#asshole without regret for the good of the team. especially if this moment is directly a result of like. Dean hitting on Tosh while she’s | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thanksjro · 4 years

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Dark Cybertron Chapter 6: This Sure is a Comic I’m Reading.

The Dinobots are chilling out by the standing Titan, because Slag went and got his ass kicked by the super death wave a few issues back.

Excuse me, Slug.

There’s real-world context for this change- you see, in England, the word “slag” is often used as a derogatory term. Specifically, it’s either used as a stand in for “prostitute” or “whore”, or in more of a generalized “I greatly dislike this person” sort of way. It’s typically aimed at women, which is likely why Arcee said something to him as opposed to anyone else.

This little exchange is interesting, since Dark Cybertron Chapter 6 was published in 2014. Our boy Slug here first showed up in the original cartoon, back in the 80s, and was in the Marvel UK comics, where they didn’t change his name. A good portion of the IDW creative team, including 50% of the writers for this event storyline, are also from the UK. Seems like someone finally got sick of calling a whole-ass robot dinosaur a slut.

Not that there’s anything wrong with enjoying casual sex, or being a sex worker, but slapping labels on other people without their input is sort of a shitty thing to do, especially when you’re doing it in a franchise typically aimed at younger audiences, and with a surprisingly large following in the UK, where that term is used.

Anyway, while this conversation was happening, the Titan moved, and when it did, it kicked up a shit-ton of dust. Astrotrain, who is laying off to the side with his legs and an arm off, offers Swoop his binoculars. When asked why the hell he has binoculars- which doesn’t seem so strange to me, given that they’re standard military equipment in a lot of places- he tries to explain that he’s got shit eyes, and didn’t want Megatron to know about them. This would be an interesting glimpse into the inner workings of the Decepticons and how they view disability, if Swoop actually gave a damn.

But he doesn’t.

So it’s not.

Swoop sees with his special eyes that the guys who went down into the Crystal City have escaped, and are currently trying to outrun the Titan, and also the title of this issue.

Watch out, that typography’s gonna fuckin’ get you!

The Dinobots start firing on the Titan, which does fuck-all, and Prowl yells at them to head for Iacon, since that’s where the Titan’s going. Bumblebee, Skywarp, and Megatron are revealed to be MIA. Bummer.

Over on that weird water planet the Lost Light landed on a few issues back, the Rod Pod gang have puttered into Metroplex’s eye socket, and are currently making a Fantastic Voyage. Getaway asks where the hell Metroplex’s eyeball got to, but nobody has an answer for him, least of all Metroplex. Strange happenings on this weird water planet.

Ratchet gives everyone the skinny on Titan physiology theory- thank god he came along on the trip so I could at least get a little lore to feed my brain through this slog.

So, Metroplex’s spark could actually be out right now. Even though the lights are still on, that doesn’t mean anyone’s actually home, because the power of his spark needs time to actually travel through the body, and it needs a lot more time than the average robot, because he’s just so goddamned big. Humans also need time for their animating force… or, uh, blood to travel through the body. This is why we have a pulse. If it was instantaneous, we wouldn’t, but we’d probably also explode, because our squishy little bodies wouldn’t be able to handle that shit.

The gang starts scanning for life signs, even though they’re not even sure if they’ll be able to pick anything up. Brainstorm theorizes that the water could be causing degradation to Metroplex’s body. Getaway is still stuck on the Rod Pod existing. He’s having a moment. He’s been having a moment, really, ever since he saw the damn thing.

The results from the life-scan come in, and it looks like Metroplex might actually be okay, because there’s a blip for everyone in the Rod Pod, plus one! Hooray!

Nobody tell them about the hanger-on who’s basically glued himself to the ass of the Pod. We’ll let them have this little win, if only for a moment.

Ratchet suggests they head for the brain to check things out. Brainstorm reads back the report on the water sample he took, holding his data pad as precariously as he possibly can as he does. There’s admium flakes in the water. Nobody knows what this means, so they try to call Swerve, who is a metallurgist, for his professional opinion. The call goes to voicemail. Pity, that.

The fellas show up at the cranium, and there’s a small issue; Metroplex’s brain isn’t there. It wasn’t yanked out, either- it’s clean as a whistle in there, all things considered. Next stop- the spark. Hopefully they can get there before all the lights go out, because it’s beginning to look rather grim for ol’ Plexy.

Back on Cybertron, Starscream is asking about the fatality rate of the death wave, which is a bit funny to read now that I’ve typed it out. Tankor- who is our tie-in issue character today- decides he’s going to start some shit with Starscream, even as people are evaporating around him in the medical center he’s volunteered to assist at. Starscream takes the verbal stripping down with a straight face, because at this point, it’s just par for the course for him. Being head honcho of a whole planet kinda sucks, as he’s quickly finding out.

Flatline, who is also here, makes a crack at Starscream’s expense, and Starscream decides that that’s going to be the straw that breaks his camel’s back, as he starts getting dangerously sarcastic with the guy. Too bad this isn’t the time for that, however, because the Titan just showed up at the city limits.

Wow, Titan really said “fuck those two guys on the left in particular.”

Over in the Dead Universe, it turns out that the massive fiery laser blast from last issue DIDN’T kill everyone, and doesn’t actually seem like it was ever intended to. I suppose it was some sort of transport beam that Nova Prime used for his entrance, like the dramatic bitch he is. That’s neat, I guess.

Hardhead’s pretty upset by Nightbeat’s betrayal, not that Nightbeat really cares- being brainwashed tends to have that effect. Hardhead starts slamming his skull against the containment cube, living up to his name and also making himself look like a fool. Cyclonus is beginning to regret agreeing to this trip. Orion Pax punches the wall and starts yelling at Nightbeat for being a traitor, pretty much breaking his hand in the process. Rodimus tries to get him to chill out, and gets a knuckle sandwich for his troubles.

Also, this whole thing is a ruse. Orion managed to crack the cube, and he’s gonna try to get them out, but he can only do it if Nightbeat doesn’t realize what’s going on. Once Rodimus is let in on the plan, he tries to butter up ol’ Ikea Johnson, who notices the very mysterious something that’s on Rodimus’ palm. The thing that’s NOT his forcefield generator, that we don’t get to know about just yet.

Seeing the mysterious something makes Nightbeat fall to his knees, clutching his head in pain. At least, that’s what Orion says happened. I don’t know what happened or why, or why Orion would fucking know what happened or why. Or even, really, if it was Orion making the claim in the first place.

Not even any feet to try to connect to characters. I’m just guessing on previous panels.

“Dark Cybertron” makes me so, so tired.

Anyway, Nova Prime tells everyone to get on their knees, lest he shoot them with his big honkin’ back turrets.

Back inside Metroplex, the fellas have exited the Rod Pod and are on the hunt for Metroplex’s spark. Someone’s gone and drawn arrows pointing in the direction of the spark chamber, though who exactly is a mystery. Lots of mystery going on this issue. The boys decide to see where the graffiti takes them, leaving the Rod Pod to whatever fate might befall it while they’re gone.

Nobody likes the Rod Pod very much.

Also, that hanger-on from earlier is still there. This’ll turn out great, surely!

We get treated to a double-page spread of Escher proportions, as the gang tries to traverse the inner workings of Metroplex, until they hit an arrow that seemingly hits a dead end. When they brute force their way through the ceiling, it’s bad news bears; they’re right back where they started. Whirl, our most volatile friend, takes out his frustration on the Rod Pod, only for more bad news to reveal itself: the Pod’s been rigged to explode by the hanger-on!

And that’s a series wrap on the Rod Pod Squad! Let’s give ‘em a hand, folks!

Back in the Dead Universe, Nova Prime is busy deadnaming Orion, and generally just being an asshole. He notices Cyclonus off in the corner, and starts being an asshole at him too, because that’s how Nova interacts with the world. It’s all he knows.

It’s at this point that Cyclonus gives Hardhead the signal, and Hardhead bashes through the crack in the cube. Too bad it reseals itself directly behind him. Hardhead goes to punch Nova Prime, and gets his hand crushed into pulp for his troubles. Then he dies, because that was his forcefield hand.

And that’s a series wrap on Hardhead!

Nova Prime informs everyone that he’ll be taking them to visit a pal of his.

You know, this reveal would be a hell of a lot more poignant if I could FUCKING TELL WHO THE SHIT THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE.

#transformers #jro #dark cybertron #issue 6 #mtmte #issue 25 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #comic script writing

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p-eppermintea · 4 years

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Pairing: Erwin Smith / Levi Ackerman (Eruri) Characters: Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Mike Zacharias, Furlan Church, Isabel Magnolia Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: N/A Word Count: 2527 Tags: Enemies, Levi hates Erwin so much lol, mild violence, Erwin kinda sucks, Very slightly implied sub/dom dynamic, only slightly, Set during No Regrets Excerpt / Summary:

“But if I have to beat you into submission, I will. I don’t care who sees, or what they think.” He looks up at Levi, all eyelashes and thick eyebrows. “I will break you.”

The sharp smack of the back of Erwin’s hand connecting with Levi’s cheek resonates throughout the stables. He hits him so hard that Levi is knocked off his feet, sprawling awkwardly across the dirt. He whirls around to look at Erwin, baring his teeth. “Fuck you!” he spits.

Erwin stalks towards him. His hands are balled up into fists at his sides – ready and deadly like any other weapon. “You need to learn some manners.”

“Fuck you,” Levi repeats. His insult is met by a swift hit to the side of his head by Erwin’s shin. He falls back, his head connecting hard against the ground. He can hear a collective gasp from the other trainees, and Furlan and Isabel shouting his name.

Levi barely has time to spit onto the ground before Erwin swoops down to grab him by the collar of his uniform and yank him up to his feet. He holds him just above the ground like a mother cat carrying her young around by the scruff.

Levi bares his teeth at the man, kicking out at him with his legs. Who the fuck does he think he is? He’s convinced that Erwin just likes to take any chance to smack him around like a punching bag. All Levi did was be a little rude to his training officer. It’s not like he even really wants to be here. Perhaps Erwin is trying to prove something, although Levi’s not sure what or to whom. Is he concerned about his position within the Corps? Or perhaps he just does it for fun. Perhaps he just hates me.

Levi wanted to kill Erwin before, but now he really wants to kill him. If it wasn’t practically a death wish, he would take him on right here, right now.

But no. He’ll wait. He’s going to take his time killing Erwin Smith, and he’s going to enjoy it.

Erwin and Levi stare each other down; fierce grey eyes meeting piercing blue. The tension is palpable, and no one says a word or so much as twitches until, finally, Erwin throws Levi back down. Levi stumbles a little, trying to regain his balance. He balls up his fists, fingernails digging almost-painfully into his palms. They continue to stare.

It’s not like Levi can exactly fight back and give it all he’s got right now. Surely not with Mike right behind him, constantly sniffing up Erwin’s ass like some kind of lapdog. He thinks back to Mike’s hand forcing his head into that disgusting puddle. Maybe he’ll make him watch Erwin die, and then kill him after, too.

Erwin’s thick eyebrows furrow. The disdain in his gaze is obvious. “I expect you in my office after training,” he says, and then he turns on the heel of his boot and retreats back towards the office building. Mike follows closely behind, throwing a “Get back to it!” over his shoulder.

As soon as Erwin is completely out of sight, Isabel and Furlan run up to Levi, ready to make a fuss. Levi shrugs them off, though. He’s far too pissed off to even talk to his friends right now. He goes back to his horse and reaches up to stroke the side of her neck. Stay calm. Don’t ruin everything you’ve been working up to.

While everyone else heads to the mess hall for dinner, Levi makes his way to Erwin’s office. Isabel had given him a sad look and promised to save him some of her dinner. Such bullshit that he has to miss out for whatever ridiculousness Erwin has planned. He knocks heavily on the door and waits outside with his hands clasped behind his back. He knows Erwin is in there – he can hear him talking on the other side of the door. He’s left to wait outside for far too long for his liking. He starts to pace outside of the office, painfully impatient.

He’s about to give up and just leave, reluctance obedience be damned, when the door swings open and he’s finally face to face with Erwin. “Levi,” he says, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Levi supresses an annoyed grumble and steps inside the threshold of Erwin’s office. It’s a rather spacious office, almost impressively so. There are a couple of chairs in front of a desk, and a God-ugly rug spread on the wooden floorboards. Mike is leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed. The sneer he gives Levi is almost laughable to him.

Erwin strides swiftly past Levi and back to his desk, sitting down at the chair. He folds his hands in front of him neatly and they both stare each other down in silence. Slowly, one of Erwin’s eyebrows lifts. What the fuck does he want from me?

They stare at each other for a while. It’s like some sort of weird standoff. Levi refuses to be the first one to act. As it seems, so does Erwin.

Finally, Mike sighs heavily. “Salute, trainee,” he snaps.

Begrudgingly, Levi stands up straight and slaps his fist against his chest. “Sir,” he says, simply.

Erwin leans back in his chair, crossing his legs on the way. “Levi,” he replies, just as curtly. He has this strange sort of coolness to him. His devil-may-care attitude is downright unappealing, but Levi guesses that’s probably the exact reason why so many people trust him as a captain. Half of the idiots here would die for him in a heartbeat, and it makes Levi sick.

“At ease, Levi,” Erwin commands. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Levi, and he’s half convinced that he doesn’t even blink. Is he trying to be intimidating? “Mike, you can leave us alone.”

Mike leaves without a word, but Levi can feel his glare boring a hole into his back. Glare away, asshole.

Erwin is silent until the door closes behind Mike. He gestures in front of him. “Sit.”

Levi obeys. The chair creaks under his weight, but it’s sturdy. He’s determined to remain non-committal and as distant as possible, but he tosses up between obedience and just being downright rude.

“You need to learn to trust me, Levi.”

“What reason do I have to trust you?” Levi challenges. He guesses he’ll go for something in-between. He slips down into his chair and brings one foot up to rest on the seat. Finally comfortable, he tilts his head back. “What choice do I have, even?”

Erwin huffs out a laugh. “I suppose you don’t really have a choice,” he agrees. He leans forwards, serious. “Trust the Survey Corps – and more importantly, me – or spend the rest of your life imprisoned.”

“I wonder which would be worse.”

Erwin laughs for real at that, leaning back again. “A true dilemma, indeed,” he says. “We all end up the same in the end. Why not use your incredible talents for the good of humanity?”

Levi stays silent. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit of a thrill from being a member of the Survey Corps. Even after getting his citizenship – and, providing that he doesn’t get caught or prosecuted for killing Erwin – he sometimes thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay. He has way more potential than anyone else in the Corps, that’s for sure.

It’s nice to feel useful and powerful. He supposes that’s why his life underground felt generally fulfilling to him.

“You’re talented, Levi. More so than anyone else here,” Erwin tells him. “I know this, and you haven’t even faced a real titan yet. I really hope that you can learn to trust me. I know that it won’t happen overnight, but I do know that we will make a great team someday.”

Levi furrows his brows. “You want me to trust you,” he says slowly, “and yet you kick me around in front of everyone.”

“Above all else, you need to learn obedience.” Erwin says it like it’s obvious. “Don’t you think that the best way to teach someone obedience to beat it into them?” He pauses, looking up and directly into Levi’s eyes. “Especially when they’re as difficult as you.”

“You’re sadistic,” Levi hisses.

“That, I am.”

In that moment, there’s a tentative knock at the door. Erwin makes a delighted sound and stands up. “Come in,” he calls.

A small trainee with blonde hair opens the door and peeks her head in. “Um, I brought your dinner for you, Mr. Smith, sir,” she says timidly.

“Excellent.” Erwin approaches her and takes a platter out of her hands. “Thank you.”

She salutes and leaves without a word. The military has always creeped Levi out. He wonders what Erwin has done to earn her salute and her trust.

Erwin sets a shitty metal plate holding a bowl of soup, a small loaf of bread, and a couple of steamed potatoes in front of Levi. “Eat with me,” he requests. Or, it sounds like a request, but Levi knows it’s an order. He sets his own dinner down at his side of the desk and sits back down. He passes Levi a knife, fork, and spoon.

Levi regards the cutlery. The knife is blunt and essentially useless. He flicks his gaze back up to Erwin, who is already digging into his bread and soup. Could he kill him right here, right now? Just leap over the desk and jab the fork into his neck.

He’d probably be killed on the spot if he even tried and failed. Or, maybe not. Erwin seems like the kind of sick fuck who would still try to keep him around, anyway. For the sake of humanity. That’s always been his reasoning for wanting Levi to work under him.

Levi may hate his guts, but at least his intentions seem decent enough. It’s almost a shame.

Although, he’s not sure what the consequences of killing Erwin could be. There’s no one like him, that’s for sure. Everyone says that Erwin’s tactical abilities are some of the best, and he’s a natural-born leader. They all seem to think that Erwin is humanity’s only hope right now. And maybe under different circumstances, Levi might, too.

Ripping into his bread, Levi shakes the thought out of his head. Isabel and Furlan’s citizenships and wellbeing are more important to him than Erwin’s life ever will be. They’re his family. They will always come first, and they deserve a comfortable life on the surface.

Erwin and Levi eat quietly, and a little awkwardly. While Levi is avoiding eye contact, he takes a look around the office. It’s nice, he guesses, but fuck. He can see the dust in the air, and he doesn’t even want to think about the possible disarray inside Erwin’s desk drawers. If he wasn’t so starving, he would be completely put off his dinner.

When he looks back at Erwin, he’s looking right at him. It’s downright creepy, but if that’s how he wants to do thing, Levi is more than happy to oblige. He stuffs bread into his mouth and stares right back at him. What is he looking at? If he’s expecting Levi to say something, then he’s sorely mistaken. He’ll sit there and stare at him all night if he has to. He’ll never deny that he isn’t a stubborn man.

If Erwin is going to lead Levi straight to his death, then he’s not going to just let it happen without a fight.

Erwin knows this.

Erwin puts his spoon down softly in his half empty soup bowl. “Do you want to know what I think?”

Levi takes a bite out of one of his potatoes. “Not really,” he says, chewing while he talks. It’s gross and rude, but he’ll do anything to cement the fact that he won’t completely submit to Erwin – even in petty shit like this.

Erwin goes on anyway. “I think you’re smarter than everyone thinks you are. And you’re better than everyone thinks you are, too,” he tells him. “You’re better than those two friends of yours, who will only hold you back.” Levi bristles at that and opens his mouth to snap back at him, but Erwin quickly continues. “And maybe you’re even too good for me.”

He leans forwards, fire and determination in his eyes. “But I’m your only option for survival right now. You’re just too much work for anyone else to want to deal with, even if you are unbelievably skilled.”

Levi scoffs. He really is full of back-and-forths. How exhausting. “Am I supposed to be flattered or insulted?”

“I don’t care. You really have no choice, so I’m not interested in flattery. Or insults, for that matter.” Erwin folds his arms. “But if I have to beat you into submission, I will. I don’t care who sees, or what they think.” He looks up at Levi, all eyelashes and thick eyebrows. “I will break you.”

Levi can’t help but shudder at that. For some reason, he completely believes him. He won’t give up so easily, but he is certain that Erwin will do whatever it takes to make sure he submits. He stays silent at that and finishes off his final potato. A tiny voice in the back of his mind wonders if perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad to submit completely to Erwin. Almost cringing, Levi shoves that voice further back. Absolutely not.

Erwin, satisfied at Levi’s reaction (or lack thereof), goes back to eating like nothing happened. Levi slowly puts his cutlery back on the plate.

For some reason, and for the first, Erwin’s words are affecting him. I will break you. He’s already broken – it’s hard not to be, with the life he’s had – but Erwin will find a way to break him even more, eventually, and he has no doubts about that. It’s unnerving.

Levi decides that while Erwin Smith might be all charisma, piercing blue eyes, and jawlines; he’s also evil. That’s probably why he’s made it this far.

“Are we done?” Levi asks.

“Sure,” Erwin replies. He sets his cutlery down. “I expect you back here first thing in the morning, though. We have a lot of work to do.”

Supressing the urge to roll his eyes, Levi nods and stands up. “Yes, sir.” He salutes half heartedly and turns to leave swiftly. He sees a hint of Erwin’s smile.

Once the door is shut behind him, Levi heaves a sigh. He takes his time walking back to the barracks, mulling everything over.

On one hand, Erwin Smith is his ticket to a comfortable life within the walls. If he just gets his job done, he can disappear with Furlan and Isabel. Open a tea shop or something, and finally live comfortably.

But on the other hand…

Some part of him sees potential in Erwin and their proposed partnership; and an even sicker part of him is already starting to respect him, in some way. He may be a lot of things (annoying, relentless to the point where it’s almost pathetic, and incredibly fake), but he’s certainly ambitious. Rightfully so, as well.

I will break you.

A voice inside of Levi hisses; not if I break you first.

#eruri #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #erwin smith #levi ackerman #eruri fic #eruri fanfiction #fanfiction

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burned-to-the-void · 4 years

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Siegemas Day 17

My prompt: “Everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.”

A pre-Christmas team dinner for GIGN, basically. Or, a tiny step in the process of being accepted.

2.4K words, G rated, no content warnings apply.

Thank you again @dualrainbow for giving me the opportunity to participate!!💙 I hope you guys enjoy my contribution to this wonderful event, and please go check their blog to read more from other talented writers if you haven’t yet, you won’t regret!

🎄 Happy Holidays, everyone ;)

~*~

Twitch leans forward with her hands on the counter, inspecting the food for the umpteenth time despite the fact she knows that everything is up to her standard, which can be considered a synonym for perfection. She has pestered Rook, who volunteered to help her preparing the food, enough times to ensure that. The pâté lorrain smells wonderful, just as her grandma’s used to do, and the roasted turkey, stuffed with plump chestnuts, looks almost heaven-sent with its skin crispy and glistening with rich fat. The desserts are already set on the plates―except for the chocolate mousse that’s still being chilled in the fridge―dazzling in their various colors and shapes.

Really, there is no reason to feel this nervous, it’s just another dinner with her teammates, not a cooking competition. No one is going to point out even if there is something that’s less than perfect, not even Lion would be that blunt.

He's really coming, isn't he. Reminded of the real reason behind her worry, Twitch has to suppress the urge to bury her face in her palms and groan, a bit over-dramatic as she's prone to be.

Inviting him didn’t seem like a bad idea, in the beginning. It’s not Lion himself that she'd like to avoid, it’s the inevitable tension that charges the air like static electricity when him and Doc are in each other’s vicinity, one that she can't help but pick up like a overly sensitive radar, putting her on edge as well. When Doc isn’t involved she has a nice working relationship with Lion, although they rarely interact in more personal settings, making today an unlikely exception.

It was Montagne who suggested that she should invite one more person to the team dinner, which she had meticulously planned out so they can celebrate together before they part ways to spend the actual Christmas with their respective families. Sensing her hesitation, he assured her that he'd have a talk with both of them in advance and personally see to it that they remain civil during the dinner, and this earnest promise from the most reliable man she’s ever known had been enough to persuade her.

Had been, that is, until some assholes decided to celebrate their holiday by threatening the local community with a thrilling promise of random bomb attacks, causing mass panic in the area, and along with several other operators Montagne was picked out to go and intervene. He tried to apologize before he leave, to which Twitch only shook her head because it wasn't his fault terrorists didn't give a shit about other people's holiday plans. But now that the drama of the evening is about to unfold, without him to defuse the situation if the things get heated, she can’t help but lament his absence a little.

“It’s going to be okay,” says Rook, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly, and places a tray of newly baked plum jam cookies on the counter. His eyes linger on them a bit too longingly, and Twitch sighs.

“I envy your optimism. You can have one now if you want, we’re one man short anyway.”

“Well, if you say so,” he grins, and reaches directly for the one that's practically oozing with ruby-red jam, as if he was just waiting for the cue. Twitch is opening her mouth to comment on it but that is the exact moment when the doorbell starts to ring, so she just rolls her eyes and hurries past him to greet the guest.

Doc is standing by the door, the tips of his ears reddened by the cold air but otherwise immaculate from head to toe, with a toned down blue scarf that actually matches the color of his coat, a feat not many men can achieve. Once again Twitch is reminded that without the near perpetual look of bone-deep tiredness he makes a strikingly handsome figure, even to eyes that are uninterested by principle.

Also, surprisingly, he isn't alone.

"We're not too late, are we?" To his credit, Doc's smile doesn't even look that much strained, despite his company.

"You two came together?" Twitch has to ask, blinking up at the hunched form of Lion who is tailing behind Doc, and for the lack of better word, sulking. Doc shakes his head with a chuckle.

"God, no. I just caught him fidgeting in front of the door."

"I didn't fidget," Lion mutters a protest, clearly still fidgeting. Doc, his smile somehow both sympathetic and smug, doesn't bother a reply but Lion glares at him as if he's heard one anyway. Twitch hastily beckons them inside to break the tension before it has a chance to develop.

Doc gives Twitch a quick hug on his way in, careful not to press her against the cold surface of his coat, and brushes past her into the dining room. When it's Lion's turn they both stare at each other, unsure, until he shoves a bottle of wine into her hand, almost as an afterthought.

"Thought I'd bring a gift," Lion explains with a sheepish expression.

"Thanks," Twitch arches her eyebrow, caught by surprise, albeit a pleasant one. Lion nods, looking satisfied, and follows Doc before she can find any more words to add.

"Mmm, something smells wonderful in here," Doc comments, taking his gloves off and rubbing his cold hands together.

"Hey, guys," Rook sticks his head out from the kitchen, oblivious to the fact he's got some cookie crumbs on the corner of his mouth. "And no, everything smells wonderful in here, we really put a lot of effort into it this year. Especially the desserts."

"I can tell," Doc deadpans, but not without a hint of indulgent smile, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to help them with the last of the preparation. He's no stranger to her kitchen, after all. Lion hovering near the counter, on the other hand, definitely is, so Twitch ushers him to the table and points down at one of the chairs.

"Sit," she orders, which he follows without any complaint.

"He's only playing nice because it's you, you know," Doc grumbles to her, when they're left alone in the kitchen by chance. Twitch only snorts.

"So, it's a bad thing that he respects me enough to listen to me?"

"Well… no," he admits reluctantly, adding sauce over the plate of oven-baked trout fillet with a skilled flick of his wrist. Twitch steals a glance at the table, where Rook is trying to make a small talk with Lion, although it's impossible to tell about what, and more importantly how smoothly, from where she's standing. Lion is drumming his fingers against the table, feigning collected boredom, while his whole posture screams tension. Not used to saying yes to personal invitations, her brain provides. When he did, he must have had no idea that Montagne, his social bridge when it comes to team dynamic, would be missing from the scene.

"Try to give him a chance, Gus. Just for tonight."

Doc's fingers falter, in the middle of putting up the garnish, but only for a split second. When he answers his voice comes out soft and pensive.

“For tonight,” he agrees, and Twitch lets herself hope that maybe, just maybe this evening won't end as poorly as she had imagined.

~*~

In retrospect, hope rarely does anyone a favor.

With the help of warm, quality food and a few glasses of wine, Lion slowly loosens up, looking less out of place, his answers not so clipped anymore. He participates in the conversation without being pressed to, although his smiles are still rare and fleeting, and as the host Twitch could have counted it as a victory, was it not for the way―

"Your claim here is outrageous, Kateb," Lion blurts out, cutting her off from her thoughts, and at this point, she neither knows nor gives a fuck what their current argument is about, or who started it this time. No point in keeping the score when they're so determined to make it a tie.

"I have statistics to back me up, and I might have shared them with you if you weren't such a stubborn asshole," Doc replies, his enunciation precise, but Twitch knows it's just because he's putting extra effort not to slur. Lion growls, unfailingly rising to the bait.

"Statistics can be flawed, more so when they're taken from the field. Too many variables."

"Actually, they're from the lab. Admit you’re wrong, it really is more fatal than a heart attack. The survival rate is almost―"

Across the table, Rook shares a pained look with Twitch. This semi-drunk, almost childish bickering has been going for god-knows-how-long over several different subjects now, changing the topic only serving as a temporary solution, and while it's better than the full-scale war they usually wage against each other, it's still giving her a migraine. She drinks what's left in her glass nonstop and sets it down with more force than she has to. It's not like they would notice anyway. Her phone buzzes from her pocket, signalling an incoming call. Twitch fishes it out in a heartbeat, eager for anything to distract her from this.

"It's Gilles," she announces, which goes largely unheard amidst the raging debate. Calmly, she takes a deep breath and slams her fist on the table, hard, making all of the plates and glasses shudder and clatter in their places. Instantly three sets of eyes fly up to her, stunned, but finally no one is using their mouth for purposes other than gaping. Good.

“I said, it's Gilles on the phone, and I’m gonna pick up now, so everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.” Just before tapping on the receive button, she adds a belated please, which does nothing to soften the blow.

Lion is the first to recover from the shock, and he gets up from his seat to exit the dining room altogether, huffing out loud. Twitch directs her gaze toward Doc, who is adamantly not meeting her eyes, his face flushed with mild embarrassment. Rook, of all people, is the only one who looks vaguely apologetic.

"Gilles!" She answers, aiming for the bright tone and probably failing, and puts him on speaker. "Glad you called, I was planning to check up on you. The mission went pretty smooth, I heard?"

"Oh, better than smooth. Turned out they were just a bunch of amateurs. The bombs wouldn't have even detonated properly, Monika said. The actual hard part was dealing with the panicked citizens, wanting to know if the packages they've just got can be timebombs in gift wrappers."

Twitch hums sympathetically, the mental image of people swarming up to IQ demanding she should take a look at their present boxes with her detecting device―that may even contain questionable items, only that they’re not bombs―vivid in her head. Doc and Rook scoot closer to add their own hellos, and Montagne is quick to notice the absence.

“I take it Olivier couldn’t make it?” he asks, and at his troubled tone Rook jumps in hurriedly to correct him.

“No, he's here. He just went to kitchen to fetch, uh, something.”

“He is?” Montagne sounds surprised, but also genuinely pleased, probably seeing the fact he didn't bail out as a personal progress, and would be terribly disappointed to find out he is still, to some degree, trying to. Twitch feels she has no choice but to jump into the lion’s den herself.

“Yeah, I’ll go and see what’s taking him so long,” she mutters and picks herself up from her seat to follow him outside.

She's ready to drag him in by force if needed, nevermind the solid thirty kilograms he has on her, but she hasn’t expected him to be actually heading back in, and almost bumps into him in the doorway. Lion takes a step back, quick apology on his lips.

“Gilles wants to talk with you,” Twitch informs him, but it comes out as an accusation. Lion, having no problem recognizing it, just nods along.

"I just needed to get some fresh air, before I go back to pretending I'm enjoying this... new-found peace treaty with our doctor," he smiles darkly, earning himself an incredulous stare.

“You call that peace?”

“Compared to what we normally do? Yes. We’re talking and not hating each other’s guts for once,” he shrugs, as Twitch steps aside to let him in.

“Whatever you say, but keep it down a notch. I’m positive my ears are bleeding by now.”

He does have a point though, so Twitch is willing to let the conversation slip as it is, but the way he casts his glance down and frowns suggests he has more to say, so she chooses to wait, despite the chilly air.

“I want to… thank you, for inviting me. I know I’m not the most welcomed person in house parties.”

Considering the context, his following smile could be more bitter, but it remains neutral. Not really self-deprecating, just stating what he’s accepted as a fact. The attitude suits him, Twitch thinks. Sharp and precise assessment delivered in the bluntest way possible, applied even to himself.

“No problem. The more the merrier, isn’t it? And cooking for one more isn’t that much of inconvenience,” she replies, and smiles as a thought crosses her mind. “You’re not that bad, as a guest. See, you're the only one with who brought gift today."

Lion makes an noncommittal noise at that, looking skeptical, and yes, maybe that only means he is still a guest in this house, when rest of them is a family, but it's a starting point, one that now Twitch is determined to make the most of it. And the thing about acquired family is, they all started from ground zero.

“Let’s go back in, poor Gilles must be thinking either we lied to him, or that you ran away. And in case you’re considering it, you’re not going anywhere before you try the desserts.”

"I wouldn't dare," Lion chuckles, and opens the door to the dining room. After a short break, the air feels pleasantly warm, overflowing with the rich smell of butter, chocolate, and cinnamon. It seems like Rook has begun to set out all the desserts, ever the enthusiast, while Doc has been keeping Montagne's company. Twitch momentarily forgets to announce their return, in favor of soaking in every detail of the scene, from the way the soft, golden light makes everyone's face glow in the same hue, to the sound of their shared laughter, feeling so fiercely right in place―and hopes one day, if not today, it would be the same for Lion as well.

#rainbow six siege #r6s #r6s twitch #r6s rook #r6s doc #r6s lion #r6s montagne #fan fiction #siegemas 2019

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professorharringrove · 6 years

Text

At the YMCA...(Harringrove gym smut!)

The weight room of the YMCA was always stifling in the late afternoon. A solitary fan rattled away in the corner, and the guys would usually have to prop the door open with a wastebasket to get some air circulating but still, the sweat dripped down the walls and narrow windows.

Billy stands in front of the mirror, shirtless, doing bicep curls, softly growling at his reflection in the mirror. He feels thick with the heat, in contrast to the frosty late-spring chill of Hawkins outside, where he tries to gulp down raw lung-fulls of cold air, trying to forget. Forget Neil, forget the tightness and stiffness of his house, the fists and threats and secrets. Even in stillness, Billy crackles under the surface like ice floes breaking apart. Here in the gym, the heat lets Billy uncurl, unclench. He snarls at his reflection, catching the glint of his own eyes like meeting a long lost friend. He needs nobody here in Hawkins.

The door slams shut behind Billy and in the mirror, he catches the reflection of a brown mop of hair. Harrington.

Billy had given up trying to provoke a reaction out of Babysitter Steve months ago, since that night at the Byers. If Billy was being honest with himself -- which he was sometimes, late at night, alone with his thoughts -- he knew that Max was serious with her threats, and he intuitively associated that threat with Steve. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on with that whole gang of kids and the police chief, but better to just leave the whole fucking thing alone, he told himself. Keep your head down and get the fuck out of Hawkins.

Still, Steve was obviously a pussy who couldn’t finish what he’d started and in fact Max had to finish what Steve started – My asshole bratface kid sister is tougher than Steve! Billy thought. With basketball season over, Billy was focused on baseball, and Steve had moved onto track. Billy was glad he didn’t see Steve’s smug-ass face as often anymore. Steve seemed to avoid Billy as well, which was good, because Billy didn’t have any need for a shit-stain like that. Of course, when the basketball team had gone to state championships at the end of the season, he’d slapped Steve on the back and said, “Good job, amigo.” But otherwise that was it. No need for the guy.

“Hey Hargrove.” Steve smirks at Billy from across the weight room. Billy looks up. A few older men that Billy knew from around town were working out on the chest press machines in the back corner, but otherwise the gym is empty. Great, Billy thinks. Just what he needs is attention from Steve.

“Harrington,” Billy nods in a gruff reply. Their eyes meet in the mirror, but Billy quickly looks back at his own reflection, huffing out a sweaty breath and curling two more reps. In the mirror, Billy can see Steve sauntering over to the squat rack close to Billy and watches him start a slow warm-up set with just the bar.

Billy closes his eyes for a minute. Harrington had broken his silence, interrupted his personal time, but he’s not going to let this guy get to him. Babysitter Steve has nothing to do with Billy’s workout today. Billy shakes his curly blond hair across his shoulders and starts his set again. They both workout in silence next to each other, the sound of the weights clanking, the heat rising.

“How’s baseball going?” Steve asks cheerfully as he re-racks the bar and then, looking directly at Billy in the mirror, stretches his arms outwards to idly lean on the bar.

“Why do you care?” Billy asks curtly, and immediately regrets how snappy it sounds. Doesn’t want Harrington think that he affects Billy somehow or that Billy cares at all. Steve’s smug face just still irks Billy. Billy sighs and looks at Steve in the mirror, makes his face relax a bit, makes his eyes go more aloof.

Steve snorts a soft laugh, grins lazily while rolling his eyes slightly, and then leans forward, his long arms still gripping the barbell so his body forms a sinuous stretch, his yellow tank top and tiny blue gym shorts a burst of color in the otherwise drab gym. “I’m just asking, man. Don’t bite my head off.”

It comes out a bit quirky, reminds Billy immediately of that night in the driveway. Don’t cream your pants, Steve had said, stunning Billy with a cool bite behind his words. Were you dropped on your head as a child?

“It’s cool,” Billy huffs, without meeting Steve’s eyes. Billy finishes his next set of curls and even though he doesn’t look up, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve start his second set of squats. He can see that Steve is tracking Billy’s movements across the gym, but when Billy looks up at Steve again, Steve’s eyes dart back to his own reflection. Billy wonders why Steve’s shorts are so small, notices that Steve’s thighs look a lot bigger than they did during basketball season, wonders how often he’s been working out, especially since he hasn’t seen him in the workout room in months, and then shakes his head, willing himself to ignore Steve again. Steve, making himself hard to ignore, starts humming softly as he squats, mouthing a stray lyric here and there. Man, fuck this guy. Billy thinks. And fuck his gay-ass yellow tank top.

Billy finishes his set, re-racks the dumbbells, then walks over to the bench press and starts stacking weights on the bar. Steve continues to softly hum a tune that sounds poppy and shitty. Billy sits down on the bench, reclines, and starts lifting the bar. The weights are heavy, but Billy needs this, needs to feel something other than this warm irritation that Steve has provoked. He grunts through the first set, and just barely manages to re-rack the bar, when he hears Steve saying, “Hey man, you need a spot?”

Billy’s stomach tightens for a minute and he barks back roughly, “No. I ain’t need nothing from you.” He lies on his back, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes, but can hear that soft snort of a laugh again. He gets up, puts another 5 pounds on either end of the weight bar, reclines again and starts his second set. Suddenly Steve is sauntering from the squat rack closer to Billy.

“Dude. It’s ok to need a spot. That’s what workout buddies are for.”

Billy’s throat clenches. “You and I are not workout buddies,” he chokes out in irritation. Billy looks around, notices that the other men had left the workout room, notices how empty it is. Shit, maybe Steve is just being nice. After all, it is a good idea to have a spot; Billy and his teammates spot each other all the time. But Billy doesn’t need it or want it from this guy. Not from a pussy in the tiniest blue gym shorts Billy has ever seen.

“I don’t need you to babysit me in the gym, Harrington” Billy says gruffly and starts lifting the weigh bar again. He’s surprised at how heavy it is (shit, how much did I put on here?) but continues to push upwards, muscles already starting to quiver.

Steve is now standing close to Billy, close enough that Billy can see his dark leg hair curling around the tops of his striped tube socks at the top of his muscular calves. He chuckles again and says, “Don’t be ridiculous, Hargrove. Everyone needs a hand sometimes.”

Billy starts to blush and then forces his face into a snarl.

“I said I don’t need a spot, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs but doesn’t move away. Billy continues his reps, each lift getting slower and slower, and he’s pissed at himself even more with each moment of struggle, and re-racks the weight to rest. The air is stifling, and Billy focuses on the flickering neon light in the ceiling, but suddenly feels a warm presence by his face.

Harrington is standing directly behind his head, his thick thighs on either side of the reclining weight bench.

Billy starts to lift the bar up again, but, flustered, his arms shake and before he can comprehend what’s happening, he fails his lift, and the bar falls to his chest. He tries to engage his lift, but the bar is too heavy.

Billy’s mind races from panic to shock to embarrassment to anger as he tries to engage the weight bar again. He refuses to look up again, but hears Harrington’s soft dorky laugh.

“You sure, there, man? You don’t need…a hand?” He can hear Steve smirking as he asks, and he wonders if Steve has his hands on his hips, like the fucking babysitter he is, and despite willing himself not to look, his eyes flutter upward to see Steve standing with his legs open, his hands hanging casually by their sides, like Steve could take up every inch of space in the entire gym and Billy has somehow been reduced to this narrow weight bench. Steve leans forward until he is fully caging in Billy’s head with his thighs, and Billy notices that his tiny blue gym shorts are tented right above Billy’s forehead.

Billy huffs out a breath and starts to lift the bar again, but just as he begins, Steve is leaning over, the tiny blue gym shorts and his thick muscled thighs almost brushing Billy’s cheeks, and the tiny, thin flimsy blue gym shorts are now mere inches away from Billy’s eyes, almost touching the tip of his nose. If Billy opened his mouth his tongue could probably touch Steve’s cock, flatten against the swell of his balls. What. The. Fuck, Billy thinks and just he just as he chokes out a growl and starts to lift the bar again, the bar is bar is being lifted off his chest. By Steve. Billy freezes, his half-expressed growl leaving his mouth hanging open slightly, watching Steve pluck the bar nimbly with both hands and then gently place it back on the rack and then taking a step back.

Billy lies still on the bench for a minute, staring at the ceiling through fluttering lids, trying to slow his shallow breathing. He refuses to crane his head backwards to look at Steve, and the minutes slide by, the fan rattling away, the soft distant sound of the squeak and thump of the racquetball courts down the hall from the weight room. Billy kind of maybe wants to die of embarrassment, so he jumps up and, toweling himself off, stalks over to the chest press machine, throws the pin blindly into a slot near the bottom of the weight stack and throws himself into the set. He squints his eyes shut, trying to drown out the image of Steve’s shorts, Steve’s thighs, Steve’s hands curled around the weight bar he’d lifted so handily.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees that Steve is now stacking weights onto the bar that Billy had just abandoned, humming that shitty poppy tune again. Billy shakes his head in disbelief. This pussy cannot bench more than him, Billy thinks, not sure why he’s even trying, who the fuck does he think he is? But then Steve gently reclines onto the bench and starts lifting like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like he’s done this all day. He continues to hum louder than before and Billy can now hear bits of lyrics he’s singing softly. “She’s a man-eater, mannnnn-eater for suuuu-uurrrre…”

Fuck. This. Billy thinks, and jumps up from the chest press machine, toweling himself as he stalks away into the locker room. He hears Steve wolf whistle as he slams the door to the locker room, the crack of the metal door echoing against the row of lockers. Billy paces for a minute trying to collect himself, thinks about going back in and punching Harrington’s smug little face. But gripping his fists, tries to quell this urge, talks himself through the rage. Just keep your head down and get the fuck out of Hawkins. Head down. Get the fuck out of Hawkins.

Billy heads into the steam room, throws his towel down onto the bench, and slowly sits down until he can relax against the tile wall. The steams rises around Billy, and in the dim heat, his muscles, tensed by the irritating interaction, start to unclench. He leans his head back against the moist tile. Maybe he can let himself relax and forget about his unfinished workout and the feel of Harrington’s words or his fucking thighs pressed up against him. Let go of the shame that flushed through him, let go of the echoes of Neil’s voice and fists that were provoked by Harrington. But he’s still raw and needled open. He’s still adrift, hungry. He leans forward to stretch his back, elbows on his knees, his head hanging down, eyes focused on the curve of his own muscles, the composition of his own frame. Tries to remember that he doesn’t need this hunger, doesn’t needs anything, anybody.

And suddenly the door to the steam room opens, and visible only as a silhouette against the light is Steve Harrington, his mop of brown hair curling like a halo around his head, his broad shoulders squared. Billy sits up, leans forward until his elbows are on his knees, and stares at this figure before him. The door shuts behind Steve and he crosses the steam room and sits down right next to Billy. He’s close, leaning into Billy’s face, one hand on his hip and the other hand propped up on his splayed out knee. Billy’s eyes, still lowered, start to drift sideways to Steve’s hipbones, catching the glint of the groove of muscle above his groin. Billy turns to Steve, his jaw jutting upward defensively at Steve, shoulders curled protectively around his chest.

Steve suddenly claps Billy on the shoulder with a strong slap, grinning.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it. Today’s just not your day.”

Billy’s jaw clenches at his words; they may sound friendly but there is a taunt in there. Steve’s shoulders are square, and his jaw is thrust upwards towards Billy, pursing his lips like he is anticipating something delicious. But Billy doesn’t want Steve to think he perceives the taunt so he remains still, keeps his gaze. Billy notices that Steve’s hand is still on his shoulder where he’d slapped it, the heat from his fingertips pricking Billy like a row of needles or teeth. The steam has made Billy’s thoughts gauzy, loose, and his eyes start to travel through the dim steamy light, down the ladder of abs and obliques, and back up, along the smooth neck and ridge of jawline, each detail making him feel more hypersensitive until he fixates on the water droplets barely perceptible but clinging to the locks of hair curling around Steve’s ear. He wonders if there are water droplets like that hanging off the edge of his long eyelashes on his huge brown eyes, and he immediately hates this thought, hates himself, sinks deeper into the tile bench, deeper into the frantic chaos of his own mind struggling to process this Steve.

Steve leans in close so that his mouth is near the edge of Billy’s jaw. Billy can feel his breath on his earlobe, his senses heightened in the dark cloud of steam, goosebumps prickling up and down his arms and back.

“It’s not too late…” Steve drawls into Billy’s ear, low and gravelly. “To get a…hand.”

Steve moves his hand from Billy’s shoulder down the swell of his arm muscle, fingers trailing skin, and then drops his hand into Billy’s lap, his fingers strumming his thigh muscles. Billy jerks at the touch, wills himself not to move. Don’t think about this. Don’t think about the eyelashes, don’t think about the doe eyes, don’t think about the stupid fucking popped collar rugby shirts Steve wears to school. Billy tries to hate Harrington even more, thinks about the way he fucking lied to him at the Byers’ house like he thought Billy was stupid, thinks about the way he racked those weights to try to out-bench Billy, how he tried to intimidate Billy. His face curls into a snarl, and he leans into Steve, staring, and then baring his teeth, drags his tongue across his top teeth like he’d done so many times in basketball practice. It came naturally to him, the anger welling up like a dam about to break.

“Maybe you should keep your fucking hands to yourself, faggot” Billy spits in Steve’s face. Steve doesn’t break eye contact but a small quirky smile breaks out across Steve’s lips.

He whispers, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t KING BILLY.”

Billy’s throat goes dry. Steve has him boxed against the tile, his hand inches from Billy’s cock, and Billy’s anger and shame is bubbling, roiling until he feels that familiar feeling tingling somewhere deep inside, like from the bottom of his spine. He can feel his cock swelling up, inching closer towards Steve’s hand resting casually along the inside valley of Billy’s thigh. He closes his eyes and wills his cock to go down but his own dick ignores him.

Steve turns his head upward and raising his voice, trumpets, “KING BILLY, EVERYBODY!”

His voice echoes in the small white tiled room, like the whole gym could hear it, like the whole town would hear it for days afterward. And then Steve leans forward again, curls his hand around Billy’s erect cock, and squeezes.

Billy’s eyes roll back into his head. Fucking sonofabitch. Steve squeezes and then stroke upwards, circling the fat head of Billy’s dick and then stroking back down with a thrust that feels angry. The pressure releases some tension in Billy, makes his toes curl, makes his quads tense up and shudder until they splay open, giving himself to Steve. Steve laughs softly, strokes upwards again and then repeats the yank on the downward stroke, tugging Billy’s girth in his grip.

“I hate you,” Billy slurs, his head tilted towards Steve, jaw hanging open, eyes half-lidded.

“Yeah, well join the fucking club,” Steve hisses, his hand furiously stroking upwards yet again, like he’s hot with what an asshole he is.

Billy’s head thuds against the tile wall again. He’s lost, opening his thighs even more, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Steve leans close, his teeth dragging along Billy’s earlobe and he’s whispering into Billy’s ear.

“Hey Billy, I’d bet you’d like to know how much I benched today. I would have spotted you at 165. But you were a stubborn boy, and you wouldn’t let me. So I had to finish your set for you.”

Billy can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t deal with Steve’s words, deprecating, confident, hot. They go directly to his gut, make his cheeks red, his cock fill out even more. He can bench more than 165. He can out bench all the pussies at fucking Hawkins, how did he let himself fail today?

Steve barrels on mercilessly. “Looks like King Billy couldn’t finish, but good old’ BABYSITTER STEVE has some fire in him yet!” At this he tugs Billy’s dick mockingly, grinning devilishly.

“And do you know how much this Pretty Boy benched?” Steve asks, his hand pausing at the top, squeezing.

Billy shakes his head, squirms under Steve’s hands.

Steve clucks in his ear. “No? You didn’t…take a peek?”

Billy whines, lust pooling in his gut, the fragments of Steve’s taunts landing in every vulnerable place Billy has fought to protect. He could feel the shame like a tsunami in the open ocean, rolling towards the shore, filling his cock even more until he knows he’s close to bursting. Steve works Billy over furiously, at a punishing pace, and draws his other hand up to Billy’s jaw, turns Billy’s head so that Billy’s face is against Steve’s. Steve’s brows are knit, his lips furrowed into a plump pout, his hand pumping Billy’s cock, Steve chided, low and dark, “It’s ok, King Billy…I won’t tell anyone….”

Steve was quiet for a moment, panting and Billy thought absently maybe he could still stop this insanity, find the strength to stand up and walk away. And then Steve growled so low into Billy’s ear it was like he was inside Billy’s head.

“I benched. One. Eighty. Five.”

Hearing the number and feeling Steve brag about beating him, knowing that he had, feeling Steve’s fingers gloriously working him over, Billy groans and before he can think about it or stop it, he’s cumming furiously into Steve’s closed fist, roaring with a ragged groan, this too echoing off the tiled walls and reverberating through the clouds of steam. Steve milks him through it, his jaw open, his face a flush of delight.

Steve releases his hand from Billy’s cock, and Billy leans back against the tile, trying for the second time today to catch his breath in front of Steve. His thoughts are a jumble of images and sensation, tendons and sinew and shocks of hair and teeth and fists.

When he comes to, he opens his eyes to Steve standing in front of him, legs spread over either side of Billy’s splayed open thighs, his own enormous erect cock pointing up, almost reaching his belly button. Billy, still in shock, started to close his eyes again but finds himself transfixed at the sight of Steve grinning down at Billy, and then even more transfixed watching Steve spit into his palm and reaching down, slowly wrap his fingers around his own huge cock and begin to jerk himself off.

Billy opened his mouth as if to question but Steve moves closer, angling his cock so that it’s over Billy’s chest. Fucked out, Billy gives up, can’t really do much but appreciate the form before him, let’s his eyes drink in Steve’s biceps, the lean muscle pumping up and down, his broad, taut chest and the small wedges of obliques sculpted with precision down his sides. He stares at Steve’s cock, surprised at how fucking hung he is even though he’d guessed at his size every time he’d caught a glimpse after basketball practice. Steve reaches a hand out to Billy’s shoulder and pushes him back so he’s fully pressed into the tile, and brings one knee up, grinding it into Billy’s thigh so that Billy is completely trapped against the wall by Steve. Steve throws his head back, pumping his giant cock with increasing speed, his jaw hanging open, his eyes closed in what looks like ecstasy.

“Oh, King Billy!” he gasps. “Maybe you don’t want to watch this. After all, you need nothing from me, right?” Billy’s eyes roll into his head. He’s fucked, so fucked. Steve is gasping raggedly, his eyebrow quirking up, his tongue hanging slightly out of his full lips. “Tough guy like you’s not nothing to worry about. I’m sure you can just…” at this Steve leans in closer, “...push me off.”

Billy groans. He’s caged, trapped, forced to be still under Steve’s body, and his brain is short-circuiting. Steve pulls Billy’s shoulder closer, leans his other knee against Billy’s chest, and arches his back so that his cock is level with Billy’s face, his long fingers working himself swiftly. Billy’s chest heaves and he can’t believe that he isn’t fighting off Steve Fucking Harrington, that he’s not sure if he can’t or he won’t, and even worse, his dick is hardening again. The sight of Steve working himself over, the sound of his gasps and soft cries of delight, the slow drip of sweat trickling down the planes of Steve’s abs, the suggestion of precum that Billy imagines pooling at the top of Steve’s cock-slit.

“Harrington…” he breathes, despite himself.

“Ah ha!” Steve gasps, his head still thrown back as he thrusts his hips and fucks his own fist, his muscled thighs flexing around Billy. “King Billy speaks!”

Billy blushes again. This fucking guy can’t shut up. Billy’s hand finds his own hard cock again, and starts to quietly stroke himself, shamefully, but Steve glances down and when he sees this, he grabs Billy’s hand and presses it against the tile wall. He closes the gap between him by leaning into his face and simpers, “I think you already got a handful today, Billy. It’s only fair that you help out your ol’ workout buddy Stevie now.” Billy is panting, trapped, caged. Noticing his jaw hanging open, Steve laughs and says, “That’s perfect. Stay right there.”

Billy, sluggish and hazy, watches Steve lean back slightly, stroke his own cock a bit slower for a moment, and then he feels a fingertip nudge his mouth open.

“Right there…” Steve pants, his breath ragged, and suddenly Steve has two fingers in Billy’s mouth, pulling down on his bottom teeth so that his mouth opens wide. Billy gapes at Steve, jaw open, Steve’s cock in his face, bright red, precum leaking out the tip like it will burst at the seam, and before Billy can process another thought, Steve is cumming in Billy’s face, cumming onto the tip of Billy’s tongue, cumming into his wide open mouth. As Steve shakes his giant enormous, cock, cum sprays over Billy’s face, and Billy’s muscles are useless against the onslaught. His tongue instinctively lolls out to lick the cum from his bottom lip and cheeks, slurping, and he feels the cum dripping from his earlobe and eyelashes and damp curls and chin.

Steve takes a few steps back from Billy, and stands with his legs hip-width, shaking his cock, and then wipes his hand on his own hip and pushes his hair up with the other hand. Billy looks up at him with a mixture of awe and confusion, and Steve stares back with a cocky half-open grin.

“Hey…” Steve pants, then hunches forward, hands on knees momentarily, before standing up and nodding towards Billy with his chin. “ Good game, amigo.”

Then suddenly, Harrington is turning on his heel, and pushing the steam room door open, and then he’s disappearing into the fluorescent light of the locker room, leaving the door swinging behind him. The clouds of steam slowly darken the small tiled room again. Billy flings his soaking wet towel across the room. Fucking Harrington.

#harringrove

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lifestones · 6 years

Text

Project Eden Chapter 1

Unfortunately, I was unable to finish the one shot I had originally planned in honor of Red’s birthday today. So instead, I will be sharing the first chapter of Eden! Happy birthday Red!

Rated M for swearing.

Sunday, April 12th, 2015.

Subject: Red Dragon.

There was no better way to start my day than by getting a bullet pulled out of my fractured radius… without anesthesia. Sounds fun, right? It was thrilling. Best thing to happen to me all year. Needless to say, Charlotte was efficient at the job. She was, after all, studying to be a nurse. I was used to pain, but… this hurt like a motherfucker.

I was just sitting on a stool in the infirmary in our base, which was under the nightclub, Euphoria, that we run to bring in funds and disguise our true identity.

Who are we? The Dragon Girls, of fucking course. Only the best girls-only gang in all the boroughs of New York City. And I just so happen to be the boss. But that was why I was getting treated here and not in, say, a hospital. I called us a gang, but it was a loose term. I preferred thinking of us more as a team of vigilantes. Yeah, we were criminals to the cops—for taking out the real criminals they couldn’t touch because of lack of evidence. We did the public a service, even if they didn’t fucking see it.

“You are seriously lucky, Red,” Charlotte muttered as she looked at the bullet she had pulled right out of my bone. “It wasn’t in as deep as I thought it would be.”

Charlotte D’Amore was her name, and she was the same age as me—well, until tomorrow when I turn twenty-one. We went to high school together, until we both dropped out when we were sixteen. She was originally from some hick town in Alabama. Her family moved to the city four years ago, when her father got a big promotion. But her father was an abusive piece of shit who beat both her and her mom, and her younger brother could never do anything about it without ending up in the hospital.

We first met at a hospital before school started. I was there for a physical. She was there due to an "accident"—aka her asshole father beating her so badly, he broke her nose, left arm, and gave her a concussion. We met at school after that, and we sort of became friends. I ended up helping her run away and we pretty much started the Dragon Girls together. She became my new best friend. We tried dating for a bit, but we decided it was better to stay as friends.

I would’ve said something if I didn’t have a washcloth inside my mouth to bite onto while she worked on my arm so I wouldn’t take a chunk out of my tongue. So I just gave a shrug, which I immediately regretted as the movement triggered sharp pain to shoot through my right arm. I could feel the blood dripping down my skin from the open wound, but I didn’t dare look down to see for myself. Seeing my own skeleton was not a life goal of mine.

“All right, I’m going to stitch you up now,” she said, turning to get the-

I stopped that train of thought. I really did not want to think about it.

Instead, I just focused on watching her, as long as I did not look at her hands or arms. Charlotte was absolutely gorgeous. She had thick, wavy golden blonde hair that fell to the small of her back, with fringe bangs, tied back in a half ponytail like usual, and her eyes were a calm shade of blue. Even though it was like three in the morning, she was fully dressed, wearing a black turtleneck that hugged her figure, black leggings, and stiletto boots that added like two inches to her height.

She was my second-in-command, and I relied on her to ensure that our communications were running smoothly while we were out on missions. She stayed behind the scenes more than I did. She was also better at staying behind the scenes than I was. I needed… action. Part of it was having ADHD and needing to be on the move.

I needed to be directly involved, even if it put me in danger—which was how I got shot in the first place. Bullet wounds were nothing new to me, but this time, it had been because I saw one of the ass wipes we were taking care of about to make a death shot on one of my girls, and I pushed her out of the way, taking it in the arm instead. Nobody was going to die on my watch.

But even watching Charlotte wasn’t enough to distract me from her work, so I ended up just closing my eyes and biting down on the cloth to keep quiet from the pain. It seemed to last hours, but it was probably only a few minutes. But it was a relief when I felt her wipe down my arm with a wet cloth to clean off the blood, and then she splinted it, before wrapping it up with bandages. She had set the bone before going in for the bullet, so that was all that needed to be done. A few minutes later, my arm was in a makeshift sling and she yanked the washcloth out of my mouth before I could do it myself.

“Y’know, I normally don’t like bein’ gagged,” I joked.

Charlotte rolled her eyes before smacking me on my shoulder. “Very funny, Red.”

“In all seriousness, thanks,” I said, sliding off the stool. “We’re really lucky you’re studyin’ to be a nurse.”

Out of all the high school dropouts here, Charlotte was the only one to pursue her GED. She was also the only one interested in a normal life. I was dreading the day she graduated, got a job, and moved on from us. I knew it was a life better suited for her, but at the same time… I was tired of being left behind.

“Yes, well, if someone quit being so damn reckless, this wouldn’t keep being a problem,” she stated bitterly, turning her back to me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash up and head to bed. You should do the same.”

Ouch. She was pissed. I didn’t blame her, but damn. Charlotte was rarely hostile to me. But I also knew she really had not liked today’s mission. It was, after all, making trouble with the Battaglia crime family. She hadn’t been particularly vocal about it, but considering that I rarely ever change my mind, there was no point in arguing with me in the first place.

Charlotte had always been the sensible one out of the two of us. I’m not gonna lie—I can be a little crazy. Originally, she had just wanted to get away from her abusive home life. So had I. But I had also fallen into an extremely unhealthy pit of shit at the time, and after I snapped out of it (after nearly dying in the process), I had wanted to do something to fix this shitty as fuck world of ours. So I came up with the idea for the Dragon Girls—a vigilante gang that does what the cops can’t. She had supported me, but not without her own reservations.

Did I have blood on my hands? Yes. But only of monsters worse than me.

Still, there was no point in staying up when it was so late. I left the infirmary, and headed downstairs to the second basement floor under Euphoria, where all the bedrooms were. A lot of the girls had their own places, but some of us lived here. Not everyone was a fighter like me. We took in a lot of runaways as well—mainly girls who had abusive homes.

I knew what it was like to be powerless, and I would do anything I could to make sure these girls stopped feeling that way.

As soon as I stepped into my room, I pulled my holsters off my belt and dumped them on the table near the door where I kept all my guns. It took some effort with only one usable hand, but once that was done, I kicked off my boots and jeans. Actually putting on pajamas was too much effort, especially with one hand, so I climbed into bed as is. And within moments, I was out.

~ * ~ * ~

I ended up sleeping in until like noon, which was fine with me. All we did on days following big missions was celebrate. So I hauled myself out of bed, took a shower—which was a pain in the ass to do with a broken arm—and got dressed. I threw my leather jacket over my shoulders before heading out; I may not be able to wear it properly, but Euphoria could get cold and that’s where I was going to be.

I headed out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. When I got there, several others were already chowing down.

“Ey, good mornin’, boss,” Hector Espinosa, the one guy in our group, greeted me. “Glad to see you’re doin’ better.”

Now you’re probably wondering why a guy was doing here when I said that we were females only. Well, Hector originally came to us as a girl. He was one of the runaway cases, and after living with us for a few months and befriending one of the girls who just so happens to be transgender, he finally realized that he’s trans. We’re girls only, but I knew that just kicking him out was against what morals I do have and I knew he would be even worse off. So, I let him stay and gave him a job to be a bouncer for Euphoria so he could have money for medical bills that would come with his transitioning.

Despite being born female, Hector had always been a behemoth; the kid was only nineteen but he stood over six feet tall. He was built on the stocky side, which had to make binding a pain in the ass. He was, as his name suggests, Hispanic. He kept his straight black hair nice and short, his skin was bronze, and his eyes were deep brown.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I waved him off as I sauntered over to the stove. I paused, and sniffed the air. Something… had been burning. “God, did Maya burn the eggs again?”

“H-Hey! It was an accident!” the girl in question exclaimed defensively. “Hector distracted me!”

Maya was one of the younger members, a junior in high school. Her family life sucked ass, so she legally removed herself from her mom’s custody when she was sixteen and has been living on her own ever since. She’s also been in and out of Juvie, for drugs and other stupid shit. She joined us about six months ago, so she was relatively new here as well. She was seventeen now, and she had her wavy black hair pulled back into the usual low ponytail, her skin was darkened with tan, and her eyes were brown.

“Give the jailbait a break, Hector,” I scolded jokingly as I walked over to the fridge. “God, what am I, your babysitter?”

That earned laughs from everyone in the room. Everyone knew that Hector and Maya had a thing, but the extent of that thing wasn’t something I knew. It was none of my business, anyways. I was their boss, not their nanny, no matter how much I joked about it. Rummaging around, I found the egg carton and took it out.

“Guess I’ll just have to show you how to properly do eggs,” I said, shutting the fridge door with my shoulder.

“You would know, boss,” Hector snorted.

I laughed. “Good one. Yeah, I would, wouldn’t I?”

I set to work then, deciding that I wanted sunny side up eggs for a change. We usually just scrambled or fried them, since it was easier. But if I wanted to show off—which was the entire point of this exercise—I would have to make something fancy. An omelet was too much work for one arm, so this would suffice.

“Uh, boss? Do you need help?” I heard Maya ask.

“I got it,” I said, setting the pan down on the burner and turning on the stove. “You nerds forget I’m ambidextrous.”

Besides, if I was going to deal with this broken arm for who knows how many months, I needed all the practice I could get with using my left hand. God, this was going to be weird.

~ * ~ * ~

After breakfast was done and the kitchen had been cleaned up, I headed upstairs to Euphoria. We had a secret back entrance in the employee only area that had stairs leading downstairs to our headquarters. Even though it was fairly early in the day for partying, it was also a Sunday, which meant more guests than usual during this hour. Kaylee, one of the girls who worked as bartender, was behind the bar, washing some glasses. I headed over to the bar and plopped down on one of the barstools.

Kaylee turned towards me. “The usual, boss?”

I nodded. “You know me.”

Yeah, I was underage and I drank alcohol. Nobody could stop me. And my birthday was tomorrow, so it wasn’t a big deal anyways.

Kaylee slid a glass of 1994 Taylor Fladgate Vintage Port—my current favorite wine that I had allowed to be opened this year in honor of my approaching twenty-first birthday. It was, after all, made the very same year I was born. I was the only one who could drink it, though. You could say I’m very… possessive about my wine. It was the only booze I really liked. Guess once crème de la crème, always crème de la crème. Growing up filthy rich stuck with me in some ways, I regret to admit.

I lifted the goblet to my lips to take a sip of the wine as someone else sat down on the stool to my left. I didn’t really pay attention to who it was, until they spoke.

“I’ll have a glass of champagne, darling.”

My gaze darted over to my left. Just like I suspected—it was Astrid Glaisyer, an infamous assassin who we had worked with in the past. She was in her mid-twenties, tall and curvaceous, with long, curly mahogany brown hair, fair skin, and striking light green eyes. She was wearing a black lace bralette with a leather jacket over it, jeans, and a pair of black stiletto boots. She could pull off any look she damn pleased, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think she was hot. But I don’t mix work with pleasure.

Kaylee slid a flute of our finest champagne over to Astrid, who continued to completely ignore me to down the entire glass. “Ah. Refreshing.”

“...What are you doin’ here, Astrid?” I asked warily.

She laughed lightly, head turning towards me. “Oh, darling, I thought you would be delighted to see me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m really not in the mood to play your mind games, Astrid.”

Like I said, Astrid was a trained assassin. I didn’t know the full story, as it was none of my business, but there were rumors. It was said that there was this kingpin in Russia who had young girls kidnapped from their homes, all over the world, to be brought to him and trained to be killers. Astrid was supposedly one of these girls, and while I wasn’t one to immediately believe every single thing I heard in the criminal underground, this rumor was so rampant, it was probably true. We ended up working together due to sharing the same target—a corrupt millionaire who was secretly involved in human trafficking.

“Aw, you’re no fun, Red.” She pouted dramatically. “I thought we had something.”

I rolled my eyes, and took a sip of my wine. “Seriously, what’re you doin’ here?”

She sighed disappointedly, reaching up to brush her hair behind her back. “I came here for business, but was hoping for pleasure—that is, if you would care to satiate my curiosity~.”

“Business sounds great,” I deadpanned.

“Well… suit yourself, then.” Astrid reached into her jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “I thought you would be interested in seeing this. It’s a new hit we received yesterday.”

Frowning, I took the envelope from her and set my wine glass down on the counter. I opened it up carefully, and slid out the contents. I looked over the papers quickly, only for my eyes to widen in shock as I realized who the photograph and information files were about. A sickened feeling sunk deep into my stomach, like I was going to vomit. All I could do was stare at it in shock for a few moments.

It was my little sister, Clarisse.

I almost didn’t recognize her in the picture, but after a moment of studying it, I realized it was definitely her. It had been five years since I had last seen her... I had been sixteen when I ran away, and she had only been eleven. She was fifteen now, a few months shy of her own sixteenth birthday. The photograph was clearly a school portrait, with the blue background and my sister wearing her school uniform. She had long, pin straight naturally platinum blonde hair pulled back into a perfect—and I mean fucking perfect—high ponytail that was angled to the side. Her skin was pale, like she didn’t get outside much, and her eyes were dark brown, like coffee. I noticed that her clothes were hanging loosely from her body, like she was too thin.

“You… got a hit… on my baby sister?” My voice was like ice as I looked up from the picture. “Who the fuck ordered this?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Astrid answered calmly, unfazed by my icy rage. “Our clients are all anonymous to protect their identities. I don’t like killing children, regardless of how high the pay is. So I thought I’d hand this over to you, so you can find the sick bastard who wants your sister dead. Though… you don’t appear to be in the best position for that right now.”

I scowled, my good hand clenching into a fist. “Do I look like I fuckin’ care? I’ll slit the bastard’s throat myself.”

Again, my bloodthirsty comment did not bother her. “I did spend most of yesterday trying to figure out just who sent this order in.”

“And?” I prompted brusquely.

“EDEN, Co.’s enemies are not so desperate they would want a teenage girl to die,” she stated grimly, her green eyes meeting mine. “I’m afraid that this could be an internal attack.”

Ugh… EDEN, Co was part of the Pendragon conglomerate that my family, the Pendragons, owned. Like I mentioned earlier, I came from a filthy rich family. And my family was not only one of the richest in the world, but one of the largest.

We had three “branches” if you will—the European branch in France, the Asian branch in Japan, and the American branch in, well, America. The Pendragons originated in Great Britain, but moved to France sometime before the American Revolution. Then on a business venture, they visited Japan. One of the sons of the CEO—or whatever the hell the equivalent was back then—fell in love with a woman there, and as part of the business venture, married her. We had a place in the east ever since. Our family became divided then, to the point where our bloodlines had become so distant, we were only related through legal means. So my grandfather, Osamu Pendragon, the heir of the Japanese line, married Caroline Pendragon, the heiress of the French line, and they moved to America to create a new branch that would regulate the other two in hopes of reuniting the entire family.

Their dreams did not come true. Hell, relations between both sides were worse now. But still, going to assassins to off the heiress seemed a bit… much. The hatred in our family was not that strong. Or at least, that was what I liked to believe.

“What the hell makes you say that?” I demanded.

“Most businessmen are not murderers, Red,” she stated coolly. “But your uncle? Something about him makes me… uneasy. And it is extremely difficult to unsettle me.”

I bristled at the mention of my uncle. Basile Pendragon was his name, and he was the younger brother of my dad, Xavier Pendragon, who died about eight years ago. I was only thirteen years old at the time—much too young to claim my inheritance and become the new CEO of Eden, Co. So Basile took the position in my place. I lost my position as heiress when I ran away from home, leaving Clarisse as the only American Pendragon left to take over.

It wasn’t something I thought of often anymore. That part of my life was long gone. But if my sister was in danger, I would have to suck it up and dive back into that shitty as fuck world.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know,” I muttered.

My issues with Basile ran deeper than him taking my position away from him. But that was something I really did not want to think about. It was why I was the leader of a gang, and not the youngest multi-billionaire in the world.

“But Basile wantin’ to murder his own niece?” I shook my head. “He may be a bastard, but she might as well his heir. What the hell would he gain from that?”

“You tell me, Red.”

I scowled. “Well, sorry, I don’t have the fuckin’ answer.”

It was… complicated. Dad and Basile had a falling out at some point after my dad returned from a two year old business trip. Then, eight years ago, during the holiday season, for whatever reason, my dad decided to make amends with his brother. He invited Basile to spend Christmas and New Years with us. One day, when I came home from present shopping with my mom and sister, I… found my dad in his study, dead. Everything went to shit after that.

Astrid shrugged. “You know him better than I do. And you’re smarter than you let on. I’m pretty sure everyone who has ever worked with you knows this.”

...Considering that I have an IQ of 150, that was a bit of an understatement.

I scowled, picking up my glass of wine to take a long drink, and then set it back down. Ugh. I needed alcohol just to get me through having to think about this shit.

“The only reason I can think of is total bullshit,” I retorted.

“And that is…?” she prompted.

“Basile would want Clarisse dead if, and only if, he had his own kid somewhere…” I glowered at my glass of wine, before looking over at her again. “He isn’t married, which doesn’t mean shit, but I’m pretty sure the whole world would know if he had a kid. Which doesn’t make sense. Why the hell would he hide it?”

Unfortunately, I could think of a few reasons. All of which I quickly pushed out of my mind.

“Does it really?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow, like she could see right through me. “Your uncle has always displayed a desire to take over your family’s conglomerate. Perhaps he’s hiding something.”

“That’s an understatement.” I fought the urge to down another gulp. “A blind person could see he’s a shady motherfucker.”

“I think it’s still something to keep in mind,” Astrid stated. “Because someone wants your sister dead, and there must be a reason why. I’ll be keeping in touch.” Standing up, she reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and slapped it down on the counter. “Keep the change.”

I watched as she slinked off, lithe as a cat. I swore it was like she wasn’t even human sometimes. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. More and more aliens—as in the kind from outer space—were coming to our planet every day.

Looking back down at the papers resting on the manila envelope, with her school picture on top, I picked my glass back up. I was going to at least finish this wine before going to do anything about this. And of course, I had to talk to Charlotte.

But there was no way I was just going to stand back and let my sister die.

~ * ~ * ~

“Red, are you sure this is a good idea?”

We were sitting in Charlotte’s car, parked on the side of the road in front of the Pendragon mansion on Carnegie Hill in the Upper East Side. It was an elaborate French Renaissance style mansion, four stories high, right down to the gargoyles on the roof. My grandparents bought it when they immigrated to America. When I was a kid, I used to be terrified of the gargoyles, thinking they came alive at night and would eat me if I left my bedroom. It was one of the few mansions in the city still used as a home.

“No, but I needta get to the bottom of this.” I turned my head to look at her. “Clarisse could be in some serious trouble.”

Charlotte sighed, glancing down at the steering wheel. “Just be careful, Red.”

I flashed her a bright grin. “Babe, I’m always careful!”

She gave me a flat look. “Every time you say that, you do something reckless and get yourself hurt.”

“...Look, Charlotte, all I’m gonna do is go up, knock on the door, and ask if Clarisse is home. Mamoru always answers the door. Well, he will if he’s still the butler…”

The thought of Mamoru no longer working in the place I once called home made me very sad. A bit pissed too, but mostly sad.

“All right,” she sighed. “Just hurry up.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, pushed open the door, and heaved myself out of the car. Shutting the door behind me, I walked down the sidewalk and scaled the short set of stairs that led up to the front door. I stopped in front of the door, suddenly unsure if this was really a good idea or not. It had been five years—five long as fuck years. I had no idea what my sister even would be like.

Clarisse has always been Diana’s favorite. Ever since she was born, it was always Clarisse Clarisse Clarisse. She was the perfect one—the daughter Diana had always wanted. Me? I may have the IQ of a genius, but having ADHD made it almost nearly impossible for me to function in a classroom environment. But Clarisse had everything—beauty, intelligence, no mental issues, supportive parents. Yeah, Dad had been hard on her, but he was hard on both of us. It wasn’t like how Diana treated me. I struggled in school, got detention at least once a week, frequented the principal’s office… I could go on and on.

Clarisse had always adored me, despite all the contempt I felt for her initially. I did love my sister—and I still do—but after being treated like complete shit and being told I was doomed for failure, while she got raised on a golden pedestal… It was really hard not to be bitter. But we were still close, and deep down, I was worried how me leaving had changed how she felt about me.

But… I couldn’t stay away forever. She was my sister and I would have to try to make this right eventually. Now was a good a time as any.

So, steeling myself, I lifted my hand and pounded the door knocker.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard someone begin to unlock the door. Moments later, it opened, revealing a stately older Japanese man who was, without a doubt, Mamoru Nakajima, who had helped run the Pendragon household since before my dad was born. He seemed to have aged considerably since I had last seen him, as his dark hair was now silver, and his face was creased with age lines. He was wearing the usual black suit with a black tie.

His dark eyes widened as he saw me. “Miss Ellie?”

I almost cringed at my old nickname. My full name is Elysia Pendragon, and growing up I went by Ellie. It was a painful reminder of who I used to be—who I would never be ever again. That little girl was long gone.

“Uh, hey, Mamoru.” I let out an awkward laugh, reaching up to rub the back of my head with my good hand. “I know, I know… it’s been forever… but I was wonderin’, is Clarisse home?”

Mamoru grimaced. “Ah… I’m afraid not. She is currently out with… friends.”

“Oh, Aimee and Gigi?” I asked, recalling her childhood friends.

He shook his head. “No. She has made… new friends. I believe it is the very same crowd you ran with before you left us.”

“WHAT?!” My voice cracked up an octave. “God, are you serious? Is she stupid or somethin’?! Ugh, sorry Mamoru, but I’m gonna go haul her ass outta there. We’ll have to catch up some other time.”

~ * ~ * ~

It was an understatement that this was one of my least favorite places in all of New York City. It was in one of the sleazier areas of Hell’s Kitchen, where people only go if they want to get shot up—by a gun or a needle. I used to come here all the time with the new “friends” I made in high school late freshman, early sophomore year. We’d go to this old abandoned townhouse to drink, smoke, do a variety of recreational drugs, and have sex.

I am not proud of what I did that year, and it stuck with me even when Charlotte managed to convince me to run away. It started out simple, like always. First it was just getting drunk and doing stupid shit—like letting one of the guys fuck me without protection. Then they got me into smoking pot. Then I tried out coke. And then I jumped right into heroin. I was so desperate to numb all the internal agony tormenting me, I was willing to do anything. I abandoned my childhood friends for these dipshits. If it wasn’t for Charlotte, I would either still be in this pit or I’d be dead. Probably the latter.

I hated being reminded of my weakness. I couldn’t even remember how I went cold turkey without dying. And yet here I was, about to step back into this hole of dark memories just to drag my sister out of hell. That was going to be a feat with a broken arm.

“Are you going to be okay going in there?” Charlotte asked warily. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want you in there anyways.”

Not feeling like discussing it further, I got out of the car. This place was so damn shady, and I was used to shady. Charlotte had her gun on her, and I had mine hidden in my jacket just in case. But if anyone recognized me, they would wisely give me a wide berth. I headed up to the front door of the shoddy townhouse that had definitely seen better days. I could already smell cigarette smoke. I tried not to cough. I hated that shit so much.

I lifted my good hand to pound on the door. When there was no response, I scowled to myself. I really was not in the mood for this shit. I tried the doorknob, and the door opened with ease. God, anyone could walk in here and just murder them. Idiots.

As I stepped inside, I was hit by a mix of cigarette and marijuana smoke that immediately made me cough. I covered my nose with my sleeve for a moment before proceeding further in. This place really hadn’t changed much over the past five years, except for there being more chips in the ugly floral wallpaper and more unidentifiable stains on the walls. The floorboards creaked under my boots as I walked further in, making my way to the main room.

I could hear laughter as I got closer. Once I reached the open doorway that led to the living room, I saw just what was going on. I only recognized a few faces. Two of my old classmates were smoking weed. Two others who I recognized from the grade below me were shooting up something. There were a bunch of high schoolers drinking beer in the far-right corner, laughing and joking amongst themselves. And then there was my dear baby sister, on her back on one of the ratty, flea infested couches, half naked, with only her bra and panties on, while a guy, also half naked with only his boxers on, was on top of her, sucking on her neck.

…’Kay, this was not what I expected when I came looking for her.

“CLARISSE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN’?!”

Not gonna lie, the reactions to me screaming were priceless.

Clarisse shoved the guy on top of her away so hard, he fell right on his bare back on the rough wooden floor. Several of the drunk high schoolers fell off the table they were sitting on. The smokers dropped their pipes. And the junkies looked up drowsily.

“ELLIE?! What the hell are you doing here?!”

I scowled darkly, and walked right up to her. The guy hastily scrambled out of my way. At least he wasn’t completely stupid.

“What the hell do you think?” I snapped. “I hear you’re in some kinda trouble, so I stop by to see if you’re at the mansion, but no, Mamoru fuckin’ tells me you’re here in this shithole!”

Clarisse looked exactly like her school portrait, except for a few things. Her ponytail was no longer so perfect, mussed up from the foreplay I had interrupted. And she had some rather bold makeup on—thick black eyeliner, silver eyeshadow, and red lipstick that had left marks all over that guy’s body. Still glowering at me, she hastily grabbed her shirt and pulled it back on. But she wasn’t quick enough to hide the fact that she was almost skin and bones.

“Aren’t you being a little hypocritical, Miss Crimson Dragon,” she retorted icily. “They’re your friends too!”

“Friends? Friends? Really?” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Clarisse. There’s a reason why I’m not still here. They’re not your real friends!”

Clarisse stood up, hands clenching into fists, and I realized she was at least two inches taller than me. “Shut up! SHUT UP! Why do you even care?! You left me!”

Her explosion ricocheted across the entire room, making literally everyone freeze. I was so used to being the angry one, I wasn’t sure how to react to… to my sister’s rage. She was trembling, her fists clenched so tight, her knuckles turned white. Tears slowly began to pool in her dark eyes, reminding me of how she tended to cry whenever she got pissed off. All I could really do was, well… stare at her in shock.

“You’re gone for five fucking years without saying a word!” she spat venomously. “And you think you can just waltz back into my life and tell me what to fucking do?! I don’t need you, Ellie! I don’t need anyone! I can do whatever the hell I want, and you can’t stop me! I’m better than you, and you know it!”

Her words were like daggers, piercing right into me, but I deserved all of it. Because she was right—well, about that part. She was still a fifteen-year-old girl spouting probably the same attitude I had at her age. But it was obvious that nothing I said was going to get through to her.

So I just nodded, shoving my good hand into my pocket. “Suit yourself, then. Have fun fuckin’ up your life, Clarisse.”

With that, I turned around and walked away before anyone else could say anything to me.

#project eden #chapters #eden.txt #happy birthday red

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kaepop-trash · 7 years

Text

Instrumental

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x OC xYuta

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

Mini Masterlist

She got out of dorm building cursing a little under her breath, it was going to rain. She started walking briskly to get to the building where her lecture was before it started pouring. Walking by she saw people all around campus aimlessly making their way to the same destination. The blowing wind made her hug her coat closer to her chest as she quickened her pace.

She let out a deep sigh when she finally saw the building in sight and rushed in, noticing the small crowd beside the grand stairs.

“Will you tell daddy that you’re being bullied?” She huffed in annoyance when she recognised the voice of the biggest dick she had the privilege of knowing, Marcus.

“Will Senior Jung throw his legal team at me?” She froze halfway up the stairs. Turning around her eyes blew wider when she saw Jaehyun standing opposite Marcus looking like he was ready to punch something, she stopped to watch.

“No? Really? Come on Jaehyun.” Marcus put an arm around Jaehyun which he pushed off but still said nothing, “Make my heart flutter and bite back. Or will daddy get mad? You can’t taint his name of course, not after you got in because of him, right?” She was biting the inside of her cheek the entire time but she let go now.

“At least he didn’t have to pay his way in, Marcus.” She heard her own voice speak before she had a say in it, all eyes turned to look at her on the stairs. Jaehyun’s expression grew more bitter than before.

“And what does little miss scholarship know?” She really curbed the urge to spit in his face.

“I work at the admissions office, remember? When you and your dad came in with that large donation check? They still talk about it at the office.” She didn’t bother staying for his retort.

When she rounded the corner to the lecture hall she heard quick steps slow at her heel.

“Are you friends with him?” Her friend Natalie asked.

“Who?” She only offered a quick glance, still in a hurry to get to class.

“Jaehyun?” She clenched her jaw.

“I don’t need to know someone to stand up for them Natalie, I just dislike people like Marcus.” She hummed thoughtfully at that.

After class, she was walking downstairs when she saw Jaehyun walking out of a class, alone. He answered a phone call and even though she couldn’t hear the conversation he looked distressed, she looked away when he caught her eye and started to walk away.

She looked up at the sky and frowned at the clouds that were getting darker every passing moment, glad this was the last class. If she made it back before the rains started she would truly have a good day.

“I don’t want to host a donor brunch father, I have a test this week and I can’t represent you.” She stopped herself before she could turn to the familiar voice. Jaehyun was fighting with his father again. The foyer was practically empty now, but there were still people around, did he need to have a family feud in a building full of people who would interpret the bitterness in his voice to their advantage? She turned to him once to see him staring at her directly, silently watching. An unfamiliar feeling settled in her stomach, she looked away roughly.

“I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be dad.” His quivering whisper echoed in her ears. That was the last thing she heard before heading out and she wished she hadn’t. The first sound of thunder rumbled and she just ducked her head down and walked towards her dorm.

“It’s going to rain.” She told her roommate when she saw her getting ready.

“My boyfriend lives indoors.” She told her with a sly smirk, she nodded and went back to stare at her notes, “Want to come? He has a cute roommate.” She offered kindly.

“No thanks, not worth getting caught in the rain, I’ll just finish revising this and probably have my first night of proper sleep in 3 weeks.” She was already yawning as if her body was now aware of how overworked it was.

“Suit yourself, I won’t make you do something you don’t want to do.” She looked up at her roommate, thinking over the familiar phrase. She suddenly couldn’t concentrate on her tasks.

After an hour, and she checked, of sitting there thinking over one thing he said till she was disgruntled, she just got up from her table and decided to do something.

She politely thanked the guy at the convenience store and took her bag of things. Distracted by the music playing through her earphones, she didn’t notice the loud, pouring rain till she was standing outside. She looked up at the sky in disbelief, she had no one to blame but herself.

Jaehyun was sitting at his table reading a sentence on his page over and over. After an hour he had finally stopped thinking and now he was just distracted, the loud storm outside played a now familiar rhythm on his window and he would fixate on anything in the moment. His doorbell shocked him so much that he cursed out loud. After the initial shock subsided, his eyebrows knit together in confusion, he wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not in this storm. He stared out of his room thinking for a while before he heard an urgent knock on the door, finally getting up to answer it.

“I thought you weren’t home.” He looked down at the very last person he expected to see. (Y/N) stood drenched in rain and panting like she ran all the way here, he was looking at her with curious eyes and she stood there dripping on the floor of the hallway.

“I got you food? I know you don’t keep any food in your apartment and you can’t go out in this rain.” She looked unconvinced with her own excuse.

“Yet here you are.” He sighed, but let her in after he saw her face fall. Personal feelings aside, he wasn’t going to leave a girl outside soaking in rain.

“Did my mom put you up to this?” She looked up at him confused.

“Why would I walk through the whole campus to come here in the rain because your mom asked?” He clenched his jaw at her clueless face.

“Why would you come here in the rain at all?” He was definitely acting more annoyed than he felt, he wanted to ignore how touched he was. She sighed, placing the plastic bag she had on the table beside the door.

“I know you’re pissed about what happened today, I just wanted to check on you.” Now he was annoyed.

“I don’t need your pity, (Y/N).” He sounded cold.

“I do not pity you, I actually respect you.” She paused and hesitated with her next words, “Besides our differences, I’ve still known you long enough to-“ She paused and let out a frustrated sigh, wiping the water from her face, “Look don’t look into it, I just got you some ramen. Eat it or throw it away, I don’t care. I’ll be going now.” She slapped her hands on her hips decisively and turned around, Jaehyun moved quicker and put his hand on the door.

“Don’t be silly. There’s a storm going on outside, wait for it to die down.” He stood right behind her and she didn’t move.

“I’m soaking.” She whispered and somehow it made Jaehyun’s stomach drop.

“I have a dryer, I’ll give you something to wear.” Now Jaehyun didn’t know why he was whispering. The sudden urge to get even closer to her was so overwhelming that Jaehyun wanted to groan. A laugh suddenly came from outside the apartment and she pushed back in shock, her back colliding with Jaehyun’s. Without thinking he pushed back too and a quick feeling of regret passed through him. She turned around with horror in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on her mouth and he didn’t understand what she was talking about till he felt his chest get colder. He looked down to see a dark wet patch on his chest.

“Oh. It’s fine.” He said distractedly.

He excused himself and walked away, taking his shirt off halfway and throwing it into what she assumed was the bathroom. She got a glimpse of his toned back before she looked away. She was still focusing her sight on the ceiling when she heard him come and stand in front of him.

“You’re still standing at the entrance.” His voice was always cold, he really did dislike her.

“I didn’t want to get anything wet.” She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Except the carpet.” She looked at him for a second like she didn’t understand what he meant and then her eyes grew wide. He handed her a towel trying to hide his smirk.

“Your face is red, you’re getting sick.” He said it factually, she blushed even harder at the revelation, “Go take a shower and put your clothes in the dryer, I’ll get you something to wear. If father finds out his precious (Y/N) got sick thanks to me, I’ll have another phone call to deal with.” Saying that he walked away.

(Y/N) stood there for a good while trying to understand what just happened, he was so confusing.

When she walked into the bathroom she saw folded clothes on the counter. His generosity stuck like acid in her throat and it made her seriously consider just leaving. If he got into trouble he’d deserve it. Ever since she got into law school with him he was such a dick. Sure they were never close, but at least he was civil. She thought this and more but got into the hot shower anyway, their dislike may be mutual but she would never bother Mr Jung like that. Without the asshole’s father she wouldn’t even be here and she convinced herself it was the only reason she decided to tolerate his bullshit.

When she walked out in his t-shirt and shorts he glanced at her briefly and went away into the kitchen to avoid thinking about her in his clothes too much.

“Have you eaten?” He asked walking out from the kitchen, she gave him the same open mouth clueless look like she either didn’t understand or had to think about it. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“No? It’s 8pm, the last thing I had was unsurprisingly lunch.” She had the same face, but he knew she was mocking him. He didn’t say anything but made two ramens from the ones she got.

“I’ll give you an umbrella, your clothes will be done soon.” He handed her a bowl as he said this, she only nodded. She sat quietly for a long time, eating her ramen quickly to leave.

“Will you just follow any orders my family gives now? You just do what I say?” She clenched her jaw.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He looked up at her, a little satisfied to get a response out of her.

“Because I go to the same place you do only because your father paid my tuition? No, you aren’t that shallow are you?” She was now clawing at him to hurt him.

“Do you think I’m using your father?” She looked right at him waiting for his expression to give away the answer, “You’re smarter than that aren’t you?” She scoffed bitterly. She pushed closer to him on the sofa, ready to savour the look in his eyes, as close as she could. Her knee touched his but he didn’t move, she smirked.

“It’s because you know, I’m the child your dad wished he had, isn’t it?” She whispered gently, contrasting her harsh words. She saw it, the look in his she was yearning for. She saw him come to his own realisation, she saw how it broke him. She wasn’t somehow prepared for how it made her feel, she coughed like it helped subdue that and pushed back.

“Hating me won’t make you a politician Jung Jaehyun, but I know what can.” She got up and made her way to get her clothes.

“Really? Father said you were audacious, I didn’t believe it till now, do tell.” He sat back crossing his arms.

“Well, you can start by hosting that donor meeting you’re so eager to avoid. You can’t change your name Jaehyun, but you can change how they perceive it. Do your father’s name proud instead of living in its shadows. Be your own man now or you’ll become a pawn. You have two choices, strive for power or become an instrument for someone doing the same.” She walked into the bathroom to change.

“I’ll do it on one condition.” He looked like he was deep in thought when she emerged into his living room again, she laughed.

“You're making demands to the wrong person. I don’t care if you do it or not. I’m not even interested in politics.” She opened to door to leave and he slammed it shut again, this time in a fit of rage she turned around.

“I’m just letting you know before I tell father.” She looked up waiting for him to continue.

“I want you to organise it.”

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