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#probably because I grew accustomed to their voices long before I trained my brain to 1.5 things

rivendellsstuff · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | ❝Slowly, she was collapsed and sheathed inside his heart — and that was the beginning and the end of everything for Levi Ackerman.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2590;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Mentions of canon-typical violence. Inspired by Arwen Undómiel's speech in “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring'' and the song ''Can’t help falling in love'' by Elvis.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hi! English is not my native language, so if you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know. I plan to look for someone to help me with proofreading because I feel like I leave a lot behind. I hope I can find help to continue publishing these short stories!

────── ▎Levi Ackerman still remembers the feeling when he realized that he loved her.

He knew, he simply knew, that nothing would ever be the same again. This love came suddenly, without warning, and was born inside him in silence, destroying all the countless walls he had built over the years.

The rational and critical part of his brain is always trying to convince him to drown that feeling because nothing good can result from love in those days. So, for a long time, Levi tried to act as if it didn't hurt — how bad hiding what he felt hurt his mind. The fact was: he always lost the people he loved. The fear of losing another person, of seeing them turn into a memory, never terrified him as much as it did now. He didn't want to lose her too.

So, he wonders what the hell he should do. Over the past few months, Levi has always kept her back and that was the nature of their relationship. Levi's understanding of her had always been instinctive, based on a single fact: they were perfect opposites and, in a way, perfect counterweights. But then, he looked at her in a million different ways and loved her in each of them — as a soldier, as a partner, as a friend, as a lover.

Suddenly, humanity's strongest soldier, the one who had brought down countless titans and people who performed evil deeds beyond human comprehension, was unarmed and vulnerable. Slowly, she was collapsed and sheathed inside his heart — and that was the beginning and the end of everything for Levi Ackerman.

The first time Levi Ackerman realized how much he loved her occurred the night before the operation to retake Wall Maria. It was evening, and it was raining - a fine, murmuring autumnal drizzle. The weather was comfortable. Not so hot and not so cold, but just right. Even so, Levi Ackerman was not feeling well. His body was begging for rest and his mind for comfort, but he could not afford to lie down like everyone else. In the stillness, his thoughts were constantly interrupted by the image of the soldiers and friends he had lost over the years, thrown to the ground and covered in his own blood, and this made Levi feel dizzy and sick.

His shoulders were down, his head hung down, and his body was slightly bent over the documents on his desk. Beside him was a long-empty cup of tea. It was the shadow of the great Levi Ackerman. It was simpler than humanity's strongest soldier, but at the same time it was empty and incomplete. Ironic. He had always boasted of being cool, of not caring about trivialities, and of keeping himself intact as a captain, and now he was nothing but a decaying shadow of the infamous Levi Ackerman.

And so, the first few hours of that night passed. So much was happening all at once. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind and stand firm, as he always should.

He sighed. Levi left the pile of documents meticulously organized on the table, picked up the empty cup, and stood up. His eyes grew accustomed easily to the darkness, the only sound was of an old clock at the end of the hall and his footsteps on the old linoleum floor.

「flashback」

Levi liked to think he lived long enough to understand that one can never escape his true nature. Such is Historia's destiny, and she is finally crowned as Queen before a large and enthusiastic crowd. The people remember seeing the Queen protect them from a Titan and admire her for standing up to her father.

A smart move, Levi thought.

Standing next to Erwin and Hange, he thinks of his mother. Of Isabel, who cannot be the heroine she was meant to be. He thinks of Furlan and his resilience. He thinks of all the people he has lost over the years, especially those who failed to become what they were meant to be.

''Hey'', Mikasa's voice was low, but it was enough to get the captain's attention.

Up to that point, Levi had not greeted any of his squadron members, although he knew that many were with unasked questions hanging on their tongues. Political issues occupied most of his time. The words were not spoken, but duly were there, at some point; all praise and words of gratitude for his team.

And Levi looked at her, grave tenderness in his eyes turned to Mikasa, and yet, even if she had not been raised among men of war, she was someone many could not overcome in battle. She approached the girl with hair as black as raven wings and whispered something in her ear, to which Mikasa thanked her with a small smile. In those days, it was rare to see anyone smile.

Her dress, which was a deep green with white flower embroidery and golden arabesques on the sleeves, shimmered in the faint wind that afternoon. Levi thinks that she looks so beautiful with the sunlight in her hair.

He interrupts his thought suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

And, as if sensing that she is being watched, she raises her eyes from Mikasa to the captain. He thinks that she is going to raise one of her eyebrows or simply keep the conversation with Mikasa. But then she did something that surprised him even more. She smiled. At him.

He feels his cheeks burn.

''You are staring, shorty'', said Hange, amused, following his gaze.

''Tch, shut up.''

It was just a smile, but Levi couldn't forget it for the rest of the ceremony.

He thought that the true beauty of the place belonged to her.

「 flashback's end」

Damn, he thinks. That smile.

The smell of tea berries and wet earth overwhelm him. Outside, the rain was falling hard as he brewed another cup of tea. He sipped the warm, clear liquid, allowing the noise made by his lips as he sucked the drink to ring out loud. He smiled, amazed that she didn't like the drink. This was the first more human demonstration he had had in a long, long time.

It was during a sleepless night like that, months ago, when they could finally be in each other's presence, just them. It was... easy to talk. Maybe it was because of the tea, the sound of her laughter, or none of those two things. Maybe just her and her way of looking beyond him as nothing but.... Levi. Just Levi.

Levi grew up poor and alone in a place where he was taught to hate every bit of it with a burning passion, he understands a thing or two about injustice and hate even before Kenny decides to teach him how to fight. He loved his mother with every fiber of his being. He loved his friends. When they died, Levi felt like he was dying with them; but that feeling? It was a different kind of love. He had never loved anything, or anyone like her.

Get out of my head, woman.

He took a deep breath and decided to put those thoughts aside once again. After finishing the tea, he put the cup away and headed back to his room.

He stopped himself momentarily when he noticed the door ajar on his right.

And there she was, dressed in a silver and blue dress, in a polished wooden chair by the window, whose light westerly wind blew through and made her hair flutter. To him, it seemed that starlight was in her eyes.

Levi was silent for a second and then sighed. There was nothing to be said now that they were there, preparing to reclaim the lost lands and waiting for answers.

But when she let out a deep sigh of pain, he slammed his knuckles against the door. She raised her eyes to him, feeling her throat go dry, and immediately leaned back, pulling her eyebrows together in confusion.

''Captain,'' she said, but signs of weariness and pain could not be hidden in her gently voice.

"Are you hurt?" asked the superior, taking her by surprise.

"Except for a few bruises, I'm fine'', She said, gesturing for him to come in. "Can't sleep?"

Levi studied her from top to bottom, paying attention to her body language and any sign of injury. There were two scars on her hands. She tried to cover them with the sleeve of her dress.

''I rarely get any sleep, so the person who should be asking this question is me,'' he said, and although he was glad to see her, worry ran through his chest.

She smiled.

"Fair enough''

Frustration tightened his voice a bit, but she thought it was incredibly appealing when he said: ''You never respond the way people expect you to.''

Levi approached and stopped beside the window. The beautiful weather and the calm seemed a mere mockery to the men before the most dreadful mission of their lives.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. ''Just a stupid accident during training...and I can't sleep,'' she admitted. ''Nightmares. They've been recurring since we faced the female titan. I think my brain is malfunctioning.''

''It's ok you have hard times.''

She took a deep breath and then inhaled slowly. It had been a long time since they had shared moments like that; and she had always loved his company infinitely, even though she had never shown it in words.

The thoughts began to surge like a burst of fireworks, making loud noises, disappearing and reappearing. Instinctively, she pressed one hand against the other, but the twinge of pain almost made her curse. He didn't miss that.

''You should bandage this to prevent an infection'' he says.

She let her hands slide to the sides of her body.

''Yeah, you're probably right.''

"Do you have any medical kits around here?''

Her expression wavers for a while, as if she is thinking about it. Then she turns and opens one of the bags left beside the bed. Levi has approached her as she begins to rummage through the material.

''Here, let me do that,'' he said.

「flashback」

The horses pranced and neighed, startled, when a group of titans was spotted. The maneuvering equipment tinkled as the wires were released. The sight of those creatures was terrifying, but the battlefield had already become a part of their lives, and Survey Corps was willing to fight.

Above, a sunless sky, muffled by heavy clouds. Levi could hear roars and screams all around, the sharp, distinctive thud of the clash of blades against the back of the titans' heads. There were bloodied bodies, some without limbs and with pieces strewn across the surrounding ground.

Then, time seemed to freeze.

The titan's giant hand withdrew and a terrible howl resound across the battlefield.

The titan screamed again, but the fury of the guttural howl was nothing compared to what the captain felt as he investigated the still face of (Y/N). For the hundredth of a second it took his mind to assimilate the events, Levi was struck by horror. He stood motionless; he simply found himself gripping the blades and looking at her. Suddenly, his muscles were contracted by the urgency, the will, the urge to hurt him. This wild need, echoing in his ears like a broken record, obscured his mind.

With an immense bang, several blows struck the titan.

As the creature felt motionless to the ground, Levi ran to it, whose face was as white as a lobelia and as cold as frost.

He didn't know how deeply he was entwined with her until they tried to take her away from him

「 flashback's end」

Levi listened attentively to everything she said, as she was also attentive to the gentle, careful way in which he touched her.

''I hope you won't use this to bribe me, Ackerman.''

He rolls his eyes.

''Maybe I'll take Sasha's food and say it was you.''

''That's the biggest threat I've ever heard in my entire life,'' she says eventually.

A strange flutter in his stomach threatened a smile on his face.

"Maybe it makes you let to be a brat"

She takes a long breath.

"I'll let her kill me and then you'll be sorry"

"Don't be so dramatic", he says. "By the way, I'll never let anyone hurt you as long I live."

She is speechless. Her heart starts to beat faster than she thought it could, and all her body was filled with a so good feel. She couldn't explain exactly what is, but there was anyway.

Levi doesn't look at her face again. And then, the silence was back once again.

It was a difficult operation for the Captain; he touches her skin, heard her voice so close and quietly to him.

"It's done", Levi says.

She follows his eyes and saw her own hands. He still was holding them.

"I appreciate that."

He looks at her.

You're so fucking beautiful.

Levi runs his thumb over her fingers tenderly.

A crow screams at the top of its lungs in the distance, and she almost cringes. Levi ignores him and, longing for her starry eyes again, brings her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on his skin.

"Are you afraid?" she whispers. Levi could feel the goosebumps that her touch gave him. ''Sometimes, I feel as if we are going to discover something eviler than the titans themselves.''

The wind blows angrily, making her hair fly.

''There are few things that make me afraid. This is not one of them.''

Losing you is, he thinks.

Inside his chest, the sound of his racing heartbeat is loud enough for him to hear. His heart pulses melodiously, pumping blood and sending some to his cheeks.

"Besides, this must be the first time I've heard you say you're afraid," he says, braiding invisible lines on the back of his hands. "Maybe you're sick. Let's examine it before it devours your brain entirely.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

He laughs lightly, and she thinks how nice it is when he does that. Levi's face is always so stern, so cold when they are around others. It's like it's a secret that only she knows.

Suddenly, Levi thinks about what it would feel like to kiss her.

"You should try to rest now", he whispers, looking away.

He starts to walk to the door.

It was in this exact moment he wished to have been able to tell her all those things in his mind.

"Wait!"

He turns back to her.

"What is?"

While Levi said, she holds his cheeks with her palms.

"Stay", she whispers. "Just a little longer"

Levi feels his heart beating faster than he thought it could, and all of his body was filled with that desire again.

Their lips touch in a chaste and last kiss for barely a second.

Levi holds her hands close to his heart. His tongue traces her bottom lips, brushes against the edge of her teeth before mingling with hers. It was kind, as it could say all those things on his heart.

When their lips step back, he says: "For as long as you wish"

#aot x reader #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman fluff

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skullshoal · 2 years

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here is my brutal honesty about being on hrt so far

Its very hard in unexpected ways. I am 25. And like. part of me feels like i really took a blender to my brain. The first several months i was on a roller coaster of emotions. It was kinda scary, i haven’t been a teenager for ummm a long time now! And suddenly i just had mood swings and depression and this feeling of no control again. I had a lot of freak outs and break downs. If i missed a dose it would do it all over again until i took more hormones. Kind of a nightmare! Not to mention the last two years have been the most turbulent of my life in a while since i was a child between buying a car getting a job and moving out all for the first time. I would say After having been on it for 11 months now i AM more stable. Mostly. Hard to say what is the physical hormones and puberty being hard and what is the rest of my life being hard (I told my psychiatrist i was the most anxious i’ve ever been in my life. She said I probably have ptsd and i’m just beginning to process it. Haha. Makes sense but very :(. So like i said I am Just Kinda Going Through It Right Now.)

I DO really like the effects of testosterone...When i’m home. When I’m alone and I don’t have to think about how i’m being perceived. I’ve been fighting with myself for 25 long years trying to find a way to like what i look like despite everything. I was beginning to and for that i feel a sense of loss because taking testosterone has altered how I look. I can’t say if it’s better or worse but it’s different than what i was finally becoming ok with so it feels hard to accept. And also it isn’t exactly aesthetically pleasing. It’s puberty. I have more facial hair but it’s patchy and shitty. I see it and feel bad for not shaving because i feel like i look unkempt and like a teenager. I try not to worry too much about it but if i dwell it sits in me. At the same time i get more and more irritated that no stranger correctly genders me BECAUSE i see the progress. I HAVE facial hair, my voice is deeper and Honestly my face shape has changed slightly. But Because i have boobs it is literally all moot it is so frustrating. I look and sound so different but it still hasn’t changed anything.

Even my voice changing is frustrating. I lost the ability to sing and haven’t regained it yet. Don’t know when I will. I have been trained to do a pleasant voice for customers and its higher pitched slightly so instead of pleasant my voice just cracks and dies.

Anyway. I am not like. idk. I very much have never thought about quitting hrt in this. That’s not what I want. It is just a journey and I am an adult who has already been on many a journey and it is frustrating to just have to start. Over. It feels like 3 steps back even though it is a step forward. I have to relearn how to be an adult in a different body that will only get further and further from what i grew accustomed to. It does feel like i have lost something to some degree even though i have also gained something else. It is so frustrating to have to tell literally every doctor i am transgender like a fucking. dentist? Does a dentist need to know i’m transgender? when they ask me every medicine im taking i tell them whether I want to or not. Some doctor’s ask me weird questions. Some people ask me weird questions. I am something from outside of their society. I am other from the every day. It is alienating. I wonder if I will ever feel at peace with this new me. I will because I must. I did before and I will again. But it feels like I’m cut in half and trapped in two worlds. I’m scared out of my mind about my new job and how I might have to explain myself to someone else. I literally just want to crawl into a cocoon and let myself grow and change until I am ready for other people to see and hear and know me, but instead I have to show the gooey gross transformation to any bozo in the walmart because I need toothpaste and any every freak at my job because I need money.

I don’t feel like a child but i feel like i lost the certainty of being an adult who was well and done with physical growing up. I don’t know what I’ll look like next year, much less in 5. My friends will look mostly the same. I’m rewinding my life. I knew it would be this way, and the reason i was so anxious to start was BECAUSE i didn’t want to postpone puberty 2 any longer but it still. Is hard. It’s different to know something than it is to live it.

#t tag #broken pencil

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nhinxsworld · 3 years

Note

Hello, I really enjoyed your piece about Gojou's kinks in your masterlist! I was wondering if you write for male reader? Maybe a third year that Gojou likes to punish and degrade in praticular and be possessive over? (Sentimental Gojou?? He's been teaching him since his first year) Reader isn't weak or innocent but he lets Gojou treat him the way he does because he doesn't have anyone else in his life and Gojou has him wrapped around his little finger? Take it wherever you like, I'm sorry if this is too fucked up x

Is this what you wnated Im not sure!!! But i liked the request anyways 🥰 was little confused about what to do about male reader since I myself am not male! but it was fun to try i hope I did you justice on this :)

reader has Inumakis curse!!!

Gojo Satoru x male reader

my list uwu

warnings: manipulation ; non-con/dub-con(?) ; just slight degradation ; yeah im not good at this probably a couple uncomfortable stuff usage of slut etc.

Gojo Satoru loves all his students, he really does yet he still can't help himself but to pick favorites. They've all grown on him, but he can't seem to take his eyes of one specific student.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who Gojos favorites are, it's easy to tell his favorite is his beloved third year.

Picking you up since you're only fifteen, Gojo had a liking the way you just seemed to always search for his validation. For you it has always been Gojo, Gojo, Gojo.

He has his pretty boy, by a leash and he decides how long it is.

The soccerer hums happily when he sees you in the classroom all alone, stepping inside he closes the room, causing you to look up at him.

"(Y/n)~" he calls almost too sweetly and puts his hand on the table pushing whatever you've been doing out of the way.

The rattling of paper, is heard. Before the paper could even land on the floor. He pulled down your mask to reveal your curse pattern, gripping you by your jaw "(Y/n)" he repeats and you look at him, eyes staring at his blindfold where his would usually be, yet you couldn't help yourself but trail from his blindfold to his rosy lips.

Just staring at him not able to say a word.

"Am I not your favorite?" he asks and you just stare at him. Why was he asking that, of course he is your favorite. Who else could it be?

Not allowing you to give him any kind of answer, he presses his tumb to your lips pushing at your bottom lip until, you bought out your tongue to lick and suck at his finger, making him smile.

"Haha of course I am your favorite. Who else would indulge such a dirty boy like you?" he chuckles as he spits in your face making you close your eyes instinctively. "Surely not Yuuta. Yuuta didn't pick you up when you needed someone the most now did he?"

Opening your eyes you shoke your head as Gojo just watches his spit run down your cheek like tears before he whipes it out in your face, his fingers lingering over your curse marks.

"That's right Sensei did." he reminds you once again, that it was him that took you in. It's him who made you, who you are and he can take it all away if he desires.

The older tugs at your shirt "Take everything off."

Starring at him for a moment you unbuttoned your uniform, that Gojo had chosen for you. Like many other choices, Gojo did them all for you.

Stripping of the shirt, taking off the shoes, slipping of the pants, your reached for you boxers too, taking everything of for the man before you. You're just so willing to listen to everything he says.

Pushing you down against the table he hums looking at your exposed body, the room feeling a couple degrees too cold now fully exposed, yet some other parts of your body are burning.

His large hands presses against a bruise on your side watching whince in pain and he just smiles "You see (Y/n), I have nothing against Yuuta. I like him, he is a precious student just like you."

Tracing over the bruise from your training session with the other pupils Gojo just laughs "But I have an issue, if you're getting hurt because of Yuuta."

Fingers digging into your bruise, until he hears you whine "because you're mine, this body is mine and I don't like my property getting damaged."

His, his body, his property, those words seems to spiral in your mind. His, his his, it's something you wished for. You remember clearly, the day you ran to him needing his comfort, his guidance, his touch.

Another laugh escapes his lips as he stares you down "Did my pathetic boys cock just twitch from me digging into his wounds?"

His grip gets even harsher "Or is it because this wound is caused by Yuuta? It's because of me right?"

You didn't answer him, it's none of those two options right? He had made you strip down in classroom, you're just anticipating for something else right? You're not getting off to him hurting you like this right?

A smirk spreads across his face "This bruised is caused by Sensei yeah?" he traces over it slowly as it has taken an even darker colour than before and you looked at him with scared eyes.

You weren't sure when it took a turn into this direction, from wanting to be with him, needing him as figure to guide you through the dark, to now depending your whole existence on him.

"You look so exited." he smiles as he traces careful lines under your eyes "Did you miss me?" he presses against the bruise soflty just to remind me you again of the aching pain "You can't live without my touch can you?"

You're terrified to feel this way, even more terrified the way your cock twitches from feeling like this.

He gives you a look of pity "I've told you, you're mine." Knocking against your head with his finger knuckle "Your dumb brain hasn't understood yet hmm? But your body has, and it's so honest."

"Don't you like it when Sensei talks down on you?" he questioned as he cups your face "I'd call you my pretty boy, but that doesn't make your little cock hard now does it?"

"It only does when I call you a pathetic slut, who is needy of my attention." his voice growls and to your confusion your body does react to those words, supporting his statements.

His hand gripped your throat with an amused yet somewhat judgemental face, he squeezes your neck just tiny bit, until he can hear you choke "You like this too don't you? When I'm mean, when I hurt you?"

It's hard to deny, to shake your head, wanting to tell him no, when you can't speak and you're body giving a completely diffrent answer. A harsh slap to your face, has you feeling it in your lower area.

"Haha~" he smiles "Pitifully cute aren't you?"

"You love sensei so much don't you? Your body grew accustomed to Sensei touching you the way he likes it hmm?" he askes you questions for questions knowing well you couldn't protest against him.

"Remember when you used to whimper around so cutely? When I used to praise you?" the older beams, reminiscing of older times "Sensei is your first hmm? He took such good care of you didn't he?"

"Such good care of you and your body." Gojo hums, pinching and twisting your nipples until they're hard "I had fun."

"It's so honest just for me now." The soccerer sounds proud of himself, proud to have taken such a pure boys first with love and care, just to slowly drift of that road.

Binding you to him with promises and words of love.

You felt a lash like feeling on your body, caused by his infinity "stop..." you choked out and he tilts his head to the side "Stop? You know that doesn't work on me dummy."

"When has it ever?" he laughs as he traces over your curse marks once again "Besides why would you want me to stop?"

"You like being bruised and hurt by me, no?" he continued and you want refuse, tell him no, but all you're able to do is shake you're head at him until he decides to hold your face still forcing you to nod.

"Don't lie to me." he pulls down his blindfold to reveal the sky blue eyes you've fallen in love with "You wanted me to do this, don't you remember?"

"You're such a good boy. I love you so much (Y/n). You're so perfect, I promise I'll be gentle, just tap me when I need to stop okay?"

"(Y/n), can we try something? Ill take it slow."

The first time you tapped against his skin, asking him to stop, with tears running down your cheeks and he stops to kissi your marks "Don't worry baby, haha see I stopped." Yet you failed to notice his cock just growing harder in his pants from the way you're crying.

Cries and taps, rapid taps against his shoulders, that turned into slaps, you're voice breaking from telling him to stop, an activation of your curse until he halts, blood running down your lips, you failed to notice how your curse didn't effect him "Awww no don't cry, it's okay, it's okay. I won't hit you anymore, if you don't like it. I love you, you don't have to do these things, because I like them. Don't worry about me, I give you what you need. You don't seem to like the things I do, maybe we should stop here."

The older had stopped touching you from there on just smiling and waving when sees you, no hugs, no kisses, no praise, nothing comes from him after what had happened making you feel guilty. This is you're fault isn't it?

Gojo always indulged in yours needs, why couldn't you indulge in his.

So the next time you see him you stopped him in his tracks, taking his hands in yours, already felling special as he had let you through his infinity. Bringing his hand to your face, you slapped yourself, and if you could see his eyes widen underneath his mask.

"Hmm? What's that for little one?"

Tugging your neck piece down you looked at him "Hurt me. Love me."

"Remember??" he looks psychotic "you wished for me to do this, I'm indulging in your fantasy. You've placed this curse on yourself, you placed this curse on us."

Gojo never leaves himself unprotected from your curse speech.

The soccerer never lets himself be vulnerable, specially not such technique as yours that is just so easy to block out. You can scream and hurt your pretty throat all you want, he won't be having any of that.

Gojo wraps his hands around yours and bought it up to his cheek slapping himself "Hurt me. Love me"

"That's what you did. I had nothing to do with that." he chuckles "You did that all on your own. I didn't force you, you wanted to be mine and I made you mine. You have to hold responsibility you know?"

Bringing you down to your knees infront of him unzipping his own pants "Don't strain yourself, you don't have to to say anything. Sensei knows, he always knows best for you hmm?"

Pumping his own cock a couple times he forced it into your mouth "Now be good boy."

Hands gripping onto his tight as he just fucks your mouth to his content, just so he can hear you choke and see you cry.

He just can't help himself when his pretty boy looks so lewd sucking him off, like it's the only thing you're made for.

"Hmmm, fuck. Might as well just be my full-time cocksleeve, if you like getting bruised and hurt so much, I'll just have to do it." he chuckled as you felt another lash like feeling against your skin making you moan.

"Awww, such a painslut aren't you?" he smirks as he looks down on you to admire his mess, his hand in your hair forcing down more than you can take "Come on slut, you've done this often enough."

A groan escapes his lips as he pulls you off him allowing you to breath "stop, please...." your voice broken and hoarse and just smiles "Didn't I tell you already not to strain yourself? You're so funny trying to pull these things on me."

No matter what you say, no matter what you do with Gojo it has no use, until it's something he wants himself.

"Or are you just that much of a plain slut? Needing to damage yourself as much as possible?" he asks as you felt the cold sole of his shoes pressed against your cock.

"Pathetically cute." he beams when he sees you're all hard and leaking, just from the way he talks to you and the sole of his shoes pressing against your lenght.

"Oh sensei loves you so much." he grins as he places a stinging slap to your face that stings and burns "And I show it through the pain I cause, I know you need this."

#gojo satoru #gojo imagine #gojo saturo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x y/n

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thewhumpstuff · 4 years

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Flashback

Flashback - [So, this got longer than I intended. It probably needs to be cruelly edited. But, nah. I’m just going to throw it into the void!

@badthingshappenbingo [Original Characters and content for - Reopening an Old Wound] Whumptober Day: No. 6 - Please - “Get it out!” No more. “Stop, please!” [Sorta all three] Ten Trails: Heart and Soul (2)- Repressed memories [@yuckwhump] CW/TW: Uncomfortable invasion of the mind. References to interrogation, captivity and potential torture. Reference to implied bullying in the OC’s past. [Please let me know if I missed anything] [I don’t think there is anything triggering about the abstract art, hopefully, so its just out here. FYI-That is a man casually ‘caught up’ in his brain.]

Zach drummed an arrhythmic beat against the edge of his table, when the door to his office slid upon and the framework framed Akira like a painting, “Ah, good! You’re here. I’ve been led to believe you possess a unique set of skills and are the perfect candidate to... solve a little problem I’ve chanced upon. Shall we?” She wasn’t given a chance to make her way into his office. Within a moment, he was already crowding her. Zach shepherded her towards a vehicle. They rode in uncomfortable silence. There weren’t too many people who could set Akira on edge, but Zach was definitely one of them. She assumed it was because she couldn’t get a read on him. And the tenebrous past he shared with Jared. The vehicle pulled up and she almost opened her side of the door into Zach’s crotch, accidentally. She stopped herself just in time, leaving the door slightly ajar. With a soft huff of disappointment and impatience, Zach opened it all the way and waited for her to step out. Akira really wasn’t accustomed to this level of archaic chivalry. The silence continued to loom as they walked past the wired fence, to the decommissioned lab. It was marked for repair and rennovation. As they rounded to the door, he went on to warn her, with feigned concern, that did fool her. “This is not going to be easy. It certainly isn’t for me, but I trust you know, that as Amity Enforcers, it's our duty to defend the goals of the Global Confederate. ”

Her brows knitted and her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. They made their way inside. Their footsteps echoed in the vacant reception area and continued to click as they walked through the lobby and the labyrinth of corridors. The first couple of floors had already been revamped and restored. From the corner of her eyes, she noted the silhouettes of wrapped equipment. She recognized them with ease, some were bots for medical procedures, others were devices typically used for research… on human subjects. They were flush against the walls haphazardly. He led her into a softly lit room, and stopped by two-sided mirror. The other side was dark. Akira stared at their reflections. In retrospect, the sincerity in Zach’s expressions, would surprise her. Another guilty reassurance followed. It felt like he was setting her up for some kind of a climax, “I assure you, I’ve done my due diligence, and grave apologies that I wasn’t able to get to him before the others. He’s a little roughed up. Needless to say, he’ll be fixed up. Perhaps you can help with that too…” Zach fiddled with something that looked like a keypad touch screen. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the room beyond the mirror. Akira did a double-take and didn’t realise she was holding her breath. Jared. She didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. He didn’t have a shirt on and his pants looked scruffy. Angry, fresh bruises covered most of the skin that she could see. Cuffs cinched his wrists behind his back. His cheek sat in a small pool of blood. Crimson that leaked from a cut lip and from his nose. His chest rose and fell erratically. Jared didn’t react to the lights. He was either asleep… Or just unconscious. Zach’s little roughed up didn’t exactly do justice.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off Jared, but she found her voice and addressed Zach in an indignant hiss, “What the fuck is this?” Zach ran gloved fingers through his silken strands, “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. I recognize that your relationship, predisposes you to defend him. To take his side. And that’s good. Because-” Aki interrupted him through grit teeth, “Get to the point damnit. What reason do you have to hold him like this?” She found it very hard to maintain composure. Her eyes still riveted on Jared, till Zach’s fingers found Akira’s jaw. He held it to force her to turn and look at him. She did turn, but also jerked away from his hand. He didn’t press for contact. Zach’s voice darkened. It got colder and softer with a bridled rage, “I’m going to let that tone slide. Compelling evidence has surfaced, that declares him responsible for the death of my mother… and my subsequent capture. And that he either is, or was associated with SpecSyn.” His tone reminded her of the chilly one that Jared assumed, when he had reason to truly mean whatever threat he was uttering. The comparison was unsettling. Zach went on, “And I’d like very much to believe this evidence is bogus, because I don’t want it to be true. As much as you probably don’t. We grew up together, him and I. We trained in G.C.A together, served in Sector Nine together… ” She noticed a sort of hurt in Zach’s eyes. The kind of pain that screamed betrayal. For the briefest of moments it made her trust him, as he went on talking, “And I’m doing my very best to not fall prey to my anger… Akira. So please… help me. Help me wipe these allegations once and for all. You convince me, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Akira sounded hesitant, she was processing everything a little too slowly to immediately recognize what Zach wanted. So she defended Jared rather simply, “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, he never told me anything-” Zach’s voice changed to something practical and detached again, like this was just any other mission detail. This also reminded her of Jared. “No, of course he didn’t. Despite how intimate you two are, I doubt he would’ve trusted you with anything important, or too personal. He’s always been an agent first… Apparently, just not for G.C.” She could sense that he was provoking her now and instilling doubt again… Somewhat successfully. Jared had always been rather tight-lipped. Even more so around the subject of the events that led to Azrael’s death and his missions. They’d argued about it on more than one occasion. Now was not the time to get hung up on the way the truth of his words stung. She turned her back to Jared and leaned against the two-way mirror. Zach went on, “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t simply-” She challenged with another interruption, eager to defend the relationship he sounded so dismissive about. “What? Just read him? Relationships don’t work like that, Zach... I trust him. Still do. Always will.” Her heart sank when she finally realised what the man wanted. And he made quick work of confirming Akira’s assumptions, “Well, push has come to shove. And if you trust him so much, you shouldn’t find anything in there-” He rested one hand against the glass of the two-way mirror and tapped it. ‘-In there, that’s too alarming. I say you- and by that I mean we, because we’re running out of options. So, convince me, he truly doesn’t know anything. And I’ll make sure he’s free to go. And you.” And me? She folded her arms across her chest, “I didn’t realise I was not free to go. So what, I’m a prisoner now too?” Zach stepped in closer and placed his other hand on the surface of the mirror behind Akira. Her face was between his palms and she felt a little trapped, by the situation and literally by Zach’s proximity, but she did her best to not show it. He shrugged, “The Jared I know, would’ve worked alone, but the others would not hesitate to assume your involvement by proxy. And it doesn’t help that you’re a Niner. But, like I’ve said before I’d like to stay on your side, on his side.” She drew in a long shaky breath, her voice fell to an uncertain whisper, “It…. My power doesn’t work like that. It’s not so perfect… I can’t just give you what you want.” He smiled, realising that she’d understood that her options were limited and was at least, considering compliance. “I know how your power works. And I’ll guide you. We’ll have to find a way, for his sake.” Nonetheless, she obviously had to check if there was in fact, any other way. She wasn’t too keen on breaking that sacrosanct trust, “What if I say no?” Zach huffed brusquely, “Then I’ll have no choice but to give the two of you up. I can only buy so much time. They’ll either force a confession false or not... or kill both of you in the process of doing so… So, Akira, I really don’t want to spend our time constantly reminding you, that I’m the only thing standing in the way of a very… very bleak future for both of you.” So, no real choice indeed. A small part of Akira rejoiced and then recoiled with guilt. The part that did want to know all of Jared’s secrets, just so they could clear the air once and for all. The part she’d leashed, with difficulty and upon his insistence- out of respect for what they shared... Another part of her curled up in fear of what she’d actually find. And how she’d hide it from Zach, if it was indeed incriminating. “How do you expect me to convince you?” Zach looked beyond her, presumably at Jared, as he laid out the plan, “To make sure you aren’t lying, I’ll first have you dredge up memories of his time with me, details that I can confirm. Things you’re unlikely to know about, at least not in all their specificity. Then we can work towards the rest. It’ll be a process… But hopefully, Jared gets out of this absolved and we all walk away unharmed. I’ll have Mark monitor your stats when we get to the important stuff. So I’ll know if you’re lying. You know Mark right, I believe you’ve worked with him? That should make all this a little easier...”

Carrying a glass of water, painkillers and some tissues, she walked into the cell alone. Her SmartNeura was connected to Zach’s, so he could instruct her without Jared’s knowledge. Jared was still curled on the floor. He had not moved almost at all. His knuckles were unbruised. But his wrists bore evidence of struggle. She gathered that Jared had not resisted arrest and that they’d hurt him after he was already cuffed. Presumably to get quick answers. Knowing him, he must’ve chosen silence. She assumed he was in some drug induced stupor now, she was wrong. “Jared…” He sat up so quickly, she and her heart jumped. “Shira? What the hell are you doing here?” Why did his tone sound accusative? “Z-” Before she could tell him, Zach interrupted her sharply, “No. Don’t name me. He doesn’t need to know of my involvement yet. Tell him someone else asked you for help with the interrogation-Better yet, tell him you heard and volunteered. Keep it vague.” Akira chewed the side of her lips and looked at Jared as intently as she could, she wasn’t sure if he could see truth in her eyes. She went and flopped by his side, cross-legged. And put the water beside him, along with the painkillers and tissues. He picked up the latter to wipe away the blood. She repeated Zach almost word for word, “I… heard they caught you and volunteered to help.” She was hoping Jared would recognize the foreignness of her words. Unfortunately, given his current state, he either didn’t, or did a damn good job of hiding it. His eyes widened. She knew he was definitely closing in on her intent. And desperately hoping it wasn’t true, just like she had been, just moments ago. “Help how?” She was at a loss of words. Aki jerked her chin towards his head. She really didn’t want to spell it out, “You know… I’ll just… Read and confirm you innoc-” Jared shot up like a spring, and was on his feet. He staggered as he backed away from her. He sounded uncharacteristically flustered, his words as choppy as his faltering steps, “Why the fuck would you- We’ve gone over this… We agreed- It’s the one thing I’ve asked for- Wait you told them about your- Just…Just… Get outta here and let them do what they want. You don’t need to get involved. Why would they believe you anyway?” He kept shuffling away as he talked, to literally stay out of her reach. Till he had nowhere left to go. Akira didn’t move towards him, she remained on the floor and stared at it. She wanted to yell. To let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want any of this. That she had no choice. That it wasn’t going to be a damn walk in the park for her either. That she’d been summoned. And that she was glad that she’d been called. At least she could buy them some time to figure this out. That she couldn’t, in good faith, just… let them do what they wanted. She sat frozen, screaming internally till Zach was compelled to intervene. He sounded impatient… but Aki could swear, he also sounded mildly delirious, “Tell him, it's too late and you’re already involved. Tell him, he doesn’t have a real choice. Then ask him about Erebus at the C.T.F we did for training at G.C.A. Read the memory that comes up. I’m staring us off easy.”

In his impatience, Zach was revealing himself with every suggestion and Akira was glad that he was. Though she wasn’t sure if Jared was truly catching on, or not. She’d heard him speak of Erebus - now an Acer himself, working in the resources department- and not too fondly. She had nothing specific enough for her to fib her way through this. Akira cleared her throat and repeated Zach’s words, paraphrasing just enough to change the perspective, and couch her question as a memory-trigger, “Look, I’m already here. So this is happening, whether you like it or not. Let’s talk about Erebus. You two were in G.C.A together, right? Did both of you participate in the capture-the-flag game? Were you on the same team?” She hoped that the confusion that flitted on Jared’s face was a sign that he was starting to catch up. He had to have figured out that they were being watched by someone, if not specifically Zach. Jared asked, “Erebus? Why? I’ve barely mentioned him” She made up a lie, now improvising without Zach’s direction, “He’s... A suspect too...” She was grateful that Zach needed to confirm her compliance with… hopefully benign memories. But, with the way Jared tensed up, perhaps even this was not as benign as she was hoping. It’s just C.T.F… How bad could it be? Jared sighed, like he’d curtailed an exasperated warning, “Shira… please just...” After one last look of what she perceived to be despise- aimed either at her, or at the very least at the situation, he closed his eyes. With a dark, heart-rending resignation, he slid against the wall, till he was sitting on the floor with his knees pressed against his chest. She knew he wasn’t the sort to protest once he realised it was futile. She sat there feeling a little paralyzed. There was no going back once she crossed this line. Zach prompted her into action, “Go on! Remember we’re still time-bound. Wordlessly, she inched closer to Jared and set his hands on his exposed arms. -

Lying on the ground, stomach first. The wetness of dewdrops against the cheek. The chilly breeze against a bareback. The smell of damp earth and grass. The blurry sight of the green blades and the soil - shuffling shoes and ankles in the distance. The recently-cracked awkward husk of a pubescent voice, “This’ll teach you to fucking play decoy for Pixie-dust!” The sound of vague, bitter and cruel jeering. Shoes sliding closer. Fingers curling around wrists and ankles, tightening with a certain envious sourness. The soles of shoes against the back of the knees… and the elbows, with the wobbling, inconsistent, but hurtful pressure. The body, contorts and twists to see the sneering face of the kid who spoke. A raspy, baleful protest, claws out of the throat, “Get your lackeys off me ‘Rebus!” An unavailing struggle that ensues. Another soul pressed against the lower back, with a pathetic finality. And then the sound of the marker, shot at point-blank range. The smarting slap of the bullet splattering between the shoulder blades. The strangled roar, interrupted by another shot… and then another. The headache-inducing grit teeth and set jaw. The metallic tang of blood and the annoying stab of a bitten tongue- completely overshadowed by the aching throb of the back. The burgeoning tenderness and the blooming bruises. Finally, after half a dozen shots, the deafening silence. The splattered, viscous paint, that felt as good as blood, rolling down the sides of the torso. And a soft, defeated whine. The vague thought that this must appear rather comical to an onlooker… but sure didn’t feel that way. -

Jared’s quieter whimper met Akira’s louder groans, they tapered to an uncomfortable silence, first him, then her. She blinked away, the tears that collected on the side of her eyes. When she let go of him, she noticed her fingers had left a print on his pale skin, blanching through a bruise. She had just experienced his memory in first person and forced him to relive it too. Aki could still hear the echo of the shots and feel her back smarting. He probably felt the same lingering effects. She knew it’d fade soon enough, but it left her heaving for air. Her emotions were mingled with young Jared’s- contempt for this Erebus kid who pressed him into the ground and shot him. Despair... that it happened. And her instinct was more violent than his, “What a fucking tool. I’d have kil-” She cut herself off when Jared opened his eyes. The dejection in them tore at her. And Zach’s voice broke the moment, “Why did you stop? Tell him you want to know what happens and go back.” Akira hesitated, till Zach made the order in no uncertain terms, “Do it, now!” She echoed his suggestion with a slight startle, like a spurred horse, “I… I want to know what happens next-” He let his fingers lace with her approaching hands. A plainative squeeze followed, “No! Stop it… Shira… Please. Please no more… Not again.”

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illshowyourhurricanes · 4 years

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A Familiar Face (Part 6)

It’s been a long time coming, but Ryan is finally making an appearance! Just for a quick recap of sorts, something completely unexpected took place in reader’s life, and Ryan was there to help in any way he was able (because that’s just the way our angel musician is). After a delayed dinner, it’s reader’s first night in an unfamiliar place. (This is basically setting the stage for a lot yet to come.) Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 3750

Rating: PG (flirting, bedroom eyes)

Tag list: @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @ms-delos @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

If you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, feel free to ask!

Dishes were a necessary evil. Ryan had put up a fight after lasagna was eaten and you both had full bellies, insisting that you had made dinner, which gave him automatic dish duty. You’d swatted him away playfully several times, telling him he was overruled and he finally obliged, backing away from the sink.

“Payback in the form of a few songs would be much more fulfilling,” you promised, an almost impish lilt in your tone, and you found yourself smirking as you turned back to the sink. Were you flirting? Your home had just been ransacked, you were offered a new place to stay temporarily, you’d finally had dinner… after all the ebb and flow of disaster versus small miracles, flirting was nothing short of a terrible decision.

Georgie is not present, you reminded yourself. He’s almost guaranteed to stay away for awhile. You are fully alone with this man who you’re inexplicably drawn to and fascinated by, this man who is warm and kind and very, very attractive. Tread lightly around Ryan Brenner. Be careful.

Conversation was easy between the pair of you, even if there were times when Ryan wasn’t very forthcoming. You leaned in the opposite direction, an open book about most things, and it became effortless to learn to fill silences, accustomed to doing so in making small talk with customers at the diner. But with Ryan, there was no need for filler by way of insignificant pleasantries. Silence between the two of you was okay, and you found that Ryan almost communicated with more clarity without words than he did with them. Sometimes, they weren’t necessary. His dark eyes were surprisingly expressive. There was a slight furrow of his brows when he was apprehensive; a look of authority about him as he’d walked with you throughout your apartment… he had been protective yet gentle, inquisitive but never intrusive. Ryan was attentive, in tune with everything around him. He noticed even the tiniest things, the slightest change in tone or mood, a flicker of emotion over someone’s features, small beats passing in hesitation.

You had become lost in your thoughts, and there was no question he’d picked up on the shift from joking about dishes to a stretch of silence. Instantly, he was mulling over possible reasons as to what caused such a stark change in so little time. It was more than what had happened in your apartment, and it was obvious Ryan from one small nuance he’d never seen you indulge in before. You'd started to gnaw on your bottom lip, and it was only when the skin grew raw that you caught yourself and stopped short. You’d barely realized it happening, yet Ryan instantly caught on.

As the sink continued to fill with warm water, you glanced across the kitchen to see Ryan clearing off the table, stacking plates one atop the other.

“Ryan!”

He crossed the room with two long strides, suddenly beside you where you stood by the sink. The plates were sat down onto the counter with a light clatter. Ryan shrugged lightly, but his eyes were trained on your face. You felt a heat creep up and over your cheeks; you were supremely aware of his gaze, unassuming, yet steady. Clearing your throat— a nervous habit you’d had for as long as you could remember—you turned off the faucet, satisfied with the water level in the basin of the sink. There was a layer of soap suds atop the water, reminiscent of a bubble bath; a few wayward bubbles floated into the air only to pop spontaneously into thin air. Promptly, you began washing.

“You okay,Y/N?” Ryan’s voice was soft, but the intonation of his question was clear— he knew the answer already. He studied your profile without a word, and your expression paired with a long moment of silence only confirmed the feeling he had.

Remaining quiet, you scrubbed at a blob of cheese that had melted onto a plate, stubborn and stuck, not budging against your efforts. Dropping the plate to soak in the dishwater, you finally met Ryan’s eyes.

“I will be.”

You smiled softly in appreciation. This man was an angel, you were sure of it. He in turn searched your face for a moment, that slight furrowing of his eyebrows making a brief appearance and vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared. You looked away only to battle against the glued-on cheese again, and you felt a small soar of triumphant gratification as a clean plate was revealed with just three swipes of your sponge. Ryan remained standing just a few inches from you, catching the feather light upturning of your lips. Gently, he took the plate from your hand and began drying it. You laughed, snatching the dish towel out of his hand. “Get outta here, Brenner!”

Narrowing his eyes playfully, he handed back the halfway-dried plate in mock defeat, backing toward the threshold of the kitchen. He stopped just short of reaching the corridor and laughed softly.

“I’m stoppin’, you get no more help from me.” He held up his large hands in mock surrender, amusement shining in his warm brown eyes. There was an obvious look of kindness to his expression; the glint of laughter and mischief there had softened to one of genuine fondness. With one small nod, he turned and disappeared down the hallway. You got back to work, and just as you pulled the stopper from the drain of the sink, you heard the squeak of old pipes followed by the distinct sound of the shower running, water pounding against ceramic like rain against a tin roof.

You leaned back against the counter, hands behind you as you braced yourself. You were hyper aware of the knowledge that Ryan was showering directly above you, and you shook your head, forcing yourself to clear your mind and focus… focus on dealing with your disaster of an apartment, of getting your life together and back in order. Those were important things, essential things, not at all related to the kind, gentle, talented, attractive and wonderful man who was currently naked and wet with nothing but the barrier of the ceiling between the two of you.

You shook your head vehemently, firmly reminding yourself that your mission was to focus on significant things. The only problem there was that you kept catching yourself focusing on Ryan, more than you probably should, and he made it so easy to do so-- almost too easy. It was within the ease of his authenticity, the careful choosing of his words and ever-present optimism; in the way he appreciated life’s simplest pleasures that everyone else took for granted; in the genuine kindness of his character, his quiet chuckling and bashful, boyish smiles. You were fascinated, enthralled, and charmed by this man, yet a single thought remained, tarnishing your view: he would soon be gone.

Ryan hadn’t said as much, hadn’t given a date or a time or even mentioned traveling to another location, but you had a striking feeling, and the realization hit you like a freight train. You’d made only a small space for him in your life at first, but you’d easily allowed that space to grow. Without him there occupying a bench in the cold, playing guitar with numb fingers you’d hope to warm up with a cup of coffee; without his presence alone giving you reason to actually make dinner; without the indulgence in pleasant conversation while you closed the diner… You were struck with a heavy ache deep in your chest. Your life would go back to normal to a point, but you had a hunch it would feel a little bit incomplete.

It was a feeling you were used to and thought you’d grown into, barely noticing it over the years, but you knew that this time, it would sting like rubbing alcohol poured over a fresh wound. It would linger.

You found yourself spiraling into a seemingly endless cavern of thoughts, just as you had earlier in the evening. How long would it take for the inevitable loneliness to fade? How many early mornings would be tainted with the memory that Ryan wouldn’t be there tuning his on your way to work, but instead making his way to a new location?

You’d consciously made the choice to live the way you did. When you weren’t working and surrounded by co-workers and customers alike at the diner, your life was one of solitude, and you were content with that. But that was before Ryan appeared and took up residence in your life. You were painfully aware that when he was gone, maybe that contentment would tarnish and corrode. Maybe your solitude would turn bitter with no one else’s voice to replace the slow drawl of Ryan’s, soft like velvet; no distraction from constantly remembering the distinct color and depth of his eyes, always radiating warmth; no substitute for the sound of his guitar-- the music that had brought Ryan into your life, bringing streaks of sunshine and brightness along with him, replacing your shades of grey. Maybe your solitude would shift and transform to loneliness.

How long was it going to take to find another apartment with affordable rent? Where would you even start to look? Was a space with an alarm system really necessary? Were you foolishly making yourself too available to access, and how could you begin to remedy that? Your brain was stockpiled with thoughts, ricocheting against the inside of your skull like bullets, no reprieve between one shot firing before the next one flew your way. Continuing to work, you opened several wooden cabinets until you found where the dishes were kept. You put them away, the soft clattering of stacked plates the only sound in the silent house; the soft pattering of water against the shower walls had stopped.

You located a roll of Saran Wrap, carefully tearing off enough to cover the remainder of lasagna that you and Ryan hadn’t been able to finish. Seamlessly, you covered the dish. It had taken a lot of practice and many, many sheets of Saran Wrap crumpled and thrown angrily into the trash, but since working at the diner, you’d finally mastered the art of winning the fight with cling wrap. The diner. You had to call Sophie, ask her to pick up your shift tomorrow if at all possible. I just need a day. One day.

You opened the refrigerator and placed your glass baking dish inside, disappearing just long enough until you heard footsteps echoing over old, wooden floorboards, accompanied by a creaking once or twice. Closing the refrigerator door, you gave the kitchen one last look. Absentmindedly running your palms over your denim-clad thighs, you exhaled, satisfied. And the anxiety that had been weighing like a heavy stone in your abdomen was all but gone. It was part of the reason why the diner meant so much to you— the routine of your days, the feeling of accomplishment as you wished another satisfied customer a good day and cleared away their dishes— there was a comfort there, and you found that feeling as you stood upright, softly closing the refrigerator door as you did so. The room was still empty.

Though you’d heard Ryan return from the back of the house, you were surprised not to find him there; it was out of character for him to leave you alone unannounced. You recalled the small exchange you’d previously had before he’d disappeared down the hallway:

You okay, Y/N?

I will be.

You would be, and it then dawned on you that a connotation may have been attached to those words, one that Ryan may have taken as your way of saying you’d rather be alone. Hoping desperately that meaning didn’t mistranslate in his mind, you ventured through the kitchen, your steps slowing as you peeked into the next room. Since arriving at Georgie’s, you hadn’t made it past that one small room, You found yourself in the doorway of what appeared to be a den.

The first thing your eyes settled on was an old set of French doors paned with long windows. The old wood that surrounded the windows needed to be stained, but the doors were charming in their own way. You paused to have a quick peek outside; you could barely see a blanket of snow on what seemed to be a back porch. The darkness was so much thicker out of town, tucked away and surrounded by trees. If only the weather was nicer.

You took a few more steps inside, noticing Ryan’s absence, and you frowned. You supposed he wasn’t required to babysit you. It was quite the contrary, actually. He was a grown man who led his own life, and just because he’d been kind enough to offer you a place to stay, his company would just be a bonus.

Even still, you were enchanted by the room you’d found, and decided to allow yourself to wander in farther and explore. On the far wall opposite from where you stood was occupied almost entirely by an archaic wood-burning fireplace, and the vision brought a full smile to your face. Outdated red brick ran from floor to ceiling. The hearth was surprisingly roomy, and a long mantle, solid wood in a warm chestnut shade, adorned the smoke shelf. It was homey, cozy, and you walked to stand in front of it as you noticed assorted picture frames decorating the mantle. You stepped past wainscoted walls, between a tawny, threadbare sofa set, and a bookshelf stuffed with books, not an inch left unoccupied on any of the four shelves. You spotted a set of encyclopedias, gold in your school days. Finally you reached the fireplace, bending at the waist to touch the red brick of the hearth. The brickwork appeared to be dusty from underuse, but in pulling your hand back, palm up, there was nothing dirtying your fingers. Your idea of dust due to neglect was quickly debunked by a small pile of ash in the firebox, soot caking the sharp end of the stoker hanging neatly from a wrought iron tool stand.

Finally getting around to the picture frames that had drawn you to the fireplace initially, you jumped at an unexpected clattering coming from outside the French doors. Spinning to look, you let out an involuntary yell as one of the doors flew open. In stepped Ryan, arms full of logs, his biceps straining from the weight, Kicking the door shut behind him, his eyes widened at the sight of you. Crossing the room in two long strides, he halfway tossed the logs down on the hearth unceremoniously.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” There was concern in his voice and he was peering down at you with those piercing, dangerously dark eyes. The depth of them had stolen words from your mouth. When you didn’t answer, Ryan reached past the small space between the two of you, the rough palms of his hands calloused from guitar strings and train cars curling around your upper arms, and you yelped again, recoiling instinctively.

“Your hands are freezing!” Heart still pounding at your rib cage, you took a deep breath in in an attempt to steady your breathing. “Holy shit.”

Falling down onto the couch behind you, you started to laugh. You laughed harder the more you thought about the absurdity of the situation, tears pricking behind your eyes and overflowing, leaving tiny, wet rivulets down your cheeks.

You caught Ryan’s glance, eyebrows knitted together in what you could only gathered to be utter confusion. He watched your every move as you wiped the tears from your face with the backs of your hands, blinking quickly and collapsing back against the couch. Your laughter subsided and you managed to find your voice

“I thought I heard you while I was finishing up in the kitchen, but when I wandered in here…” You trailed off with a shrug. “I spotted the pictures on the mantle and was just about to get a closer look when you came bursting through the door. I was not anticipating that.” You let out a short breath of a giggle, and as if trading places, you were now the one watching Ryan’s every move.

His eyes lit up with amusement at your explanation, and by the time you were done, he was all-out grinning, apples of his cheeks rounding. You noticed then that he’d cleaned up his beard, trimmed it closer to his skin. He ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck as he chuckled, the sound deep and melodic. Glancing over at you, smile still there, Ryan just shook his head.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” You caught his gaze lingering on you, and you swallowed a lump that had suddenly popped up in your throat. Like a stupid and inexperienced child, you looked away in a bout of uncertainty, cursing yourself silently.

“Thanks, I think.” You broke the momentary silence as Ryan turned to back to the fireplace, his back to you as he half-grinned into the firebox, arranging a few of the logs there. Afterward, he turned to neatly stack the remaining wood he had dumped onto the hearth. You tried not to think about the way the lean muscle in his back and shoulders shifted as he moved, the bulging of his biceps each time he effortlessly added to the stack. You felt as if your eyes may burn holes through his thin, white t-shirt. Your gaze fell to his lower half, and you allowed yourself the opportunity to appreciate the way his grey sweatpants hung low over his hips, loose-fitting but still highlighting his physique.

It was only as your eyes moved upward from his torso, again drinking in the rippling of his back that you noticed his hair. It was brushed back, away from his forehead, damp with snow. You let your mind wander, wishing you’d caught him a few minutes earlier than you had, fresh out the shower. You imagined him with his whole headful of thick, overgrown hair neatly combed back.

It was different, seeing him this way, his hat and coat abandoned, jeans and hoodie traded for something much more comfortable. It was a good different, one that made you feel oddly secure. You could get used to it far too easily.

Softly smiling to yourself, you settled further into the couch as Ryan paused, standing upright, hand disappearing into his pocket momentarily. Drawing out a lighter, he leaned in toward the firebox, supporting himself with one forearm on the hearth, and if life came with a pause button, you would have used it right then and there. It was a feat, but you tore your eyes away from his physique at the tell-tale crackling of a fire coming to life.

As comfortable as you were lounging on the old couch, you pulled yourself up and to your feet. Raising your arms high above your head, you stretched before dropping your arms back down to your sides. Joining Ryan in front of the fire, you rolled your neck side to side as you turned to warm your front. The fire was quickly roaring to life, and you were so thankful for the warmth.

“This feels amazing. The initial terror was well worth it.” You kept your voice quiet, just loud enough for Ryan to hear over the popping and crackling of the burning wood in flames. Rubbing your hands up and down arms for more warmth, you looked sideways at Ryan and smiled. “Can I ask you something?”

To your surprise, there was no hesitation on his end; no pause as he mulled over whether or not he’d mind answering, no shadow of apprehension over his eyes or pinching together of his features. Ryan simply nodded, made a low humming sound in acknowledgement as he turned his head to look at you.

A chunk of hair fell forward into his eyes and your breath hitched in your throat. You’d never put so much effort into your face remaining neutral, and it was all for nothing, because nothing got past Ryan Brenner. He may not necessarily vocalize as much, but you’d learned how observant and attentive he was.

Forcing yourself to exhale, the corners of your lips turned upward and you put your hands on your hips just for show.. “Why did you go out in the snow with just a t-shirt on?! You can’t go catching pneumonia, Ryan I need you.” Your voice has started with a teasing tone, but all traces of it had vanished as you finished. Underneath everything, you were exhausted and vulnerable, and this incredible man was all you had.

He cocked his head to the side, giving you a once over with no effort put into hiding it. There was no threat, no ill intent or shadow of anything inappropriate but your skin felt like it could burst into flames under the heat you couldn’t swear you glimpsed in his eyes. Ryan locked his eyes with yours, and there was no discerning where his pupils met their iris. You’d never seen his eyes so dark.

“Just didn’t think about needin’ to find dry wood.” His eyes were still trained on you as if you were a rarity, one he wanted to keep as a secret. “I was preoccupied.”

Ryan gave you a meaningful look then, eyes still startlingly dark, and turned to head out of the den. “I think I owe you a couple-a songs, Y/N.”

Your ears were tuned into the rhythm of his footsteps, the way the sound faded the further he walked. Inhaling deeply, your breath was unsteady. You’ve had more than enough action today, you warned yourself. Important things. Focus on important things. You heard Ryan’s footsteps growing louder, and your shoulders relaxed at the sound. Just knowing he was making his way back had already overruled your reminder to yourself, and you couldn’t have cared any less.

As if on cue, Ryan returned, guitar slung over his shoulder and hanging at his back. Important things. Ryan Brenner was an important thing, and you couldn’t change that. You reconciled that fact, and it was so simple to accept. Too simple. So be it.

You watched as Ryan walked across the room, sitting on the couch across from the one you occupied, he adjusted his guitar onto his lap and began tuning. Her tweaked and turned the pegs on either side of the headstock, that chunk of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes again. You didn’t think Ryan even noticed. He was so focused on his instrument, so intent in getting the tuning right that he was completely absorbed in the matter at hand.

“Do you have any original songs, Ryan? Your covers are wonderful, but I’d really love some authenticity.” Your words were bold and you knew you were asking a lot, maybe too much. You braced yourself for a simple shaking of his head side to side.

“That’s one thing I can give you, Y/N.” With one last, single strum, the old acoustic was tuned to his satisfaction. He looked up from the guitar only long enough to turn his attention to you, giving a soft nod. You nodded back at Ryan, promising him your full and undivided attention, and with that, he positioned his fingers on the fretboard and began to play.

#a familiar face #aff #part 6 #ryan brenner x reader #my writing #fan fiction

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camillesfm · 4 years

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。· . ˙ ⌈ alva bratt + cis female + she / her + the intangible concept ⌋ yo , have you meet that KOOK , camille 'cj' petersen , yet ? — no ? well , to give you a little heads up before you do , they’re a TWENTY year old , PRE-LAW STUDENT , and have been living in coston for TWENTY . since i’ve known them , they’ve reminded me of PALE PINK POINTE SHOES , CHAINS MADE OF WHITE CLOVERS , A PURPLE SKY JUST BEFORE SUNRISE , STEADY WAVES CRASHING AT LOW TIDE , AND SHATTERED & SCATTERED GLASS . usually they’re quite LEVELHEADED & THOUGHTFUL but just make sure you keep an eye out for them around town because i heard can be quite RETICENT & ALOOF as well so here’s hoping they aren’t the ones to undo this whole peace pact they have going on this summer . but just between you & me , i kinda hope it all falls apart . the rivalry keeps this whole boring town interesting . –– this is cj . . . let’s just . . . dive into this mess !

𝐁 𝐀 𝐂 𝐊 𝐆 𝐑 𝐎 𝐔 𝐍 𝐃 .

scarlett petersen is a name known statewide, as she’s the best corporate lawyer on the east coast, clever as the devil and twice as pretty with long blonde hair often pinned into a sleek ponytail. david petersen got his degree at vanderbilt university, moving on to get his phd at unc chapel hill where he could never quite shake that carolina blue. he’s been sitting chancellor for the past six years in tandem with a long term sports-medicine, neuroscience research project that studies the long term affects of brain damage in athletes in contact sports. they both hail from old money families, and long lines of success are continued in two people who hold appearance and accomplishment far above humility or even . . . . humanity lol. they’re good people, really . . . just not really the parenting type.

which is unfortunate! as. well into their marriage, they had twins, caleb, first, and camille, ten minutes later. bright eyed and blonde haired, the perfect petersen babies were angels in their infancy, and it was easy to parent them . . . especially when they were paying someone else to do it.

caleb and camille grew up under the watchful eye of a rosy-cheeked nanny. think julie andrews as nanny in eloise. they were happy, but lonely, though you’d never guess it by their wide smiles in cuddled family portrait christmas cards. for all anyone else knew, scarlett and david were perfect parents, raising two beautiful children who they loved more than anything . . . but behind that iron gated entryway to a house on the coast was another story.

they liked their kids, sure, but whether or not they loved them was another question entirely. camille, growing up to be the spitting image of scarlett, was liked in the way a rare porcelain artifact was. she was a beautiful thing to behold; seen, not spoken to. shown off, not interacted with in anyway. held with delicate hands and passed around as a humble brag: look at this precious thing i’ve brought into the world. i bet mine’s better than yours.

but as time passed, the novelty of having children seemed to wear off, and they were moving to the next big thing, the next big step in their careers. they weren’t around when camille began going by cj because it was easier for little voices to say. they weren’t around when blonde ringlets relaxed and grew darker. they weren’t around when she started to develop a personality of her own, interests of her own, talents of her own. christmas cards would go out, but rarely were they all together on christmas morning. thanksgivings were often spent with grandparents, as their parents worked through the holiday. they spent more and more time away from coston, leaving cj and caleb in nanny’s capable hands.

but life goes on, and sometimes it was easy to forget that it was abnormal not to have your parents around. as a youngin, cj was interested in everything. she took a liking to soccer and lacrosse, painting and drawing, piano and guitar . . . but somewhere in between a blue mat and pale pink pointe shoes, she found her thing.

it was obvious, from an early age, that cj was one hell of a dancer. disciplined and precise when she needed to be. creative and passionate when it called for it. gymnastics trained her strength, ballet trained her patience, contemporary pushed her limits with creativity, partner work taught her teamwork. dance was very clearly her best thing and her favorite thing.

her parents only ever attended recitals when it didn’t conflict with anything else on their schedules and when it was classical ballet. dance was a frivolous thing for them, but for cj it was everything. being a naturally shy kid, naturally timid in the shadow of her last name, she became a completely different person on stage who dominated a spotlight . . . without even needed a literal spotlight. ultimately, this is what she spent her life doing. monday through thursday evenings, dance. competitions and performances on the weekends. if neither were happening, you’d catch her teaching classes at coston’s local studio.

it’s what truly made her happy, but that wasn’t something her parents understood. caleb and nanny did, sure, but her parents? not one bit. someone would ask what she wanted to be when she grew up, and if dance was mentioned, she’d be cut off mid-sentence. they didn’t want to hear about it because it wasn’t logical. you can’t make a career out of it. it didn’t help much that her brother was the ideal child in that realm, charming and on a path to success in the medical field. they still had questionable motives, but they favored nonetheless.

sometimes it was a blessing; sometimes it was a curse. when she could slip under the radar, she was grateful, but it seemed that her parents had a keen eye for her screwups. any chance they had, they’d use to scold her or nudge her away from the pointe shoes.

so cj spent a lot of time being pristine in the way that was expected of her, never letting anyone know too much about her, only keeping a few friends close enough to really know her. she stayed out of trouble, kept up exceptional grades, smiled and nodded when necessary, and began catering to the idea that she’d go to law school, a fate pre-determined by her mother no doubt.

nowadays, she attends brown university, pre-law. she’s a picturesque ivy league gal with a dark academia aesthetic when at school, but there’s a restlessness lingering under the surface. even she’s doing what her parents require of her, she never seems to live up to their unrealistic expectations. we rly do be . . . . waiting for her to have a complete breakdown . . . . aklsdfjha

𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 .

miss camille . . . better known around town as cj . . . is, above all else, the picture of serenity. she’s levelheaded and calm, and patient as all get out which is probably why she’s so damned accustomed to just going with what her parents thought of her. she’s really great to have in a crisis because very few things cause that steady nature of hers to crumble, and because she’s honestly. . . quietly very maternal. putting the needs of others before her own comes naturally.

she’s quiet and shy, yes, but just because she doesn’t speak doesn’t mean she doesn’t listen. she listens and sees and is . . . quite observant. there’s a way about her that notices the little things, which makes her quite thoughtful when it comes to the people she loves. if you’re lucky enough to be close to her, you can bet she quietly takes notes of little habits and favorites and carefully uses them to idk love ya better ya feel??

reticent comes from the fact that she doesn’t often let people get close to her. the way her parents treated her and caleb growing up has taken. .. . a toll for sure because honestly she’s terrified of disappointing people by shattering the mirror of perfection and revealing too much about herself that’s unexpected

aloof comes from the way she’s calm and quiet . . . and how that sometimes translates as apathy . . . on top of that she’s very daydreamy like she is That Bitch who is staring out of the window producing a whole move in her head which sometimes causes her to not hear when people are talking to her . . . cue the ‘hm? what?’ tuning back in

when i say cj is a different person when she’s dancing . . . . i mean it. like i REALLY mean it. she’s confident and expressive. her choreography tests the limits of tradition. she pushes boundaries when it comes to the physicality of performances. like u rly look at her being quiet and to herself in the corner at a country club event and then see her performing like she invented contemporary and ur like . .. . are u SURE that’s the same girl

people who know her most know her as warm. when she opens up, getting past the shy, she can be a little goofy, definitely has avery creative way about her, wants to know that you’re okay and if you’re not, how can she help ya know!!

has a black cat named lucky because ya know . . . black cats are bad luck . . . ha ha ha ha . . . get it

the ‘j’ in cj is for her middle name . . . but no one really knows what her middle name is . . . except family and close, close friends

absolutely hates the energy of the pogue/kook rivalry and thinks violence is most cERTAINLY not the way to go

often times found by the shoreline at night, just a little ways off from the petersen estate because she likes the way the waves sound as they roll in. it helps her think

is trying to make the best of law school by studying to become a defense attorney and she likes it! sort of! really, she just wants to dance for as long as she can and ultimately open up her own studio

definitely believes in wishing stars

bad case of insomnia

has a finsta dedicated to lucky

has a dance insta too . . . . but that’s lowkey bc her parents can’t know about it

please for the love of god watch this because charity and cj have the same energy

this also has cj energy

so does this . . . classical is fun when it’s telling a story and she loves a good pas de deaux but otherwise meh

my girl is physically . .. QUITE strong

says sorry WAY too often

incessant need to prove herself, prove her worth, since her parents never seem to find it

loves caleb sfm but will thump him in the forehead for mentioning he’s older

overachiever . . . . yikes

ABSOLUTELY burns the candle at both ends

idk if y’all watched high school musical the musical the series but gina . . . . . .. minus the ‘mean girl’ plot they tried . . .. is v cj and bitch i hate to say it but neville longbottom??? also a cj mood LMAO

OK THAT’S IT THAT’S ALL THERE WE GO IT’S DONE I’M DONE GBYYYYYE BABIIIIE

#coston.intro #what the f kinda NONSENSE did i just write lmao

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softspideys · 5 years

Text

Alone (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

summary: on the day of the funeral, you’re feeling more alone than ever. good thing your worst enemy peter parker is there to remind you that you’re not.

warnings: angst, ***MAJOR endgame spoilers!!!***

words: 2.9k

pairings: peter parker x stark!reader

a/n: yes more angst I’m SORRY. also another reminder that if you haven’t seen endgame still you should definitely not read this :^)

When Pepper came into your bedroom on the morning of your father’s funeral you were gone, but your window was open. She stuck her head out and found you sitting on the roof, your knees hugged to your chest.

“How long have you been up?” she asked quietly, her voice shattering the silence you’d grown accustomed to.

You shrugged. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember the last time you slept. Every time you tried, you were faced with nightmares of that final battle, of your father’s wide, unseeing eyes boring into your own.

So what if humanity was saved? So what if everyone was back? So what if Thanos was gone? You didn’t care about any of it, not anymore. Not if it also meant your father was dead in exchange.

“Come eat some breakfast,” Pepper said.

“Not hungry.”

“At least come inside,” she said. “It’s cold.” It was almost summertime, but the nights and early mornings were still chilly. Not that you really felt it. Not that you really felt anything anymore.

But she sounded so tired, and you knew today was going to be just as hard for her as it was for you. So you relented, climbing back through your window. Pepper stepped back, watching as you landed less-than-gracefully before straightening up and facing her. She said nothing, reaching out and smoothing your hair. You thought maybe she was going to start crying or worse, hug you, but all she said was, “Try not to kill Peter Parker when you see him today, please.”

“No promises,” you said. She sighed.

“Everyone will be here soon. Finish getting ready, will you?”

You nodded. She squeezed your shoulder once before leaving you alone at last.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love your stepmother. You did, of course you did. She’d raised you like one of her own long before she and Tony ever got together. You were just having a hard time accepting the fact that she and Morgan were the only family you had left now, and they weren’t even 100% yours.

For as long as you could remember, it had been you and Tony against the world. After he took you in when your mother dropped you at his doorstep as a baby (only after a paternity test proved you were his, of course), it was rare to see him without you. You were at the press conference when he announced he was Iron Man. You went to every hearing, every charity gala, every party. You watched as he went from a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. to the leader of the Avengers. You kept him company in his workshop during the long, lonely nights when Pepper was gone and the group had splintered and no one else was there for him.

And now he was gone. And you were alone.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by muffled voices, broke you out of your trance. You looked over at your bed, where your plain, short-sleeved black dress was waiting for you.

When you went downstairs a few minutes later you were greeted by a crowd: Steve, Happy, Rhodey, Bucky, Banner, Clint, Thor, Sam, Nick Fury, Carol Danvers. According to Pepper, more people were coming: there was still Scott Lang, T’Challa, Dr. Strange, and Nebula, plus all of their families. Even Harley Keener had texted you to say he was making the trip up.

You knew it should’ve made you happy that your dad was loved and respected by so many people, but instead it just made you angry. Look at everyone you left behind.

No one really knew what to say to you, and you didn’t particularly feel like talking anyway, so you retreated back into the living room and sat on the couch with Morgan, watching her color. She wasn’t as sad as you and Pepper were; mostly just confused. In some ways that made it even worse.

There was another knock on the front door. Since you were closest and Pepper had her hands full in the kitchen, you got up and opened it. You immediately wished you hadn’t.

Peter and May Parker were standing on your porch, dressed in all black. She smiled when she saw you, but his jaw tightened, and even though his hands were in his pockets you could tell they were clenched into fists.

To say you and Peter despised each other was an understatement. You’d been competing for Tony’s attention since the day you met: you may have been his daughter, but Peter was the son he’d always wanted. He had an advantage and never failed to remind you of it.

You hated the bond they shared. You hated coming home and finding them tinkering away in Tony’s workshop. You hated when he stayed for dinner, or when your dad consulted him on a project over you. You hated his stupid smile and his know-it-all brain and how quickly and easily Tony grew to love him. You were so used to being the center of Tony’s world and now you had to share him with someone else, someone who barely even knew him. Peter, you assumed, hated you simply because you hated him. There was no reason for him to be jealous of you.

The worst part by far was how attractive he was. When you’d first met, he was nothing but a scrawny kid. But months of training with the Avengers, plus the natural wonders of puberty, had turned him into someone taller and muscular. It wasn’t fair that someone so annoying could also be so good-looking. You were never sure if you wanted to punch him or kiss him.

“Hello,” you said stiffly.

“Hi, honey,” May said, leaning in to give you a hug. For some reason you let her; May Parker just had that motherly effect on you. Peter, however, brushed by you without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as you stood aside to let her in. “He’s been like this with me, too.”

You doubted it, but nodded anyway. “It’s fine.” You shut the door and sat back on the couch next to your half-sister, listening vaguely to everyone talking in the kitchen.

“Wanna color?” Morgan offered. You looked at her paper. She was drawing a forest of some kind, all flowers and trees and wonky animals.

“No thanks.”

“Is it ’cause you’re sad?” she asked, rather bluntly. You blinked.

“What?”

“Mommy says you’re sad about Daddy,” she said without looking up from her drawing. “And that’s why you won’t do stuff with me anymore.”

For such a little kid, you forgot how perceptive she could be. Yup, definitely Tony Stark’s daughter. But was sad really the right word for it? Was there even a word to describe the empty, crushing feeling that sat on your chest day and night?

“Yeah,” you said finally. “I am sad.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully. “Sorry you’re sad,” she said, pushing her drawing over to you. “You can have this, if you want. It’s one of my best ones.”

Despite everything, you smiled a little. “Thanks,” you said. “I love it.” And just for a second, things were better.

Then Pepper came into the room. “There you both are.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “It’s time to go say good-bye.”

* * *

You found yourself on the roof again, watching the sun set behind the trees. You knew you should be downstairs with everyone else, talking and reminiscing about your dad, but you just didn’t have the energy for that yet.

The ceremony was nice. You knew your dad probably would’ve joked about why no one was throwing a parade and lighting off fireworks in his honor, but he secretly would’ve liked it.

“You gonna jump?” a voice said. You turned.

Peter Parker was sticking his head out the window, looking up at you. You gritted your teeth, fixing your eyes back on the horizon. “No.”

“Hmm.” With annoying ease, he climbed out of your room and onto the roof, hoisting himself up to sit next to you. “Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?”

“I wanted to be alone,” you said coldly. You knew he got the hint but was ignoring it anyway, and that made you even angrier. “Why are you here? What do you even want?”

“You shouldn’t be by yourself,” he said simply.

“Yeah, well a lot of things that shouldn’t be happening currently are,” you snapped. “What’s one more thing?”

He rolled his eyes and you had to fight the urge to push him off the roof. He’d survive somehow, anyway. “Maybe I don’t want to be alone, did you ever think of that? Maybe I’m doing this for me, not you.”

You blinked, a little startled. “Where’s your aunt?”

“You kidding? It’s like Smother City with her.”

You had to admit he had a point there, thinking of Pepper and all she’d tried to do to get to you to talk about your feelings and “start the healing process.”

“Whatever,” you said finally. You ignored the smirk that flickered across his face, knowing he’d won.

To his credit, he did manage to sit in awkward silence with you for a few minutes. Then a breeze blew past and you rubbed your arms. “You cold?” he asked.

“No.” But of course, he was already taking off his suit jacket and thrusting it at you. “I told you I’m not cold.”

“Why were you rubbing your arms then?”

“I don’t know, it’s a free country?”

“Just take the jacket.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Take it!”

“I said I don’t want it!”

“Just take the fucking jacket!” Peter said loudly.

“For fuck’s sake.” You snatched it from him and pulled it on. “There, are you happy now?”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Then go away!” you shouted. “No one’s making you be up here! I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t even know why you came up in the first place; you hate me!”

“Hate you?” he repeated. “I don’t hate you; I’m trying to be fucking nice to you. You’re the one who hates me. I don’t even know what I did.”

He sounded so tired, so defeated, and for some reason it made all the anger drain out of you. What was the point in fighting with him anymore? There was no one to impress anymore, no reason to beat him.

“You didn’t really do anything,” you said finally. “I’ve always just been . . . jealous, I guess.”

“Jealous? Of what, me?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, of you,” you said, annoyed. “You were like the son my dad always wanted. He loved you. You’re so smart and he always valued your opinion, sometimes over mine. And you’ve got these cool superpowers and I’m just . . . me. I never had to compete with anyone else for his attention before that, so I guess I just felt . . . threatened by you.”

Peter was facing you head-on now, wide-eyed. “That’s . . . that’s insane,” he said. “I mean, I know Mr. Stark and I got along really well and he became like a mentor to me, but . . . you’re his daughter. If anything, I was jealous of you.”

“Me,” you said incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said. “He talked about you all the time. You meant the world to him. And you were there for everything, like when he became Iron Man and when the Avengers first formed. I was just that annoying new kid he found on YouTube who followed them everywhere.”

“You still are,” you muttered. To your surprise, he huffed out a laugh.

“Thanks. I guess it’s true, though. Bucky and Sam still barely give me the time of day. But you . . . you’re smart, and beautiful, and just like him. They all love and respect you. I’ve always been jealous of that.”

But you were still caught on one word. “Beautiful? You think I’m beautiful?”

It was dark, but you could see Peter’s cheeks flush. He looked up at the sky, drumming his fingers on his knees. “I—well—yeah, of course. Of course I do. Because you are.”

“Thank you,” you said, too stunned to even make a snarky comment. Since he was no longer looking at you, this gave you time to study him. He’d loosened his tie since the funeral, and you could see the fine muscles of his arms through his white dress shirt. His eyes were still red from crying earlier, but it didn’t look bad. His hair, which had been carefully gelled back earlier, was starting curl again. You liked it better that way.

When Peter spoke again, his voice was soft. “I never got to tell you how sorry I am.”

Your stomach dropped and you went back to staring at your knees. “You lost him too.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But he wasn’t my dad. He was yours.”

For some reason his words made tears well up in your eyes, ones that you hastily brushed away. “It’s just hard,” you said finally. “Tony was the only thing in this world that was 100% mine. He was my dad. Even when there was nothing, there was me and him. And now it’s just me.” You bowed your head, struggling to keep your voice even. “And I’m so mad. I’m so mad he died and left me alone because now I’m gonna have to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how to be without him.”

“You’re not alone, though,” Peter said. “Tell me you know that. Even aside from Pepper and Morgan, you have Happy, Rhodey, May . . . me . . . all of us. We might not be blood, but we’re your family.”

You nodded wordlessly. You were still crying, but the hot tears felt good pouring down your face and neck. You’d been holding them in for far too long.

“And I know you miss him,” Peter said. “I miss him too. We all do. And I’ll help you make sure no one forgets him.”

“Promise?”

“Swear on my life.” He held out his pinky. You choked out a laugh, locking it with your own.

“Thank you,” you said. For some reason, crying in front of Peter Parker didn’t make you feel as shitty as you thought. Instead you felt . . . understood.

You went to wipe your eyes, but Peter reached out and caught your hand before you could. You turned to look at him, opening your mouth to speak, but stopped when he reached out with his other hand and cupped your face.

Gently, he brushed the tears away with his thumb. Even after they were gone, he still left his hand there. You hadn’t realized how close he’d been sitting to you this whole time, but you didn’t pull away.

For a second neither of you spoke, just sizing each other up. You knew where this was heading and found that you didn’t mind, not at all. “Peter Parker,” you said quietly, “are you starting to like me?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught a glimpse of affection in them. “I always liked you,” he mumbled before he leaned in and kissed you.

Part of you wondered if it was fucked up to be kissing a boy at your father’s funeral. The other part of you wondered why you hadn’t bothered to do this sooner. Peter let go of your hand and moved it to your waist, pulling you even closer to him, while you slid yours to the back of his neck, your fingers absently playing with the curls there. You felt him smile into it and realized you were smiling too.

“Hey!”

The two of you sprang apart, looking towards the window. Happy was glaring up at you. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “Everyone’s been looking for the both of you.”

“Tell them we’re up here,” you said, annoyed at being interrupted, while Peter squeaked out an apology.

Happy rolled his eyes, but even he didn’t have the heart to really be mad. “You should come down and be with everyone else.”

“We’ll be right there,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Your dad called this whole thing ages ago, you know,” he said. “He’d be glad to know he was right.” With that, he left you and Peter alone again.

As soon as he was gone, you burst into giggles as Peter buried his head in your shoulder. “He scares the shit out of me already,” he complained. “And now he just caught me kissing Tony Stark’s daughter.”

“Those are the risks that come with being involved with me,” you said, shrugging.

“I guess I’m willing to take those risks,” Peter said with a grin that you found yourself returning. “Should we go inside?”

You stopped him before he could get up. “Can we stay for just a few more minutes?”

He nodded. “Sure. We can stay as long as you want.” He put his arm around you and you snuggled into his side, staring up at the stars. Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It promised that you would have more time to talk later.

As you sat there, feeling Peter’s warmth from both his body and his jacket, you realized there was a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there in weeks.

You would always miss Tony, and the pain of losing him was never going to go away. But you weren’t alone anymore. Not by a long shot.

296 notes · View notes

void-tiger · 5 years

Text

Shirotember (Belatedly) Days 5-7:

The Chosen, the Astral Plane, and the Black Lion

He knew better.

Shiro honestly did. But outside of running drills with his Team, and forming Voltron in combat he just...never made it down to the Black Lion’s hangar. Shiro told himself that’d it was because there was just so much to do—nearly two decaphoebs of backlogged data to consume. Crash courses in diplomacy and getting formerly integrated into the cogs of the coolition (and a lot of damage control dealing with there being “two of him”.

(Slav in particular had been gleeful about the “second robot arm” and kept bombarding both him and Jiro with new arm designs, each more outrageous than the last, complete with blue fingers and probabilities about how the designs would increase their success and survival (but never higher than 48%, apparently, with pages of things “statistically uncovered”. The reports all read like some beta-tested drug commercial, and Shiro’d had enough of those to last him a lifetime. Well, two. The temptation to simply delete each new schematic sent in was often overwhelming...but he and his twin technically needed new prosthetics and possibly multiple ones, so he forwarded Slav’s latest designs to the Holt Siblings, Hunk, or the Alteans, instead. Well until the day Matt begged him to stop and that most just got shoved into a file Voltron’s Tech Team hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet, which was more than okay for a relieved Shiro. Matt quickly helped him set up a program specific to Slav’s messages that’d automatically delete anything “robot arm related” as chaff...which just left the rest of Slav’s equally dense and frequent reports. Fantastic.)

...and any spare time Shiro found himself with desperately trying to make up for lost time with his friends, and actually being more open with his affection for them and his own insecurities. (It helped that aside from Pidge none of them were really teens anymore, but being indirectly responsible for bringing them into a war that caused them to grow up too soon, too fast still weighed heavily on him. Even if technically it was their Lions?) But all of that—while lessening the strain, especially since he could share the burden of leadership with both Allura and Jiro now—still felt more like getting flayed alive all over again, less like emerging from a chrysalis or shedding a snake’s old and too-tight skin. Especially since the Arena and Haggar didn’t create these habits, just welded them down tight, while Adam and the Garrison had actively forged them.

(Sam’s mentorship had helped, as had the Black Lion and his Team giving him purpose again. But getting locked inside a damaged Black for two years without anyone able to hear him except a desperate clone who mistook Shiro as yet one more of their shared demons for half of it... Shiro didn’t know if that guilt would ever ease.)

So, really. Shiro did know better, but he was too busy being a Paladin to...actually be a Paladin.

Coward, snarked his subconscious, which sounded suspiciously like Jiro calling him out on his learned bullshit yet again. “But not like he’s any better about this,” Shiro muttered. “Hypocrite.”

Yeah, but he learned that from you, Shirogane.

Shiro pinched his eyes shut as he let his forehead thump against the Black Lion’s hangar door. Since he’d been extracted from the Lion’s quintessence and places back inside his own body of reassembled atoms, their Bond felt muted, but not exactly weak. More like...restrained. Like the Black Lion was trying to give Shiro the space he kept subconsciously taking by accident. Occasionally gentle affection or harrowing grief and shame would filter through their Bond before quickly fading away into wisps of mist scattered in the wind. Shiro tried his best to send the Lion his reassurance and forgiveness...but he just couldn’t make himself visit. It all still felt too raw, more so than when Black spat him out so long ago in what he now knew was her attempt to keep him from getting recaptured by their shared tormentors, too.

He knew he needed to see the Lion, without being prompted by training or missions or an active attack. But...

He continued to stare at the door. Willed himself to move. “Coward,” he hissed again, this time aloud.

Footsteps echoed at the opposite end of the corridor. Shiro fought the urge to turn around. The steps grew closer, and he recognized that gait as his brother’s. Same long strides, same intentionality as his, but slightly heavier in the footfalls, like someone not quite accustomed to their growing frame yet, or hadn’t quite mastered the art of Presentation and still had small tells giving them away if you knew where to look. (Or perhaps someone who cared a bit less than Shiro learned to habitually even before his time at the Garrison.)

“You win yet?” Jiro drawled casually.

“Hmm?”

“Your staring contest with that door,” Jiro elaborated. “Think my score’s 3:9, Door’s Favor.”

Shiro winced internally. Jiro rarely spoke about the time he spent grounded, and then when he did, it always came out as a subconscious slip in the form of a joke. He never knew whether to call his brother on it or not. Not like Shiro had much room to talk, especially about stuff Champion-related...

“I’m just being an idiot,” Shiro finally said, single hand clench-fisted, head still leaning heavily against the door with his eyes mostly shut.

“‘Course you are,” Jiro quipped, laying his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “You’re my brother.” Then shoved Shiro through the now-opening door.

“H-HEY!” Shiro squawked. Jiro simply laughed. The bastard.

The door hissed closed behind them. The Black Lion loomed above them. Shiro felt his mouth go dry, felt the ground tilt as the edges of his vision blurred and the light glinted off Black’s hull felt too bright! and—

A hand rested on his shoulder and a dark shape obscures his vision, blocking the Black Lion from view. He flinched, and a strangled gasp clawed its way out of his chest and throat.

“Takashi. Breathe,” Jiro murmured.

Much like he had the first time Shiro entered Black’s hangar when the witch bombarded the Castle after he first got pulled out of the Void. And how before that Jiro had practically shoved the black bayard into his hand and Shiro into the Black Paladin’s elevator, and said-bayard transforming into an Arm at the sight of the imposing zip line in response to his immediate need.

Shiro willed himself not to cry as Jiro’s arm snaked around his shoulders and pulled him close. He focused his breathing to time with Jiro’s steadier heartbeat, then worked on getting it to slow once he could get his lungs to simply work again. In. Hold. Release. Rinse and repeat. Blink away the itch. Relax. Don’t lose it in front of Black. Be the Black Paladin, dammit.

“I’m sorry,” Jiro murmured. Shiro felt his twin’s deep voice rumble more than he actually heard it as, despite himself, he still continued to lean into his clone’s chest. Weak. Pathetic.

“I shouldn’t have forced you in here. Just...I want you two to work it out,” Jiro admitted. “And thought that you only needed a helping hand, and—“

Shiro hummed weakly as he tried to chuckle at the unintended pun. But his body refused and even his brain didn’t quite cooperate. Right. Since when did his brain work with him, anyway? He snorted darkly despite himself at that.

“...what?” Jiro demanded in bemusement.

“Hand,” Shiro lied.

Jiro groaned in exasperation as he playfully shoved his brother away. “You’re terrible.”

Shiro grinned wider as he laughed a bit fuller at his twin’s expense. Let him think it was because of a bad pun. Technically it was...sorta.

He felt Black growl lightly and whap his head with a tail through their bond. Shiro gently shoved it away. Black sent the equivalent of meekly ducking under away from his hand, all wisping mist. A flash of guilt and panic as he tried to reopen their Bond. Black purred dejectedly but then fell eerily silent.

Shiro felt his face drain of color. ‘Black? ...I’m sorry. I know I’m not being fair. Please...I’ll do better. Get over it, press on. Please...’

His forehead tingled with a Lion’s Kiss but the Bond fell silent.

“...’Kashi? Hey, You still with me? C’mon...”

“Mmm?” Shiro blinked blearily.

“...goddammit, Shiro. Don’t do that,” Jiro huffed in relief.

“I think...I just broke my bond,” Shiro choked out.

“What? No. No I don’t believe that,” Jiro denied vehemently. “Not for one second!”

“I can’t even bare to be down here!” Shiro shot back heatedly. “Or form Voltron—“

“Quiznack, Shiro! You’d died! You’re allowed to process that!” Jiro snapped in exasperation. “But...dammit the Lion somehow saved you from that, too!”

“I know that!”

Jiro shook his head wearily. “...do you, though? Look, Tak, I’m leaving. I’ve been interfering with this Bond for long enough. Black chose you. Just...you’ll figure it out, alright? Be glad that you’re actually a Paladin.”

Jiro turned to stalk away—

—only to bounce off the inside of a particle barrier while the Black Lion roared with pent-up rage.

“What—“ Jiro exclaimed. “—the HELL! Let me out, Cat! You have him back. Leave me alone!”

Shiro tried desperately to ignore the sick, twisted head that reared inside him like a dark parasite when the Lion growled stubbornly at his twin. He grit his teeth and shoved it back down. He didn’t exactly have any place to feel jealous when he was pretty sure he’d just fucked things up for good this time. Again.

Then his head ached with what felt like the full weight of a small bull elephant as Black roared again, tail lashing against the barrier in a spray of sparks. “But I can’t even stand—not—“ Shiro stammered in frustration.

Black reared onto her haunches then brought down full-force onto the floor with a deafening boom that knocked both him and his brother, roaring point-blank at both of them again, maw opening into a glow of white, and—

—he fell face-first into glass.

Shiro groaned as he pushed himself back onto his feet, catching Ryou doing the same in the corner of his eye, then froze.

No.

He never wanted to be back here. Not again. Ice chilled his veins as he felt that all-too-familiar Just Not Warm and surrounded by nothing but the dark of the Void and stars and—

...And the stars were different. This wasn’t the Black Lion’s quintessence, but it wasn’t the strange static rush he’d experienced briefly within Voltron’s combined quintessence, either.

So...what was it.

Shiro exhaled through his nose as he calmed—barely—and tried to take stock of his surroundings. Beside him he could feel his twin do the same as he blinked in curious confusion, Jiro’s mind briefly brushing against his much like the other Paladins and Lions did when they formed Voltron.

The sky swirled in shades of deep violet, indigo and blue as stars of white and gold streaked with glittering grey comet tails traveled the great expanse overhead, and bands of green and red flares drifted in retrograde of eachother. Jiro’s mouth made a silent “o” as the site reflected in his slate-grey eyes.

And Shiro understood. Really.

He might’ve felt the same about the Black Lion’s own space, once. Maybe he actually could someday once it felt free from the taint Zarkon’s intrusion and his forced exile there that poisoned it. He felt Jiro’s concern brush against his apprehension before he could shutter it away, and Shiro couldn’t help but hate himself for spoiling this for his twin, only to be met with said-twin’s exasperated anger.

Couldn’t he exist somewhere where everyone wasn’t an empath?! Just once?

“Taks. Just breathe,” Jiro called.

Shiro snorted. “There’s no atmosphere, Ryou. You don’t need to breathe.”

“Fair,” Jiro conceded tersely. “So where do you think ‘here’ is.”

“No idea. But it isn’t the Black Lion.”

“Gathered that much myself, thanks,” Jiro drawled. “Been there a few times to fetch your ass, remember?”

Shiro nodded absently. Jiro cast him a strange look that verged on...Shiro couldn’t quite place it. Too clouded and dense, but nothing good, and he was pretty sure he was about to have it from his clone. “It feels like Voltron,” Jiro said instead. “Only more...”

“Intense?” Shiro finished instead.

“Yeah. That.”

“Only Paladins form Voltron,” Shiro said mildly.

“Oh shut up,” Jiro snapped. “And how long were you going to wait to tell me that you remembered what happened in the Astral Plane? ALL of it?”

Shiro fell silent.

“You ass,” Jiro seethed. “You knew. You knew all along!”

“No,” Shiro interjected quickly. “...not until after I flew again with Black.”

Jiro laughed derisively. “So only for most of it. And to think I didn’t want to judge you for something you couldn’t even remember to the point it might as well have been just another fucked up nightmare or vision!”

“...I’m sorry. I just...I wanted to forget,” Shiro whispered tightly.

“Right,” Jiro snarled “Because you always get to and then carry on, while I have to deal with memories that aren’t even mine.”

“And that’s my fault?” Shiro demanded.

“You said I couldn’t be a Paladin!”

“And you seemed happy enough to have my life!”

A feral scream tore out of Jiro’s throat. The empty space at the clone’s side flashed grey-lavender until it was vaguely arm-shaped, and he swung it at Shiro as he advanced forward.

Shiro caught his advance with his own flesh arm and one apparently formed from glowing indigo quintessence, and used Jiro’s momentum to bodily hurl him. Jiro twisted in midair and dug his heels into the glass-like ground to break his momentum, then rushed forward again, grey coma streaming from his eyes and nose.

Tears. Those are tears, Shirogane. Congratulations.

The fight drained from Shiro, and he sidestepped Jiro��s next blind swing.

“Fight back, damn you!” Jiro snarled. “What’s the matter, Champion? Forget how to do that, too?”

Shiro’s vision flashed white and red.

He batted away and pinned Jiro’s quintessence-arm against the clone’s side with one hand, then grabbed a fistful of his brother’s shirt with the other, and kicked Jiro’s feet out from underneath him before the clone could even react. They crashed to the ground. Jiro gasped reflexively as the impact forced the wind out of his lungs and Shiro continued to pin him against the ground.

“Gerroff!!”

“ENOUGH!”

Jiro went slack, although Shiro could still feel his mind smoldering next to his. Still, he was weary of this, so he released his hold on Jiro’s arm, as both their quintessence “arms” fizzled out, apparently. Jiro roughly shoved him off the rest of the way.

“Asshole,” Jiro sniffed thickly.

“Fair.”

“...shut up.”

The stars continued to swirl peacefully above them despite the tense silence below. Shiro thought about resting his hand on Jiro’s shoulder, to do something to somehow Fix This and ease the churning guilt inside him...but his brother’s mind remained sharp ice and bubbling cryovolcanoes. But Jiro didn’t move away, either.

Shiro oofed in shock when Jiro thumped his head against his right shoulder roughly. Which, technically a quintessence apparition right now or not, that still hurt. But, he kinda deserved it and it at least proved that whatever Laws this place followed were closer to his fight with Zarkon than...the two years bodiless he spent trapped in the Void. Hesitantly he shifted until he could embrace Jiro with his left arm instead.

“...Why?” Shiro whispered.

“Because yes I’m mad at you but somebody’s gotta stick around to get through your thick skull that that doesn’t mean we’re leaving.

“...and I wanted to be a Paladin. So badly that it still hurts. But I wasn’t ever chosen. At best all I could do was make a poor substitute while I kept your seat warm. And I didn’t know, alright? I tried everything to get Keith to stay. And the second I did, I...”

Shiro pulled him closer. “I know. I could hear you the whole time. I know you tried.”

“Then...why do you hate me?”

“...I don’t.”

Jiro scoffed.

“No, listen. Please.”

Jiro went rigid, but his ear faced Shiro. Shiro exhaled a silent sigh. That’d have to do. “I...don’t think I ever did. I definitely don’t now. But...all I could do was wait in the dark, desperate for someone to hear me. No one ever did. Black’s inner quintessence was kinda a wreck, and it looked and felt more like getting shut in a basement closet than...

“But then I think the Team must have healed Black somewhat when they tried finding a new Paladin...not that I knew that at the time. Just that I could hear them and finally see something. But I couldn’t—“

Jiro reached around and grabbed Shiro’s hand, squeezing it gently. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, his guilt and shame becoming more than just a constant ache or shroud, threatening to choke him under its weight.

“My bonds weren’t strong enough. None of them could hear me. And then Black found you.”

“The Lion still preferred Keith,” Jiro pointed out. “I thought I’d been left. And...at any point I’d almost died, and wasn’t ever found until I thought I was drawing my last breath. I chased Voltron for a week! And then...she...didn’t want me.”

“No. That was me,” Shiro admitted in a tight whisper.

An incredulous look crossed Jiro’s face, closely followed by relief and betrayal. “...what.”

Shiro exhaled a shaky sigh. Quiznack his timing sucked. But if they were stuck in here... “The Black Lion...she...she wanted to connect with you. But I... and then you left. And didn’t come back. But then...”

“The Team was about to die,” Jiro murmured.

Shiro nodded jerkily. “It didn’t matter how I felt. I could hear you pleading to save them, and feel Black’s distress, but it was like you two couldn’t quite reach. Your quintessence was...” Shiro paused, searching for words as he gestures vaguely. “...pale. Half there. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“I always thought Black was the one pulling my slack. But...that was you?”

“The universe needed Voltron. And our Team needed a Black Paladin.”

“Then I never actually formed Voltron with them. I never was a Paladin, afterall,” Jiro laughed humorlessly. “No wonder I couldn’t get to that place Lance was talking about.”

“NO,” Shiro repeated firmly. “Black let you inside to try. I was the one throwing a fit which...I guess you noticed that.”

Jiro snorted. “Seemed more like my demons in Sendak’s voice. And they had Keith. Black didn’t need me.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Shiro said wryly. “Might as well been one of them for being all but a clanging poltergeist doing nobody any good.”

“...but I still never formed Voltron,” Jiro repeated softly. “I couldn’t even be Black’s battery.”

“Hey, stop that,” Shiro admonished gently. “You kinda had a parasitic space witch leeching you dry.”

“So did you,”Jiro replied morosely. “But you managed it.”

Shiro shook his head. “Ulaz got me out before she could turn them into anything more than a recording webcam. And your quintessence is strong, now.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah,” Shiro grinned. “And it’s different than mine. So I think...you could actually form Voltron now. No assists needed.”

Jiro shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, now. You’re Black’s Paladin, and now you’re back. I meant it when I said I was done messing with your bond. I wouldn’t have, if...”

Shiro squeezed Jiro’s hand gently. “I know. But, are they even my Team?”

Jiro stared at him blankly in bemusement. “Of course they are. You’re the Black Paladin.”

“Except I only flew with them for maybe two months. You knew them for two years. If Haggar hadn’t been leeching your quintessence, you could’ve formed Voltron,” Shiro pointed out. “And I almost couldn’t. I don’t know them anymore. I barely did before.”

“Quiznack, Shiro. You’ve been working on that. And good god nobody is about to hold being functionally dead against you, either,” Jiro exclaimed in exasperation.

“But...they need a Black Paladin now,” he said weakly.

“Which you are when it counts. And a damn good one,” Jiro said pointedly.

Shiro opened his mouth to argue the point but closed it again. Jiro would only stubbornly argue his point further, Shiro’s guilt wouldn’t ease, and they’ve be back to arguing circles and he was just so tired. And wherever they were, he couldn’t feel his Lion, only Jiro...which he supposed made sense ‘cause he was pretty sure he felt their Bond snap back in the hangar, and it was all his fault.

“Shiro,” Jiro interjected into his thoughts. “Let me ask you something, and answer honestly.”

“Okay...” Shiro drawled apprehensively.

“Do you even want to be a Paladin?”

“I—“

“Don’t go into shoulds or shouldn’ts or what’s better or not!” Jiro interrupted.

Shiro bowed his head until it rested on his knees, and his left arm wrapped around his abdomen on reflex. His shoulders shook as the guilt became so overpowering that it squeezed out everything else. “...yes,” he choked out. “I still want to be a Paladin. I want to fly with Black, but—“

“Say it again,” Jiro urged gently.

Shiro swallowed thickly. Balled his fist. “I want to stay a Paladin.” He exhaled a breath. “But it’s going to take some time. But I will be ready.” He rose to his feet and raised his chin, his eyes feeling clearer than they had in movements.

The sky shifted as something moved through it, displacing the stars in its wake. Shiro’s eyes widened in wonder as a Lion took form, her pelt glittering with stars as her fur glowed ultraviolet in the absence of light. The Lion purred gently and unfurled her wings pulsating with a sun’s heart as she padded toward them. Shiro felt his feet carrying him towards the Lion of their own accord. The Lion bunted under his hand in response, brushing her cheek against him. “Hi, Black,” he murmured.

The Lion draped her tail over his arm, trailing it behind her as she paced over to Jiro. “What? What are you doing. I’m not—“

The Lion whapped the clone with her tail with enough force to cause him to stumble, then gently licked the side of his head. “Okay, okay. But you better not get any gamma rays on me.”

The Lion growled at that.

“But seriously. I’m not your Paladin,” he repeated firmly.

The Lion stared at him unamused, huffed, then shoved him from behind until he was forced to walk to keep from falling.

“You...want me to go on.”

Black flicked her tail as she sat back on her haunches. “...Okay. Guess I’m going?” Jiro called uncertainly.

“I dunno what she wants you to see, Ry, but she’s being very insistent about it,” Shiro smirked. “Better go see.”

“Fat lot of help you are,” Jiro grumbled. But he walked on, back towards the point of sky where the Black Lion emerged. Shiro watched his brother’s retreating form, how he tried to keep his shoulders back and spine straight even as they hunched slightly towards his ears as Jiro walked on alone...then vanished in a flash of watery grey.

“Ry!”

The Lion purred gently, draping a wing over him as she planted a kiss to his forehead, licking reflexively as she got a mouth full of his bangs. “You’re...saying he’s fine. Okay. I trust you.”

The Lion stared into his eyes, blinked slowly, then rubbed against him again, her back arching and tail flopped over until it coiled slightly. The Lion padded a few spaces ahead of him, glanced above and over her shoulder, then chirped expectantly.

Shiro followed.

The word behind him faded in a flash of violet.

Shiro’s eyes protested at the sudden light when he opened them within the Black Lion while sitting in the pilot’s seat. Gently he rubbed the levers. “Thank you. I’m sorry I doubted myself...and you.”

The Lion hummed telepathically through their bond sending a wave of fondness and relief. Shiro wasn’t sure whose it was. Perhaps them both.

A wet nose pressed at him through the link.

“Okay!” Shiro laughed. “And I’ll stop hiding things from you, too. Especially you. But...it’s still going to be some time before I’m ready to go back there. If ever. I’m sorry. I...I just can’t.”

Grief and shame, but also acceptance trickled through. No mist. “Guess that means you, too.”

“We’ll fly again. I won’t ever lock your wings,” Shiro promised. “But...I look forward us doing so at our own pace, though.”

The Lion rumbled her understanding, them fell silent. “Yeah, me too,” he admitted.

Jiro stared blankly while leaning against the interior of the Black Lion’s hull when Shiro finally left the cockpit. “Ry?”

“I’m...I’m a Paladin. I actually have a Lion,” Jiro breathed. “I met him, after Black shooed me away.”

A grin spread across Shiro’s face. “Ryou, that’s fantastic. Which one was he? What’s he look like?”

Jiro shook his head, smiling softly. “I don’t know. Not one of ours. I’m not even sure he’s been made yet—he might be from yet another comet we haven’t found yet. But...I have a Lion, Shiro!”

Shiro slung his arm around Jiro’s shoulders. “Looks like you’re still a Paladin,” he said smugly.

Jiro swatted him off playfully. “Joke all you want. But I was right about you still being Black’s favorite.”

“Yeah, you were,” he admitted.

And this time Shiro knew for certain that he chose her, too.

#shirotember #belated #prompts: chosen. astral plane. blacklion #blacktashi #bp shiro #takashi shirogane #shiro #jiro shirogane #twinganes #...I’ll be honest. I’m not sure I’m completely happy with how this one came out #on the other hand...#I’m kinda using these prompts&events as kinda a crashcourse and to make myseld actually write #and these two (three) had this a long time coming (well at least in my mind anyway)#somewhat of a sequel to the Alone Prompt #although it hardly went the direction I thought it would. (I wanted something a bit fluffier or more...prosey? idk the word.)#whatever. stared at this for WAY too long.#also...Jiro's blacktashi's biggest cheerleader? but yeah that hurts for him. bad

23 notes · View notes

shadows-echoes · 6 years

Text

Of Blood and Biocomponents - Pt. 4

Pairing: Ruthless!Connor x reader

Summary: A soulmate AU where injuries from one person appear on the body of the other.

Warnings: just swearing in this one?

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (epilogue)

“We might be... connected-” he snarls, practically spitting the word “-in some meaningless way but if you are clinging on to some foolish human illusion then I suggest you dispose of it immediately.”

“Believe me,” you snarl right back, baring your teeth at the living weapon that he is. “I disposed of that before I even met you.”

It was true.

The words are true.

You know they are, there was no other option. They have to be true.

But they leave a bitter taste on your tongue regardless.

Eight Weeks later~

You were bad with flowers.

The obvious ones, the classics, you knew of course. That was how you knew there were two small sunflowers mixed into the bouquet you cradled in one arm while you used the other to unlock the door to your apartment. The names of every other flower in the bouquet were unknown to you though. Familiar, but unknown.

No one had given you flowers before. It was… a nice sentiment, you supposed.

The lock opens with a slight click and you slip inside. Closing the door behind you, you kick off your shoes as you walk through the small entryway, hitting the light switch with your elbow as you pass it. Pale white light immediately floods the room, illuminating everything within its reach- including the intruder sitting at your kitchen table.

You practically jump out of your skin at the sight, a short, unavoidable shriek of surprise escaping your throat.

The keyring you had looped a finger through keep the keys from falling out of your grasp, but the flowers you were holding were not so lucky. They land on the floor not far from your feet.

“Jesus fuckin- What the hell are doing here?” you ask shrilly, incredulously, as you glare daggers. “Did you- did you break in?”

The urge to place a hand over your chest in a useless attempt to still your unhealthily racing heart is strong, but you refuse to provide him with that kind of outward reaction.

Even if he could probably tell anyway.

Connor says nothing at all, his eyes raking over you in a way which meant he was analyzing every inch in detail. You had not forgotten about that penetrating gaze of his, but the memory of its intensity had certainly mellowed with time.

As comfortable as you had once become with him, you never quite grew accustomed to seeing him in your home. He was all sharp angles and cutting words, a looming presence that outsized even his imposing form, an energy that demanded acknowledgment. He didn’t fit here, in your apartment that was meant to be a sanctuary.

And two long months certainly hadn’t helped.

“Nothing was broken.”

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out, not the sharp comment on your tongue or the demand for an explanation which was racing through your brain. All you can do is gape at him, stare blankly at the face that had seared itself into your mind’s eye so long ago-

And then you snap your jaw shut and squeeze your eyes closed.

Wrong.

This was wrong.

He left.

He was gone.

He shouldn’t be here- shouldn’t be sitting in your apartment in the fucking dark just waiting.

“What are you doing here?” you ask shortly, drawing on every single reserve of patience you possessed.

“Your training,” he states, as though it were obvious. As though it was still normal. As though he hadn’t just shown up after disappearing without a word for two months. As though- “Did you expect it to stop?”

After the incident with the s-word Connor had vanished. Entirely. There was no trace of him. It was like he had never been around in the first place, like you had never actually met him. It was almost like he never existed. The only tangible evidence he left behind were the faint marks on your arm from the words he carved so long ago and the similarly fading scars from your soul-wounds.

After the first few weeks you simply assumed he was done with you, that you had pushed him over the edge with an accidental comment and he deemed you competent enough of a fighter for his job to be done.

So, yes.

Yes, you absolutely did expect it to stop.

You didn’t expect to see him again. Ever.

Without a word, you turn away from him to toss your keys on the kitchen counter- a small action to buy some time to collect yourself, to grab hold of the words on your tongue that are just burning to be unleashed and rip into him. Next is your bag. Then your jacket. Then, slowly, you reach down to grab the bouquet. It joins the rest of your things all too quickly and you end up staring at the vast array of nameless, colored flora as you brace your palms against the smooth surface of the counter.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“That’s it?” you ask, voice dangerously calm. “That’s all the explanation you’re going to give?”

“Is there a different explanation you would prefer?”

You inhale slowly, taking in a deep breath to soothe your raging emotions, to calm down. But when you exhale a few moments later you feel exactly the same. Seething.

“Get out.”

Silence. Your order is met with silence. The chair Connor is sitting in doesn’t scrape along the floor, there is no shuffling of fabric as he stands. There are no retreating footsteps or departing words- no. No, never that.

Snapping your head towards him, your gaze bores into his unmoving form.

“Connor. Get. Out.” The words are clipped but shaking with intensity and barely suppressed emotion.

He stands, and for one heartbeat you actually think he’ll listen to you, but the flickering moment of hope quickly passes. Instead of leaving, instead of moving away from you and leaving your sight, he approaches you with slow, steady steps and narrowing eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” you snap, straightening your spine and turning to face him head-on.

Because you can’t just walk in and out of my life with zero explanation whenever you so please, your brain unhelpfully supplies.

People walked in and out on each other all the time, you knew that all too thoroughly to expect any differently than transience. But for the few that stayed… You clung to them with unyielding, sharp claws. Once someone passed all the tests and were eventually allowed entry to your heart, you were loyal to them- perhaps even loyal to a fault. Maybe it was a natural response to existing without a soulmate for the grand majority of your life, to having people run from you when they discovered that particular condition of yours.

The problem was that you never allowed Connor in. It hadn’t been a choice; you had no say in the matter.

In the beginning, Connor teaching you how to fight was just that: Connor teaching you how to fight. Nothing more, nothing less. The only expectations you had of him were to get injured less, and even that you only wanted for purely selfish reasons. But no matter how guarded your heart was, no matter the number of locks you placed over it, the walls you built around it, or the safe you buried it in, it was soft. Sharp, undoubtedly sharp like a razor blade that never dulled, but soft. It had grown attached to Connor -the intelligent, irritating, inconsiderate, asshole of an android that he is- without even realizing.

He slipped right past your defenses like the perfect machine he is. The few, near-nonexistent glimpses of dry, deadpan humor he voiced became a gift to bear witness to; the things he made you question were as beneficial to you as they were unnerving; his drive became almost inspiring. He became part of your routine. His relentlessness in all that he did became a comforting thought because you and your foolish, foolish heart naively assumed it meant he would stick around with same fervor.

Then he disappeared.

You weren’t as surprised as you thought you would be, but it hurt more than you thought it would. And for that fact alone you hated him.

You hated that he had that kind of power over you- hated that, to wound you, he needn’t do it physically or even mentally. All he had to was leave and your heart would slowly bleed out.

It was ridiculous and absurd and you hated it.

But you lived.

Connor leaving was far from the end of the world. You moved on- even though there was technically nothing to move on from. Hell, you even accepted when a cute acquaintance asked you out. Sure, the date from which you were returning might not have been the most riveting experience in the world, but it was normal. Safe. Easy. It was everything you should want.

“You should put those in water if you wish to prolong their decay.”

Your brows furrow at the strange words and it takes you a few moments of staring up into his calculating eyes in mystification before they begin to make sense. Then the only movement in the room- in the whole apartment is your eyes darting to flowers beside you.

It sounded like a surface-level suggestion, something that could easily pass as meaningless and be dismissed as advice. But his eyes are locked on yours and it feels like a test. Like a game.

Too bad you had no intention on playing.

“You know where the door is.”

Something ticks in his jaw at your response, but Connor does not move even an inch towards the exit.

“Come with me.” He doesn’t exactly phrase it as a question.

“And why would I that?” you snap.

Connor opens his mouth to answer but closes it just as quickly, thinking better of whatever he intended on saying, and the strange action immediately gives you pause.

“Trust me.”

It’s all he says, and the statement- request- whatever it is, is nearly as amusing as it is shocking.

The cynical, rational part of you knows it could easily just be an attempt to get you to do what he wants, knows that it is more likely for him to fake hesitancy than to actually be hesitant.

You know you have few concrete reasons to trust him.

But you do.

For some strange reason, let the universe take pity on you, you do trust him.

Even though you hate it.

Connor had been adamant about you first learning how to fight without any weapons, that you, your body alone, should be the only weapon truly necessary to win a fight. Everything else was just an extension. But apparently in his absence he had decided you were competent enough without a weapon to finally have one.

It took less time than you imagined to become accustomed with the handgun Connor handed you, even he seemed the slightest bit surprised by your quick progress and good aim. In fact, he nearly seemed pleased.

It was nice to shoot something, almost cathartic, but it intrigued you for all of one minute and a half before it simply became another task to accomplish. Another action to perform. Another skill to master. Even as Connor moved the target progressively farther and farther back at the deserted shooting range, your brain went on autopilot.

Now, staring at the bullet-ridden target at the other end of the long, long room, you pause, failing to unload what is left of what had to be the third clip.

“To fire, you will need to pull the trigger.”

The words are muffled due to the noise-canceling headphones you’re wearing, but Connor’s flat delivery seems to transcend even high-quality insulation.

Sighing, you switch on the safety, put down the gun, and slip off your headphones. Turning towards Connor who stands by your side, you give him a long look with furrowed brows.

“What are we doing here, Connor? Really?”

He looks the same as he always did, the same as when you first met. Perfectly identical and unchanged by time, by circumstance, and he arcs a brow at your question. “I assumed that much would be obvious to you.”

Rolling your eyes, you shift your weight from one leg to the other. “There’s no reason I need to know how to shoot someone,” you try again. “I don’t even own a gun.”

“Incorrect,” he states, nodding to the gun you had just put down. “That one is yours.”

Out of pure annoyance, you spare a quick glance at the weapon of cold black metal but all you see are flowers. Shaking your head, you grit your teeth and look back at Connor with steel in your eyes. “Alright, let me rephrase. I don’t want to own one.”

“Then it’s good that I wasn’t asking,” he counters easily.

From the look in his eyes, you know that he knows exactly what you’re really asking and is choosing to avoid the question entirely. And as you stare up at that stupid, handsome face of his, you know he always will. He would rather waste away and rust on the very spot he stands before answering- before he even acknowledged the obvious: that the gun was overkill. That there was something between the two of you regardless of whether either of you wanted it to exist- something that made the air feel heavy and the space between you seem like nothing and miles all at once. Something that made your heartbeat unsteady and your fingers fidget with nerves.

Clenching your jaw, you grab your jacket from the neighboring cubicle and shrug it on. As you pass Connor on your way to the exit, however, his hand darts out and catches your elbow in a tight grip.

“If you insist on leaving then at least take the gun,” he orders.

“For what?” you challenge, snapping- cracking- breaking as you rip your arm out of his grasp, months of frustration and budding hate suddenly springing forth. “I’m not on speaking terms with anyone dangerous enough to warrant me carrying a gun around. For fuck's sake, you are the most dangerous person I know! You said you were only doing this because of how my death would somehow affect your mission. Well, I nearly got mugged. Once! I don’t need to know how to blow someone’s brains out or which muscles are best to damage to immobilize someone, and yet I know anyway! Your task is complete. You’re done. Finished! And if I was in such dire need of tutelage then you wouldn’t have left! So why. Are. We. Here?”

Your chest is rapidly rising and falling by the time you complete your outburst, your breath coming in short, angry segments. Missing nothing, Connor’s cold, calculating gaze tracks your every breath and flickers across your face before holding the raging look in your eyes.

“We are here because you haven’t learned everything. So I suggest you stop looking to aggravate me into confessing feelings I don’t have and start learning,” he states, irritation seeping into his voice.

His eyes narrow at the scoff that leaves your throat. Leaning forward so that he is the only thing filling your vision, he growls, enunciating every syllable unmistakably clearly, “I am a machine, Y/N. I don’t care. I certainly don’t care about you.”

The words are daggers of ice made verbal, perfectly aimed and deftly placed. Whatever you had accidentally given away and whatever he had been able to deduce from it, he had found a chink in your armor, a space between the plates that led straight to your heart, straight to the weakness you cursed the second you discovered it.

But you don’t give yourself the chance to be wounded. Not yet.

Mirroring his actions and then some, you lean towards him until there is only a hair’s breadth between his chest and yours, until your faces are only a few inches apart. Your lips part as though you are about to close the miniscule amount of space which remains and kiss him, but you don’t spare his lips a single glance. The details that make up his face, every freckle and shade, even the flickering yellow circle at his temple... you don’t admire any of it. Your defiant, challenging eyes are solely focused on his, locked on target and burning everything they land on.

“Liar.”

You speak the word so softly it’s nearly a whisper, so softly you essentially breathe it onto his lips.

It may have only been a single word, but its truth was undeniable.

Because Connor is not pulling away.

He didn’t pull away when you pushed yourself into his personal space, nearly against him.

He didn’t pull away when, because of the proximity, your breath had no other option but to fan across his skin.

And he is still not pulling away even after you named him.

“What am I to you?” you ask quietly, incredulously.

You’re close to him, probably too close, and certainly close enough to see the exact moment something snaps behind his eyes.

“You are a virus,” he snarls.

There is barely any space between you and yet Connor takes a step forward, causing you to step backward in order to keep from falling over. And suddenly you’re moving in tandem, step for step and never far apart.

“I can’t think correctly around you,” he continues, “around the thought of you. You impede my rationale and functioning. You influence my actions. Even when I am as far from you as I can physically be, you create errors in my programming. There are traces of you in my firmware and I can’t get you out.”

A lane divider presses into your back, immediately halting your retreat, and Connor closes what distance remains until he is as close to you as he was moments ago.

Only now his LED is a blaring blood red.

“You compromise me,” he breathes, staring down at you as if to figure out how such a thing could be possible. As if you held the answers- as if he could figure them out if he just looked hard enough, as if they were tangible things he could analyze before disposing of.

“What do you want from me, virus?”

His brows are furrowed and his eyes are a violent, raging storm. He looks entirely merciless but his words sound strangled. Imploring. In desperate need of an answer.

And you’re drawing blanks.

You can feel your racing heart in your chest and in your fingers, and all you are doing is standing still, staring back at him with wide eyes.

White noise runs through your mind. You have no idea how to respond- no idea what to think. The control you had over the situation, over yourself and your emotions and your mind, it was all lost. Gone. It shifted to his side of the equation the second he unknowingly decided to prove you wrong.

You never expected to get this far- never thought this was a place you could get to.

You never expected him to admit having a weakness, never imagined he would claim it to be you. You couldn’t even- you had a hard enough time admitting how he got under your skin even to yourself.

You figured he was lying about not caring, but calling him out on it had still felt like a shot in the dark, a half bluff just to see, to test him and his boundaries.

Well, it worked.

It also backfired. Epically.

“The truth,” you answer, the levelness of your voice having disappeared along with your control.

Because that is what you wanted, right? Honesty?

You just wanted answers, not more questions- questions he seems to think you have the answers to.

“Is that all?” he asks, so quietly, so softly that goosebumps rise up across your skin. Whatever frustration had been in his eyes, whatever disdain… It was gone now, replaced by something equally as intense. Something that made your mind go blank all over again and for entirely different reasons.

And the only clear, discernable thing in all that static blankness which was your mind, was that no, no it wasn’t all you wanted.

Not at all.

Not by a long shot.

You wanted-

“Hey, is everything alright here?”

The strange, rough voice startles you, nearly makes you flinch, but Connor doesn’t so much as blink at the intrusive sound. He doesn’t look away from you at all, not even to acknowledge the approaching person.

But you do.

“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat as you put a reasonable amount of distance between you and Connor. A normal amount. A professional amount. “Yeah, everything is fine. Thanks.”

You don’t know who the man is, don’t even know when he came into the room since the entire building had been empty save for the android receptionist and safety instructor who had first greeted you, but he doesn’t look happy. Though, perhaps it would have been slightly more concerning had he looked happy considering he’s at a shooting range after midnight and just walked in on... something.

He had short dark hair and a scar on his nose, and his narrowed eyes darted between you and Connor. He also looks entirely unconvinced by your words, not that you particularly care.

That is, you don’t particularly care until you catch sight of the flash of gold- a badge at his waist.

He opens his mouth but you interrupt him before he gets the chance to say anything- or ask anything.

“I was just finishing up here,” you explain, immediately slapping a friendly smile on your face. The last thing you wanted to do was explain your… complicated situation to a cop, and it was technically the truth after all. You had intended on leaving.

You spare a glance at Connor but he is no longer looking at you. He’s staring down the cop, expression wiped clean of all the emotion it had shown not moments before. If the absolute flatness of his expression and his narrowed eyes are anything to go by, he had already figured out who the new guy is. So, you don’t bother subtly explaining your actions to him, or saying anything at all, as you stroll solitarily towards the exit.

The cop tries to say something to you as you pass him, but the door has already closed behind you before he even finishes his sentence.

In your hurry to leave -to avoid an awkward conversation with a cop of course, not to seek space to figure out what the hell had just happened with Connor and how you felt about it- you had forgotten all about the gun.

Which was a mistake, as it turns out.

You really should have taken it.

A/N: Sup, lads. It’s been a hot month minute since I updated this story (srry). I almost posted this part multiples time over the last few weeks but I was never quite satisfied enough with it to do so. This will probably be the last chill part too bc shit hits the fan continuously for the rest of this thing. Also, I worked it out and this story will probably be around 7 parts plus an epilogue? So, uh, I hope you guys are interested enough to stick around that long. (And patient enough to bear with me).

Let me know what you thought?

How about that random, spontaneous cameo, bois?

Tags: @aya-fay @syrinxgm @quartetstarheaven @kylobien @silverconduit @dramaticalabiter @deviantsupporter @aeryntheofficial @nissistylinson @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @the-smol-onion @adaydreaminganon @warriorqueennorthlotus @swordsandserpents @iamthunderstorm18 @goddessofthegeeks @dragonempress123 @alexkunis @robin-rokossovsky @moramortar @nerdylittoyvoid @cherubclover @ohskit @wolfwithabook @kneazlesgetitdone @iseleylaura (strikethroughs couldn’t be tagged)

#ruthless!connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor dbh x reader #connor rk800 x gender neutral reader #ruthless!connor #detroit: become human #soulmate au #connor rk800

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smrwine · 6 years

Note

I’m sad that you won’t be continuing to post that one actor au fic you had😭 but I’m excited for any fic you’ll be posting in the future ! :)

Since you’re the sweetest anon I’ve had all day, here’s the whole 17k wip I abandoned.

Turbulence rocked the heavily polished walls of the too posh and too narrow jet. Glowing blue lights illuminated the landing strip outside of the window, as the black of the night drowned out any and all existence below them. Buildings stood only dimly lit from the late hour and not a single soul roamed through the veins of the city. They were flying somewhere above England. Somewhere right outside of London.

Home.

The same soil he grew up digging his fingers in and the rich scent of tea leaves nearly tickling his nose from all the way up in the clouds. Finally, home at last. Comfort and familiarity practically yanking him back down to earth.

“A car will be waiting for you to take you to your final appearance,” Jeff managed to inform through an exhausted, drawn out yawn. Twelve hours across the Atlantic was common in their line of work, yet never ceased to take its toll on the body, “It’s just some nightclub in London. I’ll make sure your shit gets back to your place and meet you out there, okay? Just be sure you're seen and you'll be free to go.”

Harry sighed in response. Rolling his eyes shut and crossing his arms over his Gucci covered chest.

It was quite easy to become irritated with someone he hasn't been separated from in ages. Someone who shoved him out of bed and out of the door, every single morning, for endless hours of promo, and shooting for his next film. Someone who dragged him across multiple continents, threw him to the wolves for their syndicated fabrications, and watched unflinchingly as he stumbled through vague, long winded answers. Someone who pushed him into one last public appearance while his bed was just within reach.

It was frustrating, and easy to place his sour mood on the one person running the show, but Harry understood it was all part of the process. Knew he owed Jeff a great debt for catapulting his acting career into the stratosphere. And as the sound of his voice clawed its way under Harry’s skin, he reminded himself of his surroundings. Overly luxurious private jet, stocked to the brim with champagne and a full staff ready and waiting to cater to his needs. Embroidered silk suit designed with his brand and measurements in mind, steamed to a wrinkleless fit, and fingers dripping in diamonds and gold.

He didn't have it in him to complain, opting to keep his mouth shut, and roll with all the minor punches that came his way.

His irritation would fade soon enough. Just the thought of being on holiday for months on in, without Jeff, or the ruthless training and stunting for multiple films at a time, had his body blossoming with ease. Acting was all he ever wanted to do. Was willing to die for the art form alone. But when given an opportunity for time off and pure rest, he wasn't going to pass it up.

The seat beneath him shook as the jets tires screeched against the runway. Wouldn't be long now before he could settle. Just a few more hours of mingling, and flashing lights, before Harry had time in his grasp. His eyes flickered open to peek over at Jeff. Thumbs tapping away at his mobile and brows slightly dipped in gloom. Yearning clearly written all over his face. He missed his lover. Was likely letting her know he landed and would arrive home late.

It often slipped Harry’s mind that everyone around him had lives and relationships of their own. All of them were so invested in advancing his career, there was hardly ever time to delve into the details of their personal lives. Harry also sort of forgot what it was like to have someone awaiting his arrival back home. Granted, his mum consistently counted down the days each time he was away, but couldn't recall what it was like having someone significant to sleepily tiptoe down his staircase and welcome him home with open arms. Someone to tug at his heartstrings and kiss him gently on the lips. Fill the empty spaces in his massive house with shimmering light and early morning laughter. Someone for him to miss. His career didn't allow it. Whether he was physically in front of the camera, or not, he was always working, always on the move, and that meant the same for the people surrounding him.

The fact alone formed a guilty lump in the pit of his stomach, and forced his features into a wince. Jeff was a bloody nuisance, but Harry had somewhat of a heart, “You can–um,” he cleared his throat after hours of no use and swallowed down the remorse that lingered there, “You can take the night off, yeah? Go see Glenne, get a head start on your holiday, whatever. I can handle one appearance on my own.”

“Don't be ridiculous—”

“No really,” he sat up and unbuckled himself from the seat, “I'll stay for a few hours and let the paps get their shot. It's nothing I haven't done before,” he shrugged and practically saw the cogs of consideration turning in Jeff’s head, “Besides, I’m sure you're sick of me anyway, and your brooding eyes aren't making it any easier on my conscious.”

Jeff remained silent for a bit. Flipping his mobile against his thigh and not breaking his stare for a moment. Harry sat back coolly in his seat, unmoving, and unblinking, as the jet slowly rolled to a stop. He had him. Could feel permission radiating off the posture of Jeff’s fidgety body.

“Alright, fine,” Jeff resigned as he unbuckled himself from his seat and began to gather his belongings, “But it’s only because I'm sick of you–like you said–” he scrambled to wrap his different cords around his multiple electronics and nearly tripped over himself a dozen times, “I'll uh–I'll need updates—”

“Mate, relax, Glenne isn't going anywhere, yeah?”

“Fuck you.” Jeff mumbled under his breath as Harry let out his first genuine laugh in over twelve hours.

“I don't think I've ever seen you move with such a purpose. I'll be expecting this sort of urgency from now on.”

Jeff shouldered his carryon and paused all frantic movements for a second, “I mean it,” his voice dipped into something more serious as he pointed a finger, “Keep me updated.”

“As if you’d read them, anyway,” Harry stood to his full height, ignoring the stern look on Jeff’s face, and smoothing out the suit against his body, “Y’should probably get going, then.”

“I'll see you when you're ready to start working again. Maybe even before then. Know you can't keep still for too long.” he reached up to pat Harry’s cheek twice before turning away and throwing a wave over his shoulder, “See you, H.”

“See you.”

Harry watched as Jeff shouldered his way off the jet and out onto the brightly lit staircase just outside. He was right. Harry didn't like to keep still. Grew fond of having a busy lifestyle and always having a project to work on. It would be there for him when he was ready, however. Multiple scripts to be read over and dozens of campaigns to be the face of. He would miss it. But for the sake of his health, he needed the time off.

Ahh, shit. Fuck. One last appearance. It was going to be strange to not have someone to guide him through the night. To not hear the nagging tone of Jeff’s voice in his ear every time he so much as turned the corner. It wouldn't be too hard. Shouldn’t be. It was just a routine he'd grown accustomed to.

Just a few more hours, he thought to himself. Just a few more hours until he could rest without a deadline. Without being ripped from his sleep and worked to the bone.

He could do this. He could.

I want romance

Harry drunkenly sent off to Jeff as he stumbled up the slick concrete of his front steps. It was too quiet in Oxfordshire. Too chilly for spring and too starless for the countryside. His house was too big, and too secluded, and Harry was too pissed to not feel the effects of isolation. He was so bloody lonely and needed to vent to someone. Jeff asked him for updates anyway, what's one that was slightly more personal than the others?

The tail end of his silk jacket caught in the door as he slammed it behind him. Fucking useless piece of fabric. No purpose for it being so long. Harry slipped his body from the arm holes, not bothering to pull it from the door, and unsteadily began to climb up the stairs one step at a time. Tripping over his clunky boots, catching himself by his ring covered hands, and pushing his way upward. When did his staircase become so bloody high? When did he become so incredibly unbalanced and so regrettably sloshed? Must have been the last few drips of sparkling liquid that did him in. Material practically flew off his body as he tugged, unbuttoned, and unzipped his way down the hallway, and messily fumbled his way into the bedroom.

Okay? I can’t give you that.

Read Jeff's reply. Wanker. Always so insensitive to Harry’s needs. The floor beneath him disappeared as his body flopped down against his bed. Sheets so soft. Mattress practically cuddling him back.

Is everything alright?

Jeff's second reply came just as Harry’s head buried into the pillow.

No. Everything wasn't alright. Champagne remnants lingered on his tired tongue, tasting of sour grapes, and attempts at drowning out loneliness. Empty bedroom around him kaleidoscoping as he tossed between the sheets, legs tangling in fabric, and chest heaving in frustration. Body warm, sticky, and longing, and not a soul to press it up against. Everything was not alright. Everything was spinning and spiraling and the pissed part of his brain had him fully convinced he was going to be ill.

Peachy. xx

Harry sent off as he tossed his phone to the ground. Shit was entirely uncool. Couldn't bare the thought of explaining his heartache when he had it so fucking good. Wouldn't dare let this vulnerable side sliver its way into the public eye let alone someone who worked for him.

Sleep. The coherent part of his brain whispered seductively as the cushion of his bed wrapped it's warmth around him and consumed him wholly. Sleep would be a quick fix. Shutting his eyes and waking up on the right side of the bed in the morning. Hopefully. Time was all he had now and it was thankfully all he'd need.

It’s nine in the evening, at the end of February. Humidity fogging the glass windows of the building and hazy moonlight reflecting gently against the London rain. Harry’s just sat down for a late meal. Not even hungry, really. Just tired of sitting around his house, answering emails, and falling asleep to the absence of white noise. He hadn’t been out in ages. Only leaving his house to keep his body fit and quickly returning to his reclusive ways. It was only fitting that his first night out was alone, cold, and dreary. Thankfully, he has yet to be approached by anyone other than his waitress. Hat tipped low and gaze pointed downward, he has so far avoided the heated stare of curious eyes.

Red wine settled bitterly on his tongue as he found more interest in swirling the glass around rather than enjoying the food in front of him. Jesus, he hoped nobody has recognized him yet. Who is Harry Styles without a model clinging to his arm, or an elite entourage talking over him, basking in their prominence, and flashing their white teeth for the meddling cameras? Being recognized in a sight this sore would surely put a damper on his cool factor. Not that Harry gave a shit, it’s just, the same couldn’t be said for Jeff and the team that worked tirelessly on his public persona.

“Would you like to take a look at our dessert menu, Mr. Styles?”

Harry cringed at the sound of his surname being spoke into existence. If people around him were wondering, and listening close enough, all of their speculations were clearly confirmed.

“No thank you, darling.” Harry looked up from under his hat, pasting on a closed lipped smile, and charmingly flaunting his dimples, “I do fancy the cheque, however. Whenever you get the chance.”

The apples of her cheeks flamed red as she visibly shivered at his words.

Christ. Jeff really did a number on the general public. Easily convincing them Harry Styles was someone to fawn over and be in awe of. Hell, even he was partially convinced he was something special half of the time. If only everyone knew how great of a hermit he actually was.

“Of course, Mr. Styles. I’ll be just a moment.”

The sharply dressed waitress bowed and went on her way as Harry took one last sip, and swallowed down the burgundy liquid.

A quick flash of blue caught his eye from outside the window. A lovely sight choosing that moment to grace Harry’s eyes with magnificence. Sheer material clinging to a nearly soaked through body, a mess of fringe dripping with rainwater, and delicate hands swiping pesky droplets from his face. Fucking hell. This man was otherworldly. Pretty. Flawless. Stunning. Unparalleled in all terms of beauty. Shivering body finding shelter under the coverage of Harry’s window, bottom lip bitten cherry red, and fingers shakily tugging his mobile from his obscenely tight trousers. Bloody gorgeous and dripping wet, and so incredibly tempting. Harry couldn’t recall the last time he was so easily taken by another man’s looks alone.

For a second, he let himself ponder over what would happen if the man on the other side of the glass would look in and see him. Would he recognize Harry with his infamous bedroom eyes, and distinguishable tattoos hidden away? Would he blush at the sight of Harry admiring every curve and slope of his perfect body? Would he cringe at the contrived person he believed Harry to be? Did he even know who Harry was at all?

“Here you are, Mr. Styles.” A kind voice forcefully ripped Harry from his thoughts. “It was a pleasure serving you this evening. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to hers as she bravely shot him a wink and pushed the bill across the table. A pang of guilt settled heavily in his stomach as she stepped away. He hoped there was nothing he said that insinuated he was even slightly interested in her. He most certainly wasn’t and he didn’t recall making it seem that way. She was probably just being polite, Harry reasoned. Or cheeky.

Blue material caught his eye once more and he slightly turned to peek between the raindrops of the window.

Smile nearly reached those beautiful eyes as a significantly older man pulled him in by the waist, and kissed his temple gently. Unreasonable jealousy coursed through Harry’s veins as the pair cuddled in close, and entered the doors of the establishment.

It took a special type of prick to leave their date alone and waiting in the pouring rain, and this one has yet to offer up his coat, or even attempt to dry his partner off. Bastard. It was already fairly clear to Harry that the dripping lad deserved better. Given the chance, Harry would run over and drape the coat off his back over his shivering shoulders. Maybe even introduce himself and sweet talk his way into a conversation.

But that was just his luck, wasn’t it? First person he’s been instantly attracted to since his acting hiatus started – the one time his schedule would allow for him to get to know another human being – and said human was already spoken for by some undeserving sod.

Sounded about right. Harry was destined for a life of loneliness and film.

A quiet giggle fell from the man’s pretty lips as their host led them in the direction of a secluded table. Not-so-innocent blue eyes flashed towards Harry’s green ones and a spark of arousal ignited through Harry’s body. The man’s neatly curved brows raised in interest as he bit down against a slightly bashful smile, and slowly stepped in the direction of Harry. Possessive hands curled their way around his shapely hips and tugged his younger body alongside the older one. Harry smirked as the older lad’s expression was sourly plastered across his face. The pair knew exactly who Harry was, then. Younger lad was likely a fan judging by the tight grip on his hips alone.

Harry was smug for all but a second, when an unmistakably selfish kiss was stolen right in front of him, and the couple continued on towards the back of the dining room. Goodness, Harry desperately wished that were him. No matter how inflated his ego grew as the other lad blatantly checked him out, he was going home alone tonight, and would wake up alone in the morning.

It stung. Fucking pained him to not know the feeling of mutual devotion.

Acting was the only real commitment Harry knew. And from the time it took him to stand from his table, pay, and push out the door, he decided this hiatus was over. Three months of being stagnant was no longer appealing, he couldn’t go on for a full year of this. If he was going to be lonely anyway, he might as well be surrounded by other people while being so.

“I'm ready to get back into it, Jeffrey.” Harry calmly spoke through the phone as he laid his body out against his sofa. There was a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that knew Jeff wouldn't take too kindly to the news, or the fact that he called him at nearly three in the morning, so he figured he'd make himself comfortable for the inevitable grilling.

“Harry–” Jeff cut off with a muffled sigh as Harry winced at his exhausted tone, “It’s only been a few months. You were supposed to take the rest of the year off at least—”

“I'm aware of that, but I'm ready to jump back in. Sitting around all day just hasn't been cutting it for me.”

“Well, it's not just about you not working all day, Harry, it's about not over exposing yourself. Not exhausting the public of your projects. You've been off for three months and I still see your face plastered everywhere. Coming back now could be potentially damaging.”

Harry rolled his eyes shut and threw his head back against the cushion. Of course Jeff had to put it in simple terms, making the issue too easy to understand, and sounding every bit as professional as he dumbed down the magnitude of what Harry coming back could do to his career. He was right, and Harry knew that, but that didn't mean he had to like it, or agree to it.

“I just want something to work on. It doesn't have to be a massive role or campaign. I'm just tired of doing nothing.”

“That's the point of your hiatus, Harry.” Jeff spoke stern yet soft, “You're supposed to be doing nothing. You should be half way across the world by now, on some beach somewhere, soaking up the sun. This is about you as well, and your physical and mental health. We talked about exhausting yourself and how you should use this opportunity to relax, and do all the things you don't normally have the time to do.”

Fucking hell. He hated feeling like he was being spoken to like a child. Hated that Jeff was always so fucking right no matter which way he spun it. God. Harry should have just went off and started a project on his own. He would have happily dealt with the consequences versus being told time off is the better choice for him. He couldn't help that he was stubborn and loved what he did.

“Go visit your family, see your childhood friends, get involved with your local charities, but seriously, H—give it until at least summertime.”

Harry perked up at the sound of his words, “Summer time, you say? So – what – only three months from now, and I can get involved in something?”

“I'll make you a deal,” Jeff paused to consider his words and Harry sat up a bit straighter at the proposition, “If you can sit still for the next six weeks, I'll send over all the scripts I've collected for your comeback. You can read over them all, take as long as you need, choose whichever role you want to jump into, whatever. But you have to promise me relaxation until summer, in return. Sleep late and lounge in the sand, or your bed, wherever, I don't give a shit. Pick up a new hobby—whatever you have to do. Just don’t call me about work for another six weeks unless you're coming to visit Glenne or me. Sound fair?”

Fuck. It was tempting, yes. Jeff knew waving around the promise of brand new scripts would sway Harry a certain way. But summer was seemingly so far from now. Frost still lightly dusted the tips of his garden every morning. What was he supposed to do until the beaming sun melted all of that away? Harry supposed he could bother his trainer for some time. Maybe take up boxing lessons like he's always wanted to. See his Mum. Visit his sister in America. Something. Anything. Just get out of the house for once to speed up the process. He didn't have much of a choice anyway.

“You there?” Jeff spoke through the extended silence.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “Throw in some Oscar worthy roles and I'll make it seven weeks of silence.” he added sarcastically

“Shut up, Harry. You know I always have your best interests in mind.”

“I want that validation, Jeffery. I'm only getting older.”

Harry choked down a laugh as he could practically picture the exaggerated roll of Jeff's eyes. It was always humorous to play into the image that was carefully constructed for him. Vanity and fame meant nothing to Harry, but for some reason, the opposite illusion worked for the headlines, and his brand, and the public didn't really think anything of it. As long as Harry and those close to him knew who he truly was, he didn't mind dabbling in the persona every once and awhile.

“You're a pain in the ass,” Jeff snipped, American tone bleeding through the line, “But you've got yourself a deal. Seven weeks.”

“Alright, sounds good. Don't miss the sound of my voice too—”

The line went dead before Harry could get his last word out. Prick. He'd have to get him back for that later.

As the clock wound down closer to morning than midnight, Harry figured he should drag his body up the stairs, and into his bed. Oxfordshire was quiet this evening and he honestly wouldn't expect it to be any other way.

Seven more weeks of staying still. He could do this.

Summer beams warmed the ever growing back garden of Harry’s estate. Pool side looking every bit as tempting as the brunch gone cold in front of him, but three heavy stacks of printed dialogue kept him rooted to his seat. Jeff was meant to meet him here to discuss his future roles and which would be wisest for the longevity of his career. He was late, however. By nearly half an hour. Doubt was beginning to nip at Harry’s heels. Nerves and uncertainty tugging ruthlessly at the back of his mind.

Harry narrowed down dozens of choices to three.

All action packed. All roles where he's able to show off his stunting ability. Characters that do little to show his vulnerability and further convince the public he was as cool as he was on screen.

Every last one of these scripts were layered with brilliance. Yet, Harry couldn't help but feel they weren't right for him. Something was off and he couldn't quite reason why.

"I know, I know, I'm a dick!" Jeff exclaimed through winded breath as he clamoured through Harry’s back garden. Both of his hands raised in defense, one clenched to a script, and the other to his mobile. He's only twenty-five minutes late. Harry couldn't imagine what could've kept him so held up.

“You know, if it were me that was half an hour late, I would've never heard the end of it. Probably would've woken up to some publication slandering my punctuality on behalf of you.”

“As long as it's a credible publication.” Jeff made himself comfortable in the seat in front of Harry, plucking a strawberry from a bowl of fruit, and pushing the plates of brunch to the side. “Another meeting had me held up, sorry. Grabbed something on the way. Appreciate the effort though.”

Harry pushed aside the food in front of him as well. Stomach too full of tension for there to be room for anything else.

“S’alright. Should we just get to it, then?” Harry mumbled through bitten lips.

“Sure, what are your options?”

The midday sun warmed the back of Harry’s neck as he struggled through pitching the scripts in front of him. Slight breeze doing its best to soothe Harry’s tongue tied words, and tense shoulders, but ultimately failing in the end. The more he stumbled over himself, the more sweat began to collect at his temples, and every crevice of his body.

Fuck. He was usually so sure of what he wanted. Uncertainty gnawed at the corner of his words making it nearly impossible to articulate why he narrowed his choices down to these three alone. He wished he could get a fucking grip and swallow down whatever type of nervousness was rising to his throat like bile.

Jeff sat mostly wordless. Only speaking up to question Harry at the peak of his reasoning and sit back to watch him fumble once again. Jeff had to know Harry couldn't quite come up with a solid decision on his own. Was watching him drown in his own explanations as if he had something waiting behind his knowing stare. Something Harry’s choices couldn't match.

“Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought.” Jeff bit down a laugh and dodged a grape aimed straight for his head.

“Fuck you.” Harry threw his shoulders back against his seat, letting his skin bake under the balmy sun, and allowing his nerves to dissipate with the summer heat. Such a lovely day spent worrying rather than indulging. “You've yet to offer up any solid options, or advice, what am I paying you for?”

“Here's what you're paying me for.” Jeff slid over the script he'd been clenching to. Not as thick as the others but still held close to his chest like the print itself was scrawled in gold. “I know you're not going to like this but hear me out—”

Ardor, the title read in bold font. A script Harry briefly skimmed over before tossing it to the side.

A son of a farmer, living in the hills of Oxfordshire, disregarding the path set out for him since birth, and trading it in for rehearsals and stage lights. The character lets his life’s passion wholly consume him, leaving his family and relationships behind, and living out his dreams with only a pocket full of change. A hopeful yet devastating role when the main character severs these ties only to be faced with the harsh realities of Hollywood.

Just a bit too close to home for Harry’s taste. If Jeff read past the first few lines alone, he'd know this amount of vulnerability wasn't something Harry was too keen on.

“You and this film need each other.” Jeff leaned over to tap his fingers against the script rapidly. “This is what kept me held back from meeting you on time. This is going to be the turning point in your career, Harry.”

Harry eyed him warily. He's worked alongside Jeff for nearly seven years and has never heard his voice r each such assuredness. There was more to what he was saying, surely, and the knowing look in Jeff’s eyes left Harry curious. He was a bit hesitant to dig for more, seeing as Jeff prefaced everything with Harry not liking it, but his desire for the unknown was too intense, and he was eager to hear more.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned calmly from his sitting position, one leg crossed over the other, and forefinger stroking his prickly chin.

“Low budget film needs a recognizable name, said actor with recognizable name needs a vulnerable, artistic, role to set him apart from not only his contenders, but himself.” Jeff paused to let his words sink in. “Your last four films have had the same explosive storylines, H. It gets boring after a while and you start to lose your credibility as an artist.”

Harry recoiled at his words. Fear of repetition setting his skin aflame, and beads of sweat slowly extinguishing the burn. Jeff’s words stung. But he wasn't wrong.

“This role has depth, and art, and it's heartbreaking, and full of hope, it'll highlight your skills in a way that fighting crime and jumping off burning buildings won’t.”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted only slightly appalled. “It took enough bloody skill to jump from a burning building, Jeffery.”

“I know, I know, that's not what I'm saying at all.” Jeff sighed frustratedly as he sat up properly and puffed out his chest, “This role is special, yes. However, it's going to be overlooked like most art films if there's not a proper lead demanding the attention of not only the audience, but the academy. You've worked hard for all the recognition you've received, yeah? I think it's time you've earned yourself a nomination. I know you have the talent to turn this role into something memorable, and the producers over there want you, Harry. It's all we spoke about earlier, they're willing to renegotiate contracts, and start filming within the next two weeks if you agree to it. You have the power here.”

Harry’s stomach knotted in clusters. Weight of decisions and responsibility nearly bringing him to his knees. He didn't feel too powerful in the moment.

Jeff might have been onto something, though. Was making far too much sense to not be right. Harry did need this film and the production needed him. The storyline would shine a spotlight on his talents in new and undiscovered ways, and his name attached to the role alone, would raise interest, and allow the production to profit. All sides would win. Renegotiating contracts would be a pain to everyone involved, but Jeff and his trusted team always had a way with sorting everything out.

Something about this felt right. Felt like this was the next step Harry so desperately needed to take. Bring his career back to its roots and fall in love with the artistry all over again. It's just—. It's been so long since he's played a character so...normal.

“I know you're unsure about this but let me remind you how expected the other three roles are. Even you saw them coming and you couldn't even sell them to yourself.”

Fuck Jeff. He was a right prick, but right nonetheless.

“So—” Harry paused to chew against the inside of his cheek and consider his next questions carefully. “If I agree to this right now, we’ll be able to get things moving pretty quickly, yeah? I can come out of hiding and get back to work?”

“It'll take some convincing and a few favours, but yes. Absolutely.”

Jeff stared back at him unflinchingly and full of confidence. Never has he steered Harry wrong or led him to believe something was good for him when it wasn't. Jeff had all the strings in the industry to pull and he could definitely make this happen for him. The decision was practically as clear as the day above him.

“Give me a full day to get into character and I'll let you know by morning.”

“Great, I've already put us on the next flight to LA.”

“You what?!” Harry jerked forward in his seat as Jeff fiddled with his mobile.

“What? Twelve or so hours is enough time to feel out the character right?” he smirked without taking his eyes off the screen. “Most of the filming will be done just up the road, but deals have to be made in LA. You know this.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed for the script. “I know you're a pain in my arse that's for sure.”

Jeff ignored him in favour of typing away at his mobile. Harry stood from the table and walked through his garden on bare feet, sun warming the earth below him. Finally. After months of moping around and lusting for his rightful place in front of a camera, it was finally happening. And so quickly. The script weighed heavy in his hands as the summer breeze flicked through the pages with interest. Small smile creeping up on him as his eyes caught glimpses of dialogue.

“Don’t wander off,” Jeff yelled from his spot at the table. “We have about two hours ‘til we need to leave!”

Harry threw a vague vulgar gesture over his shoulder and continued on his path through the garden.

This felt right. He finally felt sure. As if there was something special waiting on the other end of this role. Harry couldn't quite shake the adrenalized tremble in his bones, and quite frankly, he had no desire to.

Even when silent from slumber, London welcomed Harry with pink skies, and the feeling of optimism. High-rise buildings passed in a blur as he carefully sipped at his light roast blend, and let the steam from the caffeinated beverage render his exhaustion. Jeff sat alongside him. Business emails and phone calls already taking priority at the early hour. Fittings for Ardor were scheduled for the day. Dozens of different costumes to be tailored to his body and the first real opportunity to properly introduce this character to himself.

The studio appeared to his right as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Harry stumbled from the car door as gracefully as he could manage and did his best to follow behind Jeff’s ambitious strides. The first floor seemed quiet. Lobby vacant of visitors and a receptionist only offering a polite nod. The elevator ride up was smooth. Dragged on for far longer than expected and led them both into the belly of chaos.

Multiple clothing racks and rolling steamers pushed vehemently across the floor by employees and interns alike. Voices shouting over voices and sketches tacked against the walls by the dozens. A room stocked the the brim with seemingly unsystematic energy and a thriving sense of proficiency. Harry felt a bit of motion sickness just standing there.

“There's the man with all the power!” a voice broke through the madness and seemed to stop everything in its tracks.

Wandering eyes shifted over to Harry. Some awed, some impressed, some completely indifferent to him as a whole. Awkwardly, he lifted a hand, and let a tight lipped smiled slip onto his face.

“Well don't just stand there darling, we have loads of work to do.” A silver-haired woman surrounded by prestigiously dressed employees, and a child clinging to her leg, broke through the silence again. “That goes for everyone, yeah? Back to work.”

Harry sought out Jeff for answers, but was only met with the back of his head as he moved to greet the woman.

“Lou, it's good to see you again.” Jeff greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Harry this is Lou Teasdale, costume designer. Lou, this is my client, Harry Styles.”

Harry slightly bowed before taking her hand and shaking firmly. Her grip was loose. Something that immediately rubbed Harry the wrong way.

“So you're the lad responsible for all the madness?” she said with a smile, yet her words had a bit of a bite to them. Harry had no idea what she was on about either.

Best to just roll with it then.

“That would be me.” he easily flashed his dimples and subtly bat his lashes. “It's a pleasure meeting you, Lou. I'm looking forward to working with you.”

She eyed him for a moment. Arms crossed over her chest and and mouth pursed in consideration. It was a bit nerve wracking. He couldn't help but continue to smile convincingly in the madness around him. He felt the eyes of who he assumed was her daughter staring up at him, big, curious, and full of wonder. He offered up a small wave, which sent the child running behind her legs. Oops.

“At least he’s charming.” She hitched the girl up on her hip and grabbed him by the arm. “Come along, then.”

Lou began to walk him, and her entourage, towards a room in the back. Harry desperately looked over his shoulder. Pleading eyes meeting Jeff’s and Jeff’s offering up absolutely no emotion. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one that noticed everyone was a bit cold. Not rude, per se. Just not warming up to him as quickly as he's used to.

“Louis, babe, your assistance is needed.”

Harry turned to look into the room. Sight instantly drawn to a man sat by himself near the window. Nose submerged in a book and pencil sketching designs in the margin. His brown hair disheveled without messy product and sleepless circles thinly bruising beneath his eyes. He was lovely. Skin the shade of marmalade and lips appearing just as sweet.

Fuck, Harry was so single.

“If you'll take his measurements and help him dress, yeah? Just pin any adjustments and write down everything else – we’ll get to tailoring later – I just need to speak with his manager for a bit.”

Louis stood from his seat, giving Harry a quick once over, and noticeably flushing at the sight. Harry didn't mean to smirk, but as soon as the corners of his mouth lifted, Louis’ mood seemed to shift.

“Sure, Lou. Should be finished with him soon.”

Lou nodded as she led Jeff out of the room, quietly discussing business, and entourage obediently following behind. Harry stepped passed the doorway, shutting it behind him, and placing himself in the middle of the room. Louis moved with such elegance. Effortlessly making a dance out of pulling clothing racks across the floor. Harry couldn't take his eyes off him even as Louis’ paid him no mind.

Tongue tied even in his brain, Harry struggled to come up with a line worthy enough for introductions.

“This process will go a bit quicker if you undress—” Louis looked up at him with brilliant eyes. He was so gorgeous. “You know, instead of just standing there.”

Harry chuckled under his breath. Lips curling into a smile as Louis flicked to a fresh page in his journal, and unwound a tape measure from his neck.

“Should probably get to know me a bit better, yeah? At least be on a first name basis before you see the goods.”

Louis rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. Clearly irritated and not at all amused with Harry’s flirting. Without a word, he crossed his arms over his chest, impatiently tapping his foot, and waiting for Harry to get on with it. A zing of chills traveled down Harry’s spine as Louis’ relentless stare bored into him.

“M’Harry,” he softly introduced as he unbuttoned his blouse and let it slide off his shoulders. “And you are?”

“Your costume standby.” tape measure circled around Harry’s neck as Louis removed it and penciled in a measurement, “No need to patronize me while we’re here. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

Harry's brows creased as he watched Louis take measurements in the mirror. Jesus. What was in the air today? Seemed like everyone had a chip on their shoulder.

“I wasn't patronizing you.” he spoke earnestly ”Just wanted your name is all.”

“Lift.” Louis instructed. Harry raised his arms slightly, allowing Louis to wrap the tape up around his chest, and back down to his waist. He moved with such precision and attentiveness. Scribbling in measurements and working around Harry’s body with ease. It took everything within Harry not to shiver at his touch. “Remove your trousers for me, please.”

Harry watched as Louis grabbed his blouse from the floor, and hung it carefully on a separate rack. So delicate with everything. Even in the way he handled clothing. Harry was quite possibly smitten.

He slipped out of his boots and took his trousers along with him. Louis quickly grabbing for both and storing them away properly.

“So if you're my costume standby, that means we’ll be working together daily, yes?” Harry questioned as Louis squat to the ground in front of him.

“Correct.” Louis replied dryly. Hands moving to Harry's thighs and tape wrapping snugly around them.

Harry averted his vision to the ceiling. It had been far too long since he had a pretty boy on his knees for him, especially one this pretty. The visuals were stunning, but now was clearly not the appropriate time.

“We should probably try to get along then, yeah? Should at least be able to address each other by name? Maybe even become mates, or summat?”

“I have enough mates as I'm sure you do too.”

“I'm quite lonely, actually.” Harry admitted as he looked down to find Louis measuring his inseam. Christ. “I could–I could use a friend, you know? Someone who's nice. You seem nice enough. But I'll need your name to be friends, yeah? I think it’s only fair—”

“Are you normally this chatty during fittings?” his voice was humorless and his eyes were focused on the journal in front of him.

“No, not normally.” Harry smiled as Louis rose to his full height and gave him a second of his attention. “You're just special, I guess.”

Louis’ face twisted in discomfort as he shut his book of measurements and grabbed for the costume closest to him. Harry was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. He just couldn't help himself.

“Are you not charmed?” Harry asked with a slight quirk of the lips.

Louis wordlessly began to dress his upper body, carefully buttoning up a crisp collared shirt, and rubbing out the wrinkles across his shoulders. The material fit nicely and having Louis’ delicate hands feeling out the fabric had him nearly trembling.

“Not everyone is going to fall for the Harry Styles charm.” Louis replied dryly. Not even looking up to address him.

“I've noticed,” Harry followed Louis’ movements in the mirror as he went to select a pair of trousers from the rack. “No one here has taken a liking to me it seems.”

“Hm, I can't imagine why.” his words were laced with sarcasm and scoff. “Will you step into these trousers for me, please?”

Harry took the clothing from Louis’ hold with pinched brows, “What aren't you telling me, Louis?”

Mmm. His name felt good against Harry’s lips.

“How d’you know my name?” Louis bit with equally pinched brows.

“Answer my question first.”

“Don't be a child! Tell me how you know my name.”

“Lou addressed you when we walked in here together.” he raised his hands in defense. “I paid attention because you're gorgeous.”

Louis eyed him. Disgust clear in his stare.

“You might want to cut that out, yeah? Only does more damage around here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Attempting to charm the people beneath you as you use them as a stepping stool.”

Louis reached for the trousers in Harry’s hold, assumedly to dress Harry through the awkwardness, but Harry resisted, and looked louis in the eye.

“What do you mean by that? I've done nothing to use anyone as a stepping—”

“Nothing? You think you've done nothing?” Louis placed his hands on his hips with a look of disbelief. “Nothing at all?”

“No, I haven't.” Harry defended only slightly peeved. “I've been holed up for months. I didn't even know you existed before today.”

“Well, at least you've got that part right, darling.” Louis smiled a cunning smile, but it was breathtaking nonetheless. “You didn't know I, or any of us, existed, and surely you had no idea of our plans and ideas for the costumes in this film.”

“I can't be at fault for that—”

“No, of course not. We both agree on that.” Louis stepped up to him slowly. Leaving their bodies only a breath apart, and winding his measuring tape back around Harry’s hips. “Tell me what you think happens when production gets rolling weeks before scheduled?”

Harry swallowed thickly as he followed the movement of Louis’ tongue licking his lips. It was hard to come up with cohesive thoughts when Louis was clearly setting him up for a grilling, but continued to press their bodies together.

“Um–madness, I would assume. Sort of like what I walked in on this morning.”

“Mhmm.” Louis looked up from under his endless lashes and dragged the measuring up against Harry’s skin. It was fucking maddening. Harry couldn't resist clutching to the fabric of Louis’ hips. “And when someone like me assumes they have weeks to submit their designs to Lou Teasdale, because she's given them an incredible opportunity, and that opportunity is suddenly ripped from beneath them, how do you think that person feels about the man holding the rug?”

“Um, fuck—” Harry went breathless as the front of his pants slightly dragged against Louis’ trousers. It had been far too long since he's had intimacy and Louis seemed to catch onto that rather quickly. Any slight touch to Harry’s cock was bound to get him off. “I would–I would imagine there would be some resentment, yeah? Some–fuck–um...bitterness? Wouldn't know, though. Haven't been in that position for years. I would assume by your attitude I'm not too far off.”

“Mhmm. You're a smart one aren't you?” Louis dropped the measuring tape from around Harry’s waist and brought his hands to fit around Harry’s biceps. God, their bodies were so bloody close. “I guess that's why you chose this role in the first place, innit? A smart choice, hm? A low budget role where you get to voice your demands, maybe even snag an Oscar nom, and that skeevy manager of yours makes it all happen with favours, and promises, and your name in the credits. It's smart for you, of course. Your career will flourish, darling.” he gently trailed his fingers up Harry's chest softly rubbing at the skin, and moving to thread his fingers through Harry’s short hair, “But the rest of us are caught under your shoe and sleepless from making this production possible. You'd do best to drop the charming act, when we both know how easily you’d use us again for your own gain.”

Louis gave his scalp a sharp tug, forcing a gasp out of Harry, before he stepped back and shoved his journal into Harry’s chest. He looked hurt and above all angry.

“Well m’sorry for what it looks like, babe. But the producers wanted me just as much as I wanted this role.” he reached out and gently cupped the side of Louis’ face, “You needed me as well, huh? Who else's body would you have designed for had Lou not given you my name?”

“You weren't even considered for the bloody role by then.” he shoved away Harry’s hand with rage, “All of my sketches are of clothing because auditions hadn't even been held yet. Because the role hadn't been handed to you yet. While I was out there trying to make something of myself, you destroyed the one opportunity I earned, because you couldn't go too long without your name in the headlines.”

Harry stood mildly shocked. No one has ever spoken to him this way. With such vivid disdain and devastatingly betrayed eyes. Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Everyone always immediately adored Harry. Loved working with him and always greeted him with a smile on their face. Going from that to this was not a transition he'd like to get used to.

“Louis–I'm–Had I known you were—”

“S’too late for that now, Harry. We both know nothing can be undone.”

Louis smoothed out the wrinkles of his clothing as he draped his measuring tape over Harry’s shoulders, and moved to walk out of the room.

“Wait–where are you going?” Harry was stood in a button up and pants, clutching to only Louis’ journal, and praying his slightly hard cock wasn't visible. Totally inappropriate. Now more than ever.

“I'll be back to stroke your ego soon, don't worry, Hollywood.” he smirked as his dainty fingers curled around the door knob. “Just need a bit more coffee to get myself through it.”

Fuck. He was gorgeous even when he was leaving Harry half hard and remorseful. His cock had seemingly never known arousal before Louis entered his life.

The door slammed behind him as Louis exited the room.

Fuck. It was all quite strange. Louis easily ripped him to shreds yet Harry was still weirdly turned on. And Louis did it all to him with a radiant smile on his face.

Jesus, Harry would love to figure him out.

Guilt and shame pricked at Harry’s skin as Louis’ journal weighed heavy in his hands. He flicked through the pages carefully. Most sketches were left incomplete, but others were finished, and brilliant. His vision for this film and this character was so clear in the strokes of his pen alone. He was obviously talented and Harry could tell this opportunity meant the world to him. It must have been painful for Louis to dress him in costumes that weren't his own, knowing they could have been.

“Fuck.” Harry mumbled under his breath as he discreetly adjusted himself.

It was quite a shitty feeling. Harry didn’t intend to use anyone as his stepping stool, but there was absolutely no denying what he did. Or what it looked like he did. Harry clutched the journal shut and glanced up at his reflection. Ugh. What a poor sight. Guilt didn't look good on him at all.

Louis didn't seem like the type to forgive easily. But that was no matter. Harry always fancied himself a challenge, and he wouldn't stop until all was well between them.

He could only hope Louis was as willing to give him that chance.

First few hours on set stretched on as expected. Table read occupied most of the adrenaline induced morning, forcing Harry to jitter and squirm silently in his seat. Buzz underneath his skin ate away at the pit of nerves in his stomach and his stuttering tongue relaxed line by line. He couldn't wait to get in front of a camera and bring Ardor to life.

Costume standby was awaiting his arrival at his trailer and Harry knew that meant Louis. Last week’s dress rehearsals went colourless without his boundless enticement and intoxicating allure. He didn't appear to be anywhere near the table read through either. Harry searched for him in every corner of the set. From the amorphous labyrinth of trailers, to the posh garden of the estate they were filming at, it was hopeless. Not a single body moved as graceful. Not a single smile had Harry weak in the knees. The entirety of the run through left Harry longing for just a glimpse of his perfect face and clever tongue.

It wasn't a secret to Harry, or anyone, that Louis couldn't stand him, but there was still an overwhelming need for Harry to impress him. To convince him he was wrong about Harry Styles and that Harry - himself - was actually someone he could warm up to. And Harry might've had a way to make that possible.

“Harry!” Jeff called from somewhere behind him. Nasally Californian accent even more prominent in the British setting.

Christ. It truly seemed like he couldn't go more than a minute without Jeff hovering over his bloody shoulder. Harry kept his pace. Walking with his head held high and smirking at the sound of Jeff’s labored breaths catching up with him.

“Hey, you dick,” a hand smacked against his back as Jeff caught up to his side. “I've been trying to find you—you hightailed it out of the reading. Everything good?”

Harry shrugged with a lingering smile, “I'm eager to get started, I dunno.”

“Yeah, sure.” he scoffed, “You're eager to see that Louis guy. I have no idea how you land all these roles when you're such a shit actor.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, placing one hand upon his hip, and shielding his eyes with the other. Jeff seemed all too pleased with his previous remark. Shit eating grin plastered across his face.

“Was there something you needed, Jeffery?”

“Oh. Nah, not really.” Jeff shrugged. “Just wanted to wish my favourite client good luck since I'll be off set for a few weeks.”

“I believe the proper phrase is break a leg, but thanks.”

“Break a leg then.” Jeff pat him on the shoulder and began to move away, “I'll check in every now and then. Don't forget about your proposition to Louis, yeah? Took hours of convincing. I worked hard on that one.”

“Don't worry, mate, I haven't, and I was on my way before you so pointlessly interrupted me.” Harry laughed as Jeff responded with a roll of his eyes, and a turn of his heel. Quite sensitive lad. “I’ll see you, Jeff! Thanks for everything!”

Harry was waved off with a middle finger. Oh well. Jeff would be fine eventually. A small smile grew into Harry’s cheeks as he set back off towards his trailer. The thought of seeing Louis crept back into his mind and his stomach churned with a nervousness he hadn't felt in ages.

The sun beamed as the butterflies fluttered aimlessly. Minimal clouds shaded the walkway as a summer breeze gently carried him on towards his destination. Harry felt lighter with each step closer to the boy, and excitement bubbled through his veins at the mere thought of spending time alone with him. It didn't go too well the last time around, but Harry was confident he would be able to sweep Louis off his feet this time.

His wandering came to a halt as he reached the the sleek door of his massive trailer. The other trailers surrounding his seemingly dwarfed in comparison. Not really a good look. Kind of fed into the whole Harry Styles mega star image. With a shake of his head, Harry pulled open the door. Cool air, jasmine, and rose scents hit across his face in a gentle caress. It was actually quite lovely and welcoming. Jeff must have passed along the fresh flowers and scented candles memo.

Harry took a peek around the posh space. Sleek counters and leather sofas. Curtains drawn shut, and drowning out any light in the small living area around him. Not a single sign of Louis. Only proof of anyone being here was the soft glow of the flickering flames.

“Louis?” Harry called out to no answer. “Anyone here?”

Shuffling could be heard from down the hall. Harry stepped in the direction, swallowing down his pesky giddiness, and pushing through the slightly cracked door.

Goodness. Louis sat crouched in a squat position. Golden brown hair sweeping over his gentle eyes, and fingers carefully stitching the end of a trouser leg. His concentration went unscathed as Harry shut the door behind him. Nimble fingers toying with the needle and thread, and bottom lip bitten between his teeth. Even with his brows pinched together, his face remained soft. Harry wanted to reach out and touch.

“Hey, Louis.” Harry spoke slower and more tender than intended. “What’re you doing in my trailer with the curtains drawn and candles lit?”

“It was like that when I arrived.” Louis snipped without looking up. “I didn't want a lawsuit on my hands for touching your things, so I just left it alone.”

“Hmm, is that so? You really think that way of me?” Harry drawled as Louis hummed out a quiet mhmm. “Well, in that case, you have my explicit permission to make yourself at home here. Anything on this trailer is yours to touch, whenever you please.” The including me went implied, but unsaid.

Louis sighed frustratedly as he stood from his crouched position. Harry didn't miss the pink tinge that warmed his cheeks.

“You're an idiot.” Louis shook his head humorlessly. “Let's get you dressed, yeah? We’re already running late.”

“We have at least an hour, babes. No rush.” Harry stepped over towards the sofa, laying his body down against it, and stretching his arms out above his head. “Where have you been, hm? Haven't seen you since fittings. I was beginning to worry.”

“They needed me in tailoring because somebody had to have production rolling early.” Louis pushed his palms into his eyes and scrubbed irritatedly. “I feel like I haven't slept in weeks.”

“There's a bedroom down the hall, love.” Harry offered in a gentle tone. “You can use it anytime you’d like. Might even join you later this afternoon.”

“Absolutely not.” Louis clipped. “No rest for the weary, Harry.”

Oh.

That was a beautiful sound. His name slipping from Louis’ lips for the first time since they met.

Harry would give anything just to hear him say it again.

“You deserve it though.” Harry sat up straight against the sofa. “I’d imagine your hands and neck are cramped and sore. Your eyes have probably been strained for days—”

“I don’t need you to pity me, yeah? Just get up so I can get you dressed.”

“It’s not pity, love,” Harry carefully stood from the sofa. Slowly striding towards Louis and the clothing rack, and gradually unfastening the buttons of his shirt, “I just think - if you're working as hard as you are - you should at least be doing what you love.”

Harry let his silk shirt slip from his shoulders and shivered when Louis snatched it from his body. It wouldn't be the first time he was topless around him, but it was the first time Louis visibly flushed at the sight of his body.

“We don't all have the privilege of being Harry Styles.” he aggressively hung Harry's shirt on the clothing rack, causing a small ruckus in the tiny room. “Opportunities don't just fall into our laps.”

“What if one did, babe? Would you take it?” Harry questioned cryptically as he stepped in closer and leaned an arm up against the rack.

The blues in Louis’ eyes were greener up this close. Harry felt beyond fortunate to have the opportunity to notice this detail.

“What are you on about?” Louis’ tone dropped to nearly a whisper.

“Costume design is your dream, yeah? Tailoring and dressing actors isn't what you want to do forever.” Harry stepped closer and let his eyes easily linger on Louis’. “How do either of those benefit you, hm? Other than being able to ogle me.”

“Ughhh—” Louis rolled his eyes at that last part and crossed his arms in front of him, “Tailoring is a skill, but costume standby pays my uni debt.” Louis shrugged looking more vulnerable than he seemed to like to. Maybe it slipped. Maybe Harry wasn't meant to know and Louis was just too exhausted to filter his words. Either way it was out there now. “Why do you suddenly care anyway? All of my design dreams were shot to hell as soon as you picked up this script.”

“Well, because I can fix that.”

Harry stepped just a bit closer. Leaving only Louis’ crossed arms between them. His stubbornness seemed to visibly waver as he took in the tan skin and light dusting of hair against Harry’s chest. The look alone did wonders for Harry’s ego.

“What d’you mean?” Louis uncrossed his arms and placed them on his hips, seemingly interested.

“My manager and I convinced Lou to let you come up with a look for me.” Harry smiled deep. Dimple easing its way into his right cheek. “You’ll be limited on time but I wiggled it out of her. Told her I had the pleasure of seeing some of your sketches and she took my word for it.”

Louis stood motionless. Face void of emotion and mood in the room completely unreadable. Before this, Harry assumed Louis would have bounced around with joy. Maybe even would have went as far as to throw his arms around Harry and thank him endlessly. At the very least, he expected Louis to go red in the cheeks with excitement. When that didn't immediately happen, worry began to settle in Harry’s stomach.

“What do you say, Louis? I think this would be a great opportunity for you and—”

“Have you completely lost all sense of right and wrong over there in Hollywood?”

Harry stilled in confusion. “What—”

“Do you really think you're doing me a favour by using your charm to get my designs out there? Do you really think that adds to my credibility as a designer?”

“Connections get you far in this industry, Louis. I've worked hard for many years to build up my brand and image but—”

“And you think I wouldn't want to do the same for myself? You think I want to be known as the person who got their start from a Harry Styles recommendation and not from my work alone?” Louis’ breathing increased with his anger as Harry stood topless and shocked, “I’m willing to pay my dues and work hard for my spot in this industry. That's why Lou Teasdale offered up that opportunity in the first place! She admired my work ethic and I spent hours under her wing for that once in a lifetime chance. I did it on my own and I can do it again without your guilt riddled offer.”

“Louis that's not what I was trying to do I—”

“You were trying to win me over with this weren't you? You knew word would travel fast around set and you wouldn't seem like such a bad guy after all.”

Harry couldn't move. Harry couldn't breathe. He was caught between every last chill rolling down his spine and his heartbeat picking up in speed. Louis was right. Fuck, he was fucking right. Harry knew the favor he pulled for Louis would get around to different crews and different departments. He had hoped it would not only soften Louis towards him, but anyone else who resented him for pushing production to start early. Louis saw right through him. Harry fucked up. Badly. And this was not the way he planned for things to turn out.

“I don't need your hand out, darling, and I humbly decline any future offers to design for Harry Styles.”

“Lou–don’t….don’t—”

“You can get yourself dressed, yeah? M’really not up for this right now.” Louis shouldered his way past a dumbfounded Harry and paused right before the doorway. “You know, it would've been different if it was truly done out of the kindness of your heart. But it wasn't. This was all some sort of mutually beneficial business deal that went wrong. I believe your heart was in the right place when you thought this up, but I'm not your charity case, nor your chance at redemption either, love.”

Harry turned to face him and the hurt in his eyes. Even after something so insulting, Louis seemed to remain level headed and soft spoken. Something that was so rare and uncommon in their line of work.

“Hair and makeup will need you soon. I'll see you again around three.” Without another word Louis turned out the door and went on his way.

Fucking hell.

Guilt and shame washed over Harry like an unforgiving tidal wave and Louis’ words stung in all the soft corners of his brain. If he felt this horrible, he couldn't imagine how sickly Louis must be feeling.

Jesus, he truly felt like he was doing the right thing for both of them. If only he would have thought this through a bit more carefully. Maybe just left it alone all together and let Louis warm up to him on his own.

He felt like a giant prick.

A giant prick that wasted too much of his free time and now needed to be on his way. Louis should be here. Should be the one to dress Harry and pin him in all the right places. But he wasn't. And Harry wasn't sure how he was ever going to earn a spot on his good side.

In front of the camera is where Harry thrives.

Well rehearsed lines flow from his mouth effortlessly, charisma exudes brightly from every facial expression, strides and animated movements are carefully planned and well executed. There wasn't a feeling quite like getting into character for the first time. Harry was nervous yet relaxed. Was slightly insecure in front of the new crew yet knew this set was exactly where he was meant to be.

Set lights usually served to drown out the examining eyes and critical whispers, but something about Louis being in the room dulled their intensity, and did little to keep Harry’s eyes from flickering over to his. The first few takes, before Louis showed up, went without a hitch. Harry nailed his lines and even improvised when needed. He knew he gave the production a solid first impression, but as soon as action was called, and Louis caught his eye, Harry began to stumble over his lines, felt himself heat up under the collar of his shirt, and ultimately cocked up his entire performance.

“Alright, let's stop right there for a minute.” James, the director, hollered as Harry flubbed yet another line. “Harry we’re going to come back to this, alright? Can someone fix his wardrobe please? His collar is going to drive me mad.”

The crew seemed to disperse as Louis approached him with a raised brow and an all too attractive smirk on his lips. There was no one else in the room to Harry. No one other than Louis to witness the stutter in his breathing as his delicate hands traveled up his chest.

“You know, for everything we went through to get you into this role, you're sort of doing a shit job in return.” Louis giggled under his breath as he adjusted the collar of Harry’s shirt gently. “Can't say I’m too impressed, Harry.”

Fuck, his smile was so pretty. His spirits seemed to be in a higher place than they were this morning. Frown and lack of warmth for Harry completely replaced by fluttering lashes and a shimmering glow in the apples of his cheeks. He almost seemed...playful. Maybe even a bit cheeky. As if seeing Harry fumble through his performance brought him some weird sense of joy. Harry decided not to question it. Figured it's best to bask and indulge in this newer side of Louis.

“Oh yeah?” Harry questioned as his right dimple carved its way into his cheek. “S’that what it'll take to get me off your shit list? You want me to impress you, babe?”

“M’not so easily amused,” he sneakily ran a hand through the back of Harry’s freshly trimmed hair and scratched lightly against his scalp. Fuck. Was this actually happening? Was anyone around them actually seeing this too? A touchy-feely, softer, Louis? “But you're welcome to try sometime. Show me why this role was given to you and all.”

“Oh, I'll show you something that was given to me.” Harry’s voice dropped low in tone as he further crowded Louis’ space.

“That one wasn't even clever.” Louis tugged on the hairs at the back of his neck, causing Harry to hiss out in pain. “You're far more charming when your mouth is kept shut.”

“Is this your way of flirting with me?” Harry asked through hooded eyes and a twitch of his cock. “Cos I’m kind of into it if I'm honest.”

“You couldn't land me even if I did fancy my colleagues.” Louis’ eyes shined underneath the set lights with mischief and mirth. Harry wanted to press a kiss in the space between them. “You're just easily riled up, and you deserve a bit a ribbing, don't you think? S’only fair after everything you've done to me.”

“I'll take it all on the chin so long as you're on speaking terms with me.”

“God, you're pathetic.”

“And yet, you're still standing here.”

Harry chanced a step forward, and to his surprise, was met with a curl of Louis’ lips. He was unpredictable and fickle, and it only served to draw Harry in further.

“It’s my job,” he spoke through tantalizing pink lips, “Someone has to keep you looking fit.”

“I think I do just fine on my own, sweetheart.” Harry shot a wink and inwardly celebrated at the tinge of Louis’ cheeks. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Well, besides your head being about as big as your ego—”

Harry cut him off with a pinch of the hip and his lip half bitten. Louis’ laughter was alluring, colourful, and contagious, but Harry didn't want to let his honk of a laugh slip out just yet. He was content to watch Louis squirm, however. It felt nice. Felt something close to comfortable. Such a lovely contrast to the morning they had together.

Speaking of, he should probably apologize for that.

“Hey, um, about this morning—”

“Alright! Back to your positions everyone.” James’ voice cut through every corner of the set, sending everyone scattering back to their places.

Harry didn't have a moment to spare before Louis was tiptoeing his way back behind the cameras. Traces of previous warmth gone from his face and smile lines set back into to a frown. Back to business for him. Back to being colleagues that couldn't bloody stand each other.

Harry shoved a hand through his quiffed hair, and shook himself from his Louis induced daze. But not for long. Rolling! Rolling! was shouted through the madness as Harry locked eyes with his over the cameras and through the shadows of the set lights. The inner performer rumbled from within him and had a sudden urge to be let free. To show Louis just what he was capable of and prove to him that all of his hard work was worthwhile.

It was quite strange how Louis’ presence alone was enough motivation for Harry to put out the best version of himself. Made him want to do better, to be better, without even really knowing Louis at all. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but Harry wouldn't mind getting used to it.

Action!

First day on set came to a long, drawn out, yet satisfying wrap. Dusk settled over the rolling hills of Oxfordshire in a gentle wave and the evening sky began to glitter with twinkling lights. The stars were always brighter and more vivid outside of London or LA. Harry lost himself in the not quite visible view of constellations from the window of his trailer. He was putting off stepping into his awaiting town car, and leaving this place, for as long as he possibly could. He didn't fancy heading back to an empty estate when he felt more comfortable right where he was. It shouldn't be that way, should it? After a long day of filming, he should be aching to go home. To be in the one place he's most familiar with.

A muffled voice drew him out of his somber and lonely daydreams—bloody hell. Louis rounded the corner, rid of his entirely black wardrobe from earlier, and slipped into a tight pair of jeans and a cut off white shirt. Tan skin of his tummy and succulent curves fully out on display, and Louis making no effort to hide them. Fuck, his body was gorgeous. The delicate slope of his back, down to the soft outline of his arse, and perfect thighs. Harry wanted to take a bite out of him. Just experience a lingering taste of what he had to offer. Louis’ body was designed to be roughed up and kiss bitten.

Without another thought, Harry hurled himself from the sofa, and stumbled out the door. No speech prepared or practiced lines, he just had an overwhelming need to end the day with Louis.

It also wouldn't hurt to see his marvelously skimpy outfit up close.

“Louis!” Harry yelled out across the lot, bypassing his awaiting car, and jogging in his direction.

Louis paid him no mind. Breeze flicking his fringe angelically and bare hips swaying in time with his steps. The world was his runway and Harry was honored to be front row.

“Lou—hey,”

Any words that may have been waiting against Harry's tongue, were stolen from him just as quickly as the breath in his lungs. Louis had freckles. Little specks dotting his left cheek and one lingering near the corner of his eye. Harry would spend the rest of the evening discovering new, endearing, quirks about this beautiful man if he’d have him.

“You–um–you changed.” Harry mindlessly babbled as Louis shot him a glare. “Your clothes, I mean. You changed your clothes. You look great. Um, quite fit, actually.”

Harry laughed awkwardly as Louis remained silent and kept up his speed. Fuck, if only he'd slow down for a sec. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the flawless skin Louis’ hips. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch, and feel how he was softer than he looked.

“So umm. Where are you headed, love?”

“The shuttle.” Louis answered lowly. Keeping his head down and lightly scratching at the skin beneath his belly button.

“Shuttle? For what?”

“To catch the train back to London.” Louis looked up and met Harry’s heavy gaze. “As much as I'd fancy a chat with you, this is the last shuttle, and I can't miss it. Don't wanna be stuck here all night.”

“Well, let me give you a lift then.” Harry sincerely offered as Louis rolled his eyes. “No seriously, I only live up the road, I can have my driver take you home.”

“Jesus, Harry, I forgive you for this morning. You don't have to treat me any differently than you would anyone else.”

“What?” Harry's brows dipped in bewilderment, “What are you on about? What do you mean treat you any—”

“Look, I've had a really long day, and I have a long train ride ahead of me, I just want to be left alone, yeah?”

“But I only offered a ride, what does that have to do with this morning?”

Louis halted all movements in a dramatic fashion and turned to face a slightly winded Harry.

“You don't know me, Harry. You know nothing about me, or who I am, or where I come from, and yet you won't quit pestering me with your guilt ridden offers. Why is that? Why hasn't anyone else on set received the same treatment?”

Harry was stuck, once again. “Louis—I…”

“What is it that makes you pity me?”

“That's not what I'm doing, Lou. I just—” Harry struggled to put it into words. He knew it looked to be how Louis was interpreting it, but it was not Harry's intention. He just….liked him. Wanted to get to know him. Wanted to be kind and friendly, and hopefully have Louis warm up to him. It didn't seem to be working, however. Their situation felt more like a juvenile, one sided, crush gone wrong. “I don't know. I just want to show you I'm not as horrible as you think.”

“I don't think you're horrible, Harry.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest, whilst giving Harry a slight once over. “I just don't want to feel like your project.”

“You're not, babe. I just—”

“Then don't treat me like one. I've already made it clear I don't want to be your charity case.” Louis chided as he took a step back and shook his head.

“Louis that's not my intention–”

“M’gonna be late yeah? I'm sure you have an upcoming model waiting at your place, anyway.” Louis left without another word, adjusting his collar up over his shoulder, and jogging his way out of sight.

Jesus. A parting line so cold the both of them would still feel the effects come tomorrow morning.

Harry felt fucking defeated. There was no winning in this situation. No convincing Louis, Harry wasn't the person he clearly thought him to be.

Christ, and it was only the first day on set. How was he meant to get on with Louis for the next several months?

His boots dragged as he buried his face in his hands and made his way towards his town car. Guilt and shame clawed at his conscious and would surely eat away at him for the rest of the evening. The look of hurt on Louis’ face replayed on a loop, and Harry’s twisted desire to know what made Louis so defensive, jabbed at his curiosity. There was a reason Louis was so guarded. So fiercely protective over his reputation and how he wanted to be seen as an equal.

Harry would give anything to know Louis just a bit better. Even if it was clear Louis disliked him and wouldn't give him the time of day, famous or not. He was an attractive mystery. One that had Harry enticed and longing for more. But for now, he needed to mend what little relationship they had between them. And if that meant giving Louis his space, and keeping it professional, so be it.

The early beams of Oxford’s dawn cast upon his knackered eyes unforgivingly. Clock near his bedside read half an hour past four and unseasonal heat slipped it's way under his bedsheets. A useless night's sleep. Tossing and thrashing about only to lie awake hours before he was due on set.

Harry forcibly stood up from his uncomfortable position in his bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and unsteadily clambering his overheated body towards the en suite. A cool shower would do him well. Clean his sweat sheened body and fully wake him up at the early hour. Water sprinkled from the ceiling as he turned the knobs to his preferred settings. Not having to worry about sleeping in clothing, he stepped right under the spray, and shivered as he closed the glass door behind him.

Eyes slipped shut, he let the coolness beat down against his tense shoulders. Rolling his neck side to side and doing his best to keep his thoughts at bay. It was far too early to over think yesterday's events, and far too early to let himself be torn up over it, again, like the night behind him. Instead, he watched as the beads of water trailed aimlessly over his body. Down his torso, over his laurel tattooed hips, and down the length of his legs until they swirled into the black hole of his drain.

Flashes of Louis’ supple skin clouded Harry’s imagination. He couldn't help but wonder how erotic the sight of a dripping wet Louis would be. Streams of water sliding down every curve and dip of his body and his golden skin glistening under the flattering mist. Harry bit his lip harshly as the first twitch of his cock had his adrenaline pumping. It felt sort of strange. Contemplating a wank over a beautiful colleague and nothing more. Not to mention the amount of disdain that was felt on the other side.

Harry figured if he couldn't rid him from his mind, he could at least attempt to fist fuck him out of his system.

Right hand loosely wrapped around his length, Harry conjured up images of Louis’ hips and incredible arse. He sighed at the vision of freshly licked pink lips, and just how sinful they'd look stretched around his cock. Harry did his best to push aside every snarky remark that left that same mouth.

Tightening his grip, Harry picked up his pace and imagined Louis bare and begging. God, what he wouldn't give to have Louis’ legs spread wide for him, and his tight hole out on display. Cheeks of his arse pink and burning from Harry’s hands alone, and flawless thighs prettily bruised by the hunger of Harry's mouth. Fuck, he just wanted to rough him up a bit and bring him back down to earth. Take care of the whimpering boy and have his body trembling from a mind blowing fuck.

The steamy images should have been enough to get Harry off. His imagination revealed his deepest desires he didn't even realize he was into. But guilt overpowered his need for a one sided pitiful orgasm. Harry desperately flicked his wrist against his inevitably softening cock. Thumbing his slit in a haste and scrunching up his features to focus on what was left of the pleasure. It was bloody useless. He was sure he wouldn't be able to get off even if Louis were stood right in front of him.

“Fucking hell.” Harry groaned, clearly irritated as his wrongdoings infiltrated his sensual fantasies.

The only substance swirling down the drain this morning would be sudsy and violet scented. Harry felt fucking pathetic. Couldn't even pull a wank off, let alone have the source of his hard on forgive him. Facing Louis later on was bound to be awkward enough to begin with, now he's gone and made it unknowingly worse for them.

Harry grabbed for his body wash and huffed out one last frustrated breath. Might as well get ready to head to set early. Maybe he could hide away in his trailer and hope that Louis would spare him from a visit today. he laughed humorlessly to himself, he knew he'd never be quite so lucky. But even as he hoped against the inevitable, he couldn't help but let his body tingle in anticipation, and over think just how warm his hello to him would be.

Harry ran a hand through his tousled and uncombed hair before pulling open the welcoming door of his trailer. Busy bodies buzzed around the lot without bothering to lift their gaze towards him. It was slightly maddening. Everyone easily breezed past him without so much as a hello or a grumpily mumbled good morning. He couldn't tell if it was because no one could stand to look at him at the early hour, or if they were just genuinely too occupied with their pre-filming duties.

The darkness of his sitting room drew him in. Monogrammed slippers slid off his socked feet and worn t-shirt pulled off and over his shoulders. He would be dressed in a few hours anyway, for now he resigned himself to the awaiting comfort of his trailer's suite. Shivers rolled down his spine as the cool air from the hallway pulled him forward. His door was open ajar, and he didn't think anything of the clothing rack blocking his way. Mind set solely on getting to his bed.

As he wheeled the rack of clothing away from the entrance, Harry forced down a stunned gasp at the sight in front of him. Slept peacefully, with a halo of fringe, and dainty fists tucked under his cheek, Louis breathed evenly, not even twitching awake at the movement in the room.

Harry stood breathless. Not sure if he should make a run for it and risk waking him up, or remain motionless at the foot of the bed and risk Louis waking up to him standing there, topless, like a fucking creep. Goodness. The length of his wispy lashes were visible even in the dim light. Harry nearly missed them fluttering open.

“Harry?” Louis whispered in a sleep heavy voice. “Shit. I'm sorry–I...”

Louis shuffled under the covers, attempting to quickly rid himself from the bed.

“No–no, uh. You can sleep.” Harry put his hands up and backed out of the room. “M’sorry I didn't mean to wake you—I. I'll just. I'll go.”

Harry shoved himself out of the room in a haste. Stumbling backwards and accidentally slamming the door behind him. Fuck. Shit. He couldn't get down the hallway fast enough. What the fuck was Louis doing in his bed? Harry would imagine he'd want to be as far away from him as possible, at all times. Louis clearly wasn't expecting him anytime soon seeing as he laid down and shut his eyes for a sleep. Jesus, did he have to look so ethereal whilst doing so?

“Harry?” Louis’ soft voice came from down the hall as his quiet steps padded closer. Fucking hell, this boy. Dressed in all black and tummy on display, again. Did he own any shirts that were proper length? “Hey, um, sorry about that, s’just I got here around five because of the train schedules, and you weren't supposed to be here for a while, and I'm just so exhausted, I—”

“Hey, no, it's alright. Don't worry about it.” Harry subconsciously placed his hands upon his hips, proudly displaying his body, as he felt Louis’ sleepy eyes wander over his inked skin. It felt nice, “I meant it when I said you could relax in there. Just wasn't expecting you is all. Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

Louis rubbed gently at his eyes. Soft hair sweeping over his forehead and and pretty lips stretched around a yawn. He was so gorgeous. So soft. Harry had to remind himself that pulling him into his chest, and swaying his slumberous body in his hold, would not end well. Louis couldn't stand him, and Harry made an unspoken promise to respect his boundaries.

“Can I fix you a cuppa, or something? You can go back to bed if you want.”

“No, you're here now, so I'm officially on the clock.” He stretched his limbs up over his head and Harry bit his lip at the amount of skin he was displaying. Even in the limited light he glowed a pretty summer shade. “I'll be back, yeah? Need to wake up a bit and go pick up your trousers for the day.”

“Alright,” Harry whispered only a tad bit smitten. He wasn't used to this barely awake and completely lovely Louis. The morning softened him even more than what Harry thought was possible. He wouldn't mind these run-ins becoming more and more common. “You know where to find me, yeah?”

“I do.” Louis smiled from under his lashes as he stepped forward towards the trailer’s door. Harry wanted to catch him by the wrist and cuddle him back to sleep. “Don't wait up for me, Hollywood.”

Flirting. He was absolutely flirting. Harry held the door open behind him as Louis stepped down into the earliest light of the day, and watched as he purposely swayed his bare hips from side to side. What a lovely fucking view. One Harry thought he'd only ever see in his daydreams.

Harry sighed wistfully as he shut the door and pranced his way down to his suite. There was a bright and invigorating energy in the air that only Louis could leave behind. Sheets left haphazardly straightened, and room fragranced with the sweetness of his scent. Harry draped the fabric over his bare torso and basked in what was left of Louis’ warmth.

He could only hope the morning they shared set the tone for the rest of day. He was more than aware it was a stretch of the imagination, but Harry always did consider himself a dreamer.

Dreams be damned, Louis was back to his polished, professional ways. The personification of poise whilst dressing Harry in his costume for the day and tummy covered with appropriate clothing. Gone were the bedroom eyes and bashful smiles, and back were the irritated expressions and focused hands. He wasn't even charmed when Harry greeted him softly from his bed. Practically yanked the duvet away from his sleep warm body and switched on nearly every light in the trailer.

“Turn around.” Louis mumbled from his squatted position as he tugged harshly at the bottom of Harry’s trousers.

“Turn around, please?” Harry suggested as he rolled his eyes and turned for Louis anyway.

His words went unacknowledged as Louis kept his focus on the reference photo beside him. Tucking and lacing Harry’s work boots and trousers exactly how they were designed to fit. It was probably a good thing Louis never paid him attention anyway. As soon as he dropped completely to his knees in front of him, Harry had to crane his neck away. Recurring images from his failed wank clouded his vision and he could feel the heat in his cheeks turning him a deep red. Fuck, he was so embarrassed. What a shameful position to be in.

“Turn.” Louis stood to his full height as Harry shifted his vision to focus on Louis.

“Ask nicely.” he softly demanded.

“Harry, we don't have time for this—”

“Then do as I said.” he challenged with a perfectly arched brow. “A simple please will do.”

Louis indignantly crossed his arms over his chest “No.”

“God, you're such a brat.” Harry ran his hand frustratedly through his quiff. Lack of sleep officially affecting him and his mood. “Aren't you the one who wants to be treated fairly? Shouldn't that be extended to me as well?”

“When have you ever been fair to me?” Louis cocked his head in curiosity. “I must have missed it between you swiping opportunities and attempting to hand them back to me.”

“Jesus, Louis, I didn't mean to do either in a malicious way! I'm sorry I ruined such a brilliant opportunity for you, alright? I had no bloody idea it would turn out like this.” Mood in the room shifted, Harry didn't mean to roar his apology, but it stunned Louis long enough for him to listen. “Had I known I was jeopardizing your career I would have never agreed to this, and had I known that by trying to make it better, I would only make it worse, I would have left that alone as well and just let you believe I'm some sort of self righteous prick. It's what you think either way, yeah?”

“Harry, what? No—”

“You wouldn't be the first, babe. Don't fret.” Harry huffed out a sigh and nervously ran his hand through his hair again. “M’sorry for yelling—M’sorry for all this mess I've caused, and how I've treated you from day one.” Louis looked up at him with a sympathizing expression and his lip slightly bitten. Harry could help but actually reach out this time, and take his sweet face in the palm of his hand. Soft. So incredibly soft. “I'll do my best to stay out of your way, yeah? You'll only have to be bothered with me when needed.”

Louis gripped onto the wrist holding his face wordlessly. Eyes wide and pleading but mouth completely sealed shut. Looked as if something was dancing on the tip of his tongue as he let his gentle thumb stroke against the back of Harry’s hand. It was the sweetest touch. The most pleasant Louis has ever been. Harry wished he would say something. Anything. Whatever it was that he wanted to say right now, but wouldn't. Wished they could stay in this moment for just a bit longer, and let the softness of their touches pull them under, but he knew nothing was owed to him, and he knew just how stubborn Louis could be.

He needed to get out of there.

“I'm sorry.” Harry let out sincerely one last time before dropping his hand and making his way off the trailer.

He wasn't due for hair and makeup for a while, but the long and winding walk up to the set would do best to clear his mind. It was good he got that apology off his chest. It was good that Louis heard him out, and more or less accepted what he had to say. Perhaps they could grow from this, and become colleagues that didn't bicker every moment they’re together. Maybe Louis would finally see Harry for the person he was. Who knew. Only time could tell for now.

A full week had gone by since Harry and Louis spoke.

Moments between them went awkward and silent ever since Harry promised to keep his distance. Louis dressed him quickly and made a mad dash for the door as soon as he was satisfied with the fit. Like he couldn't get out of Harry's space fast enough. On set wasn't much better. Harry could see him in his peripherals, nervously biting his nails, and watching him with wide intrigued eyes, but as soon as cut was called, and Louis was instructed to tend to him, their lips never moved to speak, and Louis fixed him up with hurried hands.

Downtime was even worse. In between takes Harry seemed to always end up near Louis. His attractive laughter and alluring smile was always just around the corner, waiting and taunting Harry with their endless enchantment. He wanted to approach him. Wanted to ask him about his day and join in on the conversation. Maybe even be the reason for Louis’ crinkly eyes. But Harry was stubborn and a man of his word, and if he ended up alone in his trailer more than a few times over the course of the week, he didn't mind.

“You meet your love interest today.” Jeff snickered from his spot on the sofa.

The sun had just barely crept up over the hills of Oxford as Jeff invaded his trailer. Harry paced the narrow length anxiously, ignoring most of his small talk, and keeping an eye on the window. Louis was usually here by now, setting up his pins and needles, and steaming the clothing to his liking. It was only slightly concerning when Harry walked into an empty dressing room, and had no way of knowing where Louis was. He supposed it was none of his business, anyway. He just couldn't help but wonder.

“I'm not fake dating her so you can leave me out of whatever foolproof plan you're conjuring up in your head.” Harry expressed distractedly as he slightly pulled the curtains back to check for the boy.

Jeff went on in the background. Yapping about how lovely she was and maybe this could lead to something, you never know, you're lonely anyway, Harry. He knew it was meant to coerce him into the business strategy that was onset relationships, but Harry couldn't be arsed. Wouldn't agree to it this time around, especially with a role as important this one.

“Is there a reason you're bothering me this early in the morning, Jeff?”

“Oh, I need a reason now? I can't just visit—”

With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Harry effortlessly tuned out the sound of his voice. His mind was elsewhere at the moment. He wasn't nearly as interested in their friendly banter as he normally would be.

Harry's eyes caught sight of a soft body rounding the corner into the trailer lot. Head drooped and shoulders sagged. Fuck. That couldn't be good. There hasn't been a time where Harry has seen Louis look anything other than poised with his head held high. Something was wrong. Something was off.

“Are you listening to me?” Jeff cut through his internal worry.

“No—um,” Harry peeked through his curtains one last time, judging the distance between Louis and his trailer, and quickly dodging out of the way just as Louis looked up. “There's no nice way to put this, but, can you leave? I've got someone coming and–”

“A visitor? Who is it?” Jeff sprung up off the sofa, before Harry could block him, and pulled back the silky fabric of the curtain. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” he said as his face twisted into a grin. “You're still pining over this guy?”

Jeff dissolved into a fit of laughter and Harry couldn't even begin to imagine why.

“No? Fuck you. Yes. God, can you just please leave?” Harry struggled as he attempted to push Jeff towards the door.

“No, I really needed to talk to you. I received your promo schedule the other day—”

“Christ Jeff you can email me this, yeah?” Go, go, go.” Harry pushed and pushed until Jeff was halfway out the door

“I haven't seen you this desperate in years, it's great.” he cackled as he stumbled out the door.

“Piss off.” Harry slammed the opening shut and breathed a small sigh of relief. He smoothed out the wrinkles of his clothing and twirled a strand of hair to dangle over his forehead. Whatever it took to look presentable, and not like he was fretting over Louis’ absence for the last hour.

He quickly threw himself against the sofa as the trailer door began to jiggle. His body language fiend nonchalance as his heart rate gave away his nerves. Louis slowly and carefully slid his way through the door, head still faced down, and not noticing Harry at first glance.

“Hey, Lou.”

“Oh fuck—” Louis gasped and curled his body in defense. “Jesus, you scared me.”

Shit.

“Sorry, babe, I didn't mean to.” Harry stood up from the couch and stepped just a bit closer to him. “Everything alright? You usually beat me here, I was beginning to worry.” Harry tried for lighthearted. Even went as far as chuckling lightly and pasting on a smile.

“I–um–yeah, just missed the train s’all.” Louis shrugged it off, and moved toward the entrance of the dressing room.

Harry followed cautiously. Keeping his distance and doing his best not to hover. The last thing he wanted to do was set Louis off or do anything to further upset him.

“Why aren't you dressed yet?” Louis asked distractedly as he began to pull clothing from the racks.

“Well that's your job, innit?” Harry tried for a joke, but ultimately fell flat when Louis’ lips remained pressed in a firm line. “I actually don't have to be dressed til late afternoon today. Think there was some minor difficulties on set this morning, and it mucked up everyone's schedule.”

“So I assume that means we’ll be on set later than planned?”

Harry shrugged. “I would assume so, yes.”

“Great.” Louis sighed as he abandoned the clothing rack to curl up against the sofa.

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Harry questioned with a bit of worry. “You don't have to tell me, of course, but is there anything I can do?”

“Everything will be alright, mate. Thanks.”

“Mate?” Harry repeated a bit taken aback. “So we’re mates now? Are we finally moving forward?”

“No we’re not bloody mates.” Louis grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

He was in a right mood today. Eyes rolling more than usual and grumpy scowl a bit more prominent. Harry’s efforts seemed useless. Might as well let him get through whatever he’s going through without serving to further annoy him.

“Alright, I'll leave you alone then.”

Harry turned to exit out of the room but was quickly halted by a soft wait. He thought he could've imagined it, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, a pair of tired blue eyes met his, and a nervously bitten lip drew him in.

“There is—one thing you can do. If the offer is still on the table.” Louis spoke with a bit of hesitancy. If only he knew how tightly wrapped around his finger Harry already was.

“Sure, anything.” Harry shrugged as he awaited his instructions.

“Okay, but there are rules.” he pointed his finger sternly and sat up a bit to address him properly. “We don't speak of this afterwards and you don't get to fall in love with me.”

“What?” Harry asked taken aback. Feeling somewhat caught even though he never admitted to anything. “That's awfully presumptuous and a bit sure of yourself—”

“Agree to my terms, Harry.” Louis said with a bit of an edge. Letting Harry know his patience were running thin and he could look elsewhere for someone to help him out.

“Alright, fine, I agree.” Harry rushed out still partially confused. “What is it that you need me to do then?”

Louis looked at him through droopy eyes. Mirth and playfulness gone and replaced by his previous exhaustion and need. With his dainty hand, he leaned over and pat the opposite corner of the sofa, quietly instructing Harry to sit down. Harry obliged willingly. Taking the short steps to reach the cushion and sitting awkwardly in the corner away from him. Louis eyed him carefully, before moving in closer. Studying all of Harry’s features and seemingly testing the boundaries of their personal space. Slipping closer and closer and hovering just within breathing distance of Harry’s lips.

“Cuddle me.”

#this is literally as I left it over a year ago #I can't read it because I don't want to cringe at past me's writing #it's five chapters #if any of you wanna take it off my hands and write the rest be my guest #asks #Anonymous

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cleacourgette · 6 years

Text

A lesson on marriage

I cannot get enough of my favorite ship in Naruto. You know that feeling of following our OTP for years than actually becoming canon?

I’ve been inspired by the new Boruto episodes, its so nice to see the new team suna, and see Kankuro, and see Temari training the new inoshikacho. Ahh, the feels to the chunin exams are strong.

As always, I hope you like this one shot.

The Nara residence had been lively that day, with the presence of the Kazekage himself, his right arm, Kankurou and his son Shinki. All because their older sister Temari insisted quite a lot, even when Gaara said she shouldn’t make such thing, that he didn’t want to trouble her, that eating together in a restaurant would have been less trouble and still could keep the whole family together. But he knew his dearest sister to be the most stubborn out of the three of them and, and with her insistence, he easily gave in.

So lively it was, and Temari couldn’t be happier through the whole dinner party, watching her family together, reminiscent of the old days when she was responsible for taking care of her sloppy brothers. Gaara was always stuck on his office, forgetting often to take care of himself, and Kakuro, well Kakuro was specially slob and careless ever since she could remember. But it was nice to bask in such memories.

The Nara family took note of how Shinki grew up to be. He was incredibly similar to Gaara, from his speech, to his quiet demeanor, his sense of priorities. Shikadai only remembered Shinki from a long time ago, when both of them were little kids, playing together in Suna, from the several vacations he spent with his uncles, all in order to learn about his Sunagakure heritage better, his mother often said. He knew and felt, Shinki was completely different now. His cousin had always been quiet, but now more than ever.

After the pleasant dinner, Temari invited them to stay over, after all the Nara residence was quite big, and having her brothers close was all she wanted. If only for a little longer. But to this, Gaara said no, and he insisted this time, he explained that he had already booked rooms for him, Kankuro and the kids, not to mention that having dinner was one thing, staying over would be a lot more trouble he wasn’t willing to let his sister carry. He considered to her, he would be wiling to spend a few days with her when work wasn’t as chaotic. It would be nice to have the family all together in Konoha. She gave in, feeling like they just negotiated time to spend as a family.

They left for the night, and Temari was a little saddened. Shikamaru noted that down on his brain, and when they were waving their goodbyes, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. Temari noted that down on her heart.

“Shikadai’s sleeping. I guess the first day of the chunin exams already took the best of him, huh?” Shikamaru entered the room, pocketed hands, slow pace and a gentle close of the door behind him, making sure no sounds would be made to not wake his son up.

His wife, sitting on the bed, back comfortably laying against the bunch of pillows, peeked up from the book she was reading. The dim light in the room, was just enough for her to make up the words in it. Another antique she found on the Nara library, often about Justus of the family, other times medical books, or just several diaries and notes from the several Nara heads on the family across the centuries. Her teal eyes looked up at him, her naked legs were curled up, close to her chest, and she gently stretched one, and then the other.

The book was finding now rest on top of the bed side table, and her lips stretched a smile up at him. “Your son, isn’t he?” She teased. “Already tired and it was only the first day. Do you know what he told me about the first test? It was easy.” She snorted, dipping her body further against the pillows, her legs dancing one on top of the other sensually, a show for his eyes only.

Shikamaru’s eyes shifted between her eyes and her legs. Quick peeks at her legs, and the dance they were in, and then her teal deep eyes. The tease. “Hah, right back at you. Only you would say something like easy in a chunin exam, after all. Isn’t that what you thought when you saw me as your opponent? This one’s gonna be easy.”

The man, scratched his beard, analyzing his situation before him. Everything was pointing to this being a trap. She was faking it right now, he could tell, he already knew the little hints she dropped when she was lying or hiding something. A little twitch of her smile, the sudden change of topic, a distraction with her legs. She was good, and has only gotten better over the years, but this was a strategy he knew well by now. His wife missed her brothers, and that much was obvious by their nice evening that day. And now she was trying to cover up the fact that she was sad that they left. As always trying to be tough when she didn’t have to.

He decided to approached the situation carefully, sitting on the edge of his bed, across from her, his back turned to her, working on stripping his clothes, making himself comfortable, leading her to believe he fell for her trap.

“Is my husband feeling nostalgic?” Temari wasn’t dumb, she knew he had something planned, she could tell by the way he was being so slow and careful about his approach. This though, was one of the best things about being married to Konoha’s genius. Every day was a nice challenge, it tickled her personality. She dragged her body across the bed, reaching for him from behind, a hand coming up to his shoulder, helping him off his clothes.

“Maybe. I did meet a very spunky little girl back then.” He arched his brow, reaching for her hand, stopping it gently, caressing it, each finger carefully.

But then she was fast to reply. “Oh did you? Spunky seems troublesome thought.” Her other hand was now on his other shoulder, and he turned his head to face her. Her lovely hair was falling down her face, framing her olive skin in a beautiful sight under the dim light.

“Yeah. It was. It’s been a really troublesome journey all the way, but, you know? It was worth it. Look at what I have now.” He slowly turned his body towards her, and gently entwined their fingers together.

What Temari needed right now, was understanding and love. Not lust. Lust was a distraction for her, to forget for a moment that she missed being the one taking care of her brothers. She missed her roots, her land. Even thought she grew well accustomed to Konoha, she was still a brawly woman from Suna, and she would never forget that.

In her voice this time, there was need, it was breathless almost desperate. “What is it? What do you have now? Tell me?”

The gentle side of her. That sweet little thing his father told him about. She stopped being the scariest suna kunoichi in the world for him, a long time ago. Again and again, she gave him this side of her no one else saw.

It was in her nature and she felt it. It felt so natural for her to be caring with him, to be kind, to be loving. It was natural when they became accustomed to each other’s company, how they cared for each other, how strong the bonds have become, how that friendship grew into something so beautiful, and It felt incredibly natural for her to say yes, when he proposed, to kiss and touch for the first time. It was meant to be. And the thought of love and passion filled her cheeks in a rosy color, painted her eyes with a twinkle and made her lean closer to him, tilting her head in search for a kiss, but still waiting for her answer.

“I have you, I have Shikadai, I have us, our family. You were worth all the trouble.” It didn’t take long for him to answer; it was like a verse from an ancient poem, so right and so simple to say. The words spilled from his lips so easily and so genuine.

They touched, for a moment lips brushed a little, and she fell. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed him. He swallowed back, opening her arms to accept her weight on him. His grip was secure, locked around her, and they kissed, deeply and passionately.

But Shikamaru didn’t let the kiss go any further into something more; he broke it, very gently so he wouldn’t startle her. He only pulled her close to rest their foreheads together. Eyes still closed, basking in the moment, sitting her on his lap.

“They’ll be here until the end of the chunin exams, you can take advantage of that and spend more time with them.”

She was caught. Check mate, he would say. He was probably proud of himself when she pulled herself back a little, opening her eyes. Reacting to his challenge.

“I know.” She said, already looking around herself for another plan. “I’ll do that.”

Smile grew on his face when she saw and felt her cornered against his words. So he was right about it. Years of marriage made him an expert on what is Temari Nara thinking about right now. He was truly proud. “But you wanted them to stay over, actually sleep here and be able to take care of them. I know. But they’re both big boys now, and the Kazekage didn’t want any special treatment just because his sister is here. “

Ah, that nasty, horrible man of hers. When did he get so good at knowing her? It truly pissed her off.

“Okay I get it already.” She admitted defeat, leaning against him, hiding her face on the crook of his neck. “But I’m not giving up like a certain someone.” She continued, biting down the flash on his neck, gently.

“Hey!” Accepting that bite as a challenge, Shikamaru pushed his troublesome, spunky wife against the bed. “Ah, you want a rematch from the chunin exams, do ya?” A sweet smile was covering his lips, and her hand sneaked up to him pulling his hair tie off, giggling to his lack of vision after that. She used her fingers to tangle against his hair gently, pulling it out of his eyes.

“I won’t lose this time, and I have a few new things to show you.” Her voice was quiet and deep, her eyes was defiant, and her lower lip curled under her teeth after her words came out like honey to his ears.

“Ahh…. You know I can’t lose against a woman…”

#shikatema #shikamaru #temari #shikadai #gaara #kakuro #shinki #naruto #boruto

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pudding-bretzel · 7 years

Text

Of the Survivor and the Broken

@blackpaladinweek Day 5: Isolation/Companion

Rated: T

Relationships: Gen

Summary: Our brain is a funny little thing. It works so similar to us. If it gets too bored, it just makes up some stuff and entertains itself. But what happens, if on top of that, you’re starving and dehydrating, you have a festering wound and are being held prisoner on an alien spaceship?

Shiro was starving. He didn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone smelled something eatable. He sat alone in the corner of his cold, too small cell. It had had to be at least a few days since they’d put him in here. That had also been the last time they had fed him. Usually, they were eager to keep him strong enough to fight in the arena. But maybe they’d given up on him. Maybe he disappointed them in his last fight, did something wrong or disobeyed another order he just couldn’t understand, because the strange noises they made didn’t make any sense to him. But if that were the case they would have punished him already. He would have had to look in these cold, yellow eyes again and feel the agonizing pain rippling through his scarred body. The pain that was too much for him to bear but he also craved for, because it was the only thing that reminded him that he was still alive. Because this dark room definitely didn’t.

Then again, maybe this was his punishment.

A loud rumble cut through the silence and he curled up even further, his arms hugging his paining stomach. He held his breath until the rumbling subsided to a soft gurgling. His head propped between his knees, he watched as his sweat dripped from his nose and to the ground, forming a small puddle. His bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead and narrowed his range of view. He would have to cut them somehow or this could turn into a severe drawback in his next fight. If he ever got the chance to prove himself in the arena again.

His left shoulder throbbed when he finally released his stomach and leaned back at the wall. The wound from his last fight was still not healed and it’d stay this way, without the required energy for his body to heal the wound by itself. The other, shallower cuts and bruises on the other hand were healing slow but steady, with the healing process not needing as much energy as an infected wound inflicted by a sharp row of fangs did.

He opened his eyes to be greeted by the eerie darkness of the cell. It was completely dark, except for the two small stripes of faint purple light at the door. They gave off just enough light for him to make out the size of the cell and his nearest surroundings, which wasn’t much. The sweat puddle and the count he’d started on the wall next to him with his blood, trying to count how often he was looked after or they’d feed him or anything, indicating any sign of time passing. Sadly, it wasn’t even a real count, because there was only one stroke. The only time someone else had been in his cell was when they’d brought him here.

There hasn’t been any sound since he’d been shuffled into the cell. At least no sound from outside. From time to time he heard faint rushing of water (probably some pipes or tubes in the walls), the swish of grass or leaves (maybe he had some alien ear infection?) or low voices whispering to him about his home, his family, his friends. The worst of all were the moments when he was drifting between sleeping and waking and images of the Garrison or random woods or meadows flew past his eyes. But he grew accustomed to them fairly quickly and even started to welcome their appearances. They were a calming change in his solitude, even if deep down, he knew that these delusions only meant, that he was more badly off than he’d thought.

He closed his eyes again and listened to the water, flowing past his cell. Maybe he just imagined it, but he felt the pain in his shoulder subside and the gurgling of his stomach growing weaker the more he concentrated on the rushing.

****

He woke to the sound of boots scuffing on the floor. Slowly he opened his eyes and made out a slender figure leaning against the wall on the other side of the cell, arms crossed over its chest. The young creature wore a prisoner garb just like Shiro. It took him a few seconds to recognize the person that watched him with a sympathetic smile. Matthew Holt was his name and he was a fellow human like Shiro. He was also an astronaut and a prisoner of the Galra, just like Shiro. But there was one thing they differed – or should differ. And that was that Matt was standing in this cell, when he was supposed to be somewhere safer with his father, Samuel Holt.

Shiro wasn’t surprised to see Matt here. Tough it wasn’t the first time his friend had ‘visited’ him in his cell.

The strange thing was, he’d never seen his friend enter or leave his cell.

“Had sweet dreams?” Even in this darkness, he could see Matt’s grin.

“Why are you here?”

“What, you don’t want me here? I only wanted to comfort my friend, but if it’s not appreciated.” He slowly stood and straightened his back.

Shiro watched as his friend shot him a worried look.

In the short amount of time it took Shiro to blink, Matt was no longer standing on the other side of the cell.

“You know,” Shiro winced when Matt was suddenly sitting next to him, worried look glued to his eyes, “You don’t look so good.”

Shiro pushed himself further into the corner and tried to get some distance between him and Matt. He should be used to his friend’s sudden appearances by now, considering how often it had happened in the past few days-

No, it was still weird… Or perhaps Shiro was just going insane, considering the circumstances.

Probably.

“What’d you expect?” He croaked and eyed Matt warily.

“I don’t know,” Matt looked at the opposing wall and there was something in his gaze that didn’t fit with his normal cheerfulness. It made him look older. Too old. “Maybe I expected you to be stronger than this. I mean, you attacked me in order to save me. I guess I thought you’d fight for your own survival with the same boldness.” A huff, resembling a laugh escaped Matt’s mouth.

It’s not like he hadn’t fought for himself. It wasn’t even a question whether he wanted to survive or not. Of course he did. He had to. Someone had to warn earth. Someone had to save Matt and the commander. Someone had to look after Keith. And currently he was pretty sure that he was the only someone capable of doing these things. Or he wanted to believe that, because it gave him a reason to keep going. “What do you say I should do then?”

Silence ruled over the cell as Shiro’s stomach started to barge in their conversation with a loud rumble. He curled together to a ball and tried to suppress the noise, hugging his abdomen and squeezing it tightly.

It didn’t help.

When he opened his eyes again and looked to his side, Matt was gone. “Thought so.”

Shiro closed his eyes again and relaxed into the corner of his cell, listening as the rushing of the water returned.

****

The door to his cell opened with a metallic screech.

Shiro startled up, his vision still blurred from sleep and his left side throbbing because of the sudden movement. A blurry shadow entered the cell, movements mechanic and non-human. His heart was pounding in his throat when a second shadow entered, motions more fluid than the first ones, and dragging a third body behind him.

The body was thrown into the other side of the cell a few feet away from Shiro and remained there motionless.

Shiro’s head snapped back to the door when he realized the sentry and guard were leaving once again. With surprising speed, he stood and staggered up to the door. “Please, I need water! And food!” His voice was hoarse and strained and he was surprised he could even talk louder than a whisper. He wasn’t sure if they could understand him, but he tried anyway. It was the first time he had contact to any living being, be it sentry or alien, since his solitary confinement had started and he would sure as hell not let this chance slip.

The guard didn’t make any move that they understood, let alone heard him. The sentry on the other hand stepped between Shiro and the guard and raised its blaster, which he only now registered. He took a hesitant step back and watched as the guard left the cell and the sentry turned to follow them.

Now!

Shiro charged at the sentry and slammed his elbow into its back. It crashed into the door frame and made a crackling sound as Shiro grabbed its head and bashed it against the edge of the door. The sentry fell to the floor before the guard even turned around.

Shiro grabbed the blaster from the floor and trained it on the alien guard. Their eyes were wide as they slowly took a step back.

He did it. He’d won, had a weapon and was out of his cell. Now he only had to…what was he supposed to do now?

The adrenaline left his battered body and he could feel the weight of several days without water and food come crashing down on him. His head started spinning and he could feel his legs shaking. His shoulder started throbbing with an excruciating pain and he could barely hold onto the blaster.

No. No, no, no, no! He tried to clear his vision and shook his head vigorously, aimed the blaster at the guard and pulled the trigger.

He missed his target by a long shot.

All it took to bring him to his knees was the recoil of the blaster. The weapon slipped out of his grip and landed on the ground with a metallic bang. Panic rose in his chest and his throat tightened. He’d screwed up. He’d screwed up tremendously. Who knew what they would do with him now? Maybe they would bring him back to the examination room or whatever that hellhole was called. Or they would let him vegetate until he died from starvation or dehydration. Or they would kill him immediately. Why waste time and a cell on a dead man…alien walking.

He felt his body being dragged over the floor. Another metallic screech followed and he was back in the sense deafening darkness.

Vegetating, it was.

He took a deep breath through his nose to calm his racing heart and regretted it immediately. A rancid smell crawled up his nose and made him gag. His eyes snapped open and he looked into the eyes of the creature that had been dragged in earlier. Or more precisely, where the eyes (probably) once were. Two gaping holes, filled with a dark blue liquid, stared back at him.

With a suffocated scream, Shiro recoiled and scrambled to the other side of the cell. The dizziness crawled its way back into his vision and he had to take a few slow breaths and close his eyes. The air of his cell was already filled with the nauseating smell of the alien’s blood. He watched its motionless form with tiring effort. It took him a frustratingly long time to realize that the alien wasn’t moving at all. No faint rising of its chest or anything else.

“Looks dead to me,” Matt’s voice echoed through the cell. Shiro started from the sudden appearance of his friend, but could keep himself from doing any unnecessary movements that would encourage his headache and nausea or could sting the wound on his shoulder.

He gave an agreeing hum and watched as Matt stood and walked over to the alien. He kneeled behind it and started examining it.

“Be careful, it could have germs or a virus,” Shiro said and watched as Matt’s hands were gradually getting stained with the blue blood of the alien. Matt looked up from the corpse, his grin widening.

“You can think of germs and viruses but not think an assault plan through to the end before acting?”

Shiro shuffled uncomfortably in his corner at the thought of his miserable escape attempt. Of course he hadn’t thought it through. He’d acted on pure instinct and had never thought he’d actually be able to take down the sentry.

“C’mon, I was just teasing.” Matt was looking at the alien corpse once again, his grin turning to a soft smile, “But thanks for the concern.”

Shiro watched as Matt began examining its thighs and legs and then moved up to its chest and abdomen. “Hey, take a look at this.”

Carefully and with slow movements, Shiro rose and staggered over to the alien’s side and next to Matt. His friend pointed at a small container, that was attached to a sling around the alien’s neck.

“What’s that?”

“Dunno,” Matt said and shrugged.

Shiro reached for the container and slowly untied it from the sling. The cylindric-formed container was barely larger than his hand. On its top was a slit with a small lug. He carefully pulled at it and the top part popped open. Shiro and Matt peeked into the container and at first saw nothing. It was too dark to make out anything in the small thing. But when he moved it again he could feel the sloshing of a liquid inside. He saw the soft reflection of the lights in his cell on its surface.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized- or hoped to realize- what was inside. The container found its way to his mouth in no time. His head stopped thinking as soon as the sole thought of water scraped his mind. He hoped- prayed- that it was water.

And even if it wasn’t- maybe it would kill him faster than dehydration or starvation.

The liquid filled his dry mouth and as soon as it touched his tongue, he knew that this was indeed water. It tasted muddy and a bit salty with a metallic aftertaste, but it was water all the same. He reveled in the cooling sensation that trickled down his throat with every gulp. At the same time his throat ached from the abundant swallowing.

From the corner of his eye he saw a movement. He stopped himself from drinking immediately. Matt was still there. He needed the water just as much as Shiro needed it.

With a sense of guilt and not a small amount of gloom, he turned to his friend- and realized that he was gone again. He searched the cell for any traces of his friend, but it was empty except for Shiro and the dead alien. There was no place to hide. Matt was gone.

With too much overcoming than he would like to admit, he closed the half-full container once again and retreated to his corner. He didn’t touch the alien corpse or looked at it more than necessary. He still didn’t understand why it was brought here. What did they expect him to do with it? And why had the water been attached to it?

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until it was too much to keep them open and he fell back into the world of his nightmares.

****

Several days (or at least a lot of time) had passed since the dead alien had been thrown in his cell. He had tried to put aside the water for Matt as long as he could, but his friend hadn’t showed up until he’d been forced to drink the rest himself because of his headache and throbbing throat.

The next time he saw his friend again was hours (or days) after he’d emptied the container and his throat started to feel dry again and every swallow felt like a stab with a knife.

“So you drank it?” Shiro turned his head and looked blearily at Matt. He looked as healthy as a prisoner of the Galra could look. But he at least looked a thousand times better than Shiro felt.

His body ached all over and he hadn’t really moved much in the past few hours. He was sitting in his corner and tried to avoid any unnecessary action. His bodysuit was dampened by his sweat and he was pretty he sure he had a second skin by now, consisting of sweat, dirt and blood. His wound had started to fester and even the smallest movement sent a spiking pain down his arm and up his neck. His fever had reached its peak and the dehydration caused his head to spin as soon as he focused on one thing for too long.

He was sure that his body shouldn’t be able to withstand such extremes and that he should be dead by now, or closer to death than he was. Maybe they’d given him something to keep him alive while he had been asleep or unconscious (he couldn’t really tell these two conditions apart anymore).

“S’ry,” he finally slurred.

Matt eyed him for a few seconds before he answered, “Nah, it’s okay. You need it more than I do.”

Shiro was grateful of his friend’s insight and his guilt was slowly drowned.

“Ugh, what the hell is that smell? This is worse than my dad’s old socks!” Matt held his nose and looked around the cell and made a face.

Shiro chuckled weakly and took in a wary breath with his nose. He was barely able to tell the difference between the rancid and rotten smell of his cell now and the sweaty and fusty one from before the alien corpse had started to decay.

“Disgusting,” Matt said when his eyes fell on the corpse on the other side of the cell.

He started to complain about the alien and how strange it was for them to bring it here only to let it slowly decay. He continued to talk about possible reasons and the usefulness of the body and flesh in Shiro’s dire situation, but in all honesty, Shiro didn’t take much of his rambling in. It started to blur into the non-stop rushing of the water, the rustling leaves and quiet voices that underlined Matt’s arguments as he drifted away.

****

He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but the rumbling of his stomach made him wake with a start. He wasn’t sure if it was just his body or the whole room that was shaking and rumbling, but it was unsettling all the same. After what felt like minutes, his stomach finally calmed. The hunger felt like a gaping void stretching and growing bigger and bigger with every second.

He pried his eyes open and watched, as the hazy outlines of the cell slowly came into focus. Through the faint light he could see the dull and dead eyes of the dead alien staring back at him-

Eyes? The alien had no eyes. They had been ripped out from its skull and had left only hulls filled with blood behind. This couldn’t be right. Or had he just imagined the empty holes before?

“It’s a different alien.” Matt stood next to the dead creature and eyed it curiously. “They must have exchanged them when you were asleep.” He crouched in front of it and then turned to Shiro, “It’s got another container.” He pointed at the small object tied to the alien’s neck.

Shiro’s heart started to pound faster in his chest at the thought of water. But as much as he’d like to, he wasn’t able to get to the container. The six feet between his salvation and his corner seemed like a mile and an impossible distance to cross with his aching and tired body.

Matt had risen again and now looked at Shiro from next to the corpse. He looked tired. All of his previous positivity was gone and his former set expression was forlorn. He looked all like the scared teenager Shiro had last seen him as, moments before he had sliced his leg and possibly crippled him. A young boy, lost and held prisoner in space with no way of escape.

Except for Shiro. He was still alive and had to get him and his father home. He had promised Mrs. Holt to bring her family safe back to her. And he’d promised Keith to come back as well.

Well, good job on that so far, Shirogane. He had only achieved to get them all captured and separated or hurt. And if things would continue like this, he really wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

He blinked his blurry vision clear and found that he was alone in the room again.

The alien’s corpse was lying a bit closer than the last one and it also looked feebler. He tried to think about why it was here, but honestly, all his sluggish mind could really focus on was the container around its neck.

Water. Real, liquid water. And it was just out of his reach.

“I can’t watch this any longer. C’mon, I’ll help you.” Matt was crouching next to him and reached out with his arm to support Shiro. His soft touch felt like a rush of warmth and live that sipped through his damp clothes and even his second skin.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion, when he staggered to his feet and heavily leaned on Matt. With small and shaking steps he moved toward the dead alien. When he focused on its frozen expression, still twisted in pain, the room started to spin. The walls started to bend inwards and the cell shrunk and the walls were coming closer and closer and closer-

He lost his grip on Matt’s shoulder and swayed. With a dull thud he fell to the ground only inches away from the corpse. His stomach started rumbling again and he curled up on the floor, waiting for the pain and noise to subside.

He opened his eyes again when the cell was finally completely quiet, except for his ragged and uneven breaths. With shaky hands he reached for the container and after an eternity of struggling with the sling and lug, he was able to open it up. Slowly, he sat up and took a few gulps of the water. He could barely keep himself from just slugging it all down at once, but he had to ration it or he would regret it later.

“Better?”

He barely noticed Matt’s question and stared at the wall opposite to him in trance. His throat still hurt. Unlike the last time, there was no soothing sensation that trickled down his gullet. It was still raw and felt like a desert. Not even three of these containers would be enough to satisfy his thirst.

Matt moved in his field of vision and Shiro pried his gaze from the wall to look at his friend. Before he could answer him the rumbling of his stomach rose again. Shiro groaned and released a few flat breaths and starred at the dead creature.

“Hey.” He looked back at Matt. “I think that’s enough. Don’t play dumb,” Matt said and gripped Shiro by his arms tightly, “We both know why its here.”

Of course, Shiro knew. He’d known ever since the first one had been thrown in his cell. He knew what they wanted him to do, but he refused to bow to their will. He didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to give them the pleasure of victory.

He wanted to return to earth as a human, and not as an animal.

But if he wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t be able to return to earth at all. He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise and safe the Holts and see Keith again. He would end up dead and probably rot in another prisoners cell like the other alien had in his.

He couldn’t let it come this far, after all he was a man of his word. If he promised something he would keep it. No matter what.

The rumbling noise of his stomach had grown into a constant background noise and the dull pain was coming in frequent stabs now.

His hand brushed against the skin of the alien and he could feel, that it was still warm. Not even the blood had dried yet. Its arm was soft and squashy. No wonder it hadn’t survived. A feeble creature like that had no chance in the arena. Or anywhere else on this ship, in all honesty.

“No one will ever know,” Matt’s whispering voice was distant, but he registered it nonetheless.

“No one,” he repeated under his breath and slowly gripped the aliens arm with both hands. With a yank he ripped it off and held the limb close to his chest. “No one.”

He lifted the arm and slowly opened his mouth. When his teeth closed as he bit down, he could feel the flesh giving in immediately. It was so soft. When it touched his tongue his taste buds slowly registered that they had work to do. A metallic and foul taste filled his mouth, together with something else he couldn’t quite figure out. When the warm blood trickled down his throat, his stomach recoiled, he gagged and nearly threw up. But he kept it down.

He would make it back alive. He would survive this.

He swallowed down the warm flesh and set his mouth on the arm again to take his next bite.

No one will ever know.

#vld #shiroweek2017 #day5 #caution: slight gore ahead #voltron #shiro #matt

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kpopyourcherryy · 7 years

Text

Backstage (M)

For the lovely @pocinamedia Admin Kia~ I mean it isn’t exactly “lowkey” per-say but hopefully you enjoy it doll 💕

Genre; smut and a healthy dose of fluff

Length; 2,000+ words

Kink(s); Daddy kink, oral sex

As you sat there backstage of your boyfriend’s concert with some other random girls beside you- who probably had backstage passes or something, you honestly didn’t know and really didn’t care to find out. The only thing you had on your mind was seeing finally seeing Kwon[Dean] after being apart for so long.

You were trying your hardest just to tune everything out and listen to your boyfriend’s soulful voice as you waited patiently, but couldn’t help just rolling your eyes each time these bitches opened their mouths. They were obviously oblivious to the fact that you were fluent in korean and understood every ignorant word that spewed from their mouths.

“Yah..” You could hear the girl with long black hair whisper to her short blonde haired friend, “What’s she doing here? Dean doesn’t like girls like her.” She said in a hushed tone, motioning her head towards you.

You obviously knew you weren’t really “ideal” in Korea. Your skin was several shades darker, your hair wasn’t straight and fine- it was a collection of thick tight, bouncy curls. But you were gorgeous nonetheless, and your lovely boyfriend always made sure to let you know how irresistible you were.

A small smile rested on your delicate face as you thought about how he’d sometimes tell you that you were a goddess who was kissed and adored by the sun. He always would go on about this ‘theory’ he had about you being a goddess stuck on Earth with mortals who didn’t even deserve to be in your presence.

God was he dumb sometimes but he made you feel beautiful, even on your worst of days.

The blonde haired friend just shook her and shrugged, “Maybe she’s lost..” She teased, the pair giggling like school girls after.

Despite how difficult it was, you bit your tongue and kept yourself from just starting a full on fight, mainly because that’s what your boyfriend would want. Luckily, you could hear that his set had just ended. A bright, little grin appeared on your face as he walked through the curtains and strutted over to where you and those cunts were.

“Ah! Here he comes!!” The blonde haired one squealed as she wrapped her arm around her friend’s.

The black haired friend squeezed her friend’s hand, “What if he talks to us?” She whispered as your boyfriend stood in front of y’all.

“Hey.” You said softly [in korean], looking up at him with a beaming smile on your face. “Are you done already?”

Kwon reached out for your hand, lightly grasping it as he pulled you up from your seat, “Yeah, let’s go get my stuff princess.” He cooed airily, pulling you into a tight hug then planted a soft kiss on the base of your neck.

In your peripheral vision you could see the two girls staring at the two of you, wide eyed and all the color from their faces gone. You couldn’t help but to snicker as you turned to face them, [in korean], “What got nothing to say now?” You asked, tilting your head slightly with a brow raised. “Bet y’all didn’t know I could understand everything y’all were saying.”

The pair began apologizing profusely, “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean it. It was a joke.” The black haired one blurted out, her cheeks blushed a bright red as she stared down at the floor.

Again you rolled your eyes, scoffing as they apologized. It was almost as if he could read your mind because the moment you went to open your mouth, he said “Babe, let’s just go okay?” His hands lightly grazing your curves and back while he pepper sweet little kisses all over your cheek.

Sighing, you nodded as you inhaled his scent. “Fine..” You replied, giving the two girls this y’all bitches lucky look.

With his soft lips beside your ear, he whispered, “Good girl.. Daddy’s good little girl.”

His warm breathe and gentle praise sent chills down your spine, “Let’s go..” He said softly, intertwining his fingers with yours; leading you away from the conflict and to his dressing room.

Once the two of you entered the dim light, burgundy walled room, he shut and locked the door behind him. With his dark, lust filled eyes zeroed in on you, following you as you cheerily strutted over to the red suede couch, plopping down on it as you turned to look up at him.

All you could do was lick your plump, rose stained lips and widely smirk the moment you saw the darkness in his eyes that you were already so accustomed to seeing. “What Daddy?” You playfully asked, giggling as you rested against the back of the couch.

Kwon’s predatory gaze stayed on you as he silently walked over to the couch, one of his large hands groped his already hardened member in his pants while the other combed through his messy hair.

Standing not even a foot away from you now, he stared down at you; licking his lips as his eyes seemed focus on your plump lips and heavenly figure. “Daddy’s missed you so much babygirl.” He smoothly cooed while using his free hand to gently caress your face.

Smiling up at him, you shyly replied, “I missed you too Daddy so, so much..” You put one hand over his as he stroked your face and nuzzled into the palm of his hand, practically purring at his touch.

“You must’ve been so upset having to deal with those two girls back there my love..” He said in a hushed, comforting tone as he let you continue. “

Poking you lower lip out in a soft, subtle pout; you nodded into his palm as you planted candied kisses up to his inner wrist. “If it weren’t for you I would’ve lost my cool so quick, Daddy. People are so ignorant.. it’s annoying.”

He lifted his other hand from his clothed member and got down onto his knees in front of you, gently pulling his hand away from you he rested both of them on your thighs. Lightly grazing his fingertips up a little passed you mid thighs, his hungry gaze fixated on your heated core.

“How about..” He began, slowly peering back up at you while his large hands traveled further up your skirt. “How about you let Daddy take all that stress away from you princess?”

His low, sensual tone sent bolts of electricity straight to the heat between your legs; the only thing you managed to utter out was a soft whine as your now heavy lidded eyes stared down at him.

Licking his lips, Kwon parted your legs and pulled you further down the couch by your thighs. As his face inched closer to you, he pushed your skirt up to your waist. He immediately began trailing enticing little pecks up from your inner, mid thigh and stopping just before he reached the drenched fabric that covered your princess parts.

Instinctively, your hips rocked closer to his lips each time he neared your core. A small whimper flowed out of you as you automatically pouted in protest of his teasing. “Da- Daddy why do you have to tease?”

A smug snicker escaped him as he finally placed a delicious little peck on top of your clothed entrance while inhaling your inviting scent, “Because babygirl..” He began, cutting himself off as he planted a rougher, longer kiss slightly below your engorged clit drawing out louder, shaky moans from you.

As he pulled away from your core, he glanced back up to you- his eyes automatically locking with yours, “It’s fun to tease you sweet girl..”. Before continuing his delectable assault on you, he hooked his slender fingers into the starl white lace hem of your pastel pink panties- pulling them off, and discarding the fabric off to the side.

Your breathing hitched as you bit you lower lip while watching his plump lips plant themselves on your sensitive clit. “F- Fuck~” You shakily whined, running your fingers through his messy hair.

His skilled tongue knew exactly what to do, “Mhmm, you’re so sweet..” He closed his lips around your clit, humming as his he used two of his long fingers to trace your near dripping entrance. Removing his mouth from your core for a second or two he mumbled, “So wet for me baby..”

Planting his lips back on your needy pussy, slowly trailing his tongue down to your entrance, softly prodding it with the tip. The teasing gestures drew out elongated, high pitched whimpers as your neediness almost became unbearable. “D- Daddy..” You whined, tugging lightly on his hair.

Again, he removed his mouth from you then glance up at you through his lashes, “What is it princess?” He asked oh-so sweetly, his expert fingers still running up and down your soaking slit.

Biting your lower lip, you tightly shut your eyes laying your head back onto the couch as you relished his decadent touch. “Oh my gosh...” You whimpered as your softly raked his scalp, tightening the grip you had in his hair. “Please don’t stop Daddy..”

With a painfully slow motion, your boyfriend leaned back down placing a gentle kiss on your engorged clit; immediately earning his more of your soft, needy whines. “Why shouldn’t I stop babygirl?” He playfully asked, his finger sliding down to your wanting entrance.

Your brows furrowed as your needy moans grew louder, your arousal slowly becoming too much for you to handle. “You make me feel so good Daddy, please!” You squealed, furiously pouting while he circled your entrance.

A smug little chuckle escaped him, “That’s all you had to say, princess.” Immediately, he easily dove two finger inside your welcoming pussy, groaning as he watched while he pumped them in and out of you.

“Fu- Fuck!” You whimper between your continous near throat tearing moans. “Holy shit, you make..” Your eyes rolled back as you attempting to praise him, the feeling of him hitting your spot perfectly distracted your train of thought.

“I make.. what?..” He replied, his mouth hovering over your core as he continued finger fucking you. “Tell me babygirl. Daddy wants to hear that pretty little wrecked voice of yours.” His plush lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as his digits continued their own assault.

Your brain and body felt as if they were both on overload. You could of sworn you had seen the stars- not only the stars but the entire fucking solar system, but sadly you had to come back down to Earth and answer that damn question of his or else you’d risk him stopping his heavenly attack.

“Y-You make me..” You stuttered hesitantly while attempting to control your moans, small high-pitched whimpers escaped your pursed lips as your walls began clenching around his fingers, “Fuck, you make me feel so fucking good Daddy!” You blurted out, practically gasping for air since you were apparently holding your breath. “Go- God I’m so close..”

Kwon could feel your walls tighten around his fingers, slowly removing his mouth from your aching, overstimulated clit; he smirked and in that velvety voice of his, he cooed, “Cum for Daddy sweetheart.” Picking up the pace of his fingers, curling his fingers in the most divine way, “Let me taste how sweet my little girl is..”

Though it felt close to impossible to open your eyes, you peered down at him watching as his put his delicious tongue and mouth on you once more. His lewd yet enamored words and sublime assault finally brought you over the edge. “Ahh~” You sweetly muttered out as your body trembled while your orgasm wracked through you.

Licking one last broad strip on your sweet tasting cunt, he slowly stopped; leaning his head against your inner thigh, he watched while he pulled his fingers out of you, licking his lips as they glistened with your exquisite essence. Bring his digits to his mouth, he licked them clean.

“How do you feel now princess?” He asked lovingly, still gently teasing your sensitive core. His lustful gaze focusing on your breathing, a smug little smile painted across his face as he saw how done you were, “Did Daddy do a good job?”

#dean fanfic #dean kpop #kwon hyuk #kwon hyuk fanfic #dean scenarios #dean smut #kwon hyuk smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop dean #follower request

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refusaltobow · 7 years

Text

Becoming Shadowscale - 1

So Becoming Shadowscale will be the title of any scenes/short stories involving Senka’s youth/training.

Warning: this gets graphic - contains gore and references to parasitoids. Senka was 12 here. And I apologise this is so long!

Only in Argonia could the middle of the day be as terrifying as the night. But even for a Saxhleel, no matter how used you were to its many horrors, there will always be some things that scare you.

The surroundings would not have spooked the young Shadowscale that much were she not forced to stay here. But she was, turning back around, she saw her brother to be lagging behind yet again. Clutching his stomach and coughing blood, things had only got worse. (Senka had agreed to get her brother back to the training facilities, leaving the rest of the group to complete their task. Maybe she would be scolded but right now she did not care. Surely they would understand? Family and friendship, the two things most valued by Saxhleel society)

It had been a disaster, Senka had been part of a group of young Shadowscales, their task had been to work as a team and obtain an item from a ruin. Everything had gone smoothly until Senka’s brother had started displaying unusual behaviour, he had been wandering off, had become unusually aggressive and his coordination had been appauling amongst other symptoms. At first it had been something to joke about, he had probably consumed some sort of drug. But soon it became apparent something awful had happened.

Everyone had remembered on leaving they had all been fine, and at no point could they recall Senka’s brother ever stumbling into something. And yet as his behaviour grew more and more erractic, to the point he no longer recognised or remembered even his own sister, he was showing all the signs of an infection all Saxhleel knew of. Saxhleel in general do not fear death, but this method of death, well, it terrifies even the coldest assassin. Difficult to contract, but every so often an unfortunate Saxhleel would fall prey to it. By the time the symptoms started to show noticeably, it was often too late for the victim.

They had traced it back to when they had been fighting a wamasu they had accidently disturbed. He had received a rather nasty bite and been thrown into a pool of water. Even though he had used Histskin to heal himself with ease it had been enough. For the thing responsible for that infection was notoriously resistant to the healing abilities of the Saxhleel. Clearly within those few seconds enough of those things had flooded his open wound.

And now he was stumbling about like he was inebriated, hunched over for his stomach wound was bleeding and dripping with pus. They had bound it medicinal leaves as best they could but the stench told of the secondary infection and every so often maggot would plop to the floor.

Such was his desperation to extract the things growing and eating him from within that he had started to tear his torso open. Before he could inflict further damage on himself his companions had stopped him, as much for his own safety as theirs. If he exposed those things to fresh air they were known to immediately burrow into the next available host.

Wary to approach, Senka stayed her distance waiting in helpless pain as her brother leant against a tree for support. A mix of mucus and blood fell from his mouth, dark red and black, riddled with clots. A sweet sickly scent that made the Sarpa’s stomach churn wafted about. Between each retch was a cry of agony and terror. She could not imagine the pain and fear he felt – to known you were being eaten alive from within, that there was no escape, to watch your sanity slowly slip away because your brain was being chewed up. Ironically it was Histskin that had kept him alive this long and was the whole reason behind Saxhleel being an ideal host.

She should have killed him. She should have blessed him with a quick death rather than let him suffer this! In fact she nearly had, how many times had he begged for them to take his life? To end it all? But she could not, partly because to take a life so dear to her would have pained her, but mostly because it came down to safety once more. If they had killed him those things would have erupted out of his body and sought out new hosts.

“Thlueeiklozteei?” Senka’s voice quivered uncharacteristically, it was rare she let her vulnerabilities show. And yet right now she felt both petrified and distraught. Her head was lowered as she took a few tentative steps forward, trying to appear as less of a threat as possible. Those things, they addled the mind, corrupting it, causing hallucinations, nightmares, disorientation, aggression and all sort of other distressing things.

She had seen others die in horrific fashions, heck she had seen one of her sibling have her head crushed by a flying projectile when Senka was just three. But the death her brother was being subject right to now made all others pale in comparision. What made it so terrifying was that he was dying because of an infection of sorts, to die of infection was such a rarity to Saxhleel that healers are virtually non-existent in Argonia.

“Thlueeiklozteei?” She repeated, her voice as soft as possible, trying to sound calm without a quiver. But she was just a child and could not control such expressions effectively yet.

Her body was lowered, putting herself in such a vulnerable position it would first appear. Her entire body was tensed, her wings flared out slightly, even if held limp she could spring back on those powerful legs within a second.

He was panting, head thrashing back and forth, before stopping and slowly rising to meet her eyes. For a moment perhaps he did recognise her, Senka could not be sure, for his eyes clouded with a predatory glaze as they narrowed and his blood-stained teeth were revealed. Bloody tendrils hung from his mouth like thick spittle ropes.

A growl spluttered forth, a reminder of how those worms had consumed at least part of his vocal cords. With all the fury of a protective rormasu mother, he flung himself towards where Senka had been stood a moment prior.

Already she had dodged, springing up high to catch herself in the low-hanging canopy. Looking down she watched as her brother tried to jump, but his balance was utterly destroyed and all he could do was leap without grace as jaws snapped. As he snarled and tried to tear her throat out.

This could go on for ages, and as much Senka wished to deny it, she knew that it was too late – no amount of help could save him now. More than once earlier in the day had she observed his skin bulge and move, the things within him were practically squabbling for space. If she cut him open right now those foul beings would spill out and onto her.

But she could not just leave him. To die alone. She had already promised him she would not leave him. And a true Saxhleel does not break their promises.

As she clung to the branches and vines her brother began to weaken, the jumps becoming less frequent and far sloppier. Gradually he became to stumble, hissing up at her, staggering about in circles with his eyes fixed on her. Arms now aching from having to hold herself up so flat against the foliage, Senka allowed herself to drop to forest floor.

Immediately he charged her, even for how tired he was he was still quick. Leaping to the side, Senka was now facing his back. Without hesitating she flung herself onto him, her legs wrapping around his waist as she did all she could to cling to him. Now thrashing and snarling, he was running about erratically trying to throw her off, slamming her into trees but still Senka refused to relinquish her hold. Even so she was sure she felt a rib give.

“Thlueeiklozteei! It’s me!” Senka was practically screaming now to be heard over his snarls, doing her best to look into his eyes from over his shoulders. Panting again, he looked over at her with eyes of intelligence now.

“Senka?” he weakly mumbled.

Nodding, Senka lowered herself to the floor, turning his hunched over figure to face her. “Yes.”

“I..I didn’t hurt you did I?” he sounded so weak, so vulnerable and pathetic it only made Senka want to stay more.

“Come on, you know me. Remember when I broke my foot?”

“You didn’t say a word until that evening.”

“Exactly. I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Senka, please, just leave me here. If I hurt you, I…” his voice was destroyed by a chuffing sound, a sound Saxhleel make when upset and the closest thing to crying. As he crumpled to the floor in a ball, Senka knelt with him, holding him close. Her forehead pressed against his, she felt utterly hopeless and lost. Whilst she had failed in the past she was not accustomed to giving up, it was a new feeling. She knew nothing more could be done, but she could not give up in terms of abandoning him here.

Silent for a few moments, the only sounds being her brother and the rustle of vegetation, she was downtrodden. She could only sit here and wait with him… Wait with hi-No, he wasn’t going to die down here in the gloom of the forest! Senka’s eyes snapped open, defiance until the last second.

Standing up, she helped her brother to his feet.

“What are you doing?” he croaked, now too ashamed to even look at her.

“Would you like to see the sun?”

“…I…Yes… But how will you…?” But already his question was answered, Senka had drawn on the teachings from her aunt causing his body to rising. As he rose she climbed a tree until he was bobbing against a canopy. Scrambling over to him, she use her foot to haul him into the thick foliage. Her arms were weak but her legs were so powerful she could disembowel a softskin with ease. Even so, she was gentle, not wanting to so much as nick his skin. Dragging her brother through the thick branches, doing all she could to not make those chuffing noises, they suddenly burst into sunlight.

The sun hanging low in the sky and casting a warm orange glow on Argonia’s forests. Pulling her brother clean out of the tree line she laid him down carefully as she quickly scampered over to a tree. Standing, she focused her gaze on her brother and employing levitation magic once more she drew him towards her. His body was utterly limp, his limbs and tail wafting about slightly in a gentle breeze. It was so calm, the setting unbelievably soothing, it was hard to believe the horror scene playing out in sync. But that was Argonia to the core - a land of beauty and the darkest horrors.

When he was within reaching distance, she ceased casting the spell where he collapsed into her arms. Holding him close as she settled them in securely into the tree top. His head resting on her shoulder, she noted how harsh his breathing was. Those things were eating his gills, his vocal cords, he could barely speak.

Had she been human or Mer, Senka would have been crying, but being Saxhleel meant she could not express her grief in such a way. Supporting him, she started to talk. Senka did not know what to talk about, but she could not bare to sit in silence as the hours slowly passed.

“It’s a good view up here isn’t it?” She whispered.

“Yes, it is. Is that a xanmeer?”

Senka’s stomach dropped on forgetting he was partially blind now - his eyes being eaten away. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Senka. Tell me about our parents. Tell me about our family.”

Senka’s heart stopped for a second - her brother only got to see their parents a few times a year for a week or so at a time. He barely knew them.

“Alright…” For the next few hours, Senka told her brother as many tales as she could, recounting the various times she had wound her parents up.

Watching the sun set, they witnessed the stars starting to shine through as the moons materialised. Senka continued to talk and talk, and her brother encouraged her but could not laugh, it was too painful. Eventually, perhaps it was when the moons were high, Senka noted how much his head had lolled.

Almost unable to turn, Senka gritted her teeth and glanced down to see his eyes were practically closed. Senka’s eyes were wide, even though she had known he was dying she still was not prepared.

As his body fell limp, a scream of sorrow left Senka as she howled up at the night’s sky. Screaming, howling, Senka was trembling as she held his body close. She probably would have stayed there for the rest of the night had she not felt something move beneath his skin, like something was biting at it from the inside.

Remembering exactly what had taken his young life, Senka immediately let go but gently placed his body in the tree’s branches. If she stayed here those things would eat her. Or maybe they wouldn’t, but she could not sit and watch it happen to the corpse of her sibling.

Shaking, she stood up and took a step back before turning and lifting herself into the air. Drifting on air currents, Senka glided about aimlessly for the rest of the night, her screams echoing throughout the forest.

***

Senka knew she could never go back to the area where his body was, but she had to. She had to lead several Saxhleel to where it lay so that it could be collected and prepared as best it could be. Because of the remoteness of the location and the length of time it would take to get there on foot, the Saxhleel dispatched had taken the pterosaur mounts. Pterosaurs come in many forms and dominate the skies of Argonia. Although Argonia does have birds, the largest were flightless and notoriously bad-tempered.

The pterosaurs cover much of Argonia and out-competed Morrowind’s cliffracers, though in northern Argonia there were a few colonies of cliffracers.

Even before reaching the tree, the Saxhleel could already smell the fast-rotting flesh. As they soared over the canopy to come upon tree, they descended but even so Senka could not move. Metres above her brother’s…body she screamed, letting out a wail as she shot off towards the sky. Her mentor urged his pterosaur upwards, catching up with his student with ease. Knowing Senka was not going to listen to reason right now, the Saxhleel issued a series of whistles instructing his mount to catch him

Because of the size compared to their riders, pterosaurs are not ridden with reins, Rather they are ridden bareback, often with the Saxhleel lying flat against the animal. There is a simple grip attached to the neck and the pterosaur is directed according to whistles, clicks and pats to the corresponding side of its neck.

Her mentor threw himself off his pterosaur, canon-balling into his student and catching her before being caught by his pterosaur. Senka was shaking as they descended and only took one more look at her brother’s corpse before vomiting everywhere. The image of that body burnt itself into her mind and it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

It had only been about 2 days (having had to be checked she was clear of the parasitoids) and the thing that lay in the tree was unrecognisable. Only the rough shape told you it had been a Saxhleel, and even that was hard to see. From the body’s torso, at all sides white cocoons about half the length of an adult’s arm had erupted forth. White tendrils glued the body of the Saxhleel to the tree.

The arms and legs had not been damaged by the parasitoids, but rather by other creatures. The now soft skin was peeling back, scales already falling off as all manner of fungi and mould spewed forth from the decaying cavities created by other invertebrates. The limbs were covered in small white and yellow eggs, many of which had hatched and now all manner of maggot had burrowed their way into the flesh.

As his body was recovered, the cocoons removed, Senka was in such a state it was decided that she should be taken back to the training facility. The flight back was slow, it took them maybe an hour to get back.

(I hope you enjoyed reading this even if it isn’t the nicest scene! Let me know what you think as I haven’t done creative writing in years and need to get back into it!

This was sort of inspired by that horrible parasitoid in Primeval that infected the dodos. And the mental image I have of his body is not helping matters! Please help my morbid mind… I am fascinated by parasitoids but being squeamish means I really, really do not like what happens to the host

This parasitoid works so it lays its eggs in swamps, etc. These eggs only hatch once they’re inside the muscle of someone. Basically it’s like a horsehair worm only its adult form is a giant wasp - Saxhleel skin is typically too tough to penetrate so it has to lay its eggs in the water.)

#senka #becoming shadowscale #tes #elder scrolls #saxhleel #argonia #argonian #shadowscale #drabbles

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