#so always a good idea to NOT BUILD HOUSES WHERE ITS GONNA FUCKING FLOOD. and preserve wetlands bc of its env. sign. as a source of water
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Underground, Part 1
[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!
Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]
Underground
Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.
He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.
“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response.
If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.
“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car.
Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake.
“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.
“Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”
The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light.
It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.
Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.
Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house.
A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.
“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers.
“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”
“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.”
“Dark tourism, they call it.”
Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.
“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”
Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.
“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”
The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.”
The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.
The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that.
The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging.
There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.
Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.
“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.
“What is?”
“The house, Bob.”
Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…
“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.
“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic.
“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.
“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”
“Surely they had to get groceries.”
Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.
“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”
“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.
“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”
“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.
“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”
“And how old are you again?”
“None of your business.”
“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.
“What renderings?”
“Of this house, what it could look like.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.
“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”
“Museum of Ice Cream?”
“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”
“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”
“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”
“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”
“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”
“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.
“It was stupid.”
It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.
“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”
“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.
“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“
A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.
“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.
“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.”
“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”
“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.
“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.
“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”
Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.
“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.
“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.
“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs.
“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”
“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.
“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better.
“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”
“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.
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Better To Be Friends Than Competition (Lindsey x Reader)
Author’s Note: This Technically wasn’t requested, but @literaryhedgehog and i had a blast writing this. It’s the Harry Potter AU. Basically, reader is a muggleborn who really wants to be a chaser, but maybe there’s a better position for her on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This is the beginning of what will be a multi-part series following the building romance between two amazing characters and how our golden octet help them out along the way.
@sleep-deprived-athlete
“Alright, you’ve all been told the rules and had the chance to warm up. So let’s start by dividing into groups. Anyone who wants to be a seeker follow Mia there to the far side of the field. Beaters to the left with Foudy. Keepers to the goalposts with Hope. And chasers with me up top,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand, kicking off of the ground and heading towards where her group was going to meet.
You snuck a glance to either side of you as you also kick off and head to your position, trying to guess who out of the eight students around you is going to be your biggest competition. Surely you thought more people would have wanted a chance at a spot on one of the best teams at Hogwarts. Tryouts had been packed for the last two years.
You wondered which drill Brandi was going to start with as you approached the group (said woman was idily tossing a quaffle lightly in her hands as she talked to another one of your competition). For the last 2 years it was always a set of passing drills, where would-be chasers played a very complicated game of catch up and down the pitch.
Maybe those tryouts were supposed to be private, but how else could you prepare for them if you didn’t know what to expect?
Quidditch was honestly a really weird sport. Well, American football made less sense, but you hadn’t exactly studied the rules as extensively as you had Quidditch. Like, the game literally would not end until someone caught the snitch. According to Quidditch through the Ages a game had literally lasted for months. You remembered watching a tennis game that lasted for four days before, but generally the muggle sports you grew up with were more consistent in how long each game took.
“Oh yeah”, you thought, watching the beaters line up across the pitch, “and there is also a ball charmed to try and knock people off their broom. That’s not normal.” Though it was something your dad found hilarious.
Sports were always something the two of you could talk about, even before you found out you had magic. He loved the fact that you loved football as much as he did, and was thrilled by the fact that you had enough talent to play it in your primary school.
Though with your hand eye coordination you had done better with cricket, and baseball the few times you had a chance to play it in gym. So when you had joined the wizarding world you naturally had gotten into quidditch. Learned everything you could about the game so you could give him detailed play by plays about the games when you sent owls home.
At this point you were dying to play. You were too short to be a beater or a keeper, but you knew you could be a chaser. You could catch like nobody’s business, and you had at least half of the tactics in The Beginner's Quidditch Playbook memorized. You were going to be the best damn chaser Hogwarts had ever seen.
“Hey space captain, you ready for this?”
“What?” You froze, heat flooding your cheeks at being caught not paying attention. You slowly turned to face the new presence.
You knew the girl. Well. You knew of the girl (it was impossible not to know about the very pretty blond girl). She was in your house and year (and therefore in your dorm as well as all your classes) but the two of you had never really interacted before. She seemed to already know everyone and everything when she got to Hogwarts, so it didn’t really seem like she was looking for friends, and it was hard enough trying to figure out your new life without having people look at you strangely when you didn’t know a word they used. Not that Lindsey, you thought that’s her name anyway, had done that, but other purebloods did. It was easier figuring things out on your own to start, and by the time you did, you and Lindsey had already established yourselves in different friend groups. Was her name Lindsey? A Slytherin in your year was always calling her strange nicknames, so it was hard to tell.
“The drill. Are you ready for the drill space captain?” The girl asked again.
“Yeah, but I’m not a captain. I’m a second year, like you,” You said softly, your eyebrows furrowing. Maybe that was a wizard saying, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Your heart also dropped just a touch because if she thought you were a captain then she had absolutely no idea who you were.
She shook her head with a giggle (showing off her dimples). “My dad says that’s what muggles call a person with their head in the clouds,”
You cocked your head to the side, your brain running a million miles an hour to try and figure out what she meant. But then it clicked. “Oh you mean space cadet,”
“I guess,” She shrugged, seemingly unbothered about the correct verbiage.
The whistle blowing brought both of your attention back towards Brandi and the first set of would-be chasers beginning the crossing drill. You coughed to hide a scoff when Lynn Williams raced at breakneck speed up the pitch, and released the quaffle at least 30 feet off where the chasing captain had instructed.
You shook your head at the play. It was too sloppy, too open and it would never connect well with JJ and Alex up top.
“Not impressed by what you see?” Lindsey asked, her eyebrow quirking up (trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t interested in your answer. You were her competition after all).
“Not after Alex basically destroyed the same course last year. She’s got an 85% accuracy rating on goal and nearly 60% of her shots come off of left crosses. Williams isn’t getting high enough on the pitch to provide an adequate pass,” You mumbled out quickly, wincing when Lynn made the same mistake on the way back, nearly sending her partner (a girl in the year below you named Mal) into the stands to catch it (though you were slightly impressed that Mal managed to grab it before it landed in the seats).
“Yeah, I see what you mean. Her throws tend to either go too short or too long. Even if it doesn’t go directly to her partner it at least needs to be consistent so during a game the person she’s throwing it to knows where to intercept it before the other team does,” Lindsey said, taking a hand off her broom to shield her eyes.
“She’s fast but it won’t help if she forces the other chaser off her line to provide service to Alex in front of the posts,” You huffed. Having her on that side would be a positioning nightmare. It left the team open and vulnerable to so many different attacking options.
“I am not entirely sure what that means,” Lindsey said, smirking as she looked sideways at you, “but it sounds like you don’t think she’s competition, which is good news for us!’
You opened your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Brandi’s whistle. “Alright next pair up,”
You gulped and tightened your fingers on your broom “Guess it’s showtime,” You muttered, surging forward to the starting line.
“Good luck space captain, you’re gonna need it,” Lindsey called back towards you with a wink, taking the ball from Brandi.
You shook your head. You wouldn’t need luck. A fucking golden retriever could beat out the performance you had just whitnessed. As long as you didn’t fall off your brooms, you both would be fine.
***
You raced towards the hoops, reaching your arm out to pluck the perfectly timed ball out of its arc towards the ground. Okay, Lindsey was good. Really good. She HAD to have known how bad Lynn’s throws were, because hers were positively perfect. Your throws were good, but Lindsey had this way of arching the ball up through the air if a perfect loop so it practically fell into your hands. There was no way she didn’t practice over the summer.
You neared the posts, starting to make your u-turn to pass the ball back when a flash of gold caught your eyes. Before you really thought it through, the hand anchoring you to your broom had already lifted to snatch it out of the air on instinct. You had played cricket for most of your life- it was instinct to reach out and grab a ball that looked like it was about to fly into your face.
The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. As your fingers closed around the cool metal, you realized just how far to your side you had to lean to reach the object, and how far off balance it had put you. Your legs crossed tightly as you flipped completely upside down on your broom, entirely unwilling to let go of the object you had just caught or the large quaffle still tucked tightly under your arm. Before you really knew what was happening, you were staring straight at the ground, your legs the only thing keeping you in the air.
“Holy shit, holy shit. Um, hey Lindsey?” You called, eyes on the ground below you.
“What?” You heard her call. You idly wondered why one of the captains hadn’t put a stop to this yet and put you out of your misery.
“Catch?” You threw the quaffle, well tossed it really, up into the air towards where you thought the other girl was. You knew it was going to be short, but also knew that she was going to catch it anyway. She really was that good. With your now free hand you reached up and grabbed the handle of your broom so you could pull yourself to it and rotate back to an upright position.
Only then did you look down at the tiny ball fluttering in your hand. The tiny, almost leathery, wings flapped like it was waving hello. You stared at it in awe, your lips ticking up. You had just caught the golden snitch. You never thought you would get to touch the snitch, much less catch it.
“Hey you” a voice called from the pitch behind you. You turned to look as Mia flew from where the seeker candidates were staring hopelessly at the sky around them to land on the pitch. “Get down here. Yeah, you on the drills.” She motioned down to the pitch, indicating where you should land, then turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Brandi I’m taking number 2.”
You quickly flew towards where she had pointed, shakily dismounting from your broom. You weren’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline or nerves, but your legs felt like jelly. You clutched the little ball in your hand so tightly that you were sure there was going to be an imprint in your palm later.
“What in Merlin’s name are you doing in the chaser section?” Mia said, tucking her broom under her arm and throwing her hand up towards the group of would be chasers throwing a ball around at varying distances. (You tried not to wince when Lynn nearly pegged Mal in the face again).
“Um, trying to be a chaser? I was always a good forward so I thought it might fit?” You mumbled with a shrug, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks. It was a little embarrassing how clueless you were with the magical world sometimes, and how even after being here for two full years, you still felt completely out of your depth.
“That’d be like using a cauldron as a teacup because they’re both the same shape. It’d work but what a waste!”
“I…- I have no idea what that means. I know I caught the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. I’ll leave now if that’s what you want,” You stuttered out, suddenly finding the way your shoe poked the pitch underneath you interesting.
“No, kid you misunderstand me. Look, you, what’s your name again?” Mia stepped closer, tilting her head as she looked at you.
“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,”
“Right, Y/n, you could play chaser. You’d even be a decent one with a bit of work. But that’d be a damn waste of talent. You’re a natural seeker. I’m not upset with you for catching the wrong ball, I’m upset you weren’t over in my section trying to catch the snitch in the first place. Look at that lot over there, they still think it’s somewhere over the stands.” Mia stepped next to you and turned, gestured to the group of seeker hopefuls flying in circles near the Ravenclaw seats.
“Oh,” You breathed out, following her hand to look at the large group. They were squinting towards the stands and swooping low at whatever they thought they had spotted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the snitch had been caught on the other side of the pitch and that Mia wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore.
“I’ve had a lot of practice spotting this ball,” Mia said, tapping the snitch trapped in your hand. “I was able to see it within about a minute of it being released, and have been watching it since. None of them saw it when it was on their side of the field, but you saw it instantly- even when you were focused on something else. That is a talent Y/n. Why didn’t you try out for seeker in the first place?”
“I didn’t know how to practice for it, and that-. It wasn’t like any of the other positions I have ever played,” You muttered, trying to cover your insecurity with a nonchalant shrug. It seemed like the position that required the most innate ability, and as a muggleborn you didn’t think you had any.
Mia nodded slowly looking at you. “Right,” she said, turning and mounting her broom, “I wanna run you through some drills. Come on.”
You blinked at the woman as she hovered in front of you. Your eyes darting between Mia and the object still clutched tightly in your hand. Where were you supposed to put it? Were you supposed to let it go?
You brought your palm up so it was level with your eyes and opened your hand, half expecting the snitch to fly away. It didn’t. It’s wings slowly unfurled and it waved docilely at you. Like an old friend.
“What’re you waiting for?” Mia called down at you.
“It won’t fly away!” You called back, looking up at the woman, who rolled her eyes indulgently.
“Of course not, it’s yours. You caught it, and you can watch it like some love-struck puppy later- stash it in your pocket and come on!”
***
You were having a fucking blast, even though you had no idea what you were in for when you joined the seeker group. Every year when you watched tryouts, you never payed attention to what they had to do, as you never thought you would have to do it. Even without the advantage, you were killing it.
You had been separated into pairs, just like the chasers were, but Mia had enchanted clear balls (the size of tennis balls) to randomly fly through the air. The balls were given a 5 second head start before you and your partner were allowed to race to catch it. Now this was familiar, the jostling of arms while racing after a ball and trying to prevent someone else from getting to it before you. Only once out of five rounds did your opponent get to the ball before you, but really, that elbow to your ribs was a red card if you’d ever seen one.
Then everyone took turns hovering in the air as Mia took ten of the enchanted balls and flicked them up haphazardly one by one every five seconds. The goal was to catch as many of them as you could before they hit the ground, even as they were sent up in different directions and some much higher in the air than others. You didn’t get all of them, but the seven you saved still seemed to impress the other seeker candidates who didn’t scowl. The second highest number saved was six, but that girl still congratulated you as you got off your broom, since “those last few of them went way further out than they did for me- and you were an inch away from that eighth one!”
You nodded, smiling at her, though you were probably more embarrassed than she realized about that eighth one. That one had been sent towards the far side of the field, where you looked up to meet Lindsey’s eyes. You had been placed perfectly to catch the ball as it started falling from it’s apex, but in the moment your hand faltered, and it brushed by your hand instead. You cursed and considered going after it, but then you flew back to where Mia had already released one of the last two on the other side of the field.
“Alright, for our last drill, we’re going to try to catch a real snitch again,” Mia said, pulling another golden ball out from inside her robes and holding it between her thumb and pointer finger. Its wings sprung out and flapped wildly, unlike the slow waving of the one in your pocket.
Everything in you wanted to catch the little golden ball. To tame it like you had the other one. For it to sit calmly in your hand and wave hello like an old friend.
“Isn’t the other one still out there?” The same girl asked, her head tilting to the side.
“It’s been taken care of,” Mia smirked and shook her head, sending a little glance in your direction. The girl stared at her wide eyed, opening and closing her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but Mia again cut her off with a stern glare. ”As I was saying, the first of you to catch it gets to keep it and also gets a boost to the points on their scorecard. Now line up,”
You all flew low on the pitch, forming a circle with Mia and the snitch at its center. Your eyes never left the frantically flapping little ball as you waited for her whistle to blow. There was no way it was going to escape you and if you got to show off for the would be chasers watching you near the posts, that was fine with you too.
***
“Congratulations Y/n! There’s no way you won’t get picked to be seeker,” the girl said, after Mia released you, promising that the results of the tryouts would be posted next week.
“Oh, um thanks-...” You said trailing off towards the end, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t know her name.
“Oh, sorry. You missed introductions at the beginning. I’m Savannah, from two years above you.” Savannah grinned at you, a bit ruefully. “You know, I thought this was going to be my year to nail the seeker position. But with you on the team, there’s no WAY we’re gonna lose to Slytherin. And Lloyd can stop looking so smug about the cup win last year.”
“The only reason they were better is because they had Amy and Sydney scoring. They won despite her and her stupid tactics. If Slytherin actually got a decent seeker then we’d be in trouble,” Lindsey said, throwing her arm over your shoulder and stepping to walk between you and Savannah.
“Carli’s decent, just distracted I think. She had NEWTS along with scouters and stuff,” you muttered, a bit defensively. You know you weren’t supposed to like the Slytherins- house competition and all that- but Carli’s strategy was pretty impressive. The recruiters certainly seemed to think so, you heard rumors that the recruiters from the Wasps and Arrows had a bidding war before the Harpies showed interest.
“Pshh it was just the Harpies recruiter. Even if they have Potter, she’d still probably tank their win streak. At least that’d help my team,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head.
Your eyebrows furrowed. The Harpies were the second oldest team in the league, and since they recruited Ginny they had been on a tear taking down the Cannons and the Magpies in the final games of the European cup three years running. You thought Carli’s strategy would fit nicely in their ranks.
“I’m pretty sure there were Wasps recruiters and Magpies guys here too,” Savannah said to Lindsey. You noticed her eyes glanced towards Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder as she smiled widely. Lindsey dramatically rolled her eyes.
“Which team is yours?” You asked softly, leaning your head on Lindsey's shoulder as you trudged towards the locker room, ignoring Savannah.
“The cannons of course,” Lindsey said confidently. Savannah seemed to be hiding a smirk, and waved goodbye at you as she headed into the locker room.
“They’re pretty alright, but Ronaldo is a little too cocky for me. Sinclare and Potter together are a lethal combo for the Harpies and with Angerer in goal they’re like unstoppable,” You hummed thoughtfully. You also liked that the Harpies were an all female team.
“Ugh, you sound like Emily,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. “She and Sam are giant Magpies supporters.”
“I mean the Magpies have a 75% score rate while the Cannons are only at a 60. And Messi catches the snitch within the first hour 80% of the time, while Ronaldo’s catches take about 85 minutes on average,” you rattled off. So maybe you were a little too into statistics. At least your dad never had to worry about your math skills.
“No way, they’re super into team stats too! Maybe you can help me convince Emily and Sam that the Cannons are the best team!”
“But Emily and Sam, whoever they are, are right. The stats don’t lie,” You said with furrowed eyebrows.
“Oh, Emily is my friend in Slytherin and Sam‘s in Hufflepuff. I’ll introduce you later.” Lindsey said waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, the Magpies may have Messi, but the Cannons have heart! And isn’t that what really matters to make a good team great?”
You paused, pulling Lindsey to a stop beside you. “I know they don’t teach math here, but Statistics beat heart any day.”
Lindsey laughed and shoved you playfully to the side. “You haven’t even met them and already you’re ganging up on me.”
“I’m just stating facts. The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw cause I just love random factoids so much,” you smirked, tucking yourself back under her outstretched arm (it was just so warm and it made you feel… safe).
“Well, I’m glad you’re in Gryffindor. It's way better to have you as a teammate than competition Space captain. Now let’s go- if we hurry we can probably get to the library to work on that potions essay before curfew.”
#uswnt x reader#uswnt imagines#uswnt imagine#literalhedgehog#harry potter au#hogwarts au#quidditch au
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Drop
Again, this is quite heavy for this blog. Please heed the warnings! DM me for a summary, if you don’t want to actually read it because of any of the tags (I’ll make a post if anyone asks on anon). Stay safe, friends.
CW: disordered eating mention, alcohol, heights (inc. character struggling with fear of heights), angsty and dark thoughts, relationship problems being discussed, very brief but intense death ideation, mention of gore/injury (described by character, not real), danger of falling, mention of broken glass, emeto, food mention, blood mention
___
Shayne had hoped the bad thoughts would take longer to find him, but they were waiting for him just on the other side of his bedroom door in the townhouse. For the past two weeks, he’d eaten three meals a day with Charlie at his parents’ house, even if some of them were small, and he’d been imagining himself keeping it up once he got back, but now that he was alone, the shame and the feeling of helplessness that had always surrounded food came flooding back.
When dinner time rolled around that evening (he knew it was dinner time because his stomach remembered), he felt Madelyn’s phantom breath on his neck and ignored the hunger. He crawled into his bed and tried forcing himself to sleep before his body could realise it was being deprived.
But god, he was just a needy, greedy little black hole of a creature, a sap on the world so long as you’re not fulfilling your duty, an insult to flesh and bone, nothing but darkness and hunger and waste and –
Shayne sat up in bed and squeezed his head between his hands. He’d gotten so used to Charlie’s constant presence and warmth, that he was already feeling unbearably lonely without him.
Stupid Charlie, he thought, feeling a flutter of affection in his chest as he pictured Charlie’s head resting on his shoulder. And then, a sinking feeling.
In the absence of Madelyn’s voice in his head, Shayne realised how… quiet everything else was. Ryan and Nancy were probably still travelling in Europe, but Elliott and Felix should have been here.
He’d half-expected Felix to come pounding on his door around this time, raving about whatever he was cooking and asking questions about Shayne’s Christmas. But the fact that the townhouse was this silent was extremely unpleasant.
Shayne let himself into the hallway, pausing and holding his breath, scanning for any signs of life. He could have done this easily if he’d been in a forest, but houses and urban settings were always trickier. He picked up a flash of something, a thrum of a heartbeat, but it sent his head spinning and he had to stop concentrating. It seemed to be coming from Elliott and Felix’s room, even though he hadn’t heard a single stir in there since he’d gotten home.
“Hello?” he asked softly, pushing the door open slowly.
He wasn’t surprised that it was cold in the bedroom beyond, but a breeze took him right in the face. Papers had been gently blown across the floor, and a vase holding a fake rose had been knocked from the windowsill onto the floor.
Nobody was in here. This wasn’t where he’d sensed somebody.
The view of the town was incredible from this height, four storeys up. It was around dusk, so there were lights blinking to life in houses and office buildings even as Shayne stood by the open window and rested his hands on the sill.
“Elliott?” he called out quietly, leaning his head outside. The distance from his face to the street below was dizzying.
“The fuck do you want?” came a curt reply, which made Shayne look to his right. The moulding on the outside of the building was about a metre wide, enough for Elliott to slump against the brick wall with a glass balanced on his knee and a bottle grasped in the opposite hand.
His hair was loose of its usual ponytail, as well as being greasy and dishevelled from having fingers constantly dragged through it. He was scraping it back with his left hand at that very moment, eyes glazed over as he looked up at the sky.
“When’d you get back?”
“Uh, today. Earlier.” Shayne could hear how high-pitched his voice had gotten, but what could he do about it? He couldn’t stop wondering how Elliott’s weight wasn’t forcing him to slink further down, legs pulling him over the edge. “El, what are you doing? Someone’s gonna see you out there.”
“So?” Elliott shrugged. “Maybe I’ll become a Reddit legend.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Shayne sighed. “What’re you doing out there? Are you okay?”
Elliott blinked, the motion slowed by the darkness and an unknown amount of whisky. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”
Shayne would have really preferred not to, but it didn’t look like Elliott was coming to him anytime soon. He turned around and sat up into the windowsill, slowly shifting his legs around so his feet touched the moulding. He breathed hard, tried not to look at the fall below, and told himself that if it could hold Elliott’s weight, it could hold his.
“You know, inside, there are floors and – and chairs,” he stammered, edging closer to Elliott before lowering himself to a seated position. He didn’t slump like Elliott though; his hands were pressing the concrete, stiff as pillars. “Lots of nicer and safer places to sit and drink whisky.”
“Mmph.”
The words barely seemed to reach Elliott’s ears.
“So, what’s up?” Shayne asked.
When Elliott smiled, it was a sick thing that twisted the lower half of his face without touching the rest. He looked past the rim of his glass and out across the town. Shayne wouldn’t have been surprised if his glare had caused a sudden flash of lightning to tear through the clouds.
The silence seemed to press in further, the sound of traffic fading away as though a bubble had descended on the rooftop.
“Where’s… Felix?” Shayne already had the feeling that the answer wasn’t going to be good.
“I don’t know.” Elliott pursed his lips. “Think he’s left me.”
A cold stone seemed to drop through Shayne’s stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the equivalent of that felt like for Elliott. “What? Why?”
After a slight roll of his eyes, Elliott reached into the pocket of his trousers, fidgeting with something before pulling out a ring. He twirled it between his thumb and his figure, examining it up-close for a second before holding it out.
“Oh.” Shayne eyed the ring for a moment before reluctantly lifting one hand – one of his supportive pillars – and letting Elliott place it in his palm. “I take it he said no?”
“No, he didn’t say no. He didn’t say… anything.”
“Is that – is that better, or worse?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Sorry, El.” Shayne gulped and stared at the ring, only managing to hold onto it for a couple of seconds. Elliott had already taken his eyes off of it, his attention snagged by his drink again. A slight breeze across his skin made Shayne shudder, as though it could possibly throw him off balance. Mostly, it was just cold and unpleasant. “Here, take it back. I’m gonna drop it or something.”
“Why would you drop it?” Elliott asked with a grunt, reaching to pick up the ring. His fingertips lingered a moment as he realised how badly Shayne’s hand was trembling. “Fuck, man, are you okay?”
“Mmm.” Shayne put his hand down next to him again, fingers aching under the pressure he was putting on them.
“What’s up?” Elliott scoffed lightly. “You gonna hurl?”
“Maybe,” Shayne admitted. “I’ve never been up this high before.”
“Jesus, you’re such a drama queen.” Elliott planted a hand down and pushed himself to his feet. His movements were as swift and graceful as a panther, even while drunk, and he seemed to tower unreasonably high over Shayne as he straightened his back and stretched his arms over his head. He almost reached the roof tiles that jutted out over the top floor. A strong gust of wind could probably have toppled him, especially considering how much whisky was probably flooding his system.
Elliott’s feet made a scraping sound on the concrete as he lowered his arms, laughing deep in his chest.
“Elliott, stop! Just sit the fuck down.”
“Why?” Elliott’s voice was no stronger than a breath. He closed his eyes for a worrying amount of time, his shoulders swaying slightly as his arms hung by his side like weights. “Would you care if I fell?”
Shayne got a sinking feeling, for what seemed like the hundredth time in ten minutes. “What kind of question is that?”
“Do you think I’d die, actually?” Elliott perked up again, unnervingly so. He opened his eyes and lifted his glass slightly. He craned his neck to look over the edge of the moulding. He hummed, like he was pondering whether he should buy a pair of shoes in black or in brown. “I’m fairly sure that fully-developed vampires can only die if they’re burned alive, but… I wonder how thoroughly that’s been tested.”
“Elliott –”
“I’ve had a decent run. In human years, I’m almost seventy, you know? That’s longer than a lot of people end up with…”
Shayne didn’t know if he should have been trying to grab Elliott to stop him from teetering so close to the edge, or if that would make everything worse. He could barely breathe, let alone think.
“It’d still fucking hurt either way, though.” Elliott threw back the last mouthful of his drink and smacked his lips. “Bones poking up through my organs, probably bits of me exploding on impact –”
“Elliott, seriously, you’re just being an asshole now, just sit down!”
“Would it make him come back, if I was injured like that?” Elliott demanded, his golden eyes piercing and intense. He was beginning to lapse into clumsy arm gestures, his voice rising higher with emotion. “Would it put everything into perspective, Shayne? Would it fix everyone’s problems if I was maimed? Or if I was completely and utterly de–?”
Shayne’s stomach turned, his hands flying to his face, as the whisky glass shuddered and dropped out of Elliott’s hand. It disappeared from view, faster than the sick grin could fall from Elliott’s face.
The shatter was tiny; Shayne had to really strain his ears to hear it. He watched Elliott blink tears down his face and slowly lower himself to his haunches. He opened his mouth wide, like he was going to scream, but no sound came out.
“Hey,” Shayne whispered, letting go of a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He stretched out one hand, trying to gently catch Elliott’s attention. “El. Elliott.”
Elliott didn’t move. He stayed crouched, one hand gripping the edge of the moulding, his face hovering over the side. When he blinked, tears fell and missed the building completely, dropping straight to the sidewalk that was four storeys down.
“El, come on.”
All the way down to the sidewalk –
“Elliott.”
He turned his head, swaying a little, and for a moment Shayne thought that was it, that he was gone, he’d lost his balance. Shayne sat forward on his heels, instinctively making an uncalculated grab for his cousin’s hand, but luckily Elliott was reaching back too; two fumbling hands happened to fumble in the right directions at the right time.
“Fuck,” Elliott whimpered, steadying himself on his feet again. Shayne could feel both their pulses in their joined hands, Elliott’s almost explosive. “We should… We should probably get off this thing.”
“Oh, you think?” Shayne snapped, though he clung to Elliott’s hand like a toddler to a parent as the two of them edged back over towards the window. He hopped in through the window first, turning to make sure Elliott was following him. The taller man hit his head on the open window, making the frame shudder as he shut his eyes and winced.
“Shit, are you okay?” Shayne held out a hand to help him make it the rest of the way.
“I’m fine, get off me,” Elliott growled, shoving Shayne away from him and storming over to the bed.
“Fuck heights,” Shayne murmured, pulling the window shut with more force than was probably necessary. It released some of the fear that had been pinching his nerves though, and his head felt clearer. “We should probably go down to the street and clean that glass up before someone –”
“Shut up.”
Shayne shrugged, gazing at Elliott as he sat at the edge of his bed, head resting in his hands. “Is – is your head okay, or –?”
“What’d I just say?”
“You said to shut up, but how the fuck do you expect me not to ask you if you’re okay? You almost fell off the fucking… roof!” Shayne smacked his hand on the bedpost as he walked by, partially on purpose. “Fuck you, Elliott.”
“Calm down, man,” Elliott snarled, his head shooting up from his hands. “Come on, you seriously think that’s the closest I’ve ever come to dying?”
“You can’t…” Shayne stopped by the door to the hallway, eyes lowered. “You can’t do shit like that, you can’t talk like that. I don’t care if he’s left you, if the world’s falling to shit, if you think nobody cares about you being around, you can’t…”
A sob broke the air, and Shayne froze, turning to watch as Elliott hunched over at the edge of the bed, his head ducking and disappearing from his silhouette.
“I’m… sorry.”
Having never heard such a heart-wrenching sound from Elliott before, Shayne found himself hurrying back to the bed. He sat down next to Elliott and let him sink his head against his shoulder and cry, his body convulsing with what seemed to be days’ worth of pent-up agony and sadness. Shayne felt utterly useless; he couldn’t guarantee that everything would be alright with Felix, because how the hell could he possibly know that?
“Ugh, fuck,” Elliott exclaimed, his shoulders jerking forward with a sob so deep that it sounded more like a hiccup. He clamped a hand over his mouth, the other lifting to tentatively cover the front of his head, where he’d hit it on the window.
“You okay, man?” Shayne asked hoarsely.
Elliott shook his head, face paling even in the dull light.
“You gonna hurl?” Shayne murmured, wondering if the irony would be lost on Elliott in his current state. He was already getting to his feet, remembering that Felix kept a metal bin under his desk.
“Mmmph.” Elliott nodded furiously, only releasing his mouth from his hand once Shayne had thrust the bin at him. Saliva glistened on his lips as he hovered, breathing heavily. His eyes were red and swollen and he was still gently kneading his head.
A deep retch rolled his shoulders and made him duck his head further into the bin. Shayne grimaced and almost put a hand on Elliott’s shoulder before remembering that that would have been a terrible idea. He stood by the desk instead, arms folded around his waist, flinching in time with Elliott’s horrifying gagging.
When Elliott’s face resurfaced, he was gasping and spitting out mouthfuls of thick bile and saliva, tinged only slightly with the golden hue of the heavy liquor.
“Jesus,” he choked out. “How hard did I hit my head?”
After a disbelieving glance towards the window, Shayne scoffed. “Your head? What about the god-knows-how-much whisky in your system right now?”
“Alright, whatever,” Elliott groaned. He pawed at a thick strand of his hair that was stuck to the side of his face and trailing into the bin itself, tossing it over his shoulder. Just in time too, since the next retch was deep and abrupt and dragged a rumbling belch up alongside a gush of foamy alcohol and stomach acid.
Between gags, Elliott let thick liquid drip from his mouth into the bin, body shivering with the effort it took to bring everything up. It went on for so long that Shayne was certain Elliott was going to fall asleep with his head in the bin.
Eventually, Elliott sat upright, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and dragging it across the lower half of his face. He tossed it into the bin and reached for another one.
“Want me to get you some water? Or, like, blood?”
“No.” Elliott sighed deeply, dropping the second tissue into the bin before he began to scoop his hair back from his face and neck. “I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach for two days. I wanna go get chips.”
“Chips?”
“Yes. Can you grab one of Felix’s scrunchies from his side?”
Shayne did as he was asked, mostly in a daze, rounding the bed to get to Felix’s bedside locker. There was a pile of hair ties sitting alongside a handheld cassette player.
“Can you even eat?” Shayne asked, leaning across the bed to hand one of the hair ties to Elliott. “You know, with all of your full-vampire shit going on?”
“Seriously, you little asshole?” Elliott snapped, his voice scratchy and weak. “My life is falling down around me and you’re trying to deny me chips?”
Shayne quickly shook his head, a little bit grateful for the bloodcurdling glare that Elliott was currently treating him to. He got up from the bed again as Elliott tended to his hair. “Let me just grab a jacket.”
#idk how I originally wanted it to end but I can't look at it anymore#Swallow the World#StW Thicker than Blood#vampire emeto#emeto#emeto fic#emeto sickfic#angst fic#angst#death mention#death ideation mention#alcohol#alcohol mention
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The Awakening - Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Sabrina woke up with the feeling of a freight train running through her head followed by a burning sensation coming in waves from her left cheekbone. The memories of the night before started flooding her mind making her headache intensify even more, a frown now on her face.
She stayed still for a couple of minutes, hearing the quiet breathing of Elon sleeping next to her. He had placed one of his legs between her thighs and was hugging her from the waist with one arm.
The sensation of his body close to her made her feel a little bit better but not quite.
Sabrina moved slowly out of bed trying to not wake him up, she looked up to his face and appreciated the sight of him sleeping so peacefully, he had a calm expression that almost looked childish. Aware of her surroundings, she felt thankful for being in his house. She didn’t allow herself to think about what happened, the whole thing felt foreign to her, almost like a blur or a scene in a movie that leaves you with a bad feeling after you watch it.
Without wanting to pay attention to the way she was feeling, Sabrina walked towards the bathroom in Elon’s room where she found a bag with some of her clothes. She took a quick shower and once she was done, she walked into the bedroom again finding Elon still sleeping.
Sabrina tried her hardest to keep him out of her mind, but it was impossible. She loved him, and that was the truth. Although, she hated that he had that kind of power over her life, it made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She thought about the wedding, the way he had made her feel so humiliated and the way he didn’t answer the phone when she needed him most.
A muffled buzz coming from the bathroom interrupted her subconscious thoughts, she followed the sound later discovering that it came from the bag of clothes she saw earlier. She rummaged through the contents until she found her phone.
She frowned as soon as she saw the endless missed calls from her father. Not exactly sure of what she should do next, she hurried downstairs and grabbed the keys of one of Elon’s cars.
The familiar house now standing in front of Sabrina made a whirlwind of emotions form in her chest. Unsure if she felt safer than threatened, she stepped down of the car and walked towards the entrance. She had walked this same path probably a million times and somehow it still felt foreign.
“Dad?” she called as she opened the door. The immense mansion now showing itself in all its splendor.
“Sabrina?” a strong voice responded from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
The usual assurance and confidence with which she walked did not seem to be present as she moved towards the known voice.
“Well, I don’t think you have any other children” she said now walking into the kitchen catching her father sitting in front of a glass table next to a large window that expanded almost all the way from the ceiling to the floor. His presence always seemed to fill the entire room, making it hard for the both of them to be there at the same time. He was a well-founded man, old school. Tenacious and firm, those were the qualities that had made him reach an overflowing number of goals. Yet, it wasn’t the nature you would exactly want from a parent.
He looked away from the book he held in his hands to look at Sabrina with a stern look that quickly turned into concern.
“Look at that, almost half of your face is bruised!” he said, looking at the hurt face of his daughter.
A warm set of arms surrounded Sabrina; she hugged his father back inhaling the scent of the tall man.
“Don’t worry” she said breaking away the hug.
He grabbed her chin to hold her face in place while he looked at the dark wound on her left cheekbone.
“Dad” she said pushing away his hand and sitting down next to his place at the table.
He sighed looking irritated, then he sat next to her.
“I called you a million times last night and today, can’t you at least pick up the phone” he said.
“Yeah sorry”
“You almost gave your mother a heart attack, she is worried sick” he said displeased “And you weren’t even home when we came by”
Sabrina felt for her father, she understood where his concern was coming from and she hesitated to bring up the fact that she was at Elon’s house.
“I wasn’t there” she limited to say.
“Clearly you have other priorities” he said, his tone with no particular difference.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked annoyed. “Elon was there and I didn’t want to stay home by myself”
“Well, if you had called us, we would have been there too! I can’t believe you wouldn’t even call us during an emergency” he almost yelled.
“Fair” she said. “I just didn’t want you to get involved, the press was there and it was a whole thing”
“I don’t like this, you know?” he moved in his seat uncomfortable. “This guy, he puts you on the spotlight and it opens the door to this kind of things happening”
“This guy has a name, and he didn’t put me in the spotlight any more than you did”
“It’s not his fault” she continued.
“Don’t talk back to me” he said firmly looking at the black-haired woman sitting next to him.
He thought of all the sacrifices he had made for his daughter and about the life he had planned for her. She was perfect, engineered, as so many rich parents had arranged in this weird future, to be perfect. And he hated the idea of some guy, such as Elon, just coming in and ruining it.
“At least he had the decency to call me, that I give to him” he said.
Sabrina raised her hand to massage the bridge of her nose, clearly annoyed at the information his father had just told her.
“Stupid” she thought to herself.
“Whatever, dad” she finally said.
“My legal team is already working on never letting that creep get out of jail” he said naturally, almost as if it was the most obvious thing.
“Thanks” she said moving to give her father a kiss on the cheek. “I do appreciate it”
“Right” he shook his head smiling.
“I’d love to wait for mom but I have to go” Sabrina said. “Don’t be so angry all the time, you’re old and you’ll get a heart attack, then I’ll have no father.” She smiled.
“Funny. I want you home tomorrow for dinner” he said.
“Maybe” she answered.
“Sabrina” he said with a stern look.
“Relax, we’ll be here”
“Just you” he said.
“Both” she said now walking towards the door.
Sabrina thought of a million things to say to Elon while she drove through the city, her heart was beating fast, her hands were white from gripping the wheel so hard and she felt angry, an anger that she had trouble controlling, she had that bad habit of being explosive and Elon had always told her that she acted like a little child throwing tantrums. But this wasn’t a tantrum, she didn’t want him to involve himself with her parents.
When she finally arrived at his house she tried to calm down, she wasn’t really in the mood to have another fight cause then she would have to go back to her place. She thought about staying with Alec and then she remembered him being angry at her the night before.
“What a fucking mess” she thought.
She found Elon in his office; her mood shifted as soon as she looked at his face. His blue-ish eyes going rapidly through some file on his computer, the dim light of the monitor highlighted the soft freckles on his face and she wished to count every single one of them. She wished to kiss him in that exact moment.
Sabrina leaned against the door frame crossing her arms, not really sure of what to say.
“There you are” Elon said, smiling. “I’ve been wondering where you were” his steady gaze now all over her.
“I, uh” she hesitated. “I was at my parent’s place”
He frowned unconsciously, sensing the tension building between them.
She simply looked at him.
“I’m not gonna apologize for calling your dad” he finally said. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
She nodded with a blank expression.
“Are you going to say something?” Elon asked.
“You already know how I feel about it” she said.
“I know, but they’re your parents” he answered.
“Yeah exactly, that’s the thing” Sabrina said, now starting to get annoyed.
“Don’t start something” he said.
“I’m not starting anything. You just don’t understand” Sabrina said, looking hurt.
“The only thing I know is that if my kids were in that situation, I would’ve wanted to know about it” Elon said softly. “They care about you, your parents, I know that”
Sabrina thought about his kids, the way they were almost the exact copy of him. The way he acted when he was around them, it warmed her heart. She wondered if she would ever be a mother, thought about her own strange relationship with her parents, she had always thought she wasn’t good enough for that kind of life.
“Don’t be angry” he said standing up and walking her way. “Please”
“Please” he repeated.
He came close to her and cupped her face with his hands. Sabrina couldn’t move. She limited herself to let him guide her head until she could look into his penetrating eyes, those eyes that surely could read her soul. They hypnotized her like the ones from a predator calming his prey.
Sabrina shivered underneath his embrace.
And then, his hot and exigent lips covered hers. She moaned in response. She had heard all her life abut kisses that made knees weaken and Elon was the only one that had that effect on her.
She thought that man smelled stupendously, that it was a pleasure to touch him and, also, that he tasted so much better.
On her own initiative, her arms surrounded his broad strong shoulders. The heath from his chest introduced into her body, inciting her with the erotic promise of their bodies collapsing together. Every inch of his magnificent body was intimately close to her, caressing her with the intention of waking up all of her feminine instincts. His presence stimulated her like no other man had ever done before. She slid her hands through his back muscles and sighed when she felt them move beneath her hand.
Elon felt like his head was spinning with the warm touch of Sabrina, with the sensation of her arms surrounding him while his own hands traveled her soft precious skin. Oh, how much he liked the mumbling sounds with which she responded.
“Alright” she finally said, giving him a faint smile. Their bodies still close.
The day continued normally, Elon decided to work from home, not wanting to leave Sabrina alone after what happened. He knew her, he knew how affected she was by it, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He walked from his office to the living room where she was laying down watching TV. Her soft hands placing an ice pack on her face. Elon felt a weird sting cross his chest thinking about how much it probably hurt. The thought of someone punching her made him feel sick.
“Hey love” he said softly, sitting next to her. He placed his hand right over hers and pushed away the ice pack, somehow the bruise on her cheekbone looked worse than before, now a combination of purple, green and black that made her hazel eyes look more yellow. He frowned.
“We should probably get this checked out” he continued.
“No, I’m okay” she said reassuring him. How much he wished she really were.
“Are you done with work?” she asked.
“Yeah, sort of” he smiled. “Are you hungry?”
“Uhm yeah, I actually wanted to go pick some stuff up from my house” she placed the ice pack on the coffee table in front of them and incorporated to be sitting instead of laying on the couch. “Would you please go with me?” she said.
“Of course, honey” he said, unsure if it was a good idea. “I could also send someone”
“No, I wanna go” Sabrina added.
As they arrived at her house, memories of the night before started to come to Sabrina. She moved uncomfortable in her seat, letting go of Elon’s reassuring hand.
With growing anxiety, she stepped into her house and climbed up the stairs towards her room. Elon followed her and watched as she stood rigid and distant. Her face was pale. He could kill the guy that had done this to her. No one should go through that much fear, especially in their own home.
When they reached her room, she stood still for a minute looking back at him. Her stomach revolving. The mattress was down of the bed frame, the sheets were torn apart, every single drawer open and their contents scattered. Elon placed his hands on her shoulders to comfort her. Sabrina felt violated as she walked into her closet and found everything on the floor. Tears started to form on her eyes.
Elon held her close to him, wrapping her in a hug and she didn’t let go, she was holding onto him so strongly that he was having trouble breathing, and she was crying like as if her heart was breaking to pieces. She hated that her home no longer felt safe.
“You don’t ever have to come back here” he said stroking her hair. “Move in with me”
“No, it’s not that easy” she said still sobbing.
“Yeah, it is that easy” he answered.
She separated to look at him.
“No, it’s not” she repeated. “God, are we even together?” she said whipping the tears from her face and taking a few steps back.
Elon ran his hands through his hair in exasperation.
“Sabrina” he began to say.
“This is my home, I can’t just leave” she said. “Specially if I’m not sure of where we’re at”
He sighed. He loved her, and he wished that was enough. But he knew things weren’t that simple, he wanted them to be, but they weren’t.
“We’re here, together, what are you not sure about?” he said.
She shook her head, distressed.
“Sabrina, do you not love me?” he asked, almost too scared.
She hesitated, breaking eye contact with him and looking anywhere else.
“It’s not about that” she finally said.
“Well, do you?” he asked again.
“You know I do”
He let out a deep breath, as if a huge weight had been lifted off of him.
“Then let’s love each other” Elon said. “Let’s start there”
Sabrina’s mind was spinning, she loved this house, it was her own little world, she wasn’t ready to let it go, possibly cause it meant letting go of her independency.
“I’ll take you to dinner, somewhere nice, just the two of us” he said, holding both of her hands and rubbing them with his thumbs.
“I’m not really in the mood to go out right now” she said truthfully.
“I know, baby. Trust me, it will help clear your head”
She looked at him almost with a frown on her face, he hated seeing her sad. It made him feel powerless.
Sabrina hopped into the black Roadster, flashing an adorable grin that made the corners of her eyes scrunch up. Elon nearly took her right back up to his house when he saw her cute little outfit. She wore a strapless, 10 inches above the knee, black, brown, gold and white turtle shell-pattern-like dress. Her long tanned legs embellished with a pair of black tie-up heels that reached the middle of her calves. The long locks of black hair fell in waves on her back all the way down to her waist.
“Are you trying to kill me?” his tone was playful.
Her smile lessened for a minute, head titled, worried she had done something wrong, maybe wore the wrong thing.
“I have half a mind to take you right back upstairs” he leaned into her neck, his nose sliding up underneath her ear, his warm breath sending shivers up her spine.
“And fuck you into oblivion.” He whispered.
She smiled. He reached over her shoulder and gripped the seatbelt, wrapping it over her, buckling her safely to the seat.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they were seated rapidly even thought they didn’t have a previous reservation, Elon’s status would let him in without hesitation. He placed a hand on her lower back guiding her as they followed the attendant and then he pulled the chair to let her sit before sitting himself in front of Sabrina.
Elon quickly ordered for the two of them, not giving Sabrina even a chance to look at the menu.
“I hope you don’t mind, honey. I know what’s good here.” He spoke.
She smiled back at him and shifted in her seat, peeking around the expensive room, feeling overwhelmed. He reached across the table to grab her hand, reassuring her.
“Thank you” she said looking at him before frowning for a short second, almost unnoticeably, looking for the next words she wanted to say. “I appreciate that you’re trying to make me feel better” she continued.
He looked at the hand he was grabbing, her fingers cautiously resting on his own. He rubbed them in a loving way, then, he looked at her.
“I’m sorry, for everything that happened that day. I really am” Elon said.
She gave him a comforting smile. The bruise on her face now covered with makeup, barely visible.
Elon felt so guilty. He shouldn’t have let her go, they could have arrived home together and everything could have been avoided. Or at least he could’ve protected her. He wished he had protected her.
“Just an unfortunate series of events, it’s not your fault” she said, reading the regretful look on his face. “Don’t blame yourself for this” she leaned forward, emphasizing her words, he still holding her hand. He sighed.
“I want to be with you, only you. There’s no one else for me” Elon said.
Sabrina looked away for a second.
“I want to be with you too” she said. “I just-.”
Ivory porcelain dishes were placed down on the dark stained wood table, interrupting their conversation. The food -that looked more like an art piece than food- was plated so creatively. Sabrina almost felt guilty that she was about to eat it. She wasted no time and took a bite of the alluring decorated dish, a wave of flavor swiftly traveling through her mouth.
“You were right. This is incredible” she said, grinning from ear to ear.
“I know” he said smiling and later taking a bite of his plate too. Then looking at her encouraging her to continue the previous conversation.
“I need to be sure you’re done with Camille, I don’t like feeling unsure of us. We have already done that, remember? That’s why we broke up back then.” Sabrina said, her melodic voice echoing through his ears.
“I don’t want you to feel that way, to be unsure of my love” he sincerely said. “Things with her are complicated. I so- wish that they weren’t.” He ran a hand through his scruffy dark hair.
“She doesn’t want to sign the divorce papers. She wants to go to court. More money. Mess with me. At this point, I’m not sure” he let out.
She looked at him, a strange sentiment growing in her chest. She tried to imagine how much it must hurt to be treated like this by someone you once loved. She hated the idea of him being still legally married to that woman.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this” Sabrina said, looking at him lovingly. Wanting to take away all of his worries.
He took a hard look at the woman sitting in front of him, his love. Wondering if she could ever be capable of doing the horrible things Camille had done to him. Sabrina was everything his ex-wife wasn’t, intelligent, capable, caring. And she so rarely made him feel unsure of her love.
“I love you, E.” she said, desiring to find stronger words to express the adoration she had for Elon.
She stood up and leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his lips. Her familiar taste made Elon’s heart skip a beat.
“I love you too” he said. As he had so many times before.
She sat back down and they enjoyed the rest of their dinner. After, Elon took her for a walk in the area. The busy Los Angeles Street unusually empty. Their arms laced together as they moved forward.
Elon kept a tight grip on her as he walked them inside a store. The room smelled like luxury. White walls led up to the high ceiling. Marble tiled floors spread wide, holding bright displays.
“What are we doing here?” Sabrina whispered.
“I told you I wanted to make you feel better” he whispered leaning into her ear.
Although she desperately wanted to argue him on it, she stayed quiet. He smiled, pleased at her obedience.
Fabric clothing covered the walls, expensive jewelry sparkled under the lights.
“Like anything you see, baby?” he said.
She bit her lip, not really sure.
“You don’t need to spoil me like this” she said. Growing up in a well-off family had made Sabrina quickly associate love and affection with expensive things, being as her parents would often show it to her that way. Now that she was older, she longed for genuine connections.
“I feel bad about this kind of stuff. I don’t want you to think this is why I like you” she continued.
He laughed at the irony of her statement. He knew she was capable of affording anything she wanted herself.
“I don’t care if you feel bad. I want you to be dripping in my wealth. Let me.” He spoke slow. Making her heart beat faster.
She smiled almost excited.
“Fine” she said.
The assistant set up a dressing room for them, adding a few pieces in along with the ones she and Elon had picked out. The dressing room was wide, mirrors covering the entirety of the walls, a bone-colored sofa attached to one of them.
They spent the next half hour in there, Sabrina would change into each piece and show it off to Elon. He sat on the couch, filling the room with his masculine presence. He unfortunately was on a work phone call, despite his efforts to get rid of them earlier in the day. Each time she would parade around, he felt his pants growing tighter.
“Babe” she said. Elon’s eyes looking up to hers, still talking into the phone. “Can I have some help with this zipper?” she asked.
“I’ll call you in a moment” he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket.
Sabrina was wearing a satin red dress, she stood facing the mirror, lifting up her long curls to expose her bare back and zipper. He couldn’t take his eyes off her body. His hands reached down and pulled the zipper up slowly, encasing her body in the expensive fabric.
“Thank you.” She said brushing down the sides of the dress, placing it correctly. “What do you think?” she asked looking at Elon through the reflection.
His long hands slid up over her ass, up her sides, resting on her breasts to rest on them, slightly grasping them. “I’m about to rip this to shreds and have my way with you.” He said.
Sabrina let out a big laugh. “Shut up. Seriously, what do you think?”
A smile spread across his face as his hands fell on her hips. He slowly pushed up the dress, exposing her black underwear. He then shoved his hand into the front of them, his thick fingers finding the center of her body. He stroked over it in slow circles, watching her face in the reflection of the mirror. His other hand finding its way back up to her chest, grabbing a handful.
Feeling her breathing slow down and her body pressing closer to him, he dug deeper between her legs, shoving two fingers inside of her. She moaned at the feeling.
“You have to be quiet, doll.” He whispered in a deep voice.
His fingers pushed further into her, finding their place pressed against her most sensitive spot. She leaned back into him. He felt her contract around his fingers.
Pulling his fingers from her, he turned her around to face him. Grabbing the neckline of the thin fabric, he ripped the dress in half.
“Elon” she said surprised. He quickly silenced her and turned her around again.
“Be good and cum for me” he said.
“Mhm” she whined, breathing out. She felt his hardness through his pants, hard as possible, pressed against her. She rubbed back onto it, drawing out a growl from him.
“I said be good” Elon said pushing his fingers deeply, making her reach that magnificent release.
He kept his grip tight over her to held her up while she wiggled up against him. She stared at him through the mirror, the sight of him helping her along and intensifying her climax.
He slowly released his tight hold on her, leaning her on the wall. He lifted his hand to his mouth and licked each finger and his palm, enjoying the taste he was getting. Her taste.
“Did that answer the question about the dress?” he asked.
She laughed, pulling the shreds of fabric off her shoulders.
They grabbed everything and took it to the front of the store to the register. The cashier gladly ringing everything up, pleased by the amount of money they were spending. At the end of the transaction Elon dropped the remaining of the dress into the counter, staring at the woman behind it. Sabrina’s face turned red.
Without saying a word, she rang up the shreds of the dress. Swiping the black card. Elon smiled back at his lover.
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It’s been literally so long lmao but anyways hope you like it, I will try to upload the next one on Monday, thank youuuu sooooo much for your sweet messages🤍
I don’t know if you still want to be tagged, let me know:) 🤍 @ourloveisforthelovely
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Lawless
~ Chapter 2 ~ Masterlist
Word Count: 1683
Scorpion's Roost
Solidarity, Texas
(Dedicated to all 100+ followers. Enjoy!)
Undertaker left the saloon that afternoon utterly confused. What whas that cowboy doing? He didn't understand humans, ever since he turned immortal he forgot all about being one. All memories left him except one particular one. Why it stayed, he had no idea. It tormented him.
Eventually his walking led to him being inside the comfort of his funeral parlor. His gathered up thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as he took off his hat and overcoat. A large black cat met him at the door. It was pudgy, and the look on its face resembled one an irritated human could pull. Its face was also very pudgy, and a shrill meow left its mouth to gain the attention of the tall man.
"I just got home, Paul. Settle down please. It's been a long day." Another shrill meow. "Who cares if I've been drinking?! I'm immortal, it's not gonna hurt me. Now leave me be, I want to be alone." A scoff-like noise came from the cat, then he left, his pudgy paws padding on the floorboard. "Ever since he put himself in a cat, he's been more annoying than ever, I swear." Undertaker told himself.
Sighing, Undertaker pulled off his shoes and threw them somewhere. He'll find them in the morning. His socks, belt, vest and shirt flew off somewhere as well, leaving him in just his slacks. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight from a window, as well as the mysterious patterns on his arms. Intricate demonic designs littered his arms like sleeves, stopping at his shoulders. They appeared the night he turned immortal.
Undertaker staggered a little, the whiskey in his body finally taking effect. His head buzzed. He took slow and steady steps to his bedroom, careful not to bump into any precious coffins he made. Blueprints littered the countertops everywhere, with all sorts of designs for coffins.
His staggering journey took him to his wanted destination and he flopped facedown on his bed, inhaling the scent of his own cologne and a hint of cat. 'Paul must've slept here', He thought.
Deciding not to get up, his mind wandered back to the small cowboy at the bar. He didn't understand humans and their frivolous ways. Always rubbing themselves against each other for pleasure just to end up sad and lonely afterword. Letting out a yawn, he turned himself over to stare at the ceiling, eventually falling asleep from the large amount of whiskey in his body.
*~*
Light snores escaped Undertaker's body. He seemed peaceful, until his occasional twitches turned into thrashes. Fire was all he could see. Orange flames swallowing up a house. Screams. All he could do was watch in horror as the house he grew up in was swallowed by bright flames. "Mother! Father! Kane!" His mouth moved on its own. The screams died down, until all you could hear was the crackling of the fire. Undertaker fell to his knees, helpless. He just watched his parents and brother die in a fire caused by his foolish hand.
A scream left the lips on the undead man and he flew up from his bed. Sweat and tears dripped down his body and cheeks as his breathing staggered. Undertaker gripped his head in his hands and slowed his breathing to a normal rate. He hated falling asleep. This nightmare plagued him.
After calming himself for a few minutes, Undertaker slowly got out of his bed and found his scattered clothes one by one. He placed them in a basket and went back to his bedroom. Paul, the cat, sat on his bed. "I don't need to hear anything from you." Undertaker growled out. The cat just shook his head and jumped off the bed, heading to another part of the parlor. Sighing, Undertaker grabbed clothes from his dresser and a towel and headed to the pond behind the parlor.
He stripped his pants and undergarments and padded into the cool water. The cold temperature didn't bother him. There was a bucket with cleaning supplies at the other side of the pond, but Undertaker didn't bother to grab it for right now. He wanted to relax.
*~*
After sitting in the water for a while, Undertaker decided it was time to wash himself so he moved towards the bucket. He quickly dunked his head underwater to get it wet and grabbed the shampoo, but stopped when he heard voices. 'What the fuck? This is my private pond!', he thought.
The voices grew louder and Undertaker panicked and dipped his head underwater until only his eyes and top of his head could be seen. Who needs to breathe anyways?
The cowboy and his partner appeared from the bushes surrounding the pond, followed by two other guys. They were both big and burly, but the darker haired one was just a bit shoter than the bigger blonde.
"Voila. Found it a couple weeks ago while me n' Scott were running from a sheriff. Been our secret pond since." The bigger of the four said. 'Except this is my pond and I made it myself, dick head.', Undertaker narrowed his eyes. The small cowboy scanned the pond and smiled. "Last one in is a rattlesnakes lover!" He shouted and started stripping.
Undertakers eyed widened. 'No, no no no no!' He watched in horror as the four strangers stripped to their undergarments and jumped into his pond. 'And I thought I would have a good day...' He thought. The cowboy started splashing everybody, getting lots of water on the bank and dirtying up the clean water with dirt and debris.
'That fuckin does it.' Undertaker's eyes became black. The rest of his head emerged from the water, and he focused in on the cowboy from yesterday. 'Want to intrude on my life? Fine.' His horns started to sprout, but the cowboy noticed him.
"Hey! Its the man from the bar yesterday! What are you doing in this pond?" The three other men looked to where the cowboy had pointed out. Undertaker quickly averted his eyes back to green and the horn nubs desappeared. He said nothing.
"Shawn, who's that?" The cowboy's original companion asked. The two other men stayed silent. The cowboy- Shawn -chuckled. "Just some hot guy from the bar yesterday. Surprise seeing you here! How'd you find the pond?" Shawn asked. Undertaker narrowed his eyes. "I live in the building right in front of this pond. I own it." He spat.
Shawn's eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. "But Kev-"
"GET OUT!" Undertaker yelled. His eyes turned back to black and he stood up fully, exposing his muscular torso and marked arms. Shawn blushed.
A growl started in the throat of Undertaker, and the four outlaws panicked and scrambled over one another to try to get out and away from the demonic man in the pond. They grabbed their stuff and jumped the fence, the taller of the four accidentally knocking over Shawn's original companion in the process.
Undertaker sighed in annoyance, and his eyes slowly turned back to normal. His bath was ruined, the pond probably contaminated, and he just exposed himself to the cowboy from the bar. He mentally slapped himself and finished his washing.
*~*
Grabbing his new clothes and towel, he quickly dried himself and put on black slacks, grey dress shirt and black dress vest. He would ditch the tie and overcoat today, he planned to spend the day inside his parlor working on coffins.
He walked up the path to his parlor, making sure Paul's food bowl was filled, as well as the flower garden not trampled or littered with bugs. The daisy's were nice and fragrent, the roses with beautiful colors, snapdragons at attention, and the peonies-
"What the hell happened to my peonies?!" Undertaker exclaimed. Dirt and flowers were scattered. Boot prints led a trail to the other side of the parlor. "Somebody dug up my peonies..."
Paul stalked up and sat his pudgy body beside Undertaker. His shrill meow didn't faze Undertaker, he was too busy mourning the loss of his flowers and plotting ways to kill the flower murderer.
Undertaker kneeled down and palmed at the dug up soil, finding tiny roots from flowers and scattered petals. "I'm gonna kill whoever did this." He growled. Paul meowed and licked one his paws. Undertaker still didn't bat an eye.
Sighing, he stood back up and walked through the back door of his parlor, Paul hot on his heels. Or however fast a fat cat can keep up with a 6'10 zombie.
Inside, Undertaker threw his dirty clothes and towel in a nearby room and walked to the front doors of his parlor. 'I really don't want to open today but I guess I have to.' He thought as he opened the doors, letting mid-morning light flood his front room.
He looked around, and noticed pink on the ground. He looked, and a bad bouqet of pink peonies messily thrown together sat on the ground. The roots were still intact. Grunting, Undertaker bent down and picked up the bouqet. A messy note was attached.
'Sorry for playing in your pond. I hope these make up a good apology. - Shawn'
"I'm gonna fucking kill him." Undertaker growled. He resisted the urge to hold the flowers close, as he was in broad daylight, but he did when he turned to go back in his parlor. "Of all people, why did HE get invloved in two days worth of my life?!" He thought aloud.
Paul padded up to Undertaker and gave another shrill meow. This time, Undertaker noticed him and rolled his eyes. "No, I don't even know him. He just came up to me in the bar yesterday and tried to fraternize with me." Undertaker replied. Paul meowed harshly. "Shut up! Not like you can do anything, you're just a cat." Paul huffed, and swiped at the mans ankles.
Undertaker pulled his leg up just in time and shooed off his pesky human-like cat. Paul ran off, leaving Undertaker with his peonies and murderous thoughts.
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May 9, 2021: A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) (Recap: Part One)
Welcome to the future.
At this point, we’ve mostly looked at the past, present, or the near-future (as in, the next ten years, if that). Additionally, we’ve looked either at nonexistent technology in a contemporary setting, or an extension of existing technology taken to a logical next step. But no more. No more realism, no more real-world rules, and nothing that we’re even close to in this reality.
Well...mostly.
That’s genuinely impressive, not gonna lie. Anyway, yeah, from here forwards (for a bit), we’ll be looking at the future and futuristic technology. Now, there are a couple of ways in which these films tend to go. The first big way that we tend to represent the future in film is the same way we always have: flying cars, futuristic technology, smart houses, and robots.
Now, there are countless examples of this future, and it always changes a bit depending on the present. Which, yeah, makes sense. After all, what I’m doing right now, at this moment, would’ve been seen by many people as a massive technological achievement, even around the time that I was born. Which, yes, I’m old, deal with it (because I can’t). Anyway, the way that this begins is with the first major filmed view of a seemingly idyllic future: Fritz Lang’s 1927 film Metropolis.
The overly mechanized (and politically dystopic) society seen in this film, as well as the visuals and technology, would inform our ideas of the future throughout the next century. Multiple themes and common objects reoccur throughout futuristic fiction. You know the stuff I’m talking about. Flying cars, automatic food machines, robotic assistants, video watches, holograms, jetpacks, so on and so forth.
But here’s the thing about the future. It’s always ahead of us, and eventually...well, we’ve gotten to most of those things to some degree. Either they already exist...
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...or is currently being developed.
Well, one of them we’re still working on. And the development of more advanced AI is something we have yet to perfect, or even fully develop. However, the development of A.I. (and the consequences of that technology) are ALL OVER science fiction. Sometimes, they’re merely used for flavor to help establish the futuristic setting.
Sometimes, they’re characters with their own agency and conflicts, which may or may not define the plot. In these cases, they’re often simply there to back up the main human characters, and help with their development, and sometimes their own. You know, manic pixie dream robots.
And then, possibly most often, they’re the abject villains of the piece. they can be mysterious alien technology, like in The Day the Earth Stood Still, or a man-made danger that turns on the race that created and/or abused it.
But then, on occasion, an A.I. is given the chance to develop as a character, without being used to define the development of a human character. Sometimes, the question of what life truly means is raised through these characters, and we become attached to them outside of any other character. This isn’t nearly as common as the others, but it’s definitely not unheard of.
And for the record...things don’t often go well for those AIs. But still, some of those characters have quite a lasting impact. So, there’s quite a lot of potential for this type of character, from a dramatic standpoint. And that potential leads us to the guy who made this.
I WILL MAKE A JURASSIC PARK REFERENCE AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE
Steven Spielberg gives us today’s entry, and this director of a classic science fiction story about science gone awry teamed up with the director of a science fiction film where an artificial intelligence went awry. You know, this thing.
I didn’t forget about HAL. And I won’t forget about him later, either.
Director Stanley Kubrick is pretty well-know for his mind-bending films, especially The Shining and 2001: A Space Odyssey. But he also worked with Spielberg on this film before his death in 1999, as this was one of his dream projects for many years, and the two directors were well-known friends.
And so, eventually, Spielberg was given the reins from Kubrick, and results were...mixed. It’s funny, because I’ve never actually seen this movie, but I remember it through its surprisingly widespread ad campaign. I used to go to NYC as a kid a lot, and there was a massive building-side plastered with the iconic logo of this movie. So, I’ve been hovering around this movie for a long time. Enough navel-gazing!
SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
Recap (Part One)
It is, unsurprisingly, the future. A marrator informs us that climate change has caused the ice caps to melt, and global flooding drowns several countries. You could say that it’s a...Waterworld.
I genuinely considered watching that movie at some point, and then I decided I liked myself to much to watch 2 hours of Kevin Costner’s emotionless acting. Granted, it’s not much better now, listening to the emotionless acting of...
Professor Allen Hobby (William Hurt) is a straight-up sociopath. OK, technically, he’s a robotics engineer, but dude’s making a speech, right? He talks about how far robots have come, dissing my boi Deep Blue in the process, and notes that pain-memory response can also be demonstrated by robots. He proves this by stabbing a woman in his audience, like RIGHT through the hand. Jesus, man! Why the hell would you do that?
Oh. Holy shit, I got fooled. Advanced technology indeed. But OK, so Sheila’s a robot, and a very advanced one...to us. But Hobby wants more, and proposes to his workers to make a robot that can really TRULY love. And through love may come a true subconscious, which means making a robot that can dream. And what better robot to make than a robot child? After all, all child conception requires a license in this futuristic world, so many childless couples are yearning for a child.
Which is why, twenty months later, the first robot child is offered to Henry and Monica Swinton (Sam Robards and Frances O’Connor), a couple...with a child. Um. Guys. You JUST SAID that there are legit childless couples who need a child, and those people would be best suited to love that robot child back (a VERY GOOD question raised by one of Hobby’s subordinates). So why give it to a couple whose son is still alive? Yeah, he’s got a rare disease that they don’t have a cure for yet, and is currently in cryostasis, BUT THEY HAVE A KID! Surely, that’s going to be a potential emotional conflict! And what if the kid wakes up or some shit? This is a TERRIBLE goddamn idea. Think this shit through, guys.
And yet...
This is David (Haley Joel Osment), Cybertronics’ first child robot, brought home by Henry to essentially replace their son. Which is AMAZINGLY FUCKING TONE-DEAF AND INSANE, GODDAMN. That’s extraordinarily messed up. And, for the record, I totally get what Spielberg’s going for, but Jesus Christ, man. This was a terrible way to go about this. And it gets fucking WORSE.
See, Henry (who actually works for Cybertronics) tells Monica that, once they sign the papers and complete the updates, David will imprint on them and see him as their true parents, loving them unconditionally. Which...yeah, fuck, that’s an entire DUMP TRUCK of ethics issues right there. And, while we’re at it, David is...creepy as shit. I mean it, dude, Haley Joel Osment is a VERY good child actor, but he’s laying on the creepy robot child thing THICK. And yeah, this is BEFORE he imprints on them. Jesus fuck, man, there’s a scene where the still uncomfortable Monica is outside of a glass door, and he looks back at her THROUGH THE DOOR like a goddamn SERIAL KILLER.
And I gotta tell ya, dude does not lay off that creepy-ass dial one iota. And for that matter, the music by John Williams ISN’T FUCKING HELPING. LISTEN to this shit, and imagine a robot child that you don’t know wandering around your house. It’s amazingly fucking creepy.
AND IT JUST. KEEPS. GETTING. WORSE. There’s a scene where they’re all at dinner, right, and David’s just staring at them as they eat, mimicking their actions. After all, he’s a robot, he can’t actually eat or drink anything because of his internal working. And then, out of FUCKING NOWHERE, he starts laughing like the FUCKING JOKER, and it scares the EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF ME. And somehow, they laugh alongside him, in the never-ending Stockholm syndrome that is this movie! And as soon as its over, he just STOPS laughing, spontaneously. Fuck me, man, I’m tempted to stop watching here and now, and I’m only TWENTY MINUTES IN! I need a fucking break.
And after that...OF COURSE she decides to activate his imprinting protocols to make him, let me remind you, LOVE HIM FOREVER! She reads out a series of words, and after “FREIGHT CAR”, he knows his mission is to kill the Prime Minister of Sokovia. But first, he’ll settle down and love Monica unconditionally (again, FOREVER), calling her Mommy and making me shit my pants in fear. IT WASN’T ME, IT WAS FUCKING DAVID
Oh, and by the way, isn’t it kinda shitty to do that without Henry being involved AT ALL? Like, cool, he has unconditional maternal love, but Henry wasn’t a part of that conditioning at all! And he still refers to him as “Henry” instead of Dad! However, Henry definitely doesn’t care about that, because he still sees David as only a robot. Hey, guys, maybe using these two as your first experiment with a robot child WAS A TERRIBLE FUCKING IDEA, YOU IDIOTS! No wonder William Hurt was cast as Thunderbolt Ross in the MCU. Already shown he can play a character with shitty ideas before.
Anyway, after this terrible series of events, David prevents the parents from leaving one night due to his childlike antics. When Monica goes to comfort him, he asks how long she’ll live, and tells her that he hope she never dies, a COMPLETELY NORMAL THING TO SAY. Look, I get that he’s a robot, but only a goddamn emotionless sociopath would program emotional responses like this into a robot. Which, given what we’ve seen of Hobby, makes sense.
In response, she gives him Teddy (Jack Angel), a technologically advanced teddy bear with sentience, a personality, and the voice of Astrotrain from The Transformers TV series. Because, yes, I am THAT MUCH of a goddamn nerd.
Soon after, the house gets a phone call, which David receives...literally. He takes the phone and allows it to speak through him. It turns out that, shock beyond shocks, THEIR SON IS CURED! Yeah, fuck. Maybe giving David to a family with a STILL LIVING SON is a fucking ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE IDEA, for about a thousand reasons.
And, fucking understandably, Martin Swinton (Jake Thomas) is a little upset to find out that he’s essentially been replaced by a robot kid. Although, to be fair, he’s also kind of a dick to David, holding his humanity over him and treating him as a toy that he attempts to manipulate and bully. My Lord, this is a massively stupid idea. And Martin immediately shows his dickishness by asking his mother to read Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio to them. Which is meant to be a punishment for Pinocchio. However, of course, David loves it.
Still, however, there’s trouble in paradise for David, as he tries to compete with Martin for being a real boy, and eats spinach at dinner one evening. Despite Teddy’s mildly ominous warning to him (”YOU WILL BREAK”), he keeps eating until he basically has a stroke and breaks, forcing him to be repaired by some of Cybertronics’ technicians. Monica has a bit of a break down as a result, which Martin notices. This causes Martin to go pure supervillain, manipulating David to do creepy things in order to insert doubt into Monica about David. Jesus, Martin’s a creepy kid, too. No wonder Monica grew to be cool with David, her actual son is a FUCKING SOCIOPATHIC MONSTER! Are there ANY truly normal people in this world? IS THIS WHAT THE FUTURE IS?
Martin convinces David to cut a lock of Monica’s hair while she’s sleeping. And lemme tell ya, a little boy holding scissors over someone while they sleep is not exactly comforting. Henry agrees, and after stopping him, believes that they need to return him. Monica disagrees, knowing that they’ll destroy him if brought back. But David, ever the semi-sociopath himself, ignores any signs of humanity in David and dismisses Monica's feelings for him entirely. He also says this thing about “IF HE CAN BE PROGRAMMED TO LOVE, CAN NOT HE BE PROGRAMM-ED TO HATE?”, which...no. No, he cannot. He didn’t learn to love, he was programmed to. And, again, that’s ethically FUCKED, but taking that into account...no. HE WASN’T PROGRAMMED TO HATE, HENRY. Goddamn, buddy, use your head here.
It’s Martin’s birthday, and his friends at the pool party expose David to the fun world of anti-robot (or Mecha) racism, and test to see if he has Damage Avoidance Systems by threatening him with a knife. And he does. Buuut, when those systems kick in, he goes to the nearest point of safety to keep himself safe. That point is, unfortunately, Martin, whom he gets behind...and accidentally drags into the pool.
Thing is, because of Martin’s recent illness, he can’t exactly swim, meaning that David almost drowns him. When Henry and other partygoers go to save him, they abandon David in the pool completely. And now, David’s fucked. Because although this situation isn’t even a little bit his fault, he also just nearly killed Martin. And so, after seeing notes that he’s been writing to her, Monica offers to take for a “ride in the country”. Which definitely means something good. In reality, she’s planning on taking him back to Cybertronics. But once in the car, there’s a change in plans. And hear me out...it’s arguably far more horrifying.
She decides to abandon him in the woods completely, despite how hard it is for her to leave him. She’s sparing him from death, sure, but also throwing him into a world he doesn’t understand, and for reasons that he doesn’t understand. It’s genuinely terrible. And then...yeah, she leaves him forever, to an uncertain future.
End Act One.
I think this is a good place to stop. It’s early, and I need more coffee to handle this shit. See you in Part Two. Of Three. Yup. It’s a long one.
#a.i. artificial intelligence#ai artificial intelligence#steven spielberg#stanley kubrick#haley joel osment#jude law#frances o'connor#brendan gleeson#william hurt#science fiction may#sci-fi may#user365#365 movie challenge#365 movies 365 days#365 Days 365 Movies#365 movies a year#movieedit#filmedit
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flowers, maybe daisies, might relieve the gloom. - an a.i blurb
a/n: i lowkey blame @sexgodashton for starting this whole mini series of boomer!ash things, but i also adore this because boomer!ash is soft as hell. and also a lil d*ddy but we don’t need to talk about that. title is from wait by sweeney todd bc i love it. alternative title was gonna be from L.G. FUAD by motion city soundtrack
word count:
warnings: ashton irwin being a thirst trapping, lemon stealing whore. i’m kidding it’s just a solo ash fic w no smut but some mild ash thirst trapping.
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‘ashtonirwin started a live video.’
Ashton didn’t often go live on Instagram, but this shelter in place order had left him ultimately bored - writing a song every day before noon, sure, but anything after that was a blur. Occasionally he would have interviews or live-streams with the band, but on days without that he was left alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts weren’t always the safest place to be; so talking to fans it was.
It was going well so far, simply asking fans how their quarantine was going - bringing some of them into the livestream so he could talk to some face to face. One girl in particular had caught his attention when they began to discuss hobbies she had picked up during the time she’d spent at home.
“Yeah, I’m learning to garden. I have a tomato plant that is just starting to sprout actual tomatoes, so that’s kind of exciting,” She had said, a nervous laugh escaping.
“Well, I would hope that your tomato plant is sprouting tomatoes, it would be a little concerning if it was growing something else,” Ashton replied with a chuckle, the girl giving a small shrug but still laughing along with him.
“You should look into it if you’ve got the room at your house, I bet it would feel rather rewarding to be able to cook something with your own fresh vegetables.”
“Would save me quite a bit of money too. Can I grow yeast? I’d like to learn how to make my own bread but here in L.A. you can’t find yeast anywhere.”
The conversation continued like that for a few minutes more, Ashton taking only a couple more fans into the livestream after that to talk to before he decided he should probably do something else productive with his day. Something like learning to garden.
It surprised Ashton the things you were able to order online during this time - soil being the main thing. He also read that saving coffee grounds would help, and he was excited at the idea of his insane coffee habit wouldn’t be completely useless. He ended up buying seeds for tomatoes, mint, sunflowers, lemongrass, and zucchini. The lemongrass and mint was specifically for Calum, realizing he would be able to dry the plants out once he had harvested them so he could make the man his very own tea.
When his package finally arrived, Ashton spread the packages out, sliding them across the table as though he was some card dealer in Las Vegas. Thinking the fans would find it amusing, he took a picture of the spread and added it to his story with the caption of ‘pick a card, any card…’. Maybe it would only be funny to him, but it did prompt a fire reaction from Michael.
It seemed as though the reaction from fans were positive though, them taking to Twitter to let him know their excitement about his new endeavour. That’s where his weekly livestreams began. He would show everyone the progress he was making with his plants, and just in general him chatting with fans. Ashton never really thought of how refreshing it could be to just talk to the fans, without the worry of time restrictions or anyone’s personal safety in the way; in fact, it left him rather inspired, loving their fans even more if it were at all possible.
A particularly warm day in L.A. left Ashton wondering if he should go out to the garden that day - but it was the day he would normally livestream, and he was excited to show what he was up to that day. Ashton wanted to plant another tomato plant, and also the lemons on his infamous tree had enough for him to make some lemonade so he was going to go through that as well.
Clad in some cut off jeans, or as Calum so affectionately called them his jorts, and a white tank top, he pulled up the live option on Instagram and waited for the people to begin to filter in before he started to speak.
“Hey guys! Just gonna wait for more of you to filter in before I actually head outside, but I thought that since you guys love my lemon tree so much, I’d make some lemonade. Fuck, I sound like a YouTuber. Is that gonna be my next career, is just YouTube tutorials on how to make shitty lemonade?” Ashton laughed to himself, slicing the lemon so he could juice it, ignoring the comments he saw about murdering his lemon children.
It didn’t take him long to make the lemonade, making mild conversation with the fans while he stirred in a little bit of sugar and some cheat mint he had ordered while waiting for his own to grow.
“Alright, now that I’m waiting for that to cool, probably best we go outside and check on those tomatoes, hm?”
It had been weird at first, talking to himself; but he quickly realized that he talked to himself anyways, even without the phone in front of him, so it couldn’t have been too weird for anyone who could overhear him.
“So I wanted to plant another tomato plant today, because everyone can use a friend right now, you know?” He looked into the camera, a smile spreading across his face when he saw the flood of cute little emojis that followed. “M’gonna be like the Bob Ross of gardening. No mistakes, only happy accidents or whatever it was he said.”
Ashton began to work away at his garden, building up a sweat in the process. It wasn’t until he leaned back, glancing at his phone did he see a text from Michael flash across the top.
‘Mate, Crystal said stop thirst trapping the fans.’
Ashton’s brow furrowed, unsure of what the text was saying, “Okay so I just got a text from Michael - what’s thirst trapping? And am I currently doing it?”
Of all the comments that followed, he noticed one that said ‘I mean… I’m not gonna say either way but take a look at yourself and get back to us’. Another one told him that it was when someone wears something in order to provoke risque texts, or gain attention from someone.
Ashton pouted, looking down at his appearance. He was kind of sweaty, but he didn’t think that the fans would mind him being covered in dirt and sweat, it’s not as though they had to smell him. Though, he would admit that he needed a shower.
“Well, since my tomato plant has been… planted next to its’ friend, and I’m apparently thirst trapping you all, I should probably go shower and clean up. Is me mentioning a shower thirst trapping as well?” Ashton rubbed his face over his hands, a small huff leaving his lips, “I don’t know… Fellow youths, tweet me and lemme know. Also, may hold a poll later on what to name these guys.” He flipped the camera around, struggling for a moment, to show the sunflowers that were starting to sprout, “M’thinking of naming one Denise. Just seems like a Denise.”
After his small speech was over, he ended the stream, grinning to himself. He hadn’t meant to show off his body in such a way, but it was funny to know that even with him hardly doing anything but be himself they still lost their shit.
Glancing around at his garden, he felt himself swell with a mild sense of pride. He was still a ways off from seeing any fruits of his labour (literally), but it made him feel good knowing he did something with his time at home, instead of slipping further into his mind which wasn’t always the kindest to him.
Ashton realized that when he was gardening, it was similar to songwriting in a way where all of his self doubts and fears went away and he could just pour himself into it - the reward being well worth the risk in the end.
Once his shower was done, he sat outside in his backyard, sipping his lemonade and enjoying the sunshine - realizing that having to stay home wasn’t all too bad, if it meant he could reset his mind, and do some small part to help how he could during that time.
tag list: @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @boyfriend-cal @calum-uncrowned @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @mantlereid @inlovehoodx @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga @g-l-pierce @thecurlsofgod
#ashton irwin#ashton irwin blurb#ashton irwin fluff#ashton irwin fanfiction#5 seconds of summer fanfiction#boomer!ash
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Quarantine Day 1:
A little treat for you babies. This was an idea that was already developed in our hive mind and just wouldn’t leave bc quarantining with Miguel is a whole ass vibe. So allows us to introduce part of Miguel’s Most Expensivest: Quarantine Edition.
Miguel had promised you a relaxing day at home. He swore he’d get his work done as early as possible to free up the rest of his time for you. And despite the current state of the world, you were excited.
It was just like Miguel to wait for a global pandemic to spend some much needed time with his lover.
You secure the tie on your swimsuit, scrutinizing your reflection. You smile at what you see, pleased with the product of your efforts. You dab some perfume onto your neck and wrists, feeling the butterflies beginning to set into your stomach. Miguel had texted you thirty minutes ago from his office downstairs, requesting you meet him by the pool in a half hour. You’d been tidying up the bedroom, organizing your closet when you saw the message, a smile instantly adorning your face at the prospect of spending time with your elusive partner.
You make your way down the stairs, bare feet making your movements muted against the marble floors. The house is quiet, the hustle and bustle of running a cartel shut down for the time being. You can feel the breeze through the open ceiling to floor glass doors that line the back patio, the air feeling divine on your bare flesh.
You see a glass of champagne sitting idly on the dining table, waiting for you. You laugh at the gesture, your heart beating in anticipation. Miguel was always a little over the top. The clear waves of the pool call to you as you make your way outside, the low hum of music echoing through the outdoor speakers. The view is one of the main reasons you bought this house, the California hills and mountains shielding you from view from the rest of the world. In times like these it was easy to imagine you were the only two people that existed.
A movement from your peripheral pulls your attention to your right and the lounge chairs that sit near the pool’s edge. The man who owns your heart is lounging in the warm rays of the sun, a glass flute of champagne gripped in his hand.
And he’s naked.
He’s as naked as the day he was born, brown skin on full display. Your eyes struggle to take all of him in at once. The smattering of hair across his legs, the firm muscles of his thighs, the ridges of his abdomen. You envision running your nails down the planes of his chest, knowing the hiss he would release in response. The strong chords of his neck call to you, begging to be marked with your mouth. His facial hair is trimmed neatly along his chiseled jaw, the mixture of black and grey making your thighs clench. Your eyes linger on the thick muscle resting between his thighs. You’ve had the pleasure of experiencing it first hand, but that doesn’t stop you from licking your lips at the sight of him. A pair of sunglasses are shielding his eyes. It's those sunglasses. The pair that have the power to make your panties flood.
He looks every bit as luxurious as his bank account says he is.
He’s aware of your reaction to him and he’s obviously pleased, a devilish smirk planted firmly on his bearded lips as he calls to you.
“Mi amor...” He beckons you with an outstretched hand.
You go to his side, his free hand smoothing up your thigh and around to your ass as he plays with the string of your swimsuit.
“What’s this?” He asks, finger edging past the fabric and across your pubic bone. You shiver at the touch.
“You said to meet you by the pool.” You reply, catching the smirk he wore at your slip of attitude.
“No clothes while quarantining, baby...” He subtly demands, fingers now untying the knots.
You hesitate for a moment at the feel of him pulling the material away, forgetting how isolated you now were in your own home.
“No te preocupes.” He soothes and you nod, allowing him to expose you to the warmth of the day.
He sets aside your champagne glasses and reaches his hand out to you, signaling what he wants. You move instinctively, straddling his lap. You hum at the pleasant feeling of his bare flesh against yours. His skin is hot from the sun and it heats yours instantly, cocooning you in a blanket of warmth. He immediately unties the strings of your top, ridding you of the garment. Your naked chest presses against his, his hands caressing your back in a gentle pattern.
“Feel good?” He asks, his chest rumbling beneath you.
You moan in response, burrowing further into his neck as his hands explore every inch of your body. The sun and breeze work together to lull you, your soft curves rubbing lazily against his hard lines. He sits you up, his fingertips tracing along your face and neck, his eyes still hidden by tinted lenses. You can see the mischief in them still. And the thought sends a jolt straight to your pussy.
“Hermosa...” He whispers against your lips, a firm hand now gripping the flesh of your ass. He captures your mouth with his, your tongues tangled in passion. You get lost in each other, your bodies writhing in search of friction.
His lips move to your breasts, tasting you flesh. Your fingers thread into his hair, anchoring him to the nipple he’s attached himself to. Your back arches at the sensation, head thrown back as you grind into his lap.
“Miguel...” You breathe out, feeling him hard and wanting beneath you. Your thighs widen as you twirl your hips against him, ensuring he’s soaked and primed for your body.
“What is it?” He asks, hearing the change in your breathing. You dig your nails into his chest and are instantly rewarded by the hiss that escapes him.
“I need you.” You plead, curling around him as he sucks almost violently at your neck.
“Put me in.” He softly demands, his voice the perfect elixir of smooth and rough. You whimper and raise onto your knees, feeling him try to align himself with your opening.
Your pussy pulses around nothing, desperate to have him embedded deep into your womb. You grip him in your hand, your walls taking him in slowly. You take inch by glorious inch, letting the familiar burn wash over you as he stretches your walls. You moan lowly when he’s reached your barrier, your body now pressed firmly against his.
“Fuck, baby...” He curses, forehead buried in the crook of your neck.
Neither one of you move at first. You savor the feeling of fullness, feeling the throbbing of his cock against your walls. You squeeze him within you and he nips at your neck in retaliation, a low growl falling from his lips.
You both take your time, moving in an unhurried rhythm as you just feel the other. He lets you take control as your hips rotate above him, never letting him leave the confines of your body. His hands rest on your ass, gently guiding you. His sinful mouth devours your breasts, pulling a moan from your throat. It's perfect, the kind of coupling that almost makes you feel intoxicated.
Miguel bends his knees, his feet firmly planted on the chair beneath you. You feel the thinly veiled control start to unravel as he bounces you in his lap, meeting your thrusts. You lock your arms securely around his shoulders, maintaining balance. A thick finger begins to assault your clit as he moves your hips, forcing you to take him in repeatedly.
“Oh, god...” You cry as the crescendo builds, readying for your climax. Pleasure leads you as you move with him, lights beginning to dance behind your eyes. Your limbs tense and your spine twists as wave after wave of ecstasy pulls you under. Your walls quiver and ricochet off his cock, your hips no longer moving in tandem with his.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He confesses between gritted teeth.
His jaw is clenched, his arms straining with tension as he continues to pound up into you. The sound is obscene, but it only adds to the moment as he finally releases inside of you. His hips stutter as his body spasms, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. You moan at the feeling, basking in the guilty pleasure of having him fill you.
Satiation hits immediately. Miguel pulls you to him as he reclines against the propped up back of the chair. Your ear settles over his chest, listening to his heartbeat attempting to slow down after his high. His hands run up and down your back, his softening cock still locked in your depths. You can feel his cum threatening to escape from between you as you adjust your position. Your eyes already feel heavy, the combined stickiness of sweat and fluids securing you to him for the time being.
“Jesus...” You say with a tired laugh, trying to catch your breath.
You crane your neck up to look at him, those ridiculously attractive sunglasses still perched on his nose. Beads of perspiration decorate his forehead, but there's an ease to him that wasn't there before.
“Its Miguel.” He quips, smiling at his own joke. His arms encircle you while your fingers dance delicately over his chest.
“That was quite a surprise.” You tease, pressing a kiss to the flesh beneath you.
“I’m taking full advantage of this quarantine, my love.” He showcases his white teeth in a grin, and even though his eyes are hidden, you know he’s winked at you. His statement is further punctuated by the light slap on your ass, his fingers in no hurry to stray from where the two of you are still joined.
You only smile, letting the breeze, the sun, the music, the champagne, and Miguel’s touch take you away. Spending the quarantine with the cartel may not be so bad after all.
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What He Doesn’t Know
[3:46pm]
Lee Jeno – Smut
Friends-with-benefits!Au
Warnings: Explicit Content, No real warnings.
Word Count: 1.2k
Request: Requested by anon - Reader making Jeno cum in his pants.
Jeno’s harsh kisses stole your breath away. His lips claiming your own as they moved perfectly in sync, smacking noises emulating from the heated contact. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth, his hands gripping at your thighs and leaving red marks in their wake. You sat perched in his lap, your hands wound in the course confines of his black hair, your most sensitive parts pressed firmly against his own. You’d found yourself in this predicament after Jeno had turned up to your apartment in desperation. He’d had a petty argument with Haechan, something about the computer in Jeno’s room. You knew it was probably a really stupid argument, so you’d blanked out when Jeno was telling you all the reason’s why Haechan was, in his words, a “Stupid Penis head”.
Jeno hadn’t told any of the Dreamies where he was going when he stormed out of the dorm, making his way to your house subconsciously, not even realising where he was going until he was stood in front of your apartment building. The second you’d opened the door he was pouncing on you, his lips crashing against your own. His anger showed in his aggressive kisses, leading you to know there was something wrong and he had come to your place for a reason. You slowed him down and made him explain what was going on, forcing him to drink a glass of water and calm down before taking your place on his lap, leading to the heated make-out you were currently having.
No one knew about your relationship with Jeno. Not even the rest of the dreamies. Jeno would never tell them, keeping you as his dirty little secret. His disappearances either left unexplained or brushed off with a lie of an excuse to the boys he saw as brothers. He hated lying, but he knew his secret would rip someone’s heart out. Haechan would tell everyone he was in love with you if they asked, but in reality, it was more of an infatuating crush he’d had for the past year. You had no idea of how he felt towards you but Jeno had to hear about it almost all the time, especially during promotion periods when he had to spend all his time with the smitten boy, it would become a daily occurrence of Haechan cooing over a text you’d sent him, or over a memory he’d shared with you.
Jeno always felt a pang of guilt and became suspiciously quiet every time the topic got changed to you and Haechan yet again told them all how much he liked you. There was no way he could confess to Haechan that he was fucking you until you couldn’t form a coherent sentence in secret. He didn’t want to hurt his friend like that, but he also didn’t want to stop getting his dick wet when you’d offer yourself to him as often as you did. Jeno never told you about Haechan’s obsession with you, knowing you’d probably put a stop to your secret romps, not wanting to hurt the boy you saw as a good friend. Haechan was another reason Jeno found himself grinding up against you after his quarrel with the boy. The spite he felt spurring him on to get into your pants. It also left him with a sense of accomplishment, getting one up on Haechan for being the one underneath you, all feelings of guilt left back at the dorm when he’d left.
“You’re making me feel so good baby girl.” He moaned against your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a rough tug. Bucking his hips up harsh into you, the fabric of your shorts and his jeans getting warm from the friction you were creating between each other. His hands moved from your thighs to your ass, pulling your hips in even closer and grinding his hard on against you. Your panties starting to stick to you from your wetness leaking into them. His lips slipped from yours down to your neck, thoughts of Haechan running through his mind all of a sudden and urging him to bite your neck, sucking a dark bruise into your soft skin. He pulled back to marvel at his work, smirking as a rush of possessiveness flooded his system. “All mine.” He mumbled to himself, his tongue finding its way back into your mouth, pushing against your own as he asserted his dominance. A whine glided from your mouth into his, your hips rutting faster as the assault on your sensitive clit brought the tingling sensation of your orgasm creeping into your stomach.
“Baby slow down.” He whimpered, his hands trying to bring your hips to a stop, but the urge of release was knocking at the door, compelling you to ignore Jeno and speed yourself up. “Baby wait I’m gonna-!” His words cut off as his mouth dropped open, his eyes squeezing shut as white ropes of cum now lined the inside of his boxers. The euphoric feeling of his peak making him go still, his muscles tensing up and grip on your hips leaving nail indentations and red marks that were sure to be bruises by the end of the day. Seeing Jeno cum in his pants made your orgasm hit you like a train, the feeling bringing butterflies to your stomach as your eyes never left his face. Your hips not stopping as you used his lap to ride out your orgasm. You came to a stop, relaxing in his hold and resting your head in the crook of his neck.
“Sorry…” You mumble through a giggle, your hand coming up to draw patterns on his chest over his hoodie.
“Its okay baby.” His hand caressed up and down your back, post orgasm cuddles with you being one of his favourite things to do with besides fucking. “I was going to bend your legs behind your head and fuck you senseless but since you’ve made us both cum already, I guess I can’t do that now.” His tone was teasing, and he pulled an affiliative smile down at you.
“Wait I want that!” You gasped, sitting up straight and immediately shooting him with your best pout and puppy dog eyes. “Please…”
“Hmm…I suppose I could be convinced.” He smirked, leaning in to attach his lips to your red bitten ones. The sound of his phone blaring the apple ringtone makes you both flinch, both of you jumping back as snatched his phone up from the sofa beside him. Haechan’s caller ID was what lit the screen. A pang of guilt hit Jeno hard as he answered the call with hesitation. Although he knew the guilt wouldn’t stop him from diving headfirst into your panties the second he hangs up.
#nct#nct dream#nct 127#nct jeno#nct haechan#nct dream jeno#nct dream haechan#nct 127 haechan#nct Haechan angst#nct dream smut#lee jeno#lee donghyuck#lee haechan#haechan#lee jeno smut#jeno smut#nct smut#nct jeno smut#nct lee jeno smut#nct smut reactions#nct reactions#nct dream reactions#nct scenarios#nct dream scenarios
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Somebody’s Gotta Take Care of the Riff Raff
Summary: Al doesn’t remember signing up for being a caretaker, but he’s not going to stop his job.
Or Al finds Diego on the street one night and helps him out.
Words: 2906
(ao3 link)
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Al lit his cigarette and took a drag. He leaned against the brick wall and slowly exhaled watching the smoke disappear into the night. The neon light of the pub’s sign flickered above his head. Inside he could hear the drunken clamor of the patrons.
“Got a light?”
Al turned to see the speaker. “Oh hey Donny.” He fished in his pocket for the lighter. “Yeah I got one for you.”
“Thanks,” Donny said cigarette hanging out his mouth. He brought the lighter to his mouth puffing a few times. “Catch the game?” He asked.
“It was bullshit.” Al grumbled. “That ref had no idea what he was doing. I don’t know who they’re hiring for this shit.”
“I know,” Donny exclaimed. “And the players aren’t much better either. Yeah sure we got some gems thrown in here or there, but the rest. They’re weak.”
“They found out how to game the system. They lost the feeling that it used to have.”
A raindrop fell in between the two of them. Donny pulled the hood of his jacket over his head while Al stepped further underneath the awning of the building. They watched as a group of young men stumbled out of the pub. They weren’t dressed for the cooling weather. Only one wore a hat while the others had on a mix of shorts and light jackets. They garnered looks from passerby’s as they laughed loudly walking down the street.
“So what’s this I hear about your gym being closed?”
“Oh that?” Al flicked ashes off the end of his cigarette. “The pipes fuckin’ burst. Flooded the damn place. The whole floor is ruined.”
“That’s rough,”
“Eh. It was due for a remodel anyway. But the whole thing is gonna be closed until it’s done.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not that big of a loss.”
“Hey Al” Donny hit Al on the shoulder. “Isn’t that your boy over there?”
Al looked to where his friend was pointing. The group that had exited the pub earlier had stopped underneath a light post and were taking turns shoving a man around laughing. They were mocking him, jumping out of the way when he turned to attack whoever was closest. The rain had picked up into a light drizzle.
The two watched as one member of the group, a man wearing a white jacket, took the guy's duffel from him and started going through it.
There was a brief reflection of light as the man lifted an object from within the guys bag. “Hey this fucker’s got a knife.” He shouted.
“Ah hell it is my guy” Al swore. He ground out his cigarette on wall behind him and threw it on the ground. He ran over to the group. “Break it up. Break it up.”
“Stay out of it old man.” The one with the hat said walking towards him. “This ain’t your problem.”
“Yeah well I’m making it my problem. Scram before I call the cops.” He reached past the guy and grabbed Diego by the collar of his shirt pulling him out of the group. There was a sudden clap of thunder and the sky opened up raining down on them.
“Fuck it’s not worth it.” The guy in the white hoodie said. “Let’s go.” He swung Diego’s duffel over his shoulder running off, the others following him.
Al turned to face Diego. He looked worn out. He starred in the direction the group ran in. “They took my bag.” he said dejectedly.
Al sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Why couldn't the kid just take care of himself. He put his arm around Diego's shoulder. It was a true testament of how tired he was that he didn't tense or flinch like he always did when someone touched him unexpectedly. "Let's get out the rain. I’ll take you home." He led Diego towards the pub, giving a nod to Donny as they walked in.
Al called a car and rode with Diego to the Umbrella Academy. It was a quiet ride. A soft jazz melody drifted back from the radio and the dark interior was lighted briefly by the passing street lights. Al took this time to observe Diego. The kid looked tired. He was wearing the same clothes that he wore when the gym closed two days before. He was pressed against the side of the door looking out at the passing street. He was trying to stay awake but the warm hum of the car was doing its job in lulling him to sleep.
When they arrived, Al almost felt sorry about having to wake him up. He reached out to shake Diego's shoulder. The boy jolted up eyes wide, looking around frantically. His eyes looked out past him and locked on to the building they stopped in front of. His face shifted into horror. He pressed his back against the door drawing his knees to his chest. Al could see him trying to speak but the words didn't come. "P-p-please," he forced out.
"Hey is he ok?" The driver asked.
"Yeah just give me a minute" he growled. He turned towards Diego. "Hey now, hey now. Calm down. "
Letting out soft curses at the size of the car Al awkwardly lowered himself to kneel at the bottom of the floor making himself smaller to the frightened man. He had no idea what set off this attack, but he was pretty well versed in calming him down. He rested a hand on the seat and looked up at Diego. The other man had squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hands up to grip tightly at his long hair. He was rocking slightly.
"Diego buddy. I need you to look at me," Al said lightly. "Can you look at me?" He waited patiently as Diego slowly cracked upon his eyes to look at him.
"That's a good boy," he praised "I'm going to hold your hand. Can you give me your hand?" Making sure to telegraph every movement Al reached for Diego's hand. He watched as Diego's eyes followed his motion. Grabbing on to his hand he carefully massaged it encouraging him to loosen his grip on his hair.
"I'm going to bring it to my chest ok?" Just as before he very slowly brought both their hands to rest on his chest. It was an awkward position. Diego had to lean forward in order to reach and he had to puff out his chest so that they could touch.
He took a couple of exaggerated breaths. "Can you follow my breathing? In." He took a deep breath in. "And out" he let out a gust of air. "Do it with me." He breathed a couple of more times before Diego started to try to match his own erratic breathing with his. "That's a good boy," Al praised. The two of them sat breathing together.
A minute or so passed in silence. Only the sound of them breathing and the rain hitting the roof of the car was heard. Al gave a silent groan thinking about how expensive this ride would end up being. Not for the first time he wondered how Diego became this way. He opened his mouth to ask a question when Diego yanked his hand from his hold.
Al closed his mouth and studied the man before him. He had shifted so that he wasn’t curled against the corner but he still held his hand close to his chest. His face was red with embarrassment and his head was turned to face the seat in front of him but Al could see him looking warily out of the corner of his eye.
“You back with us bud?” He asked. A barely perceptible nod was his only response. “You want to tell me what that was about?” There was silence as Diego stared resolutely ahead.
Al sighed. He knew that Diego often lapsed into moments where he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, speak and it seems like now was one of those moments. He shifted trying to will feeling back into his legs. Time for 20 questions. He racked his head as to what could’ve set this panic attack off. He stretched and caught the reflection of the mansion that was behind him. Bingo.
“Was it the house?” he asked.
Nod.
“You don’t want to go in there?”
Nod.
Al frowned. “Is someone going to hurt you there?”
Pause. Head shake.
Al let out a breath of relief. There was not much that would scare Diego this badly, and call him selfish but he was glad he didn’t have to face it. Unfortunately now that he knew there was no danger in the house he didn’t know what questions to ask to find out why he didn’t want to go in the house. He changed tactics.
“Do you want to stay at my place?” He asked. Diego had only lived with him a couple of times before taking up residency in the gym itself. When he found out that the skinny, bag-o-bones, gym rat he hired was homeless he couldn’t in good conscience let him continue to sleep on the mats. He made him move in with him while they remodeled the boiler room to resemble something of a sleeping place.
Diego shook his head. Al pinched his brow. “Kid I’m not going to let you sleep on the streets for the next three days. It’s bad enough you already spent one night out there.”
Diego brought a finger up to his mouth and started chewing on it. It was tick that Al noticed he did when he was feeling a certain kind of nervous. He doubted the kid even realized he did it.
“Look. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll walk you to the door. If even the smallest thing happens that you don’t like let me know and we’ll leave. No questions asked.” He paused making sure the weight of his words set in. “But. But if we do leave you’re going to come home with me and you’re going to stay there. No sneaking out. Got it?”
Diego gave a slight nod. Al smiled. Sometimes the kid needed someone to tell him explicitly what to do. Opening the car door he got out and waited for the other to do the same. The rain had died down to a light sprinkle. He reached out and put a hand on Diego’s shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze when he tensed up. Lightly he pushed him walking down the path to the front door.
They stood in front of the door. When Diego made no move to open the door Al reached out to do it himself. It was locked. He thumped his head a couple of times against the door. “Of course it’s locked.” he grumbled. “You don’t happen to have a spare key do you.” Diego didn’t respond, only looked at him blankly hugging himself.
Al was about to leave when locks started clicking from behind the door. It swung open to reveal a boy. They stared blankly at each other.
“You know usually someone would introduce themselves after knocking on a door at 2 in the morning.” He said. His voice was full of the superiority and confidence of someone who thought they were better than everyone and knew it too. The boy's eyes shifted to the man beside him. “I see you have brought my brother.”
Al looked between them. “That’s your brother?” he asked incredulously
Diego shivered. “Five.” he said.
Al sighed. He’s certainly seen stranger being around him. He looked back at the boy, Five. “May we come inside?”
Five stepped aside extending his arm. “Be my guest.” He closed the door after them “Can I offer you a drink.” He asked.
“I’d rather not.” He said. Besides, the kid looked way too young to drink. “I’m just trying to make sure this one get’s home safely.” he tilted his head towards Diego. Diego himself stood quietly, arms wrapped around him as he steadily dripped water on to the floor. His breathing was slightly more erratic as he gazed firmly at his feet.
“He doesn’t seem hurt?” Al could see that while the boy put off an air of disinterest he seemed to genuinely care about the state of his brother.
“Not physically.” Al said. “He just needs to sleep.”
Five nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “I can show you his room if you want to follow me.” He started towards the stairs. Al gently took Diego by the elbow and followed him.
“Who are you to him.” Five asked after a moment of silence. “He obviously trusts you a lot if he’s letting you see him like this.” Then quieter under his breath “I’ve never seen him like this.”
Al stayed quiet. Truthfully he didn’t know how to answer. Their relationship obviously strayed far beyond the typical boss employee relationship. He’d almost say he’d treat Diego like a son, though that wasn’t quite right as he had kids of his own who he didn’t raise to be as much trouble as this one caused him. He didn’t know what Diego thought of him either. Five’s assessment of Diego trusting him came as a shock, because while it had taken him years to slowly break down his walls he knew that he still had a lot of progress to make. In the end he chose the most neutral description of their relationship.
“I own the gym he lives in.” He said.
Five hummed. They stopped in front of a door. “This is his room.” He said. He shuffled, looking for once unsure of himself. “I could get you a towel or…” he trailed off.
“A towel would be nice thank you. And a change of clothes. I don’t know if he would have any here.” He gave a reassuring smile to the kid before ushering his own into the room.
It was clear that this room hadn’t been lived in since he left. It wasn’t dirty or dusty like one would expect, but it was dated. A twin sized bed sat against the wall. It still had the childish sheets of his youth. On the desk sat a stack of papers and some textbooks.
Faster than what was humanly possible the kid returned holding a towel and a stack of folded clothes. “The clothes may be a little big. It’s our other brothers he explained.” He looked past him to Diego who was still standing in the middle of the room. “If you need anything I’ll be down stairs.” He turned and left.
Al turned back to Diego. He pulled out the chair pushing Diego on to it. Tossing the towel at him he bent down to start taking off his shoes. “This is as much as I’m going to do for you.” He grumbled undoing the laces. “You’re going to have to get changed by yourself.”
After removing each shoe he pushed himself to his feet and cracked his back. “Not as young as I used to be.” He muttered. “Go change.” He turned away from Diego. “Let me know when you’re done.”
While waiting he took the chance to further inspect the room. He opened the closet door to find it empty of clothes. It was to be expected. On the ground, however, there were a couple of boxes, belongings that either he, or someone else, couldn’t throw away.
“D-done,” Diego said softly. Al turned around. Five wasn’t kidding when he said that the clothes were big. The shirt hung off him reaching low to hit mid thighs. He was gripping the waistband of his pants in a fist and they were still pooling at his feet.
“Come here” here he beckoned. “Lift your shirt up.” He moved Diego’s hands from his pants and tightened the drawstring as tight as it could go before tying it up in a bow. Satisfied that the pants wouldn’t drop at a moments notice he led Diego over to the twin bed before pushing him down on it. “Under the covers.”
“D-d-ont’ need to be … tucked in” He slurred getting under the covers.
“Yeah yeah. Just making sure you don’t do anything stupid like try to leave.” He sat on the edge of the bed pulling out his phone. “Go to sleep.”
“Creep,” Diego said.
“Brat.”
He stayed long enough to hear Diego’s breathing even out into the tell tale signs of sleep. Then he stayed a little longer to make sure he wasn’t faking it. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon he got up and made his way down the stairs. He wasn’t surprised to see the boy waiting for him.
“You’re leaving.” He said.
Al nodded. The kid was a strange one for sure.
“I have a ride waiting.”
“Your ride is gone.”
He looked out the window and sure enough where there used to be a car waiting there was nothing. He let out a huff of amusement. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”
Five poured him a glass “Stay the night. Leave in the morning.”
He shook his head. “I’ll just call another ride” He took out his phone. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Five shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He raised his glass towards him. “Thanks for watching out for my brother.”
He raised his in return. “Someone has to.”
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Aftermath Part Two
Here is part two of my apocalyptic TMNT story Aftermath
Read full story here
Raphael and Reader
The next morning came quickly bringing the morning sun streaming though the blinds. After the long drive sleep had come rather quickly but you had woken up at least 4 times thinking you heard voices. It had to have been your head playing games again, like it always did. God someone to talk to would be nice.
A modest breakfast was made and consumed allowing you to get out deeper into the city earlier than later. You wanted to get a few miles covered before lunch with a quick trip back to the camper with your goodies then a later afternoon trip before you settled in for the night. You never wanted to be out past dark in the city nor more than 5 miles from home base, just in case.
The first few houses gave very little to your supply cart, a few canned goods, a small supply of liquor and an interesting medical book that wasn’t in your library already. But off in the distance on top of a 4 story apartment building shined a beacon of hope. The sun hit it just right, a rectangle mirror of solar energy, oh happy day! Already this trip was proving to be worth it, as long as the panel wasn’t damaged.
As your reinforced cart bumped and thrashed along over the uneven pavement you hurried your pace, if you were lucky you could get it unhooked and off the roof before lunch.
The door to the building was already toppled over, the earth’s moister taking care of the unmaintained door hinges. You took extra care climbing over the rotting wood door making a mental note to try and remove the old intricate door handle before you left, the carved metal was exquisite.
Inside was a complete mess, the roof had failed years ago and there was a hole eaten away by the elements from the roof to the main floor. Thankfully the decomposing floors looked to be far enough away to keep the integrity of the stairs intact….mostly. You wanted…no needed that panel and by god you weren’t going to let a little rotting wood keep you from the very thing you came to New York for.
Each step you took up those steps was taken with extra care. Each foot set down adding pressure gradually listening for creaks and groans from the wood. The first three flights gave no trouble but the fourth gave some protest to the added weight. Thankfully nothing crumbled beneath you and you reached your destination. The roof access door was rusty and gave some resistance but a few shoulder slams broke the rust sediment allowing you access to your prize.
There it sat, a fully functioning (but dirty as fuck) solar panel ripe for the picking. Kneeing down to accesses how the panel was connected you pulled your tools out and got to work.
A few minutes into the process your heart skipped a beat hearing sounds that you hadn’t expected. The rusty door to the roof creaked open and the sound of shoes grinding down gravel into the roofs surface brought everything rushing to the present. You were no longer alone, ten years of solitude and now you weren’t so sure you were ready for company.
“Hey there beautiful, whatcha doing?” a not so pleasing voice crooned just behind you.
Yep not ready at all.
With a shift of your hips your hand slid down your calf resting on the hilt of your hidden blade and your other clutched your wrench just a little tighter. Slowly you rose from your knees turning to view your first look of a human in 10 years, keeping your blade to your back.
Five, there were five dirty gross looking men standing at your only exit off this building, and the way they were eyeing you up didn’t bode well for a peaceful interaction.
“We haven’t seen you around here before? We know every body who walks these streets. It’s always nice meeting new people in the area, you know, get to know them.” The man with a beard dressed in dirty cargo pants and a black t-shirt coed stepping closer. You watched his smile widen revealing a brown rotting set of teeth. Thankfully he was far enough away for now to keep the smell at bay.
“Donavan is really gonna like her.” One sneered under his breath to his friend unaware that you hadn’t been accustom to other people talking for quite awhile so his subdued speech came in loud and clear to you.
The sudden need to leave rose rapidly but you were unsure if you could take all 5 of them, maybe two……maybe. It had been a while since you had spared with another person so you could only guess your hand to hand skills were a bit rusty.
The one with the beard broke you from your thoughts and you stepped back unaware he had moved closer…..shit.
“What do you need the panel for sweetheart? Ain’t no one used that kind of technology since the virus wiped out most of the planet?” his eyes were soft but his body language was stiff and on edge, he was getting ready to pounce.
“A table.” You blurted out quickly. “I’m gonna make a table out of it. Wood rots, glass doesn’t, plus I like the design.” The lie was weak but you put on your best ‘I have no idea what’s going on’ smile and shifted your body in a defensive crouch.
“Hey, I know it can be lonely out here, why don’t you come back with us. We got food, a safe place to sleep and people starting over in life. We have our own little society, where people live in harmony.” His hand came out reaching for yours, fingers curling for contact.
“I appreciate the offer fellas, I really do, but I think I’m good on my own. I’m just gonna take my new table top and head back home. I’m fine though guys, you can head back to your new society.”
All at once all five moved, encircling you, eyes dark with dubious intent. “You see honey, we have to insist, you see, this is end times and its our duty to replenish the human race. We need more woman in our ranks, it’s your job as a woman to carry our children. And you’re a very pretty little lady and Donavan likes them pretty. We’ll get a handsome reward for handing you over.”
Ice water flooded your veins, fucking great, they wanted you for breeding? Fucking breeding?! Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, what do you say to that? ‘Sorry fellas I’m not interested in your dirty cocks and baring your bastard children’? Would that work? Probably not…
Before you could retort, two of them moved, faster than you anticipated. You were able to dodge the first assailant and the second caught you around the waist and took you down with an angry huff.
You quickly rolled backwards with the momentum extricating yourself from his grimy hands and rolled back to your feet. Hands up you readied for another attack and it came with a howling roar.
The bearded man came next swinging wildly like an untrained baboon. You spun on your feel sending the back of your foot into the side of his cranium getting an undignified squeak from the man. The neanderthal of a man went down like a sack of potatoes and the rest of his crew were unimpressed by your actions.
“Brad! You fucking bitch!”
Adjusting your footing you turned to the angry mob and spat on their comrades unconscious body, “Not so fun when your prey can fight back is it?” You hissed angrily keeping each one in your sights. “You make me sick, abducting woman for your pleasures against their will. Is this what is left of the human race? Rapists? I want no part of your new society!”
“Grab her! Donavan will enjoy breaking this one. He likes them feisty.”
They came again but your growing anger made you more focused. The first one came easy, your hand came out swiping the business end of your blade across the mans cheek distracting him with pain. Your foot slamming down on his knee sent him howling to the ground next while his second friend came at you screaming like a god damn banshee.
“Dude what is your problem?” He was easy to subdue, flailing about like an octopus on crack. You ducked as he roared over you landing on his face in the gravel. While he rolled to his back a quick punch to his temple sent him directly to dream land. Three down, two to go, go you!
The last two were not as easy to outwit unfortunately. One moved in front and the other moved to the back, both coming at you at the same time. The first few minutes of the struggle were in your favor but it had been years since you had, had this much physical activity so you weren’t fairing so well as the fight continued.
Shit.
One sloppy move and you were down, both males covering your body with theirs pressing you face first painfully into the gravel. One of them grabbed your hand and slammed it it repeatedly into the ground making you lose grip on your knife sending it flying a few feet in front of you. The wrench was next.
“We got you now you little cunt.” One of them growled into your ear shifting this body in between your thighs. “Maybe I’ll take the first ride as my payment?” His hips began to gyrate into your backside making you uncomfortably aware of his growing excitement.
“Get off of me you fuckers!” This couldn’t be how it ends, your freedom lost over your need to better your life. Your first interaction with humans in 10 years and you were about to be raped? Enslaved to pop out baby after baby?
Then the atmosphere changed on the roof. Four heavy thuds were heard behind you stilling the men on top of you.
“I don’t think she likes to be touched fellas, maybe you should let the pretty lady go.” A deep voice growled just behind you, a thick Brooklyn accent on the tales of his words.
One man got to his feet and stopped mid sentence, “And what are you gonna do abo……..fuuuuccck.”
“What is it Chet?” The man still pinning your down squeaked at his partners sudden loss of words.
“It’s them.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
All of a sudden the weight was gone and you took the opportunity to get to your feet. You came face to face with the terrified gazes of your final two assailants trembling in fear.
Ever so slowly you turned around and every ounce of breath in your lungs came out all at once in a excited wheeze. There before you stood four gigantic turtles standing on two legs and tree trucks for god damn arms. Each one dressed in black pants with different attire adorning their upper bodies. Wrapped around each of his their bald crowns sat different colored bandanas and each held what looked like ancient Japanese ninja weapons.
They must have been seven feet tall weighing nearly 400 pound each. They were intimating as hell but something about them sent a warm familiar rush of heat throughout your body. Especially the big red one that was currently eyeing you up. He was the biggest of the four and the swing of his hips as he neared made your mouth dry.
Out of habit you took a few steps back as he advanced still unsure of the new additions intentions. You were beyond intrigued but your track record for the day wasn’t the greatest.
“Hey, hey wait stop moving.” He called reaching out but it was too late. The ground beneath you gave way sending your body hurtling to the ground floor crashing against the rotting floor boards and trusses as you fell.
As the floor came rushing up to meet you, you saw the red turtle come down after you trying desperately to stop your descent. But his efforts were for not as you hit the ground succumbing to the darkness.
Every once in a while you would hear voices as you rolled in and out of consciousness. Soft but unknown voices floating over you.
“Is she gonna be alright Don”
“She should be, she has a concussion and a sprained elbow. God knows she should be dead, but thank the gods for those other floors slowing her fall. It could have been a lot worse.”
You tried to open you eyes but the pull of sleep was too great but before it took you honey colored eyes and red engulfed your vision before the darkness came claiming you.
@blossom-skies
#tmnt fandom#tmnt fic#tmnt fanfiction#raphael tmnt#tmnt leonardo#tmnt donatello#tmnt michelangelo#aftermath#part two
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party favor
Summary: Teasing Negan has its consequences. Continuation of summmertime high
Pairing: AU Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)
Tags: AU Negan, Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough-ish smut
About an hour had passed since you spoke to Negan by the appetizer table, and you couldn’t stop replaying his words in your head: “Or maybe it’s my cum dripping down your legs”
There were brief moments where you’d forget about him and this morning, but as soon as you’d catch eyes across the yard, it all came rushing back to you. How deep he had fucked you and how spilled inside you. Arousal bubbled inside you, snowballing with every cocky smile he gave you and lick of lips.
Negan had been hanging out with your father and other neighborhood dads all night, talking football and home projects. Though he made sure to lock eyes with you every now and then, causing you to miss far too many shots in your beer pong game.
Goddammit. You were frustrated how he had you twirled around his fingers from anywhere across the room. God, his fingers.
Towards the end of your game, you noticed Negan was isolated in the corner of the yard - a beer in his hand, smoking a cigarette. He usually wore a leather jacket, but due to the festivities, he went with a navy blue flannel, unbuttoned all the way - exposing one of his endless crisp white tees.
After losing the game and the twenty dollars you placed on it, you decided to confront him. You walked over with a masquerade of merely being a good hostess and saying hello.
“Hey Eddie, you building a house with all those bricks you were shooting?” He joked.
“Stop it,” you gritted out with a fake smile smeared across your face, acting like you were making small talk.
“Stop what hon?” Negan said playing dumb.
“You fucking know what,” you said softly, keeping your hostess act together.
“Am I making you soak through those tight jeans?” He knew exactly what he’d been doing all night.
Your heart rate skyrocketed. You were too easy for him, too fun to play with. You had had a mixture of sexual urges and irritability flowing through your blood, and you were desperate to make him feel the same way.
You did the only thing that could even the playing field. A quick peripheral sweep of your surroundings and you palmed Negan through the front of his pants, using your body to block the view of your hands of any wandering eyes.
“Jesus Christ Eddie” Negan was caught off guard, his body tensing.
He gently swatted your hand and stepped away, “Unless you want me to drag your ass upstairs I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”
“You won’t,” you said boldly before taking a sip of your red solo cup, maintaining eye contact over the rim.
You causally pivoted away and walked inside, heading straight to the hallway bathroom. You were surprised at what you just did. You were a semi-reckless college kid, but not grab-my-hot-older-neighbors-dick reckless.
You splashed cold water on your face, trying to relax and calm yourself down. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, chugged the remaining of your drink, and tossed it before stepping out.
“Were you rubbing one out in here?” Negan was leaned against the wall closest to the door.
He walked in, corralling you back into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Negan-“you started as you stepped backwards and saw him click the lock.
“Relax, everyone’s outside. Fireworks are about to start”
His hands went straight to your hips to pull you close to him, as his mouth began attacking yours. You lustfully kissed him back.
His hands roamed your sides and back under your red halter top. His ministrations included groping your ass before swiveling you to face the mirror. You extended your arms and braced yourself on the porcelain counter. His long arms and body caged you against the hard material, his center simultaneously rolling into you, trying to get more friction.
“You feel what your clever little hands do to me?” He breathed out while nibbling on your ear.
“Negan, my - ah fuck” you moaned out.
“- my folks. The party..” you backtracked, your common sense telling you this wasn’t a good idea.
He sucked lightly on your upper trap before planting kisses along your neck, instinctively you bent your neck over to the side to expose more of yourself to him. He stopped at the edge of your jaw and looked into your eyes through the mirror. His hazel colored orbs piercing your soul, flooding your gut and center with butterflies.
“Best keep it down then” His entire persona oozed dominance.
He found the front button of your jeans and undid them, pulling them down to half your thighs along with your thin undergarment.
He ran two fingers along your slit, playing with your juices vertically. His index finger magically strummed your clit, you wanted to spread your legs, but the fabric rolled at your thighs didn’t allow such movement.
“You really were gonna soak your pants there huh hon?”
“I mean, would you look at that” he removed his fingers and brought them to your field of vision.
You saw his shiny, glimmering fingers covered with your clear viscous fluids. He brought his fingers closer to your face.
He coated your lower lip with your juices, your tongue slipping out to draw them in. He gently shoved them into your mouth, scissoring your tongue while you suckled on them.
“Fuck, you’re a dirty girl. You like tasting yourself, doll?”
“Mmhmm” you affirmed with his digits in your mouth.
He slipped them out and cupped his hand under your chin.
“Spit” he ordered
You extracted as much saliva as you could and dripped it into his hand.
“Remember you gotta stay quiet” he reminded you as you heard his belt click followed by his zipper, and the faint gushing sounds of him lubricating his cock with your spit.
He held your hips in place with one hand while the other guided his member up and down your folds. He teasingly probed you with just the head several times before entering you completely with one smooth motion.
“Aghh” You moaned out. White knuckling the edge of the counter.
“What did I just say” Negan condemned you and immediately froze his motions.
He slowly exited halfway and pumped himself back in, to the hilt. Your thighs bound together by your waist of your jeans made you tighter for him. He slowly and deeply fucked you, feeling his tip tickle your cervix.
You continued to make audible moans. You couldn’t help it, his length, his girth, his angle. Him.
“You gotta keep it down hon,” Negan warned you
“Or am I gonna have to nuzzle you like the little whore you are?” His deep voice vibrating through your body.
Holy fuck. His words bringing you closer to your release. You were never spoken to like this, and you didn’t expect yourself to be into it.
He brought his hand to cover your mouth, his other arm wrapped tightly around your pelvis, and he shoved himself rougher into you.
Your sounds were effectively muffled by Negan’s large callused hands. He kept his hard and deep motions, he increased and decreased his speed, building your orgasm for release.
You tried to tell him you were close, but his palm blurred your words.
“Are you gonna come?”
You looked at him through your reflections and nodded.
He sped up, directing your release.
“That its doll. You’re gonna come around my cock, with everyone outside, your parents, your friends - they don’t know what a dirty girl you are.”
The coil in your stomach tightened, and you withered beneath him. He shimmed the hand that was wrapped around your hip and rubbed your clit instead.
You moaned louder into his hand, and you become undone, collapsing onto your elbows. Negan’s arms reflexively held you up.
Negan continued to fuck your limp body, chasing his release. He stifled his grunt into the crook of your next. His stubble lightly pricking your skin.
“Fuck” he whispered
He stayed inside you, emptying all of his milky seed until he softened. He pulled out and tucked his member back in and zipped himself up.
Negan only brought your underwear up to its original position. Leaving your pants pulled down.
Remaining on your elbows, he leaned over to whisper in your ear, his hand rubbing your center through the fabric, “Now, your gonna walk out of here with my spunk swimming in your panties.”
He turned around and wiped his forehead with the bathroom towel while you pulled your jeans up.
Before exiting, he cupped both sides of your jaw with his hands, looking into your eyes, “Next time you wanna pull some shit like that just know I’ll call your bluff. I’ve been fucking longer and harder than you sweetheart”
He leaned down to meet you for one final sloppy rough kiss. He left first closing the door behind him.
____________
You waited a few minutes before you exited the restroom. Luckily everyone was outside distracted by the fireworks. No one noticed your disappearance as you made it back by the end of the show.
Towards the end of the night, or the next day considering it was well past midnight, people dwindled out. You and your mother were in the kitchen wrapping leftovers while your father and Negan were in-and-out bringing in the ice chests to organize the next morning.
Negan walked toward the kitchen, and gave the island a soft slap, “Well, Frankie, I think Klaus and I are about done, is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, Negan, I think we’re all set. Thank you so much for your help, like always,” your mom answered.
“Like always, thank you for the hospitality” he smiled at your mom, and the instant she turned away he shot you a wink, causing you to drop the empty Tupperware in your hand.
Fuck. you thought to yourself frustrated and flustered once more
“You outta here Negan?” You’re dad asking walking in, closing the sliding door.
“Looks like, the missus says everything is square”
“Alright then,” your dad and Negan shook hands.
“Eddie, are you gonna say goodbye?” Your mom asked, a little embarrassed you forgot your manners.
“Oh. Shit. Yeah. Goodbye Negan, have a nice night, or morning? Yeah...” your voice awkwardly fading out.
“Thanks Ed. You too. And good luck with the whole senior year thing.” he smiled before making way toward the door, your dad walking him out.
Bastard
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Wet (by MintJam)
Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie
Read on A03
Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.
"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."
Warnings: NSFW!
Wet
It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.
He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.
The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling. He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.
Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.
The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.
–––––
The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way. He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.
If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.
"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."
"Well hello to you too, darling."
Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.
Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."
"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.
"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."
"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.
"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ... where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...
"Alfie? You sure?"
"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."
"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.
"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?
He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.
–––––
The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.
"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.
"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."
"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."
It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.
"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"
"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.
"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."
"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."
"You what?" Alfie splutters.
"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."
"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."
"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."
That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.
"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"
"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."
"I'll be back later. Got people to see."
–––––
Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.
His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup." See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.
"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."
"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"
And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.
"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.
Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...
A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's cold.
"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though. "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.
As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.
"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."
The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat. "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.
"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."
"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."
"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.
"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."
Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.
"It is."
"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"
Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.
The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.
"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.
"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.
Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating. Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.
"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."
"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.
"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.
"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.
He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."
Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.
"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.
Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.
"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.
"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.
"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.
"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.
He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.
"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.
Strange that this should feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.
"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.
When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.
The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.
"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.
Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.
And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.
Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.
Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"
"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.
"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.
"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."
"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."
"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him. "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.
"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"
"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.
#Peaky Blinders#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#tommy x alfie#alfie x tommy#Alfie Solomons#Tommy/Alfie#Tommy Shelby
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So I’m finally getting around to writing out a bunch of info about my Sander Sides au so I hope youre all ready--(its like 1 am im so sorry for any spelling mistakes and missed tags)
So its 1 am on a work night and I cant sleep and I’ve had lots of ideas and canon things for this au bouncing around my head for days and now TONIGHTS THE NIGHT ITS HAPPENING IM DELIVERING YOU ALL THE DETAILS AND EVERYTHING I CAN THINK OF AND TYPE
Also please feel free to ask about this! I know I got a few new followers from all my recent sander sides art and also thanks to @sugarglider9603 reblogging some art I made of their au I got the biggest flood of exposure and attention on my art ive ever had and I have so much to thank them for, for all recent exposure ive gotten the past couple days( theyre so sweet and lovely and easy to talk to sugar deserves all the love--) and its given me a huge surge of motivation and confidence to post this. And please, my inbox is always open to talk about my aus or my art! Ask questions, send requests, send headcanons or ideas, send fluff angst im open to anything and I try to do all requests sent to me(sooner or later)
Oh oh! and please id you catch any and all the little inspirations or anything let me know
And finally this au is a LAMP au with Remile and Demus on the side
Ahem ahem anyway onto the au!!!
More under the cut so I dont flood your screen too bad!
Ok so!
This Au was originally inspired by @residentanchor‘s amazing fanfic A Lesson in Practicality and also a little bit by @prettyinaccurate‘s fanged virgil au( I’ll get more into that further down)
So it takes place in a (currently) unnamed bigger city I based off San Francisco and Sacramento( because I live in Cali and those are the two major cities ive really visited ya know?) The boys are all in various stages of their twenties when they move into a four bedroom apartment together: Patton Foster is the oldest of the roomies at 27, then Logan Masters at 26, Roman Prince at 24, and finally Virgil Collins at 22. They move in together because it all works out for them really, the apartment is in a good distance to all their current jobs, whether by bus or even in Pat’s case in walking distance and with all four of them it was well affordable and was pretty nice. I mean hey it even came with a little communal balcony ( since theyre on third floor of the building)
Things are understandably a little rocky at first , i mean isnt it always though?
Virgil has alot of anxiety and so he tends not to talk really at all at the beginning unless he ABSOLUTELY had to, mostly communicating in noncomittal noises and soft grumbles, and he was fresh out of collage and barely two years into his job and out on his own for the first time and he wasnt really ready for it either like christ too many people
Patton was bright bubbly and caring. This wasnt his first rodeo with roomies, I mean cmon, hes been sharing a room with his older brother Damian(deceit) on and off almost all his freakin life, nor was it his first time living on his own with strangers(hes lived in two different parts of two when he was job hopping before he settled down in his current part time job)
Roman was extroverted loud and exciteable, he too was used to sharing his living space( he had TWO siblings after all) and before he had moved into the apartment he had tried living on his own and with other roommates while he attended collage, but those just didnt work out well ( he ended up staying with his older brother Remy in his studio apartment across the city while he finished out that semester and searched for a job to keep an income.
Logan was serious minded stern toned and confident, he had a minor degree in teaching that he was slowly repursueing and had been out on his own for awhile before he had moved in. And though cold at first he soon found his group of housemates...enjoyable.
Its about a month into them living together that they learn exactly why despite slowly getting close and getting to know each other Virgil still kept a wide distance: He had entirely sharp teeth.
“ I dunno....I was born with them..theyve always been a sharp pain in my ass...” - virgil, about his teeth
Of course just having sharp teeth wasnt bad enough oh no. You see a few years back when he was about 18 he was young and dumb and made horrifically stupid and reckless decisions under peer pressure and ended up doing something that not only pointedly (haha oh god im not funny) chipped his front teeth but it fucked up his teeth pretty majorly, he went from having a normal overbite to almost having a goddamn underbite and crooked all his teeth, and the only way to fix it( because somehow miraculous for all the damage done it turned out to be mostly reversable aside from the chipping) was getting braces to realign his teeth. So he’s had pretty purple braces over his fangs since he was 18 and they werent expected to come off until he was AT LEAST 25 and he was insecure about them. ( he got mocked for them through his two and a half years of junior collage)
Once the gang finds out they are understanding and helpful and dont make a big deal about it( though virgil gains a significant amount of more vampire related nicknames from roman)
Once they get close and comfortable around each other the apartment is pretty warm and lively!
Virgil works at the art store as an assistant manager and head stocker( a bit of a dream come true since he was an art student)
Roman works as a part time waiter at a family resturant as well as working at a nearby theater( he was of course a lovely theater major)
Patton worked at a nearby cafe and bakery as a bit of everything! He helped wait tables, serve behind the counter, and helped in the back in the kitchen( the owners were family friends and he’d been working there almost four to five years at that point, boi knows how to do everything)
Logan worked at a big name bookstore, and also provided tutoring sessions for highschool students on the side by commision
More FACTS~~
Family ages for the big families go as follows:
Fosters: Damian(28), Patton(27)
Prince: Remy(26), Roman(24, older twin by 10 minutes), Remus(24, younger twin)
Emile is 27 and is a licensed therapist and works as a counselor for young adults that volunteers at the nearby library to ready to children
Remy works as a coffee barista in Emile’s building
Remus does alot of odd jobs, kinda working as an independent for hire and gets a surprising steady flow of work and pay. Hes still a trash man though, but hes a successful trash man( partly thanks to Damian calling in favors with connections)
Damian works at a law firm slowly moving into the position of prosecutor
Virgil doesnt really get along with his family and at some point Emile offers to take virgil in as his adopted brother, with Damian assuring him if he wanted concrete legal papers to start changing his last name, cutting ties with his family, anything needed for it he’d see to it that they’d be providing(something our boi really appreciates)
Remy visits Emile on his breaks since hes literally just...two hallways down and vice versa
Damian and Remus live together in the next, slightly smaller city over because Damian’s work transferred him to a different office in order for him to keep moving up in the ranks so to speak.
Hes also good at what he does.
Family nights happen whenever they can
Patton got to teach them how to cook alot of complicatied dishes from scratch, a bonding time he adores
Roman got Virgil an Espeon hoodie after they all start dating and virgil loves it and wears it alot around the house because its a thicker hoodie and warm( though he tries to ignore the big ears and the obnovious tail
Virgil also loves visiting Roman’s work on what Ro likes to refer to as “ hellish days” AKA kids day which means goofy kid friendly theme days. His favorite was probably alice in wonderland day when Roman was Tweedle Dee
Roman played J.D at the local theater and likes to hum some of the his songs to switch up the Disney
The balcony is covered in houseplants and and a corner of old blankets and pillows to sit and chill on
Once a month Logan and Patton have what is affectionately referred to as the Cat Discourse
After any particularly rough days at work Patton tends to massage Logan’s shoulders and back to make sure Lo doesnt get any really bad stress knots
in return when Logan sees Patton’s head a hard day he makes Patton’s favorite drink and pulls him into a hug and let the older man fall asleep in his arms while they watch movies
Pat and roman sense each other’s bad days and order in some cliche diner food and hole up in pattons room with Pattons computer and relax the shittiness away with comedy specials and movies
Likewise Virgil has a knack of picking up Roman’s bad days and always grabs a couple glasses and a bottle kinda cheap wine and they end up curling up together on Romans bed marathoning Disney movies on Virgil’s laptop
and when Virgil closes himself off more than normal Logan manages to lure him out of his room and they end up sitting out on the balcony quietly talking and stargazing
so loving and fond and soft with each other
you hurt one of them you gonna get BEAT by the others.
Speaking of getting beat, never EVER mess with Roman or Remus in Remy’s proximity
Remy Andrew Prince can and WILL fuck you right up if you hurt his little brothers. He’s protective.
and where Remy will rearrange your face Damian will ruin you mentally and legally if you so much as mistreat a single freckle on his little brother’s face, despite knowing that Patton is fully capable of taking care of himself.
Everyone protects Virgil, dont mess with or hurt virgil or you have the pack coming for ya throat
aaaaaaaaaaaaaand thats all I have for right now! Of course more will be added but now its almost three in the morning and I have work at 1:30pm and im sleepy finally! But I hope you guys like this! And please, feel free to talk to me about it, my inbox is always open!!
Taglist: @phantommoonpeople @sweetsweetemo @loganberrysanders
#my au#My writing#sander sides au#sanders sides#sander sides fanfiction#human au#lamp fanfiction#LAMP#ts demus#ts remile#ts#ts roman#ts logan#ts patton#ts virgil#ts deceit#ts remus#dukedontlook#roman sanders#virgil sanders#fanged virgil#patton sanders#logan sanders#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#remy sanders#ts emile#emile picani
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Bell x Anxious!Fem!Reader
Requested by: @phoenixxsflames
Warning: filth
Word Count: 1,917
“What? No, not slim ones. Regular, please.”
“And a lighter as well,” she added, spilling a bunch of change on the counter. Trying to avoid the cashier’s eyes seemed to be working well so far, but she knew it’s not going to be enough. She sent an internal curse to herself for forgetting to bring her ID.
“I’ll have to see the ID, ma’am.”
There it is. A harsh squeeze in her stomach made her lose her words all of a sudden, the fact that a long queue was standing right behind her not helping in the slightest.
“Here’s mine, I’m buying this,” Bell said without a hint of stress in his voice, wrapping an arm around her casually and flashing his ID.
A huge smirk was rising on his face when they finally left the store. It was already late into the night, freezing wind making her shudder despite her thick coat and a fluffy scarf.
“You should have seen yourself just now. Totally loved that look of pure terror,” he snorted, leading her back to the apartment house. “Adorable.”
She just scoffed and looked away. Even though Bell was one of those people who never backed away from any obstacle they encountered on their way, let alone get anxious around someone, she knew he understood her. After all, putting all of those teasing jokes aside, he was always there by her side to save her from the embarrassing moments that seemed to have taken a liking of her life.
They were about to enter the apartment house back again to rejoin the party, but he stopped right in front of the door to the building.
“Wanna have a quick smoke?” he asked, already lighting up his cigarette. Just by looking at him, her stomach clenched in stress. Why does she have to be so nervous all the time?
“I haven’t smoked in a year, I’ll probably just choke on it.” She sent him a shy smile, fixing her jacket tighter against her body. The cold was becoming unbearable, but she was determined to stay outside if only it meant spending more time alone with him.
“Oh, I can teach you. If only you want, of course.”
He took her raised eyebrow as the sign of curiosity, so he continued, flicking the lighter a couple of times. “There’s this technique...that allows two people to share one smoke.”
Her wide grin turned into laughter, body scooping closer to his to shield herself from the icy wind. He didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he shifted so that his wide chest cut off most of the blowing air from her.
“What, you don’t believe me? Babe, I’m an expert in this field.”
“Show me then,” she teased, gazing up to him in expectation. Somehow, his presence and light bickering made her feel relaxed, like she didn’t have to worry about her body language or what she’s going to say next, as she always did around other people. Bell was truly a blessing.
He was really close now, she could smell the distant scent of his cologne, his breath tickling her face as it turned into white smoke in the cold air.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She watched as he inhaled with the cigarette in his mouth - and then, suddenly, he was leaning over and pressing his lips to hers.
At that point, her mind turned off completely. There was no cold around them anymore, no wind, just the freezing feeling of his kiss. It caught her completely off guard, so she didn’t engage into it, but neither did he; after a second, he just pulled back with a smirk.
“See? Told you I’m an expert.”
She could do nothing more than just stare at him with mouth still hanging open. The electric feeling in her gut seemed to be gaining strength with each passing second of utter silence that fell in between them.
And then, surprising mostly herself, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled into a kiss again. He had to bend over to catch her lips and this time, they both went all in - it was hungry and passionate and full of greed.
Being so close to him for the first time felt weird - so she decided to get to know his body as much as she could, her hand touching his chest and traveling up to rub on his shoulder and pull him closer.
“Mmh. Seems like you like the technique,” he breathed, his hands first resting on her waist and then dropping lower, squeezing her butt. When the action caused her to gasp into the kiss, he just smiled and pressed his cold lips harder against hers.
Part of her wanted to snap something back, but she doubted her mind could come up with anything clever enough. Not when he was so close, not when she could barely keep up with how fast the kiss was becoming.
Finally, she let her fingers tangle in his hair. They scratched and caressed the back of his head, pushing him against her at the same time. The amount of pleasure her mind was currently flooded with was overwhelming, and honestly, it was the best feeling in the entire world.
The wind grew stronger and even though her body was drowning in his embrace, she shuddered.
“Let’s get inside.” He pulled away for just a bit, as they quickly entered the building and were on each other once again, as soon as the door closed behind them.
The corridor was dark and quiet. If her mind wasn’t currently occupied with other, more pleasant matters, she would have heard the faint sounds of music from the party at the second floor. But she didn’t - a breathless gasp escaped her throat when he broke the kiss and dove to her neck, smearing open-mouthed affections along her skin.
“You smell so amazing,” he muttered, moving his lips a bit upwards to graze behind her ear. “What kind of perfume is that?”
She could barely remember her name, and he was asking about her perfume? It was so ridiculous, she couldn’t help but giggle loudly.
“Seriously, Bell? Forget the perfume, for God’s sake, just kiss me.”
So he did, a constant smile not getting off his lips for even a second.
She didn’t know how much time has passed when they finally pulled back from each other, foreheads pressed together. Her mind kept sending her simple thoughts, most of them saying It feels so good, or Kiss him again, to the point where she had trouble restricting her lips from pressing against his again and again.
“Baby,” he murmured, rubbing his hands along her waist. “You feel that?”
It took her a good second to understand what he meant, and when she finally did, nothing more than a faint blush rose on her cheeks.
He was so hard, she almost couldn’t believe she didn’t feel it sooner - rubbing and pushing in between her legs, it seemed as if their innocent kissing was becoming pure torture to him.
“N-not here-”
“Want to take care of me?”
“I said not here, you goon!” She smiled, sensing the teasing in his voice and guiding him towards the stairs. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what place to choose that would provide them enough intimacy.
As they made their way up, she shot a quick peek in his direction. With his face expression all pleasured and his hair ruffled, he looked absolutely smitten.
Instead of going back to the party and maybe locking themselves in the bathroom, which was the only idea on her mind right now, he didn’t stop on the second floor and led her further up - until they found themselves on the staircase leading to the roof.
“No one’s gonna come here,” he said, sitting on the stairs. “We can let go, baby. If you still want me, of course.”
It was completely dark in there, adding to the adrenaline rush in her veins. Her senses of touch and smell were heightened when she straddled his lap, hands leading themselves to rub against his chest. And then, a little lower, and lower, until he groaned and buried his face in her neck.
“Of course I still want you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “But surely not on some dirty staircase.”
A small whine was all that left his mouth as he fixed his hands so that they rested politely on her waist. “Fine by me, sweetheart. I just need to go to the bathroom then and-”
“Shhh.” She put one finger on his lips. “I didn’t say I’m going to leave you all pumped up like this.”
With a last kiss on the mouth, she moved from his lap and allowed her body to rest in between his legs, shaky hands rubbing against his crotch. He was still hard, even more than before; she tried to clear her mind of all anxiety that already managed to crawl its way into her thoughts - what if he won’t enjoy himself?
Stress was soon forgotten when she palmed his warm erection with her cold hands, making him gasp out loud.
There was no lube for a proper handjob, so her mouth dove to engulf his tip and make up for the frigidness of her touch, tongue pressing flat against the length.
“Baby...” he sighed with his hand tangling in her hair, head thrown back from pleasure. That was all she could make out in the darkness, so her focus shifted to his cock instead - making sure her mouth included every bit of him.
Right then, someone on the lower floors flicked on the light; blinding her for a split second. Her whole body flinched in surprise, and it was his turn to shush her.
“They’re not coming here,” he whispered and looked down on her with his dick still deeply buried around her lips. “Oh, fuck, you look so hot-”
He suddenly stopped, listening closely. The steps ringed on the staircase for a few seconds, only to eventually fade away. A huge grin returned to his face.
She just raised an eyebrow, continuing with the ministrations. Her mouth started hurting after a while, so she shifted in her position and climbed up into his embrace again, palm pumping his cock with her saliva as a lube now.
“Can you feel how close I am? Yes, baby?” he asked into her kiss.
“Shut up and just cum, Bell.” She rolled her eyes and bit his lip playfully. “God damn, even now you’ve got so much to say.”
“Well, what can I-” Whatever he was going to say, his words turned into a low groan as she picked up the pace of her pumps, involving his whole length. “Fuck. Fuck, baby! Keep going like that-”
Suddenly his whole body twitched as he thrusted up into her hand, his cum spilling along her palm. She relished in the way pleasure painted itself all over his face as he breathed heavily, his hips giving out few light thrusts until he stilled completely.
“That was one hell of a technique, huh?” Her smile was wide, wider than ever when she licked the cum from her hand. All the stress and anxiety was long gone, disappearing somewhere among the affection she’s experienced and Bell’s loving gaze.
“Told you I’m an expert.”
He quickly tucked himself back into his pants as they shared a last peck on the lips and went back to rejoin the party together.
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Baby Daddy - Chapter 14
You can read it here on AO3, or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.
“Derek,” Sheriff Stilinski says in the same patient tone he probably reserves for crazy people, and Derek feels his scant control slipping even further. “Son, you can’t possibly—holy shit!”
It’s too late to pretend that nobody saw his eyes flash. Derek takes a step back, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. The Sheriff is staring at him, jaw dropped, and Deputy Parrish is doing what every cop is trained to do when they’re presented with danger—he’s reaching for his firearm.
Derek is a trapped animal.
He takes another step back, aware of Boyd moving away from him.
That hurts. He knows it shouldn’t, but it hurts.
“I’m sorry,” Derek says, to Boyd, to the sheriff, to the missing heartbeat that is Laura, to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
And then his senses are flooded with Stiles’s scent, and Stiles is standing beside him.
Derek lifts his gaze, aware that his eyes are still glowing.
Stiles’s eyes are wide, his mouth open, like some little kid staring in awe at a magic trick. His hand twitches as though he’s about to reach out, but thinks better of it. “Derek, how are you doing that?”
“Stiles,” the sheriff says, his voice steady, but his heart racing. “Stiles, step away from Derek, son.”
“Nobody…” Stiles still hasn’t looked away from Derek. “Nobody’s going to shoot anybody, right?”
“No,” the sheriff says. “Nobody is going to shoot anybody.”
Parrish’s shaking hand rests on the clasp of his holster.
Stiles steps back from Derek.
“That’s good,” the sheriff says. “Everybody’s staying calm, and nobody’s going to hurt anyone else.” He stares at Derek. “Now maybe you can tell me what the fuckis going on here, Derek, what happened to your sister, and what the hell sort of drugs you’ve been taking that can make your eyes do that.”
“I’m not on drugs, sir.” Derek’s fear threatens to choke him, but there’s nowhere left to hide now. He can’t run. Not when Laura and Peter are in danger. All he can do is reveal the truth and hope that it’s not a death sentence for his surviving pack, the way it was a death sentence that time he whispered his all his secrets to Kate. “I’m a werewolf.”
In the sudden silence that follows, Stiles says, “Fuck. That didn’t even make your list, did it, Dad?”
***
The sheriff sits down on the couch, smelling of discomfort and old, familiar pain, and listens as Derek haltingly tells him about werewolves, about the fire, and about hunters. He doesn’t tell the sheriff what Kate did, and what hedid. There are still some things he can’t unburden himself of, especially in a room full of staring faces.
Sheriff Stilinski’s expressions are a discordant symphony as he listens: scepticism, shock, fear, sympathy and, finally, a sort of unhappy acceptance.
“You’re a werewolf,” he says at last. “And your family were werewolves. And Laura and Peter are werewolves, and they’ve been kidnapped by werewolf hunters.”
Derek nods anxiously.
“I mean…” The sheriff rubs a hand over his forehead. “Stiles, have I been taking too many painkillers?”
“Nope,” Stiles says. “I heard it too.”
The sheriff looks to Parrish, and Parrish nods warily.
I always knew there was something weird about this town,” the sheriff says.
Parrish nods again.
“Derek’s a good guy,” Boyd says at last. He’s moved closer again, and reaches out and claps a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “He’s not…” His face twists up with the word. “He’s not some kind of monster.”
“Neither is Laura,” Stiles says, and Derek feels a burst of relief followed immediately by a jealous sting. “I mean, this is all crazy, but the Hales are the victims here, right?”
“Our pack never hurt anyone,” Derek says numbly, and only hopes the sheriff believes him.
“Okay,” the sheriff says, nodding. “Okay, so the priority is getting Laura and Peter back. You’re certain he was taken too?”
“It’s his blood on the fire escape,” Derek says. “I can smell it.”
“I feel like I’m taking a lot on faith here, son,” Stilinski says. “Fuck my life.” Then he rallies. “Argent, you said? Parrish, wasn’t that licence plate I gave you registered to an Argent? Get an APB out on that, will you? If anyone sees them, get them to pull them over, have a chat, find out where they’re staying. The usual dumb local cop shtick. We don’t want to tip them off.”
“Yes, sir.” Parrish steps outside to use his radio, but Derek can still hear every word.
“This is insane,” Sheriff Stilinski mutters. Apparently he hasn’t rallied as much as Derek assumed. “Okay, Derek, you’re the expert here. Do you know of anywhere they’d take Laura and Peter?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay. And—hell, there’s no good way to say this. Are you sure they’d keep them alive?”
“Yes, sir.” Derek swallows. “Until they get me too. We have a bond...” He falters over that. “We’re supposed to have what’s called a pack bond. I should be able to feel if they’re alive or not.”
“And you can’t?” the sheriff asks.
“No,” Derek says faintly. “The bond isn’t as strong as it should be.”
Stiles makes a small sympathetic noise at that, and Derek’s heart skips a beat. He steals a glance at Stiles.
“Well, we’ll get that APB out,” Sheriff Stilinski says. “And wait and see if we ping their phones. Other than that, and patrolling a few of the likely spots around town—empty buildings, warehouses, and the like—I don’t know how much we can do with what we’ve got.”
Parrish comes back inside. “The APB’s out, and I’ve got a possible cell phone number for Gerard Argent.”
“Can we get that triangulated?”
“I’ve already put the request in.”
“Good.” Sheriff Stilinski nods. “Now, unless anyone’s got any other ideas, we wait to get a hit.”
From the silence, Derek guesses that nobody else has got any other ideas.
***
Sheriff Stilinski orders everyone out of the loft when the forensics guy turns up, and Boyd drives Derek to the Stilinskis’ house.
“Werewolves,” he says once, giving Derek the side-eye. “Jesus.”
Derek glares at the windshield.
“Man, I thought you were just really antisocial,” Boyd says at last.
“Oh,” Derek says. “No, I’m that as well.”
***
Stiles’s enticing scent, unsurprisingly, permeates the Stilinskis’ house. It’s a balm and torture at the same time, but Derek is too anxious about Laura and Peter to make any room for the particular crises that is Stiles Stilinski. He even manages a faint smile of thanks when Stiles presses a mug of warm tea into his shaking hands.
He sits across from the sheriff in the living room, and the sheriff goes through everything again.
“Werewolves,” he says more than once, shaking his head as though to clear it. And then: “And this is why they targeted you? This is why your family died?”
Derek nods.
“I don’t know shit about werewolves, son,” Sheriff Stilinski says, “but God knows I’ve got no patience for murderous bigots. I didn’t know your family well, but they were good people, and I’m sorry this happened to them, and to you.”
Derek jolts in surprise, and Stiles flashes him a small, comforting smile.
Sheriff Stilinski spends a lot of time on the phone with Deputy Parrish, giving out both orders and advice in equal measure as Parrish runs the investigation from the station.
Boyd waits around for a while, and then takes a worried call from Erica, wondering why he’s been gone so long.
“I’m really sorry,” he says, “but she sounded a bit off. I should go.”
“Go,” Derek tells him. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Hey, if you need anything else, you call me, okay?”
Derek nods. “What are you going to tell Erica?”
Boyd shrugs. “It’s not my secret to tell, man. I get that this isn’t something you share with people, and I know I just happened to be there, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna treat it any differently than any other confidence, you know? I won’t break your trust.”
“You can tell her,” Derek says. He can’t imagine that Boyd and Erica have any secrets, and, for better or for worse, he doesn’t want to become one between them.
Boyd holds his gaze. “Thank you, Derek.”
Derek nods, and watches him leave.
Mom always said they had to guard who they told, but Derek’s already broken that rule before, hasn’t he? He told Kate. She already knew, he realised later, but he told her everything. He told her who’d be in the house that night. He told her about the tunnels and where they came out. He might as well have lit the match himself.
So now Boyd knows, and Erica will, and Stiles and his father know, and Deputy Parrish knows, and Derek can’t bring himself to care. If Laura comes back to him alive, he’ll take responsibility for having told their secret. He’d already left the pack anyway, hadn’t he? What’s the weight of one more disappointment? And if she’s still alive to hate him for it, then he’ll take it gladly.
When the tense atmosphere inside the house becomes too cloying, Derek goes and sits on the back porch and stares into the little bedraggled garden.
He hears the back screen door squeak, and then Stiles joins him on the steps.
“So,” Stiles says. “Werewolves.”
Derek stares at him.
“Sorry, this is just really crazy, you know?” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Like, you spend your whole life thinking the world is one way, and then it just gets flipped on its head in the space of a day. I’ve got so many questions for Laura when she gets back!”
He says it with a sort of desperate hope; the same desperate hope that’s clawing in Derek’s gut at the moment. The desperate hope he’s trying to drown, because he knows to expect the worst.
“You stood in front of me today at the loft,” Derek murmurs. “When everyone else was freaking out.”
“Oh, I’ve always been a contrary little shit,” Stiles says brightly. “Just ask my dad.” His expression softens. “Seriously, though. I mean, you’re Laura’s brother.”
Derek pretends his doesn’t feel his heart sink a little at those words.
“And Laura is like the coolest person I’ve ever met,” Stiles continues blithely. “I mean, Laura’s not scary even though she’s a werewolf, except when some asshole doesn’t tip, so why would you be scary just because you’re a werewolf too?”
Derek nods.
Stiles chews his bottom lip for a moment. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says decisively. “Laura and your uncle. And the baby. They’re all gonna be okay.”
He reaches out and laces his fingers through Derek’s, and squeezes.
Derek closes his eyes and tries not to breathe in his scent. He wants nothing more than to lean into Stiles, to hold him and to be held. He wants like he’s never wanted before, and he has never felt less deserving of anything in his life. He wants to believe it when Stiles tells him everyone will be okay. He wants to believe that Stiles cares for him too. He wants, jealously, to believe that Stiles cares for him in a different way than he does. A singular way.
He wants too much, and it all feels too impossible to even dare to imagine.
He squeezes Stiles’s hand back, and tries to tell himself that this is enough. If he gets Laura and Peter back, then this is enough.
Stiles’s smile is so full of warmth and hope that it makes him want to cry.
“Stiles!” Sheriff Stilinski calls from inside the house. “Derek!”
Stiles scrambles to his feet and heads back inside the house, Derek following.
The sheriff is on his feet, crutches under his arms, struggling into his jacket. “We’ve got a hit on Gerard’s phone. Parrish is coming to get me, and we’re going to see what we can find.”
“Dad…”
“Stay here,” the sheriff says sternly, and then looks to Derek. “Both of you, stay here. I shouldn’t even be going myself.”
“I was just going to say that!” Stiles exclaims.
“But I am,” Stilinski says firmly, “because I’m still the sheriff, and this is my job, and because Laura Hale is carrying my grandchild. Don’t you think I’ve forgotten about that, kiddo.”
“Dad…” Stiles swallows. “That’s not…” He sighs. “Be safe, okay? Just be safe. These people are dangerous.”
“You think this is my first day out of the academy, son?” Stilinski hugs him. “I’m taking a SWAT team with me.”
Stiles zips his dad’s jacket up for him. “You don’t have a SWAT team!”
“No, but Redding does,” the sheriff says, tightening his grip on his crutches, “and their commander owes me a favor. And they’re already on the way.”
“In that case,” Stiles says with a forced smile that really doesn’t disguise his worry at all, “go and kick some ass.”
The sheriff snorts, and heads for the front door, his crutches tap-tap-tapping on the floor.
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