture, so they had to be closing in on his location.
Starscream desperately needed a T-Cog, he didn’t feel whole without one, yet if he gave you back would he be left with the same kind of emptiness? Were you now a part of him like his T-Cog had once been? No, it would be far worse to lose you because unlike a T-Cog, you had the capability to care for him, evidently valuing him for some reason he didn’t understand.
Starscream growled, careful to keep the sound low as he sat in the dark, watching you sleep, ever peaceful in your cell. What he needed was another plan, one that would guarantee him both you and a new T-Cog. He considered the conundrum for a long time, attempting to come up with anything that would help. If he was aboard the Nemesis with all his previous resources such a plan would be easy, but now he had nothing and thinking of the past wasn’t helping.
You shivered in your sleep, an action Starscream now understood. He sighed, knowing the only way he could keep you truly warm would be to hold you against his spark. What was he thinking? He was thinking of you like a spark-mate, not a prisoner or even a friend. How much longer could he lie to himself? Eventually, his walls would crumble, and he feared what would happen when they did.
He got up silently, leaving you to your world of dreams. He would return to you in the morning, hopefully with a plan that would allow him to keep you.
Starscream put up a front on confidence to greet you the next morning. “Are you awake yet (Y/N)? I want to talk more about-”
He stopped, gasping anxiously at the sight that met him. You were stood in the corner, holding the wall for support, purging your tank of the little contents it had left. The food Starscream had brought for you was supposed to last a few days, but it had been weeks and you’d carefully rationed everything you had, until finally, your weakened body could no longer handle the strain.
“(Y/N)…” Starscream whispered. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! Is this one of those awful human processes that’s normal? If so, you will be cleaning it up.”
You shuddered, groaning when you were apparently done, “Don’ feel so good.”
Starscream panicked at your lack of a comeback, you were supposed to laugh it off and tell him you were glad he was concerned; you always saw through him, why didn’t you say anything about his façade now? “What’s happening? Is it the cold?”
You took one wobbly step from the corner before losing your balance and stumbling to the floor.
Starscream lowered the cell’s barrier, dropping to his knees and picking you up. He cradled you close to his spark, which radiated warmth even behind the thick metal plating that protected it. “See,” he said, “I can keep you warm… I can fix this.”
Your head rolled back as you lost consciousness. Starscream knew this was more than a simple matter of cold; he also knew he wasn’t equipped to heal a sick human. Carrying you over to the computer console, he found Prime’s contact details, hesitating to make the call, all too aware that if he did, he’d lose you.
“I- I don’t want to let you go. You won’t come back… Nobody ever comes back.”
Coolant leaked from his optics. He quivered, unable to remember the last time he’d cried. How were you able to elicit such powerful emotions in him after only three weeks? Mixed in with the sadness was a feeling he’d only ever hear of, yet he recognised it instantly. Guilt. He felt guilty that he’d somehow caused you to be ill.
“I’m sorry,” He said, pressing his helm into your clammy skin. “How could I ever think that you could be with a monster like me… Dreams are a waste of time.”
He pulled himself together long enough to place you gently on the computer console, which he then used to call Optimus Prime. “Filthy Autobot, I’m sending coordinates to your disgusting human pet. After all this time it didn’t know anything; torturing it was useless after all.”
With that lie, Starscream hung up, leaving the base without so much as a look back. He wondered if you would ever come to know the reason he lied, should you live. He hoped you knew it was so the Autobots would take every precaution to keep you away from him; clearly, he couldn’t be trusted to protect you himself.
After staying out in the cold as long as he could do so without shutting down, Starscream risked going back into the base. As suspected, the Autobots had clearly used a ground-bridge to collect you; they’d probably left immediately afterwards, seeing the state you were in.
Dejectedly, Starscream went to your cell, unable to tear his optics from the stale vomit in the corner. This was for the best, you deserved the world, and he had to suffer the inevitably long life of a Cybertronian alone. He punched the wall, buckling against it afterwards and crying for the second time that day; once again he had failed, but for the first time in his life, it mattered.
Like my work? Buy me a coffee and earn preview of the next fic, or commission me on the commissions page.
556 notes
·
View notes
"Are you jealous?"
Saw an answer @keichanz did with this line in it and honestly it stuck with me with a hilarious concept.
@mustardyellowsunshine this is also for you, my darling.
---xx---
"I'm going to marry him." Kagome decided, nodding her head and taking another octopus puff from the bag from where it rested against her bare thigh.
“Which one did you decide on?” Sango asked over her headset, in her own apartment a few miles away doing case work for her precinct.
“The hottest one, of course. And he’s super strong with a huge house. I mean, Vlindrel Hall is a little dark and I can’t really have an alchemy lab if we add on once we have kids. AND the smithing amenities and Smelter are across town BUT you get four HUGE bookcases and plenty of room for storage. Plus once you upgrade the master bedroom it becomes super luxury. Only the best for my kitten!” Kagome ranted, gesturing with her hand at the screen’s menu as her Skyrim character rotated slowly to one side.
“Why do you always choose Khajiit? Is it so you can reference that meme any time you get something you want? Like when you marry your Markarth hubby.” Sango laughed, making Kagome laugh as well.
“AH! Yes! Khajiit do has Argis the Bulwark! But this Khajiit isn’t looking for sale! “ Kagome mimicked the species particular type of speech in the game as she toed a blanket closer to herself and pulled it over her legs.
From the kitchen, Inuyasha curled a lip as he scrubbed the same bowl for the past 10 minutes. Since she had beaten the game, Kagome had been diligently searching for someone to marry in Skyrim. Looking at every eligible bachelor across the map, checking their level cap, what they had to offer her in terms of a home and their fighting style. And most of all, how attractive they where.
He watched as she got out of the character menu and ran towards the Great Hall where the dude she chose was staying.
“Yeah, Yeah, I already completed all the quest from jarl Throngvor Silver-blood and am a Thane. So all I have to do now is buy the house and then he is my personal housecarl and I can wear the amulet and make him my handsome hubby and this can be my dream house as i go complete every side mission!” Kagome cheered, her armored cat-creature climbing the steps to the Great Hall.
“Keh!” Inuyasha huffed, pulling the stopper to the sink drain and rolling his eyes. Every night after work for the past six months, Kagome allowed herself an hour and a half of game time. Weekends and holidays/ sick days were free to play as long as she wanted when she didn’t put in as much effort as possible spending time with her friends and him of course.
And he had been perfectly fine with watching her battle it out, starting from the bottom as a nobody on a slave cart to be executed to slaying dragons and cyclops with ease. Usually he finished grading his students papers or even cheered her on.
But as she began this new journey.. searching for a husband.. he got more and more irritated. Need he forget the close call when she considered becoming a werewolf to wed one of the options.
“Find someone you ain’t gotta change for. You’re perfect just the way you are, ya fuckin’ walnut.”
Now he sat on their bar stool, his hoodie sleeves rolled above his elbows as he leaned back onto the bar and hair tied into a bun, with a bowl of walnuts in his lap.. ironically enough.. watching as Kagome sat on the low couch and went through all the necessary steps to make this... Arse dude her in-game husband.
He couldn’t even help his ears flicking in agitation.
Deftly, clawed hands slowly wedged razor like nails in between weak points in the tree-nut’s hard exterior and gently pulled the sides apart as if it where the wrapper to a straw. His golden-honey eyes never left Kagome’s face and body as she chatted aimlessly with her friend.
How is it that they have been dating for 4 years, and any time marriage is mentioned, she shies away from the topic. But now she hasn’t stopped imagining her fake life with a fake character in a fake game for the past hour. He already heard what she wanted to name their kids.
IT WAS INFURIATING.
“There’s this girl standing beside me. But you know that you would be my maid of honor, if i did a western style ceremony. So I’m going to pretend she’s you. Okay. Annnnnd ‘I do. Now and forever.’ BOOM. I’m now Mrs. Escargot Pudding the Bulwark! Oh? Okay! I’ll see you Thursday after work for dinner. Sleep well!”
Kagome hung up her phone, taking out her earbuds, and continued clicking through dialogue as she giggled to herself. “So handsome! Look at you!”
“’I do. Now and forever.’ You serious?! Dude looks like a meatball. He has a face tattoo for fucksake!” Inuyasha growled, tossing one sweat-pants clad leg over the other, bare foot tapping wildly in agitation.
Kagome paused the game and turned her attention to the half demon munching angrily on the meat of one poor walnut, his gaze averted. Her eyebrows seemed determined to lose themselves in her hairline.
“Inuyasha.” She asked, her tone slightly amused.
“Are you jealous?”
“Jealous?!” He scoffed, his action so dramatic she was sure his jaw would dislocate. “Why would I be jealous of a dumb ass fuckin’ video game! It ain’t like that’s a real person you’re talkin’ to. Marry whoeverthefuck ya want. I don’t care. Don’t bother me none.” The man rambled, his chin jutting out in distaste.
Kagome, ever wise to her lover and his mind, saved her progress and turned the game off.
Long, slender legs carried her in front of the pouting man and she stood, hands on her waist, for only a moment before she decided how she wanted to approach this. Her best bet? Sweep his feet right from under him.
She noted the way he still avoided her gaze and rolled up the sleeves of her pea-green sweater, its hem barely coming to the edge of her denim shorts, as she spread her legs to either side of his. Quickly, almost startlingly quick for Kagome’s usual movements, one of her hands slapped the wall to the right of Inuyasha’s head and the other went behind him to rest on the counter. Making her small yet full frame VERY MUCH in his face in a full kabe-don pose.
“Well in that case, Takahashi-kun.” She snickered, licking her lips playfully, a giggle threatening to escape from her throat when his eyes snapped in her direction.
She hadn’t used honorifics or any type of formal language with him since she met him in primary school.
“ I would like to think that you were perfect marriage material. Was betting on it, actually. But I can’t have a husband who lies to me when i ask him a simple question. So i suppose I’ll just have to start aaall over-” “You’d actually marry me?” He interrupted, pulling her by the waist as he uncrossed his legs and made room for her between them, his canine ears standing painfully straight. His heart simultaneously feeling like it wasn’t beating at all but also like he was running faster than the wind itself.
Kagome looked into his eyes now. All trace of irritation and fussiness gone. They swam with questions and fear, hope and excitement. Their spun gold and honey mixed with amber was alive and searching for anything and everything only she had to give.
For months now, she had been afraid of their future together. Unsure if the past would remain there. If she was truly enough for him. If he actually wanted more than just this cohabitation with her. A family. A life. A marriage.
And strangely enough, watching him get jealous over a video game character answered it all for her. He did want her, but his stupid mouth and brain just didn’t know how to communicate it.
“Yeah.” She whispered, her hands traveling from their positions on the wall and counter to his immediate body and slowly towards his face, her eyes closing slowly as she couldn’t help but smile, her lips brushing against his as he sighed. His chest rose up to meet hers as a clawed hand gently scraped up her neck.
“I do. Now and forever.”
91 notes
·
View notes
Loyalty pt.2
Sweet Pea x Reader.
Part.1
A//N: oh my goodness I can’t believe the response from this! Over 25 of you asked for a part two which is I think the most requests I’ve ever gotten for a second part in such a short period of time. Thank you!!! I’m so nervous now to release this in case I ruin it but I mean, if I don’t I’m afraid you’ll all murder me or something 😂 Please enjoy and leave me your feedback thank you thank you thank you!
—————————
It was a while yet before you could go back to school but everyday a different Serpent would visit to check in and wish you well, with Fangs and Tonic never really leaving. There was no lead in who attacked you but that didn’t bother you as much as what was happening with Sweet Pea. His jacket was still on your hospital chair, not letting anyone touch it besides the nurses. When you were left alone at night you’d ask them to throw it over you and return it to the chair the next morning. They had pity for your disposition and did as you asked. You of course had your own Serpent skin but this one was Sweet Peas and although you hated yourself for it, you just wanted to be close to him again in any which way. That, in true Serpent style, didn’t mean you wanted to forgive him.
After three weeks in hospital you were finally released and eager to return to your friends and normal life. Yes you were still scars and that cast was decorated with scribbled serpent signatures but you just wanted to pretend it never happened. Not so easy.
You sat across the quad and for the first time since you asked him to leave, you saw Sweet Pea, still with Sarah and her coven. You looked back at your grey lunch when he saw you looking. He watched Toni tell you a story with other Serpents lurking around, more than usual since your little incident. It made you feel childish and with your constant reminder that you were their superior fewer of them started to show up as the day went on.
Sweet Pea decided to try and talk to you, believing he could manage Toni and the few stubborn stragglers still around you. With a deep breath he made his way across the crowded quad only to be jolted back by an old best friend.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Save it Fangs I have to talk to ynn”
“You don’t have to do anything besides leaving us alone” Fangs pushed Sweet Pea back by the shoulder when he tried to move passed him.
“Really I can’t talk to you either?”
“You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us. You’d know about that if you had a bit of loyalty” Sweet Pea pushed Fangs back and Fangs swiftly caught hold of Sweet Peas collar.
“You’ve got a Letterman too Fangs, why aren’t you being ostracized for it?”
“I didn’t trade my family for it or nearly get a friend killed” Sweet Pea caught Fangs jacket while Fangs just kept the even pressure on Sweet Peas collar.
“I can’t even rely on you to help me fix things and you’re supposed to be my brother”
“You lost that privilege the day you chose to wear the letterman over your skins” Fangs released Sweet Pea with a jolt backwards. Sweet Pea looked the ground, being stripped of his jacket was a massive dishonour and it was hitting him hard at that moment.
“Just be thankful she took the jacket and not that tattoo off your throat because if it were me? I’d want a pound of flesh as well” Fangs delivered the dig and went to turn back to you and Toni before deciding it wasn’t enough. While Sweet Pea had his eyes on his shoes Fangs swiftly turned and sent his knee soaring into Sweet Peas stomach and tossing him to the ground. When Sweet Pea was clutched his stomach and not even trying to get back up and fight Fangs realised just how much Sarah had changed him. Toni ran over to Fangs and pulled him away with you hobbling behind, Sarah went to aid Sweet Pea as other people from her friend group called for teachers.
~
“Sorry they benched you from the team Fangs”
“Sorry I could only get one kick in” he laughed lightly as himself and Toni sat on your trailer couch.
“C’mon Fangs we better get going to the meeting, you sure you’ll be okay until we get back?”
“Yes, I am in fact a fully functional human person”
“Weeeeelll” Fangs sighed sarcastically gently knocking on the plaster coating your arm. You swiftly punched him into his own with your better hand.
“Truce!” You laughed at the both of them before waving them off. You weren’t ready to be surrounded by endless amount of pity just yet, you earned your command and just because you were a little very broken at the moment, shouldn’t mean they forget that. You crashed down into the seat Fangs just left and continued watching TV. Not long after the sound of knuckles meeting metal filled the trailer.
You shakily stood, retrieving a gun from your couch side locker and made you way to the front door. You opened it slowly, with the gun ready to unleash, to see Sweet Pea standing there smiling.
“Hi Yn- wait yn don-” you closed the door again before he could finish his sentence
“Yn please talk to me please” you listened to his voice through the metal and eyed his jacket hanging from a stool. You put the gun down and sat back on the couch ignoring his attempts at getting you to open the door. Then it stopped. You let out a sigh of relief to which your recovering rib screamed at you for.
“Yn”
“JESUS CHRIST SWEET PEA! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” The tall jet black haired boy had squeezed his 6ft2 body in your bedroom window before making his way to the living room.
“No no please you have to let me try and fix this, please hear me out!”
“Hear you out?!Have you ever heard the sound of one of your bones being broken over someone’s knee? Your own blood curdling screaming turning to sobs as you just want the thrashing to stop? No? Well I hope you never have to because I CAN’T STOP FUCKING HEARING IT SO IM SORRY BUT THERE’S NO OTHER ROOM IN MY BRAIN TO HEAR ANYTHING ELSE! ESPECIALLY YOU!” you picked up the magazines on the coffee table and hurdled them at him.
“I KNOW! I FUCKING KNOW I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE BUT I WASN’T! I KNOW I FUCKING ABANDONED YOU!”
“You shouldn’t swear” you cocked your head to one side before making your way to the front door. Sweet Pea put his hands behind his head and let the air escape his lungs. You opened the front door allowing it to swing back before gesturing for him to leave. He bit the inside of his cheek before noticing his Serpent jacket, picking it up and holding it in his hands.
“I’m taking my jacket”
“Why are they all out of jumpers at The Gap?”
“Well they didn’t take your sense of humor from you” he stood chest to chest with you, your back against the wall by the door. It had been a long time since you both were this close, a long time since either of you had even looked each other in the eye.
“You don’t need the jacket SP” you hand grabbed hold of a section of the fabric but he still didn’t release
“I need it”
“You can have it when I have your loyalty again”
“How do I get that?”
“You’re a smart little preppy, you’ll figure it out” you pulled downward on the jacket, snatching it from his grasp, he stepped in closer to where your chests were now touching, the both of you just hovering over each other. If this was before the letterman the next part would have gone differently.
“So you want me back? Otherwise you wouldn’t say that”
“Get out” you whispered as he was even closer. The corner of your lip still scarred drew him in and you felt yourself slowly melting into his charm before you came to your senses and pushed him back.
“Get out!” you were more forceful this time and he seemed to obey, begrudgingly.
“I’ll do the gauntlet again" you let a light laugh escape you as he stood at the bottom of your steps outside the trailer.
“I think they’d kill you if you went down that again”
“Let them” he shoved his hands in his pockets and began sauntering off you watched him walk out of sight and then began cursing yourself for even letting him that close.
~
Sweet Pea was walking home alone, the entirety of the Winter night settling into his bones. He was happy with the little progress he made with you but knew there was still a mountain to go. He found himself outside of Sarah’s as she just parked her car in the drive.
“Sweeties!” She ran at him and wrapped her arms around him. He buried his head in her shoulder before she pulled her head back and kissed his cheek.
“What did you this evening Sweeties?”
“I just went over to yn to try and sort things out and-”
“Ughhhhhhh Sweeties let it go, you said you’re sorry and she didn’t accept, what more can you do for them? Give them a pound of your flesh?”
“Do you think that would work?” He laughed at her and she hit him playfully into the chest.
“You don’t need them and besides, the letterman suits you more than that nasty icky leather thingy. Your new family wouldn’t just drop you because of one girl falling over or whatever”
“Umm she was nearly killed because I didn’t do what was expected of me, she wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me annoying the seniors.”
“I said or whatever” she looked at Sweet Pea like he was stupid when it was her who was missing the point, she let go of Sweet Pea to answer a text as it came into her phone.
“Sweeties you should go home, you have the game tomorrow”
“Yeah you’re right, wanna give me a lift home?”
“Not really no, see you tomorrow” she kissed his cheek before returning her eyes to the screen and slipping into her house leaving him alone to himself once again. He had totally forgotten about the game tomorrow and actually enjoyed not worrying about it for once. Even if that meant worrying about you instead.
———————————
Xx
491 notes
·
View notes
Joran Season 2 Episode 6: Unfinished Business. Part 2/2
Joran felt the gun pressed against his head. He nearly cried. “It’s a shame,” said Henry. “The end of your story couldn’t come soon.”
“Shame it had to end this way.” Joran agreed. “We could’ve done so much had The House of Jones accepted the alliance with TASK. Tell me why.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked observantly.
“Why do you need to do this? Run a mafia. Your mother’s alive. Let her.”
Henry explained, “My mother’s growing older by the minute. Bless her soul, but she’s not strong enough to run a mafia.”
“And you are?”
“And I am,” repeated Joran.
Kid-Spud uttered, “Quite the fool you are.”
“What a vacuous, pea-brained, poop-sniffing, ignorant, petty dumpster diving cash-bilking, unpleasant juvenile skunk-trapping ignoramus-kissing bully you are to talk like that. I admire your confidence. That I must admit, but you at the end of your miserable days of innocence, know this: you are worthless.”
“You made him tear up again,” Joran muttered. “Dear gods, only I’ve done that. You did it without raising your tone.” Joran was angered and humiliated. He pinned his emotions down, and leveled his voice. “He’s just a child.”
“He’s a brat.” Henry replied. “He has no right to be standing here next to me or next to an assassin like you.” As Kid-Spud wiped away his tears, Henry eyed the child. Toss him back out on the streets or kill him is what I say.”
“Or I could kill you and not listen to any more of the crap you’ve been sputtering.”
“Or you could kill me.” He said, “If that’s what you wish.”
“What other options do I have?”
“Join my mafia: replace Maseel. I could use you. Take a seat next to me and help make decisions in the council. Or you could kill me, like you said.” He scribbled out his ponderings on a sheet of paper. Then he went on, “You could leave unscathed, skull intact, no harm done. Or of course I could kill you and Spuddy Junior right now and be on my way. Or of course, we could watch the news.” The TV flashed vigorously, before displaying a small animation, then a broadcast.
The news reporter said monotonously, “Richard Killersmith has been a prime candidate for a second term. His vote to end standardized testing has enticed teens across the nation to hit the ballots- and possibly tip the scale in his favor. Also we have just received reports traffic lights across the globe have gone haywire, cars crashing into cruel catastrophes, chaos across the streets of New York. Sound familiar? Also we have just received word that many are being held hostage in what is said to be The House of Jones’ Blue Gala facility by an assassin named Maseel Lindermont. He is an escaped convict from Jozama Penitentiary. We are receiving more info from our man stationed there, Don Takema Weii. Don, tell us more.” The camera cut to a shot of Don standing in front of Blue Gala.
“Denver this is very bad,” replied Don. “One thousand hostages are in there, as well as a wild wolf who according to some, can talk-” A bullet struck his throat. He fell quickly. Hoards of first responders rushed to his aid, patching his wound up and taking him away. The scene happened in front of hundreds of eager camera-people awaiting a scoop. The sirens of police cars rang through the air, as out of Blue Gala walked a shadowy man.
“Maseel’s been arrested,” Henry uttered. “Oh Heldom- what now?"
He paced rapidly around his table, displacing two pencils, a stapler, some paperwork, a picture of his son and daughter, a picture of his wife, a picture of the three together, a green, blue, and purple pen, a highlighter, and a folder labelled, “Secret Connections.”
“My mafia’s gonna die out. I’m going to die. The whole world will know I’m The Spud- This is bad. Very bad. I need to fix this. I need everything to return to status-quo.”
“Join us?” suggested Joran. “We’re rebuilding TASK. I’m sure I’ve roped in Everaine. What about you?” Keshin seemed interested, so Joran admitted, “I don’t like being an assassin. Sure Maseel doesn’t like killing either. But it pays. Pays damn well if you ask me.” Cries and ferocious beeping filled the room. In the once deepest, emptiest, most unkempt hallways, gunfire rang, people spilled into and out of their chambers, and more skirmishes, more messes arose.
“What was that?”
He explained, “That was the remaining TASK members, led by Agent Triple-5. They’re here to end your tirades.”
“Agent 555,” muttered Henry, unsettled. “Slap my arteries! It’s that damn fool.”
“What’d you say?”
“The fool betrayed me!” Henry yelled back angrily. “He worked for me a bit. Then suddenly, he says, ‘I’m leaving. Peace.’ and I say, ‘Wait! Why are you leaving this early?’ and he says something about wanting to find a greater purpose, and he starts murmuring something about ‘The Silent God’ or something. Crazy idiot. He deserves everything headed his way.”
“The Silent God’s real,” he said. “I knew him.”
“You don’t know anything,”
“Try me,” Joran dared. “I’ll tell you things about yourself that nobody knows about you. Like how you once supported movements to relist wolves as endangered. Or government action to ban wolf poaching.”
“You wouldn’t dare leak that out into the public.”
“Oh I already did.” The television flickered on again, with the same reporter on the screen.
He said, “In other words, It has been leaked by one of our sources that apparently the leader of wolf poaching mafia The House of Jones: a man named Henry Jones, was an avid wolf supporter as a kid. Still does support them today… It seems as if all computers nationwide, no matter what company, Volo, Apple, Microsoft, or Chromebook, have been hacked and now read the words, ‘DIE TO THE STAKEHOLDER.’ This leaves officials like The FBI and The Department Investigating Ruling Tyrants, or DIRT, a vigilante-ism investigation team led by citizens just like you, questioning what his possible return could mean for the whole world.”
Henry commented, “The Stakeholder is everywhere these days and it’s crazy.” Joran pointed his revolver at Henry’s neck, ready to kill when he must. “Are you really gonna do it?” asked Henry. “Take your time. I don’t wanna hurry you-” Joran shut his eyes and took his shot. Henry died without a quarrel nor a skirmish. He died quickly and painlessly, against his own wishes. He left Joran feeling unfulfilled.
Kid-Spud politely asked, “What now?”
“Keshin’s dead,” replied Joran. “You’ll be taking over Man’s Grudge. You are his rightful heir after all.” Joran put his hand on Kid-Spud’s shoulder and said, “I trust you’ll do your father’s hunting clan justice.”
“What about you? What about The House of Jones?”
“Henry’s mother can deal with the scraps. As for me, I’ll take on the burden of leading TASK. I’ll have the mantle of The Huncho now. I deserve it for the hell I’ve been through.”
“Good idea,” Kid-Spud replied. “But what about the hostages at Blue Gala?”
“They’ve been evacuated out by now,” he replied. “It’s our turn to leave.”
“What about The Superpeople?”
“I know the perfect replacement for their team,” explained Joran. “He’s a good friend-slash-enemy of mine. Nobody remembers him though.”
“Who- who? Who?”
“Might know him, might not. He’s a name once known, now worth no value. His name’s Veram, and we have some differences to set aside before I recruit him."
JORAN WILL RETURN IN SEASON 3.
0 notes
Jackson/Stiles + secret santa
Dinner Gift
Stiles Stilinski/Jackson WhittemoreRating: G, Word Count: 896Fluff, Secret Santas, Human AU, Pining, POV Stiles♥Read on AO3
What do you get a guy who 1: has ridiculously expensivetaste, but you’re on a 10 dollar budget; 2: canbuy anything he wants for himself; and 3: you have a giant crush on that he isnot to find out about under any circumstance.
Stiles groans and leans his forehead against a wall,ignoring the sympathetic mutterings of his fellow holiday shoppers.
The only thing he knows Jackson likes, and that meets allStiles’ own criteria, is a pizzafrom Angelina’s. The place looks like adump on the outside, but the pizzas are amazing and weirdly cheap. Jacksonalways laments about how they don’tdeliver.
Stiles pushes away from the wall, a grin spreading acrosshis face. He’s a genius.
~
Jackson’ssurprised grin when he sees the gift vouchers from Angelina’s, is a thing of beauty. It wasn’t easy to convince the owners, butafter a lot of begging, pleading, and puppy-eyes, Stiles managed to get avoucher for two pizzas and two drinks.
‘Andyour Secret Santa was…’ Coachpoints at Isaac for a drumroll. ‘Stilinski!’
Stiles holds his breath as he waits for Jackson’s reaction.
‘Thanks,man,’ Jackson says, his smilegrowing a little. Or is that just Stiles’imagination?
‘Surething,’ Stiles nods. He quicklylooks away when he feels his cheeks heat up.
There’s onlya couple more people on the team who have to unwrap their presents, and thenCoach sends them all home. Stiles stuffs the Batman mug and coaster that Boydgot him in his bag, and makes his way out of the locker room, grabbing ahandful of chocolate as he passes the snack table, and waving goodbye to Scott.
Munching happily on his spoils of the candy war, he digsfor his car keys.
‘Fuck,’ he mutters. They’ve probably drifted to the bottomagain.
‘Do youalways greet people that way?’
Stiles’ headsnaps up. Jackson is leaning against the Jeep, casual and beautiful in histight jeans and pea coat.
‘Whatare you doing here?’ Stiles asks, quicklyschooling his expression into a glare.
‘Youbought me dinner,’ Jackson says. He holds upthe voucher.
‘Ibought you pizza. Two of them.’
‘Dinner,’ Jackson repeats. He pushes himselfoff the car and advances on Stiles. ‘Fortwo.’
Stiles flushes. Shit.He hadn’t considered thatinterpretation of the gift. ‘That’s not–‘
‘Whatyou meant?’ Jackson finishes. He pullsout another piece of paper and holds it up for Stiles. It’s one of the first notes he’d shoved in Jackson’s locker: I’m sure you’ll do great on your presentation.
Coach ordered them to not just buy something nice forwhoever you got in the Secret Santa, but to dosomething nice for them as well. Stiles has been leaving Jackson encouragingnotes, like don’t worry about that Chemistrytest! You got this!.
Stiles raises his eyebrows. ‘What does your English presentation have to do with pizza?’
Jackson flips the note. Stiles’ heart stops.
Oh fuck. Oh shit!
The note is written on a piece of paper he’d ripped out of a notebook. Hedoodles a lot in his notebooks. He gets bored easily. This particular doodle isof a humanoid 37 and 24, their lacrosse jersey numbers, holding hands. He doesn’t even remember drawing it.
‘Uhm…’ Stiles starts, strangling the strapof his backpack, cheeks blazing, and looking for an escape.
‘Ithought you were messing with me at first,’Jackson says. One corner of his mouth ticks up, and he glances at the ground. ‘But then you sent the one about howyou like my shirt, and the one about my ass.’
There may have also been a couple that went more alongthe lines of that colour really makesyour eyes pop, and I don’t knowwhy you look like you haven’t slept, but here’s a hug.
Stiles is completely frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He never preparedfor this scenario, but it sounds like Jackson likes him back.
‘It– It’s anice ass,’ he stammers.
‘I workhard on it,’ Jackson smirks.
Stiles snorts and relaxes a little. This is a Jackson hecan handle, the arrogant dick. The shy, hopeful Jackson he still has to figureout.
‘Is thisyour convoluted way of asking me out?’ Stilesasks.
‘Prettysure you asked me out first.’Jackson waves the voucher and the note in the air.
Stiles opens and closes his mouth a couple times,searching for words. ‘Notintentionally,’ he finally says. ‘But if I did, would you says yes?’
‘Iwould,’ Jackson nods.
‘Cool.That’s awesome. Great,’ Stiles grins. Butterflies escapefrom his stomach, into the rest of his body. ‘So,when’s good for you?’
‘I’ve got some homework, but I’m free tonight,’ Jackson says.
‘That… sounds awesome. I’ll pick you up around seven?’
Jackson throws a sceptical look at the Jeep. Then helooks back at Stiles and sighs. ‘Ishould probably get used to risking my life in that death trap, so seven soundsgood.’
‘Hey!’ Stiles goes to give Jackson a shove,but Jackson grabs his hand and pulls him closer.
‘See youtonight,’ Jackson says, and presses akiss to Stiles’ cheek.
When Stiles’ brainhas rebooted, Jackson is gone, but he can still feel the warmth of Jackson’s hand in his and Jackson’s lips against his cheek.
Want to request a winter/holiday mini-fic?
141 notes
·
View notes
Characteristics of Bone: A Memorie
https://amerarcana.wordpress.com/
...bone represents the very source of life, both human and animal. To reduce oneself to the skeleton condition is equivalent to re-entering the womb of this primordial life, that is, to a complete renewal, a mystical rebirth.
-Mircea Eliade, Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy
The characteristics of bone describes the music of Glenn Spearman (tenor saxophone) and Marco Eneidi (alto saxophone). They have moved beyond bone now, yet bone is eternal. Civilization can never defeat bone. For the sake of the memory of Glenn and Marco, I will skip the rigmarole of making an acrostic of their names, and whatnot. You need only to find recordings and listen: listen to their material. You need to run it down from before the beginning for yourself, and after. Many others are more qualified than I to give detailed accounts of the lives of Glenn Spearman and Marco Eneidi. It was only dumb luck and poverty that led me across their paths in the first place.
I was homeless San Francisco in 1993 just a few months after coming from San Diego. I came up Highway 5 to attend the state university. I had even sold my drum kit to barely afford the essentials. This is when I discovered the infamous San Francisco burrito and the salsa verde, which my buddies still refer to as “the drug.” El Castillito made them huge, by San Diego standards, and the wasn’t far from my place on 26th and Alabama. My job at the recycling center at school didn’t pay but once a month. I had to starve in between checks. Not dire by any account. I loved it. I was a Creative Writing student after all. I’d starve and smoke and nibble and drink wine. Within a month of living in in the city, sunrise to sunrise. I was pushed out of a ratty apartment in no time. I discovered Food Not Bombs and Homes Not Jails through the Epicenter Zone, a Punk community center. They had a switchboard hot-line service for those in need. No one really had cell phones or the internet. I made my way to a Homes Not Jails meeting. They had left over free soup from Food Not Bombs. A dude I met there let me crash in his attic. Jeremy Graham. We talked about what I thought was music and I what I thought was literature. He is a lawyer now and still comes to my shows 23 years later. Jeremy gave me a tape of John Coltrane’s last album “Expressions”, Frank Wright’s “One for John” album (with Bobby Few and Noah Howard), and Glenn Spearman’s Double Trio.
“...(Cecil) Taylor drafted (Glenn) Spearman for a big band…(t)hat led to a few gigs with Cecil’s other bands, a seven-piece group which played for dancers, and a six-piece Cecil Taylor Unit including (Raphe) Malik, Jimmy Lyons, William Parker and Rashid Bakr ‘That’s where I got my advanced degree in music,’ says Glenn.”
Bassist Lisle Ellis has been a great conduit for me, and the other young pups I ran around with. Lisle was a later addition the Glenn Spearman’s Double Trio. He was the only one as far as I knew. I saw them perform as much as possible. Great musicians, bunch of dudes: William Winant (percussion), Donald Robinson (drum kit), Chris Brown (piano), Larry Ochs (saxophones), Lisle on bass and Glenn. I still don’t really know the other guys well. Lisle linked me to pedagogies and practices of the Creative Music Studio in New York around the mid-70’s, Don Cherry, Cecil Taylor and beyond. Plus, he remains super accessible. He ran a workshop out of his apartment in the Upper Haight in San Francisco. Had us doing all kinds of exercises. He introduced to me violinist India Cooke which led to trio project, ESP, with bassist Kimara Dixon (a dude, now in Atlanta). She was teaching me to listen demonstrating loads of patience. Lisle joined us once on stage at Beanbender’s in Berkeley. India, Glenn, Chris and, maybe, Willie, back then, were on the faculty at Mills College. Larry was/is a part of ROVA Saxophone Quartet as the “O.” He performed the “Bedouin Hornbook,” back in the day. Donald fixed cars and drove the smallest car. It only fit a driver and drums. It was a Le Car or old school Honda Civic or something. Simply legendary.
India and Glenn were my Black Arts Movement - West. I uncovered Ishmael Reed and Marvin X a bit later, after music. Many Black artists, intellectuals and Creative Musicians passed through the San Francisco Bays’ industry of thought, but I wasn’t really hip to it at the time. I was a struggling student and political activist. I staunchly rejected MTV and Hollywood because Chuck D, KRS ONE and Bad Brains told me to, thankfully. I switched majors from Writing to History to Philosophy & Religion and kept yo-yoing in and out of school. I kept up political education and service-based activism. Francis Wong, Jon Jang, Fred Wei-Han Ho and the Asian Improv Arts crew were quite explicitly positioned the music in an international, multi-ethnic nexus of resistance strategies and cultural progress. Rest in power, Fred. His book Sounding Off!: Music as Resistance / Rebellion / Revolution. There remains a lack of radical analysis and language amongst my community of Creative Musicians. Jason McGill and I interviewed back when Royal Hartigan gave him a residency at San Jose State. We heard Free Jazz as get-free-or-die-motherfucker! Years later Fred warned me about my academic language and intellectual tendencies. Fred was an action man. I mean, you just gotta talk to people and build. I find myself now digging through the past relationships and realities I simply missed in the ol’ Bay Area Creative Music scene.
Unlike most cities, homeless persons, street persons, are quite visible up and down certain streets at all hours in San Francisco. I saw my fair share working with organizations affiliated with the Coalition On Homelessness. People have many reasons for escape, I can’t judge. What got me was that I recognized myself in the blatherings and bangings of some ecstatic urchin, high as fuck, banging away on buckets and pans for change, or for no reason at all. I stopped and stared not knowing if I was seeing my future self. A child of an alcoholic, though never an excessive user of any such thing, I only sought something behind the music I craved and worked through. Chasing Creative Music made me feel how that tripped out dude looked. People on the day to day are truly Improvisers: improvising a meal, a living, a laugh, so-called sanity. Navigating these streets and institutions will sure put you on a different plane. Just like how solitary confinement creates insanity. The complexity of the Double Trio saved my life. People say that kind of thing sometimes, and when it’s true it’s true. ROVA also turned me out. Composer, all around musician and bassist for Earth, Don McGreevy recently reminded me of all legacies of complexity, wonder and mastery that we inherited from this continuum of Creative Music. The bar is quite high.
I was hungry for that essential transmission from improvisors with teeth. Experiencing the Double Trio was a kind of an initiation. My crew of musical and personal allies were transitioning into Creative Music enthusiasts at the same time. We imbibed all that we could. Performances spaces took on a sacred and profane quality. I only spoke to Glenn once or twice. I interviewed him on the phone after he quit doing chemo. He said he only wanted to self-medicate and finish his work peacefully. I trust that he did.
Last I saw Marco, it was in February 2015. We ran across each other in Vienna, Austria on a Tuesday night. I was hunting for him. Black Spirituals, my band from Oakland, CA, performed while on tour with the iconic drone Metal unit Earth, from Seattle. We found ourselves in the fortunate circumstances of having our meals, booze, venue and sleeping accommodations all under same roof, or rooves in this case. European venues do it good that way. Drink up and load out in the morning, like a human being. I befriended a Viennese chap, an artist or philosopher unlucky in love, who joined me in a cab at midnight. We cut through the immaculate city in search of Marco. We found him, gray-faced and dogged, preparing to go home. He had been running the New Neu York/Vienna Institute of Improvised Music. Dude looked exhausted as he greeted his former apprentice, sort of looking past me. He was looking for his bed, no doubt. The poor bastard exchanged a few words and promptly left after informing us how avoid the entry fee at the venue door. He disappeared into the night, into history, and, all too soon, into the awaiting arms of the ancestors. I guess I thought he’d be a buoyant Henry Miller with a tart over one shoulder, tobacco smoke pouring out over too many words, a fifth in his breast pocket, and rubber soles under his heals. I think I just wanted to see his horn-playing stance one last time. That night, though, I performed improvisations with no-non-sense, badass musicians and threw back a few with Hans Farb from Festival Konfrontationen in Nicklesdorf. He knows all my Free Jazz family intimately. He is like an uncle I never knew was out there.
Several years before, during one of Marco’s orbits from Vienna to the San Francisco Bay Area, I was able to host him. I booked a gig at Omiiroo Gallery in Downtown Oakland. It was my duty to spotlight him, feed him, give him a $100 bucks, and the stage. My man Githinji set it up. He taught me how to make Kenyan black-eyed peas for the occasion. “Gotta use coconut milk, brottar.” I arranged for additional catering from the Afghan spot down the street. And since the gallery didn’t have a proper bathroom, I made further arrangements with the Afghans to keep everybody comfortable. My band at the time was called Mutual Aid Project, a free jazz collective. We had undergone and performed the very first iterations of Decolonizing the Imagination together. Nick Obando (alto saxophone), Tracy Hui (guitar) & I performed composed analyses and democratic spaces to confront the tenets of colonization that brought our peoples to this land and still persist in our everyday lives. Rarely work with such deep cats. However, they were rightfully annoyed with me because I opted to perform solely with Marco. The next night, I must say, we opened for him at the Hemlock Tavern in San Francisco with Jamaaladeen Tacuma (electric bass), Lisa Mezzacappa (acoustic bass) and Vijay Anderson (drums). That gig with Marco was mine. My brother was shooting video, sort of. Some hot, young thing was sitting in the front row. My pops and his lovely wife brought their friends up from Oxnard and down from Napa-tasting. See, it was my dad’s birthday. I felt like an apprentice when I first pulled Marco’s coat and now I was a journeyman. We did two sets. I never released it. It’s just a thing I had to do.
In early 2000’s, I worked with Marco as his sometime drummer. He was the kind of guy who lived in a van in NYC, so I heard, and schlepped his axe everywhere. Someone actually stopped me from doing that myself when I lived in DC. Back
0 notes