(no subject)
it’s nice to be so loved - drabble
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: M, for a bit of gore.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Sylar tortures Claire for Elle.
Author’s Note: THIS JUST HAPPENED, IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY ABOUT IT.
Bria: Sylar/Elle fluff kinda hurts my brain a wee bit. Unless it involves apron-wearing Sylar.
Moi: LOL ikr. Unless it's more Gabriel than Sylar it's like ~wut~
Bria: haha exactly. Anything with Sylar and fluff just really doesn't work. IMHO.
Moi: DITTO. Unless it's screwed up fluff.
Bria: ...you can screw up fluff? I'm sure I'm going to regret this, but exactly ~how~ does that work?
Moi: LOL liiiiiike… Elle is mad at Claire-bear, so Sylar tortures her for giggles.
Bria: *blinks*
Bria: I don't even know if that even still somewhat qualifies as fluff.
Bria: Or it might.
Bria: IDK.
Bria: Cuz it could be seen as vaguely cute for them/him.
Moi: With Sylar and Elle it would be, lol.
Moi: Elle would be so ~touched.
Bria: I THINK YOU HAVE GIVEN ME SOME OF YOUR ISSUES
Moi: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHA YESS
He thinks the dumb cheerleader is cute. He says it idly in some breezy hot motel room a bit north of the border, and she scoffs in response.
Cute, uh-huh. Maybe in a big whatever-not-really sort of way, and she knows she says it because she’s jealous, and he knows it, too. Which is why he chuckles and twirls her blond hair and asks, “Jealous?” in that deep voice that gets her panties in a twist.
“No,” she protests, and thinks that her blond hair is infinitely superior and silkier and prettier than Claire’s. She might have a complex when it comes to the righteous little hero, mostly because her whole life is so picture-perfect, and Elle spent all those years yearning for all the fatherly attention she could get from Noah from little to no avail.
So she’s allowed to hate Claire a little, despite the fact that were sort of friends for a big five seconds.
So when they have a bit of a run in with the bitch in Texas, and Elle takes quite the hit upside the head and a dunk in an open pool courtesy of the skirt, she’s totally okay with waiting to dry in the sun as Sylar pins little Claire-bear telekinetically against the side of the house and guts her a few times, just for giggles.
Her screams are so sweet that Elle tilts her smile up towards the sun and hums a little to the symphony of agony.
And she peeks, because she can’t help it; she memorizes the sight of blood staining concrete and a few hanging icky organs and Claire’s tear-soaked face.
She returns Sylar’s white predatory grin and skips over to encircle him in a grateful hug. God, she loves him so much. “Not so cute anymore, huh, cheerleader?” she asks snidely.
Claire sputters something about being inhuman, or heartless, or sociopathic, or something unimportant. Sylar tucks a lock of blond behind Elle’s ear and winks at her in response.
She beams.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar/Elle
Rating: M, for a bit of gore.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Summary: Sylar tortures Claire for Elle.
Author’s Note: THIS JUST HAPPENED, IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY ABOUT IT.
Bria: Sylar/Elle fluff kinda hurts my brain a wee bit. Unless it involves apron-wearing Sylar.
Moi: LOL ikr. Unless it's more Gabriel than Sylar it's like ~wut~
Bria: haha exactly. Anything with Sylar and fluff just really doesn't work. IMHO.
Moi: DITTO. Unless it's screwed up fluff.
Bria: ...you can screw up fluff? I'm sure I'm going to regret this, but exactly ~how~ does that work?
Moi: LOL liiiiiike… Elle is mad at Claire-bear, so Sylar tortures her for giggles.
Bria: *blinks*
Bria: I don't even know if that even still somewhat qualifies as fluff.
Bria: Or it might.
Bria: IDK.
Bria: Cuz it could be seen as vaguely cute for them/him.
Moi: With Sylar and Elle it would be, lol.
Moi: Elle would be so ~touched.
Bria: I THINK YOU HAVE GIVEN ME SOME OF YOUR ISSUES
Moi: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHA YESS
He thinks the dumb cheerleader is cute. He says it idly in some breezy hot motel room a bit north of the border, and she scoffs in response.
Cute, uh-huh. Maybe in a big whatever-not-really sort of way, and she knows she says it because she’s jealous, and he knows it, too. Which is why he chuckles and twirls her blond hair and asks, “Jealous?” in that deep voice that gets her panties in a twist.
“No,” she protests, and thinks that her blond hair is infinitely superior and silkier and prettier than Claire’s. She might have a complex when it comes to the righteous little hero, mostly because her whole life is so picture-perfect, and Elle spent all those years yearning for all the fatherly attention she could get from Noah from little to no avail.
So she’s allowed to hate Claire a little, despite the fact that were sort of friends for a big five seconds.
So when they have a bit of a run in with the bitch in Texas, and Elle takes quite the hit upside the head and a dunk in an open pool courtesy of the skirt, she’s totally okay with waiting to dry in the sun as Sylar pins little Claire-bear telekinetically against the side of the house and guts her a few times, just for giggles.
Her screams are so sweet that Elle tilts her smile up towards the sun and hums a little to the symphony of agony.
And she peeks, because she can’t help it; she memorizes the sight of blood staining concrete and a few hanging icky organs and Claire’s tear-soaked face.
She returns Sylar’s white predatory grin and skips over to encircle him in a grateful hug. God, she loves him so much. “Not so cute anymore, huh, cheerleader?” she asks snidely.
Claire sputters something about being inhuman, or heartless, or sociopathic, or something unimportant. Sylar tucks a lock of blond behind Elle’s ear and winks at her in response.
She beams.