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zapsalis-d · 3 years

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Piece of You

summary — Everyone wants a piece of you. Even a certain Mandalorian who denies that he's grown enamored with every little thing about you.

content — Implied smut, harassment, jealousy, alcohol, pining

word count — 4.5k

inspiration — Piece of You, Shawn Mendes

main masterlist

He's not one who's fond of Tatooine.

Everything about that filthy, crime-ridden dust-ball is enough to entirely repel him from the planet. Yet there's something — someone — who lures him into Tatooine, even when his presence isn't necessary. He repeatedly scolds himself each time he passes by the familiar dusty planet — there is no point in landing, no purpose to be there. He never listens. Not at all.

The Mandalorian is constantly preoccupied with his devotion to bounty hunting. But each time, it's as if he entirely clears anything on his plate. A pending bounty puck? He can handle that later. Quarry needs to be delivered? Not a problem, he has a carbon-freezing chamber installed in the ship. Damaged ship? Well, there are plenty of repairmen on Tatooine.

His sole desire is to visit nobody other than you. The bartender working in one of the most famous cantinas in Mos Eisley. The cantina's owner recognized precisely what he was doing when he hired you. You... you are exceptionally captivating, stunning, seductive. Your snarky personality, flawless body, and heavenly face is enough to entice every man in the parsec who'd heard of you. In fact, one of the main reasons the cantina is so damn popular is due to your employment.

Everybody wants a piece of you...

So as Din positions the Razor Crest onto the landing bay's flooring, he prepares himself to be utterly disappointed. With the plethora of men drooling over you each second of your life, you certainly have plenty to choose from. Out of all of them, you aren’t going to select a Mandalorian who refuses to reveal his face to absolutely anyone. Yet he pushes the thought aside. The purpose of his return is due to his recent hunt. The quarry was pestering, exceedingly difficult to locate and seize. Once Din managed to capture and deliver him, he immediately knew he required a brief break. A chance to unwind, ease up, relax. The sight of you is enough to de-stress him.

Maybe you'd even swiftly speak with him for a moment. Each time he arrives at the cantina, you eventually stop by besides him, hold a quick conversation before promptly returning to your work. Din has no clue why. Plenty of other men practically beg for your attention. Yet you don't spare a mere glance towards their direction, unless deemed necessary.

Din descends the ladder towards the hull of the ship, commanding the ramp to lower utilizing his beskar vambrace. Without hesitation, he strides off the ramp, sealing it shut directly after he steps off. He shares a hasty glimpse around the hangar. The manager is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter — his ship isn't damaged, there is no need to discuss payment with them. Without further delay, he exits the hangar and treads through the desolate streets of Mos Eisley. It's unbearably hot, even with the twin suns setting down on the horizon. Colorful hues of red, yellow, purple, and blue lace the sky as he proceeds through the countless buildings and homes.

The well-known cantina appears in the distance. A flutter develops in the pit of his stomach at the bare thought of seeing you once more, especially after the additionally burdensome hunt he endured. He hasn't the slightest idea of what he'll do, or even say, when he enters. He's able to converse with you perfectly fine, as long as you initiate the chatting. The thought of walking up to you and establishing the conversation first is... unnerving. Hell, he can hardly flirt for the sake of his own life. You're not interested in the Mandalorian. You can't be. So, why should he even attempt to speak with you when you will simply push him aside, reject him? No, he prefers to keep his distance. Observe from afar. If your desire is to talk, he'll talk with pleasure. Call him a coward, but he isn't going to take his chances.

The Mandalorian saunters through the wide-open doors, gloved hand instinctively shifting towards the holster strapped to his hip. Even through the helmet covering his face, he catches a repulsing whiff of the strong alcoholic scent. His visor scans the cantina for a brief moment. It's surprisingly empty. Tables consist of a few people chattering mutely among each other, a couple waiters grabbing their orders. The ambience is strangely hushed. The bar is completely unoccupied, much to his surprise. A service droid is present where you ordinarily are, wiping a damp cloth over the counter. You, though, are nowhere to be found.

Eyes carefully survey him as he idly stands in front of the entrance. A Mandalorian equipped with a full attire of beskar armor, a pulse rifle strapped firmly against his back, and armed with various weapons is bound to snatch everyone's attention. Not wanting to deal with any issues as the moment, he continues to step forward. Despite his intense detestation for droids, this one in particular can prove useful. The droid raises its mechanical head, unreadable eyes staring straight towards the Mandalorian as he leans forward, elbows propping against the bar.

"The girl is absent today," its blank voice states, head tilting down as it resumes its cleaning. "Her shift has ended earlier today, per her request."

He's left speechless for a split second. Damn droid has practically read his mind. Does he actually make it so evident? Perhaps its simply that its already encountered countless men asking for you already. Nevertheless, a heat creeps onto his cheeks, radiating through his entire face and neck upon the droid's accusation. Steadily, he shifts his weight before answering. "What makes you think I'm here for her?"

His voice comprises a certain hostility, primarily due to the fact that he's conversing with — of all things — a droid. Its gaze lifts upon hearing his response, metal hand halting its insistent rubbing. "A great deal of men have requested her presence here today. I apologize. Would you care for a drink?"

"No," he swiftly replies. Then, he freezes, shoulders tensing up. If he's not here for you, then what's his purpose here? The droid bluntly stares, expecting further elaboration. Din provides him with nothing other than a view of his backside when he spins around, cape swishing with every motion as he strides away. He's on the verge of step outside when the mechanical voice calls for him.

"The girl will return tomorrow afternoon."

Din peers over the pauldron adorning his shoulder, sharing a brief glimpse with the droid. He should thank it, but decides against it. Its just a droid. It doesn't deserve his gratitude, nor an apology for his bitterness. Without lingering any further, he directs his gaze forward once more, before begrudgingly stalking off towards the course leading to the Razor Crest.

A darkness envelops him as soon as he steps into the plain open air. The suns had descended quite rapidly, a starless night sky hanging over the city. It's substantially cooler now that the suns aren't blazing down on him, a brisk breeze sweeping his cape sideways. The streets are increasingly barren now, not a single being in sight.

Except for one isolated person.

He recognizes the figure — the exquisite curves of her body, impeccable hair enhancing her features, the way she stands with utter confidence and assertiveness. All he manages to perceive was her back, but it's unquestionably the person he's been searching for. You.

You reside directly in front of a residence, gaze impatiently darting around as if awaiting someone's arrival. Din had assured himself he wouldn't initiate a conversation with you, though currently it seems as if that is his only option. Either that, or he disappointedly heads back towards his ship. But what the hell is he supposed to say? A simple "hey" wouldn't captivate your attentiveness. You'll simply shove him aside, completely uninterested as you've done an unmeasurable amount of times. He takes a step forward — tentatively, slowly, steadily. He's nervous. He can't deny that. Speaking to you seems to frighten him immensely, not even the most intimidating of quarries has managed to inflict this feelings upon him.

It's not that he's enamored by you. He does not have the time for romance. It's straightforward attraction. Infatuation. A meaningless crush, as some would claim. He is aroused by you. That's all it is, and all it will ever be. At least, that's what he's been attempting to convince himself about for the past months.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone enters the scenario. A man. Your face brightens upon catching sight of him as you beam at him. That damn smile. The way your lips curl upwards, flashing those set of pearly whites — it enthralled him since day one. His attention switches to the unfamiliar man as you throw your arms around him, his own hands embracing you and pulling you near. Seconds later, the two of you head inside the house you stand by. He's joking about something Din is unable to pick out, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips. The sound is interfere with when the door slams closed behind you. Then, there's complete silence.

Boyfriend. That's his final conclusion. You'd requested time off your job to see your lover. It makes absolute sense. With the incalculable quantity of men constantly chasing you around, you're bound to find someone who interests you. Without another alternative to his situation, Din settled to leave. He's discouraged, yes, but what else would he expect? It's absolutely fine, though. This provides him with yet another reason why he should maintain his distance from the planet. Unless proven necessary, he won't return to Tatooine. There is no purpose for him here. His fantasies need to cease, stop raiding his brain and controlling his every action. He cannot spare anymore time indulging in this. It's for the best.

___

He arrives once more at the damn cantina the following afternoon.

He doesn't understand why he can't liberate himself from this addiction, why his thoughts are persistently flooded by images of you, and you only.

Baby, I'm so into you, it hurts...

Despite the setback yesterday, he feels like he's under obligation to drop by and see you before he departs from Tatooine. It's plain and simple — this is his final opportunity to visit you, and he'll seize onto that freedom while he's capable of doing so. Even if it means he's wasting valuable time while he could be earning his well-deserved credits. Even if the hangar's manager warned that the landing bay is available exclusively for one entire rotation. It's one straightforward, uncomplicated visit, and then he'll leave satisfied.

The ambience is noisier then the previous occasion. This time, when he pauses to examine his surroundings, nobody pays him even the slightest bit of recognition. Boisterous laughter and obnoxious jabbering, alcoholic scent overwhelming his senses again, and then there's you. Preoccupied with your work, you don't spare him a single glance when he enters. Your attention is thoroughly concentrated on serving the numerous people awaiting their drinks at the bar. There are no accessible seats where you're present — it's utterly packed. It's alright, though, because he's not planning on grabbing a drink anyway. He settles for an available booth in the corner of the cantina, solitarily taking a seat away from the detestable, clamorous commotion. He has no clue how you deal with them until the late hours of the night.

Din merely dismisses the waiter who instantly greets him. He's not here for drinks, or a meal. He's only present for you, but not in the way these men are here for. Their sole purpose is attempting (and downright failing) to sneak into your pants, somehow. While he would be uttery lying to everyone — including himself — if he claims that's not one of his many desires, its not why he's here. He completely respects you. He will never treat you like everyone else does. That's not what you deserve at all, yet these men can't seem to comprehend that. They're selfish, purely caring for their own needs and wants. Not Din. He promised himself he wouldn't be as thoughtless and uncaring as them.

He manages a brief glance towards your direction. You're dressed in your usual attire — close-fitting shirt displaying a great deal of your breasts, skintight skirt barely reaching above your knees, a knife strapped strictly against your thigh to ward off anybody who might be in too close proximity.

You're majestic, mesmerizing, light the room up without trying...

Whether you're enforced to clothe yourself like that or you knowingly chose to do so, he isn't exactly certain. But with the way your face contorts in exasperation, you're definitely not enjoying this. You never did. To remain in an occupation like this, wearing that, required a plethora of fearlessness and aggressiveness. And your wages? They must be damn high. Din admires you for that. He wishes he could do something about it, ward off every single one of those pestering men who displease you but he recognizes your capability. You have demonstrated countless times in the past that you can handle yourself exceedingly well.

His gaze lingers for one second too long. Your eyes connect with his black visor. He freezes. He's been caught staring. For once, he isn't sure what his succeeding actions should be. The beskar helm covering his own face is greatly appreciated in this very moment, because his cheeks are undoubtedly tinted in a thousand shades of pink and red. He wants to avert his gaping, but he discovers its impossible for him. His eyes are practically glued to yours, and for once you notice a certain eagerness in your expression. As if you're actually... contented to spot him between the crowd of men surrounding you.

Right. Like that'll ever happen.

He can't dwell on that — give himself that false hope. Out of everyone in the cantina, you're pleased to see him? That's not exactly feasible.

Your heedfulness is abruptly snatched when a customer purposely drops an object — Din can't pick out what, exactly. His intentions were evident. He's trying to obtain a better view of your rear end, yet you don't give a damn. Din can't quite hear what you're divulging with all the cacophonous noise, though your facial expression provides him with enough. A menacing glare is directed straight towards the man, your mouth spitting out offenses and insults. You've clearly had enough with their crap. There's nothing more Din longs for than to withdraw you from that burdensome situation, lead you to the quietness and tranquility of the Razor Crest. The audacity these men have creates a rage welling up within his chest, blood in his veins boiling. The fact that he can't take action leaves him feeling helpless. You evidently don't want his assistance. You can deal with them yourself — it's what you want.

The Mandalorian finds himself remaining in the cantina for hours. The place gradually empties, though not entirely. There's considerably less racket now. You seem to slowly relax, the tension in your shoulders fading away. Din rarely attempts to peek towards your direction again — not after what previously occurred. He's still rather humiliated about it. His finger lightly drums against the table, a faint tapping sound solely audible to his ears. He's not quite certain why he's residing here for a prolonged amount of time if you're undeniably occupied with your job. Yet—

"Drink?"

The familiar voice steals his attention, a glass filled to the brim with an unknown alcoholic drink slides directly into the hand placed over the table. He catches it and clasps onto it tautly with his fingers, visor lifting upwards precisely when a woman occupies her seat on the booth across from him. You.

Admittedly, he's staggered by your unexpected appearance. While you've spoken with him before, he didn't expect that to occur today, especially with the exceptionally packed cantina. He's utterly speechless, any sort of coherent sentence completely disappearing from his mind. His mouth opens, then shuts repeatedly when he fails to voice an individual word. His throat feels inexplicably dry all of a sudden, his immediate reaction being to take a swig from the glass in his grasp but he's unable to with the helmet preventing it. In this moment, he'd do anything to rid himself of this impenetrable apprehensiveness, anything to ease himself. He can't bring himself go verbalize a single phrase, not even a mere 'thank you.'

"I noticed you didn't order anything for yourself," you state when he doesn’t answer. His flustered condition worsens upon realizing this whole time, you had observed him from the distance as well. Your eyes swiftly dart around the cantina for a split moment, before returning to peer directly into his visor. Then, your gaze averts once more. "Go ahead. There's nobody looking."

For a second, he can't comprehend your suggestion. Until he realizes you're proposing he takes a quick drink from the glass. He glances down towards the object in his hand, practically overflowing with a bright purple-colored liquid. Its iciness bleeds through the leather of his glove. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a nice drink. He can't refuse. Without further contemplation, his free hand raises towards the lip of his helmet, gradually tilting the beskar backwards until his chin and mouth were revealed. He's a bit skittish, unknowing whether you'll abruptly turn your head to face him while he's vulnerable like this. Which is why he speedily chugs it down.

Bad idea. The liquid instantaneously burns his throat, clearing the dryness and replacing it with prickling heat. He drops the helmet down to conceal the exposed half of his face, half-empty glass placed onto the table as he nearly fails to contain himself from throwing a coughing fit. His abrupt discomfort caused your gaze to snap towards him again. At least now he manages to speak. "That's—" he pauses, the strain in his voice leading him to clear his throat. "That's very... strong."

You beam at him, chuckling emanating from you. He can't help but gawk at you, your perfect smile, contagious laughter, alluring features. Occasionally, he wonders how it would feel to kiss those soft, red-tinted lips, caress the curve of your jawline with his thumb, rake his fingers through your silky strands of hair. Those fantasies need to be completely erased from his mind, because they're never going to occur. His longing thought are quickly interrupted when you speak up. "Has a nice taste though, right?"

Din shrugs his shoulders. His breath is still unbearably hot from the drink. Perhaps he should've tested it out before hastily swallowing a substantial quantity of the liquid. "It's an... interesting flavor." He merely watches when you grab the glass, gulping down the remains of the drink without cringing upon the powerful aftertaste. "How much?"

Your gaze meet with him once more. The heavy black eyeliner bordering your eyes only enhance those captivating hues even more, feeling as if they pierce directly through the impenetrable beskar helm obscuring his face. "Payment? Credits aren't necessary today, Mandalorian. I believe tonight has brought me enough to sustain myself with. But there is one thing I'm interested in—" you pause before leaning forward, elbows propping against the table. It provides Din with a superior perspective of your chest, though he couldn't bring himself to glance down. He will not dare disrespect you in such ways. You have his total, undivided attentiveness now, ears ready to listen in for whatever you have to offer. "—your name."

His name. The Mandalorian normally wouldn't provide random people with the knowledge of his name. The thing is — you're not a simple 'random person.'

"Din. Din Djarin."

"Din... Djarin," you repeat, the phrase exquisitely rolling off your tongue. "Well, Din Djarin, I've gotta say... you're an intriguing man."

"How so?" a certain curiosity tinges his tone, audible even through the vocodor distorting his voice.

With a nonchalant shrug, you continue. "You're not here for the same reasons these men are. I mean, you're here for me, I know that. But when you visit, you do so in a considerate manner. Not as intrusive and harassing as most are." Your lips curve upwards in a small grin, head tilting with a certain gratefulness dominating your expression. "I like that."

The final sentence causes his breath to hitch in his throat. "You do?"

You bob your head in affirmation. A split second of somewhat comfortable silence passes, your gazes persisting trained solely on each other. Then, "I saw you last night, outside my house."

Damn. "I was on my way back to my ship. Managed to stumble across you."

Your brows raise with inquisitiveness. "You saw me? Why didn't you at least wave?"

"I was... in a rush."

"Understandable," you answer with a curt nod. You release a puff of breath before your eyes flash with visible seductiveness, causing Din to anticipate your next words. "Your armor's worn-out. Even more damaged than the last time I saw you. Rough hunt?"

His helmet tips down towards the beskar cuirass plating his chest. Countless dents and scratches ruin the brownish-red paint of the indestructible metal. Its covered in grime and dust, as is the rest of his armor, plenty more damaged than the previous occasion Din decided to land on Tatooine. The sudden realization that he should've at least scrubbed the soot off before venturing out here hits him, a slight embarrassment overwhelming him. "Yeah... armor's seen better days."

"Well, my shift's over. Droid's taken control now," you gesture with your head towards the service droid serving multiple people at the bar. A confident smirk makes its appearance across your expression before your hand slides towards his own, still placed over the table. Despite the leather preventing genuine contact, your touch is welcome and pleasant. "Maybe I can pass by your ship — the Razor Crest, is it? I could help out, polish your armor, perhaps?"

The offer is nearly irrefutable. Yet there's one minor setback that creeps into his mind.

"I-I don't think your... boyfriend will appreciate that."

Confusion etches your features as you slip your fingers away. "Boyfriend? I— oh, no. That guy yesterday? My cousin. Took time off last night so I could see him. He just landed here to quickly visit me before returning to his work earlier today."

Realization strikes him straight in the gut. His mouth opens to spit out an apology, before swiftly shutting it when a string of curses escapes your mouth, head ducking down upon spotting something, or someone. "What?"

You peer over Din's shoulders before dipping down again, hand on your forehead to obscure your face. "I may have promised someone a date," your voice is hushed even despite the noise resounding through the cantina. "I originally wasn't going accept. But he's so damn persistent. So, I told him to come here after I finished my shift, that way I'd be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with him. But he's here now, earlier than I expected."

The Mandalorian's helmet whirls around towards the wide-open entrance. A Zabrak lingers by the doors, eyes examining the cantina in a careful manner, searching for none other than you, before he steps towards the usual bar. Din turns to face you again, thumb discreetly pointing towards the beige-colored Zabrak male. "Him?"

You nod, further unease notable in your body language. Without uttering a single word, you abruptly lift yourself from your seat, heading directly towards the exit.

Not even a goodbye.

Should've taken the damn offer. Would that have been so hard?

"Oh, look! She's right over there by the doors."

A mechanical voice alerts the Zabrak of your presence, before he whips around and calls your name upon spotting your form. Kriffin' droid. You freeze precisely before managing to step one foot outside the building. Your shoulders visibly tense, though you stand firmly, back facing the Zabrak as he stalks towards you. His sizable hand clutches onto your arm, forcing you around. An unfamiliar, strange feeling sneaks into Din's mind upon watching his harsh manners, dominating his every action and movements.

I get jealous, but who wouldn't when you look like you do?

"Forget my—"

The Zabrak's deep voice is interrupted when you yank your arm away from his grasp, pacing forward in a menacing demeanor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't forget," you cross your arms over your chest, eyes practically boring holes into that horned head of his. "I don't need to go on a damn date with you if I don't want it. And right now—"you tilt your head, a poised smirk appearing on your red lips. "—I simply don't want to." With that, you spin around without offering another word.

You're so sure it makes me insecure...

The Zabrak can't seem to take a hint before he begins to swiftly pursue you. Din is unable to perceive anything else when the both of you exit the cantina. He can't wait anymore, sit around and watch. Sure, you can deal with the situation perfectly fine, as you'd done countless times in the past. But for once, Din urges himself to help. An impulse to protect you. His hand shifts towards his holster by pure instinct as he saunters through the exit, only for him to freeze in his spot. You're menacingly holding a sharp blade against the Zabrak's exposed neck, before he abruptly staggers backwards, holding his hands up in a surrendering manner.

You chuckle, before your eyes land on the Mandalorian lingering around, a certain glimmer present in your eyes. "Besides—" you're directing your words towards the Zabrak while stepping towards Din. "I've other plans tonight."

Your gentle hands grip onto Din's bicep, lightly tugging him forward and beckoning him to follow. Your touch causes an unfamiliar heat to erupt throughout his entire body, predominating his emotions. It's not due to the humidity of the planet, no... it's just... it's you. You're causing all this and he can't control himself no matter how much effort he put into it.

Just one touch is so electric...

He goes along with your suggestion, no hesitation whatsoever as you step away from the grumbling Zabrak. He recognizes he shouldn't mess with a Mandalorian, especially if the urge to protect the person he's constantly thinking about is present.

When he tips his head down to glance towards your direction, your lips are curled upwards into a smirk. Not the one you held while attempting to rid of the irritating Zabrak. There is a certain mischief written all over your features.

"Your ship?"

Oh, what the hell.

How could he resist a piece of you?

#let me tell you something #he may be completely clueless when it comes to flirting #and all that kind of stuff #but din djarin knows how to treat a woman #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #star wars #din djarin imagines #star wars x reader #din djarin x reader imagines #brown eyes #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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iluvyou-xoxo · 4 years

Text

high

suna x reader

wc: 2.2k

you were completely in over your head. sure, you had the occasional blunt at a high school party or kickback, but never have you been to something like this.

your senior project about the film industry was just proven wrong as the girls next to you snorted a line off the kitchen countertop. in your suburban neighborhood, the parties portrayed in television or cinema were only that: something that directors and script writers created as they continued to fetishize the high school experience. your paper talked about how odd it was that films focused on the loss of innocence during those four years of hell and how extremely inaccurate the portrayal was.

but here you stand at your first college party since attending university for only about a month now. it was exactly as pictured in every movie that you once would have called “stupid as fuck", and now you wish you had paid more attention.

everyone seemed to of had experience in these types of gatherings while you stood next to the sink with a red solo cup filled with only water. your roommate had dragged you to this frat house because she had to meet with her dealer and would much rather do it in a public setting. her smart decision was only your downfall as she had begged you to come too, yet ditched you fifteen minutes ago to go find him even though she said she'd be back in five.

a tall lean figure walked past you but it wasn't his perfect physique that got your attention, it was the strong scent of weed that clung to the cotton of his hoodie. once you looked up to see the ethereal face of rintarō suna, you immediately recognized him as your roommates plug and decided to ask him if he has seen your roommate that seemed to have gone m.i.a. while looking for the person only a foot away from you.

“excuse me,” you called out much louder than how you would usually speak, but the base of the speakers drowned out your voice. although suna had heard you, he didn't look around just in case you were trying to capture someone else's attention. when you timidly tapped the back of his arm with your index finger it was unmistakable you weren’t asking for anyone else.

he slowly turned around and looked down at you with a bored expression and a red flask in his left hand, “yeah?”

“i'm y/n, and I was wondering if you have seen himari; she's my roommate,” you quickly asked as you removed your hand from his soft hoodie that hid the hard muscle underneath.

“oh uh yeah...” suna said, unsure of what else to say.

“well, she said that she was supposed to meet with you quickly but it's been over fifteen minutes now and she hasn't responded to my texts.”

quickly he understood what you were asking, “we met up like ten minutes ago but right now I think she's hooking up with my friend aran.”

instead of responding, you looked down and a small frown pulled the edge of your lips in realization that the person that asked you to come for protection had left you even though she knew this was your college first party— hell, your first real party.

before you had the chance to decide on either waiting for himari to finish or to take your chances walking alone to your dorm room, suna lightly grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the kitchen. the two of you weaved through the bustling function until you reached the front yard that was littered with cups and bottles.

“aran said that he'd meet up with me as soon as they're done so we can just chill in my car ‘til then,” suna said slightly ahead of you with your hand still placed lightly in his as the two of you continued walking.

you were completely sober, yet his skin touching yours had your head spinning and all the danger signs that would have flashed in your head seemed of cut off when you were with him. although this was the first time you've ever conversed with suna, you had a slight crush on the middle blocker that you had seen in school games a few times.

the both of you approached a black car that flashed twice indicating that suna had opened the doors. to your dismay, he let go of your hand and walked to the driver's side as you made your way to the passengers. once inside he pulled out his phone to play some rap song that you had never heard of before and pulled up the middle console to reveal a mason jar with four pre-rolled blunts inside.

“you wanna smoke, doll?” the mysterious man asked.

“i don't have any money on me,” you responded quietly, shifting your gaze to the window next to you. a muffled chuckle interrupted your mile-a-minute thoughts and turned you to see suna show more expression than you had ever seen him hold before.

“baby, you don't need to pay if i offer it to you,” he explained with a light laugh at the end of his sentence. wow, his laugh is beautiful.

“oh, well okay then,” you reply timidly as you watch him take off the lid and reach over to pull a lighter out of the glove compartment.

he takes the first few hits, quickly putting your mind at ease in case it was laced or something, and then brings the joint to you. next, you take two pulls and pass it back, the cycle continuing until the car is filled with smoke and the blunt is near its end.

the silence between you two is comforting as there was no need for awkward conversation. it was just two people in a cloudy car, vibing to one of the many chill playlists that suna had. the weed had hit you full force and you suddenly started to chuckle while thinking about how happy you were that your annoying roommate ditched you, even though in any other circumstance you would be livid.

suna was just appreciating the calm that marijuana gave him until your laughter filled the car. his eyes that naturally hung low seemed to have deepened as he slowly looked over to you and poked your cheek with his pointer finger. “watcha’ laughin’ about?”

your smile didn't leave your face as you looked over to the most beautiful person you have ever laid your eyes upon. “oh nothing,” you said slyly as your smile seemed to only intensify.

“oh really?” he asked while slowly shifting towards you

“yep, really,” you said, but this time closed your eyes with a big smile still plastered to your face.

rather than saying anything else, suna only chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh while shifting in his seat so his head leaned back on the headrest. the small action made you're heart leap and eyes open again and you found suna with a calm look on his face with his eyes closed and head tilted slightly back.

his peaceful face made you realize that he has probably taken many people to his car for a smoke and called them endearing nicknames. rather than feeling dread, something you were sure to have experienced if you were sober, you came to terms that this would be your only chance to be close like this with him again. before you could even think twice about it, you reached over the middle console to grab his cheek and quickly brought his lips to yours.

either he had experienced this situation many times before or he had expected it, because he immediately kissed you back and not a single muscle tensed at the sudden move on your part. his lips slowly moved with yours and met your tongue with his own.

soon you got frustrated because even though you were making out he wasn't doing much else. you thought that by now he would understand that you wanted him to take you on the backseat, but he kept the pace slow and his hands stayed in safe places, one holding your mid-thigh and the other on the side of your neck.

you broke your lips from his and even though that pace had been slow, he somehow still managed to take your breath away. “suna, do you not want to touch me?” you asked with insecurity leaking into your tone unknowingly.

“baby, i don't fuck people unless they’re sober,” he said with a slight smile as he looked at you. although you completely understood where this was coming from, you couldn't help the frustrated whine that left your lips.

“then why did you offer to smoke if you knew we wouldn't do it afterward?” you looked down to his lap to he was definitely hard, but his face didn't give anything away.

“well i wasn't really looking to get in your pants just yet, but no need to worry babe, we can always pick up where we leave off,” next suna placed his hand on your cheek and began softly rubbing it.

three hard knocks on the driver's side window grabbed both of your attention. there stood a tall man with beautiful deep skin and you instantly recognized him as aran from the volleyball team.

suna rolled down the window and although most of the smoke had dissipated throughout your make-out session, the final bit remaining went out and drifted into the midnight sky.

“suna please tell me you're ready to go now. i can't keep stalling her forever,” aran said as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“where is she now?” suna asked with slight frustration.

“well, she was dancing with a few of her other friends so i decided to run out and see how you're doing out here. do you need more time?”

normally you would mind your business but now you seemed to let the thoughts you hold fall from your lips. “what are you guys talking about?”

“nothing baby, don't worry about it,” suna brushed you off quickly.

“c’mon suna, i can tell that this is going well since you’ve been in here for almost half an hour,” aran pressed. “i'm pretty sure you're going to have to tell her eventually anyway.”

“okay now i’m really confused” you replied.

suna stayed silent while glaring and aran, but aran only smiled at you while slightly shaking his head. “this boy has had me distracting your roommate while he tried to sneak in some alone time with you.”

the idea of suna, the most handsome boy in all of japan, creating a plan just to talk to you made you almost want to laugh at how farfetched it was. but shortly after glancing at suna to find him holding a slight blush on his cheeks and shooting his friend a glare, you understand that this was actually the truth.

there's an awkward silence between the three of you and aran was the first to break it. “well i'm gonna dip real quick, but i’m only stalling her for five more minutes so you better wrap this up.”

he quickly turns away and walks back into the party as suna rolls the window up again refusing to make eye contact with you.

“do you like me?” you cut quickly to the chase as your excitement can barely be contained.

suna has yet to meet your eyes but when he nods his head indicating yes you smile brightly at him and quickly place your hand upon his thigh to grab his attention. “you know, you should have just said ‘hi’ to me around campus or something; i like you too.”

when he looks up he holds a sheepish smile and is still dusted pink from embarrassment. “oh shut up and hand me your phone, we don't have much time and i need your number.”

wordlessly you hand your phone over once it's unlocked and on to your contact app.

“well your friend is waiting for you, aran should have already called an uber for you guys”

“well are you going to tell me how you knew id be coming tonight for this elaborate plan to seduce me?” you asked flirtatiously and in a teasing manner.

quickly, suna cupped your jaw and squeezed your cheeks together forming an adorable pout on your face, slowly making ‘tsk’ noises while swaying your head left to right.

“it's time for you to go now, sweetheart. i’m gonna text you later so we can plan a date and maybe ill let you know then.”

your eyes quickly light up at the word ‘date’ and you lightly nod with a smile forming on your face. as soon as he lets you go you lean forward to place a final kiss upon his lips and walk out of the car.

once you finally find himari, you get her into the awaiting uber, wave goodbye to aran, and tell the driver your address. the smile you hold doesn't seem to let up for the rest of the night and once you're tucked in bed at around three in the morning your smile only intensifies at the glow of your phone that holds two new text messages.

maybe: suna- hey, this is suna

maybe: suna- i have a game tomorrow and was wondering if you'd come..?

—————

date: march 18th, 2021

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #suna rinatro #suna x y/n #suna imagines #suna x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x reader

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riversofmars · 3 years

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The Doctor and her friends try to escape a deadly trap as Dorium’s bar and the planet burn up. Meanwhile, River is continuing her research into the Timeless Child...

Chapter 5: The Pieces Are Moving

The Maldovarium, 52nd Century

The sun was blazing down and Dorium’s bar, built mostly from metal, was heating up even faster than the surface of the planet. The sun was growing bigger in the sky, it was getting closer.

“The Master must have found so much more in the Matrix than he led on.“ The Doctor pressed through gritted teeth as she considered how this was possible. “This is like the Time Lords of old, able to wheeled so much power… what they became in the Time War… he wasn’t there in the final days to know the horror…“ She mumbled, trying her best to prioritise her thoughts. Time was changing around them. They were in grave danger. There was no time to wonder how the Master had accomplished this, there was any number of ways he could have done it and finding out which it was would not help save them. She looked around back to her friends who awaited an explanation.

“You shouldn’t have come. This is far too dangerous for you.“ The Doctor realised, slowly shaking her head. “He knew I’d come here. Perhaps a Matrix prediction… it’s a game and he’s one step ahead of us at every turn.“ Her mind was reeling but they had more immediate concerns. The sun above the planet was growing closer, they appeared to be heading towards it and the temperature kept rising. “Dorium, do you have a way off this planet?“ She asked and stepped into his line of vision.

“I’m nothing if not well prepared, Doctor, there is a shuttle for emergencies outside, but we can’t just abandon my bar, this is my life’s work!“ Dorium protested. “What is happening out there?“

“If you don’t get out of here right now, you won’t have a life.“ The Doctor interrupted him. “One of you will have to carry him. Get to his ship.“ The Doctor gestured towards the box and Yaz complied while Jenny rushed to support her wife who looked as though she was about to faint. Vastra’s body couldn’t regulate its temperature at all. Yaz and Jenny seemed to have trouble breathing the hot air and even Strax was beginning to show signs of struggling as beads of sweat formed on his head.

“But Doctor…“ Yaz wanted to protest, trying her best to hold Dorium’s head level.

“This planet is being dragged into that sun, get off world and quickly.“ The Doctor shut down any protest and glanced out of the window again. The sun continued to grow bigger and the temperature inside the bar was becoming unbearable. They didn’t have time to argue. She could sense that this was only the beginning.

“But we have the TARDIS, can’t we just…“ Jenny jumped in but the Doctor interrupted her:

“No you don’t. I need to find the Master and I’m doing it by myself, it’s far too dangerous.“ She looked around, assessing what she had to work with. “Get off this planet, I’ll be in touch and pick you up to take you home but right now, I need to find him. He is messing with the fabric of time itself and while you’re close to me, you will be in danger!“ She explained hastily and rushed to a computer terminal in the corner.

“Doctor, you can’t.“ Vastra protested weakly.

“A Sontaran does not run away!“ Strax exclaimed, outraged.

“Whatever we’re doing, can we do it now? It is really very stuffy in this box!“ Dorium called from his box.

“We’re coming with you.“ Yaz insisted but the Doctor shook her head.

“No, you’re not.“ She stated and sonic-ed the computer terminal. A teleport beam engulfed her friends.

——

Shuttle outside the Madovarium, 52nd Century

“Ugh! That insufferable man! Woman!“ Vastra collapsed onto the floor as they found themselves in a shuttle. The temperature was bearable, the insulation for space travel was far superior to the bar, but temperatures were rising even in here.

“I hate to be the bringer of bad news but unless we leave this planet right now, we will be fried, and I’m lacking hands to operate the controls.“ Dorium realised the Doctor had managed to engaged his emergency evacuation teleport. He was glad to have spent the money. It wasn’t like he could have walked anywhere in the event of a disaster and it had proven a sound investment already. “So if you wouldn’t mind.“ He glanced to controls, having no better means of pointing.

“How do we fly it?“ Yaz sat his box down by the controls hoping for instructions. She pushed her anger at the Doctor’s actions aside in favour of getting off the planet in one piece first.

“Step aside. A Sontaran can operate any kind of combat vehicle. Strap in. Someone secure the head.“ Strax instructed pushing her aside.

“We can’t just go without her.“ Jenny launched a weak protest as Strax started the engines. He engaged the shields and the temperature dropped significantly, allowing them all to breath more easily.

“It seems we have very little choice, my dear.“ Vastra replied weakly, as her wife helped her to her to a seat. “She will come to her senses.“ She had been the Doctor’s friend long enough to know that they couldn’t change their mind by force.

“Unless she gets herself killed first.“ Yaz huffed as they launched and shot off into the atmosphere, away from the planet that was hurling towards its doom. Below, the Maldovarium caught fire.

——

The Maldovarium, 52nd Century

The Doctor checked the computer console. Her friends had reached the shuttle and set off. Good. Step one. She looked around herself, the building had just caught fire. The temperature was still rising. Judging by its speed, she calculated she probably had about seven minutes: three minutes until the air would be too hot to breath and she would have to use her respiratory bypass, five until her skin would start to blister and seven until her core temperature would rise so high that the proteins in her body would break up and she would die. She’d have to work quickly.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard on the computer terminal as she pulled up the security camera footage of the last five minutes. Good old Dorium, of course he wanted his establishment well protected. She fast forwarded through it and there it was: one moment, everyone was having a lovely time, the next blazing sunlight streamed into the bar and the customers disappeared into thin air. Some screamed, some just looked confused, but they all vanished. Time was being rewritten. They had never come here because the planet was not where it had been. So the planet had moved, not the star.

She wondered how far back the footage would go. Would it go back far enough to show who brought Dorium back here? Unlikely. He’d probably had to rebuild and set up everything anew upon his return. She had about a minute of breathable air left and she was struggling already. She looked around, the TARDIS was in the other room, she would need a minute to get there at least and above her, thick smoke started gathering. She would have to feel her way forward at this stage. Her mind was racing. Any clues she would find here, she’d have to find now or they would be lost forever. She couldn’t think. The moment had passed and the air had become too hot to breathe.

“Think, Doctor, think!“ She snapped with her last proper breath, she ground her teeth. When I arrange for your death, I expect you to stay dead. The Master’s words echoed through her head. Nothing was gained if she she risked her life chasing after clues that probably weren’t there. The Master was too clever to leave traces; which begged several questions: why would he reveal himself to Dorium; why allow him to see his face, knowing a description would point her straight towards him? Arrogance? Was he trying to taunt her? Or did he just not care? Did he think he was so far ahead of her, that it wouldn’t matter? Something about this didn’t feel right. She had to get back to her TARDIS before the fire bared her way. The skin in her hands was starting to go red and raw.

——

Space, 52nd Century

“That was a close call…“ Jenny breathed a sigh of relief when they cleared the gravitational pull of the planetoid and the sun alike. It wasn’t a moment too soon, the planet was beginning to burn as it hurdled closer and closer to the sun.

“How was that even possible? You can’t just move a planet…“ Yaz shook her head in disbelief as she watched the destruction on the monitors.

“You and I might not be able to… but anything is possible, given time…“ Dorium mused.

“The Master is a dangerous foe but this does appear beyond the capabilities they have displayed so far.“ Vastra sat in the copilot’s seat as she recovered, her body temperature normalising.

“Maybe he’s not working by himself…“ Yaz mused. “Last time we saw him, he’d allied himself with the Cybermen… maybe he realises he can’t do it by himself… Maybe he’s found new friends.“

“A sound stratagem.“ Strax commented.

“What do we do now?“ Jenny asked. They had retreated to a safe distance nearing the outskirts the solar system but they had yet to determine a new destination.

“Wait for her to come and pick us up?“ Yaz suggested half-heartedly, she didn’t believe the Doctor actually would be back so soon but she decided to try and be optimistic.

“We have no way of knowing when that would be. Besides, we don’t know if she will even be successful in her endeavour.“ Vastra retorted matter-of-factly.

“Then what do we do?“ Jenny asked, feeling at a loss. They all so desperately wanted to help but the Doctor had cut them off.

“We have hyper speed travel, yes?“ Vastra turned to Dorium who was watching the screens, looking melancholy at the loss of his life’s work.

“State of the art systems, I only purchased it last week, what a shame, the hull is all blackened…“ He sighed, pulled out of his thoughts.

“We made a promise to the Professor to look after her child and so far, we’ve failed. We will carry on, even without the Doctor.“ Vastra decided, pulling herself up. “Perhaps we will find whoever is responsible faster than the Doctor weighed down by her hunger for revenge…“

“Excellent. It would be most disappointing if we were to miss out on the fight and the opportunity for a glorious death.“ Strax announced with glee.

“Where do we start?“ Yaz asked, nonplussed. She couldn’t help but feel abandoned by the Doctor, and so soon after her previous disappearance. She was, however, glad for the company she found herself in. If she was going to be stranded in the far future without means of time travel, an ancient lizard woman, a potato-headed warrior, a Victorian maid and a blue head in a box seemed like appropriate company. “Where could the Master possibly be? Would he have taken the child with him or maybe he’s got a base and people who work for him? Or maybe, this is the Master earlier in his time stream? Maybe to him, the destruction of Gallifrey hasn’t happened yet…“ All the questions were becoming overwhelming. It seemed like an insurmountable task, particularly without the Doctor at hand.

“We can’t discount any possibilities.“ Vastra agreed. “We are rather more limited with our means of travel but there is one point of interest in this time period. Somewhere where the Doctor is stubbornly refusing to look.“ She had given it some thought and a plan was forming in her head.

“Where?“ Jenny asked and her wife smiled:

“The Library, of course. Professor Song might be able to tell us where to start looking.“ She nodded decisively and turned to Strax to provide coordinates for their destination. “And if nothing else, she deserves to know the truth.“

——

The TARDIS

The Doctor slammed shut the doors to her TARDIS. She took a deep breath, fresh oxygen reawakening her senses. She rushed to the console. As sturdy as the TARDIS was protected by it’s shields, she didn’t want to tests its limits by staying on this doomed planetoid any longer than she needed to. She ran a final scan, searching for the shuttle her friends had escaped in, and noticed with relief that it was just clearing the solar system. They were safe. Safer than they would be had they stayed with her. Content - if not happy - with her decision, as she launched the TARDIS into the time vortex.

The Doctor gave a sigh of relief once she had left the Maldovarium behind. She stepped away from the console but didn’t get very far. As her adrenaline levels normalised, she felt weak and became aware of how close she had come to reaching her physical limits. She struggled out of her coat that was singed in places and sank to the floor, trying to catch her breath. Her hearts hammered in her chest, her hair was sticking to her head with sweat, her hands and face were red and raw. She had to pause for a moment, gather herself, before she could carry on. The TARDIS circled around the vortex waiting for coordinates, buying her time by staying where time didn't pass.

“Perhaps I just need a moment… maybe some after-sun…“ The Doctor mumbled to the TARDIS that hummed and wheezed in response, almost scolding her for having been reckless.

The Doctor didn’t like stopping, even for a moment. Those where the times when she had time to think and those things that she had been trying to avoid, those feelings she had been pushing down, had an opportunity to catch up with her. She was in no way closer to finding her son. In the absence of her friends she allowed herself a moment of weakness. The tears stung on her burnt skin of her cheeks. What would the Master want with her son, apart from torture and hurt her? He was being used as a pawn against her. She would make the Master pay for this.

Slowly, she got to her feat. Unsteadily, she staggered back to the console, deciding on her course of action. She wouldn’t be able to properly rest until she had found her child so she had to keep going. For now, the Master was her best lead. It was time to see the destruction she had left behind as she had fled Gallifrey. If the Master had found a way to escape death, she would find answers there.

——

The Library, 52nd Century

“Someone is having you on. Whatever it’s meant to be, the Timeless Child, it doesn’t exist.“ Anita closed the book she’d been reading and pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t focus anymore. “There is no reference to it. Anywhere. Are you sure that’s the phrase we’re looking for?“

“I’m certain of it.“ River confirmed but couldn’t deny she was getting frustrated as well. They had been at it for days now. Or was it weeks? River was starting to lose track of time. And they had nothing to show for it. Initially, River had enjoyed finding stories about the Doctor’s past; adventures she didn’t know about that she hadn’t been part of. It had been entertaining for a while, as were the essays written about her and the Doctor. Who would have thought they would become such a popular subject matter for students at River’s alma mater?

“Well, it’s not mentioned anywhere.“ Anita sighed, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. “How did you learn about al this anyway?“ She hadn’t pressed River for information so far but it seemed about time.

“Those words, those exact words, the Timeless Child… Dorium was so sure that’s what it was.“ River closed the book she was reading as well. It was time to stop.

“Well, maybe he got it wrong.“ Anita shrugged.

“Maybe…“ River couldn’t deny that it was possible. In her head she recounted the message Dorium had sent her. He had mentioned a Time Lord giving him the information, as if it would give weight to it. Since he hadn’t given a name, part of River had believed that it might have been the Doctor himself. Perhaps he was keeping his identity hidden for any number of reasons; most likely not to interfere with his own timeline… But now she wasn’t so sure.

There were other Time Lords out there. The Master. The Corsair… From what the Doctor had told her in their time on Darillium, Gallifrey was still out there. Not just the Gallifrey of the past, before the Time War that River had visited not so long ago. Gallifrey had never been destroyed in the final days of the War, just hidden away in a bubble universe at the end of time. Maybe they were starting to emerge again, taking a few tentative steps back into the universe but why now? Why this? Were they maybe just trying to mess with her? Or the Doctor? Had all this just been a pointless goose chase and she had walked right to her death on a fool’s errand? She shook her head to herself. No. There was something else, something she couldn’t quite remember. It was right there at the edge of her mind.

“How long have you been at this?“ Anita asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know, you tell me, I’m starting to lose track.“ River chuckled half heartedly. She had always had a very special relationship with time, being the child of the TARDIS, but inside the Library computer, cut off from reality and actual time, it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“No, I mean before this, before you came to the Library. You said you’d been researching this before and couldn't find anything and you hoped there would be answers here…“ Anita prompted.

“There clearly aren’t…“ River stated in frustration.

“How long, River?“ Anita frowned, noticing her deliberately evading the question.

“Well, let’s just say it wasn’t obvious I was… expecting when I left the Doctor and started researching.“ River answered at last, her bitterness evident in her voice. Anita remained quiet for a moment. They had hardly spoken about River’s pregnancy and son, bringing it up seemed to make it all the more painful.

“Did you find anything at all? What were you doing?“ Anita tried to steer the conversation back to the subject matter.

“All sorts… I knew it had something to do with the Time Lords so… that’s where I went looking first and of course I got myself involved in yet another of the Doctor’s adventures… younger Doctor that time, very young, couldn’t tell him who I was of course… I went to Gallifrey but I had no time to look around really, not with a fight for the very fate of the universe going on…“ She gave a half smile. When wasn’t the Doctor fighting to save the universe? As much fun as it had been, it had distracted her rather… As she recounted her adventures in her head something occurred to her. She blinked, confused. How had she forgotten about it? How had she failed to make the connection? “But there was something…“ Maybe the trip hadn't been entirely wasted.

“What?“ Anita frowned, confused by her sudden wistfulness.

“As I… things went a bit pear shaped. I was pulled inside the Matrix.“ River revealed which suddenly seemed a whole lot more significant than it had at the time. She considered how furious the Doctor would be if he ever found out what she had put herself through whilst being pregnant. She couldn’t deny that she herself had been incredibly relieved to find her son completely healthy at birth. She hadn’t exactly been taking it easy. There had been a few close calls in the early stages which was why she settled for desk research when she’d become less agile on her feet.

“What’s that?“ Anita asked. “The Matrix?“ She’d felt like she should know what she was talking about but she didn’t.

“The Matrix… it’s like a super computer, not unlike this one. Time Lord minds get uploaded as they die so it’s the sum knowledge of their race, so to speak… Algorithms generate prophecies, predictions, extrapolations, possible futures. In the golden days of the Gallifreyan Empire, they would base their interference around time on them and heed their warnings.“ River tried to explain the best she could. “I used my… affinity for all things Time to help the Doctor: bring him back to where he needed to be. Only barely got out of there myself in the end… but while I was in there… I can’t quite remember but there were flashes of something… I was very preoccupied, mind, but I think subconsciously they did register… maybe the Matrix sensed that I was looking for answers…“ She hadn’t thought it significant at the time, she had had bigger things to worry about but the more she thought it about, the more she believed it couldn’t have been coincidence. The images were beginning to take shape in her mind, as if she was only now able to remember.

“And you saw the Timeless Child?“ Anita asked perplexed, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned it before.

“I don’t know… maybe…“ River tried to focus, struggling to reproduce the images in her mind. “It was a little girl, standing in front of a gateway…“ River closed her eyes as the image became more clear. Why hadn’t thought about it until now?

“A girl though? Didn’t you say you had a son? Then it’s probably not related to you?“ Anita mused disheartened as it seemed like just another dead end.

“Time Lords don’t take the whole gender thing very seriously…“ River couldn’t help but chuckle as she continued watching in her mind’s eye. Someone was approaching the girl.

“River…“ Anita reached out for River’s arm, trying to get her attention.

“Just hang on…“ River was doing her best to remember. She didn’t recall seeing any of this before. Apparently her subconscious had picked up much more in the Matrix than she had realised.

“River!“ Anita insisted, her voice urgent and River opened her eyes, ripped from the otherworldly portal she had been watching but she didn’t find herself in the cosy living room the Library computer had generated for her. Instead she found herself in a laboratory. She jumps to her feet in shock and not a moment too soon, as the sofa also disappeared from under her. Anita looked around utterly confused. Was this a computer glitch? There were other people too: the woman who River had seen approaching the child and the child herself, sitting in a chair being examined.

A/N: You may have picked up on my using the events of Doom Coalition here which canonically are set between Darillium and the Library, if you happen to have been following those Big finish audios. I thought it could work really well with the whole being pulled into the Matrix thing. I know a lot of people don't know the audios though so I'm trying to write it in a way that you don't have to know them and anything significant will be explained. I hope that works for everyone. Please let me know if you find things confusing at any point <3

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joyfulpiefactory · 3 years

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(Heroes Journey just gave me more material to write Elinini with. Hoo 🙃)

—

“...” Ninian felt herself breathe a soft, long sigh as she approached the entrance to a cave with her husband, arms looped around his own. Sunlight blazed against the outline of rock before the pair, her gaze flitting between the darkness that awaited them and the blazing red of Eliwood’s eyes.

“We’ve been in a labyrinth before, Ninian...” Eliwood chuckles as he sees his wife’s reservation, the backs of his fingers moving to dust her cheeks. “Are you afraid?”

“No...” Ninian replied quickly, voice a whisper as she moved to near instinctively grip her hidden dragonstone, hand forming and quivering around its smooth surface through the cloth of her dress. “No. We...need to move through here to travel farther.”

“Indeed.” Eliwood smiled as he slipped his arm out of her own, cape fluttering as he twisted to face her and place a hand over hers. “Whatever it is that’s worrying you, know that it will not come to pass so long as I am with you, Ninian. I will protect you.”

“...” Ninian stood silent as she forced a soft smile, fingers gently curling into his palm as they stepped inside the black maw of the cave. Dragonstone yet hidden, her eyes widen as she hears the distinct sound of Eliwood’s lance being brandished against ever-consuming darkness. Her thoughts began to race as their steps echoed, free hand longing to grip her own weapon for dear life.

I cannot tell him...he cannot see that I can...!

Her thoughts whirl back to being in his arms, begging him to protect Elibe...the tears in his eyes at the gash in her stomach. She very nearly feels her breath stop, bringing a hand to where the wound would be as they walked along in a seemingly comfortable silence.

Ever since arriving in Askr, Ninian gained the ability to control her mind, to will when her dragon form would come forth. All of it was locked inside a crystalline stone, safe and unable to be broken by any sort of magic. But...ever since arriving in Askr, she made sure to never let Eliwood know she even possessed such a stone, much less a learned need to use it. Content with letting him protect her...

Please...let nothing happen to us...if Eliwood gets hurt, I don’t know if I can-

“-Ninian. Someone is here.”

What?! The manakete chokes back a gasp as she sensed Eliwood’s hand leave hers, moving to gently push her behind him in utter darkness as his voice boomed amidst sudden laughter. “Stay back. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Eliwood...” Her hand moves as she blinks, everything in her heart screaming as her fingers bent against the shape of her dragonstone, pulling it free as she grit her teeth. The instinct to use it was all too commonplace now.

“What’s this?” A loud, gruff voice burst against the black that engulfed the space around them, nothing but sound acting as their guides. “Have we got a couple in here?” More laughter joined the fray as the sound of a match was struck, the light of a lantern suddenly burning forth the image of a bandit.

A smile grew on his lips as his suspicions were proven right, eyes narrowing as he spied both a steeled and panicked gaze in front of him. “Looks like we got a real prize in here...”

Ninian felt her heart hammer as her stare flew from Eliwood’s protective back to a slowly illuminating force of nine men, closing her eyes as she let the man speak.

Put the stone away...

“Some real fancy clothes you got on there. What are you doing here?”

Don’t make Eliwood cry.

“Let us through, or I will cut you all down.”

Let him protect you. Ninian felt her grip tighten against her husband’s threat, gasping as she watched him step forward.

“I don’t think I can let you through unless you’ve got the money. Or we can just kill you right here, can’t we boys?” Laughter blossoms in reply, Eliwood calmly readying his weapon.

“Ninian, run for the entrance!” The clashing of weapons was the next reply, Ninian’s eyes widening in horror as she watched her husband’s attempt to push the leader back fail easily, the sound of clanging metals ringing in her ears. Others quickly moved to surround him, bobbing in and out of the circle that was made as Eliwood moved defensively.

“Eliwood...!” Ninian’s hand quivered, a gasp popping as the leader spoke again. “You can’t hope you fight off ten men at once, ya damn fool! Now...”

Eliwood’s gaze flickered back futilely in Ninian’s direction as he heard her gasp, closing his eyes as he felt his brooch be grabbed. “Have you got the money to pass? If you don’t, I’ll have to take something in exchange.”

Exchange... the word brought back the whirl of heartache Ninian longed to forget, her adrenaline drowning in fear of Eliwood’s tears. His tears at her death...

I can...take them out. I can...control myself...! Ninian resolved to grip her weapon tighter, its radiance almost seeming to sing as she choked its power awake. A new sound moved in the near dark at that moment, several of the brigands turning around to face blood red eyes. “Do not touch him...!”

Lips parted to reveal growing fangs, a blinding blue light shining and growing to part against the giant form of a towering ice dragon, claws scraping against the hard earth as she lurched forward. “Rrraaah...!”

“Ninian...!”

#good lord again sorry for the length guys I keep going off on my favorite ship #I live for Ninian wanting to protect him in Askr 😤#joyfulpiefactory writes stuff #fire emblem heroes #feh #eliwood #ninian

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adarlingwrites · 4 years

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Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s note: I kind of regret the song choice due to its association with a certain movie but... it fits the chapter's themes. -shrug-

Edit: Changed the song I associated with this chapter because I think it suits Aguni and Yamaneko's pseudo-paternal relationship, which was highlighted more than the murder mystery on the Beach

go ahead and cry, little boy | you know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through | you gotta let it out soon, just let it out

As if a spotlight had been shone on her, Yamaneko’s body tenses at everyone’s scrutiny.

“Why does this concern me?” she starts, looking at the faces around her, all of them with varying degrees of wariness, save for her fellow militants. Her eyes flick to her father’s, and resentment blooms in her chest, spreading through her veins like bitter poison.

“She’s your stepmother,” Ann responds, examining the victim’s corpse with the purpose of scrutinizing every detail. Then, her eyes flick to Mr. Yamane, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Though, she looks more like an older sister.”

“We weren’t close. I haven’t spoken a word to her before we arrived on the Beach.”

Ann tilts the victim’s head with a gloved hand, exposing the wound to view. “I’ve yet to examine the wound, but it’s clear that whoever killed her used a sharp object. You’re one of the few militants who exclusively carry a bladed weapon, along with Last Boss.”

Folding her arms Yamaneko was about to go off on the taller woman, but she mentions something else. ”He’s under suspicion, too,” she mentions as she motioned to Mr. Yamane. “Her body was dumped from their shared room.”

“Me? That’s preposterous! Are you suggesting that I have something to do with my own wife’s death? I’m not even allowed to hold a weapon! It’s those militants you should be looking at.”

“You know what?” Yamaneko interrupts, bringing all the attention back to her when her head whips towards his direction, and her voice drips with venom at every syllable she utters. “If you can beat your first wife and your daughters for years, and lie through your teeth every time the authorities get involved, I believe you have the capacity to be violent with anyone and lie to our faces.”

“You dare accuse me when you’re the one who carries a weapon and holds a criminal record,” Mr. Yamane spits back, pointing at his estranged daughter with a wrinkled finger, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve raised you myself. You’re an uncontrollable child. Disobedient. Delinquent! You dirtied the family’s name when your name showed up on the tabloids twice. It’s no wonder even your sister gave up on you.”

It took every fiber of Yamaneko’s self control to stop her from lunging at her father’s provocation. Instead, she hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t bring Mai into this. You are the reason why I had to resort to stealing! You kicked me out. I couldn’t even find an apartment without a guarantor because I was a minor. Do you think I would resort to that if I wasn’t so desperate without a family’s support? That criminal record means nothing here anyway!”

“My, my, this is a conversation you shouldn’t be having in front of strangers. Are scandals really commonplace in your family?” Niragi interrupts, and aims his rifle at Mr. Yamane’s chest. “Why don’t we just kill the old man?”

“See?! Even the company you keep reflects who you really are,” Mr. Yamane blurts, face red from rage. “No amount of discipline I tried to instill in Minami worked to keep her in check. She's a criminal. It’s why I disowned her.”

Aguni remains stoic throughout the entire ordeal, but the last thing the Yamacorp CEO said stirred something hateful inside him. He towered over Mr. Yamane in a show of intimidation. “I thought I heard you call my underling ‘daughter’ in that confrontation I broke up. So which is it?”

And just like that, Mr. Yamane’s domineering facade crumbles, stammering to answer the militants’ chief.

Hatter holds out an open palm, motioning everyone to quiet down. “These accusations won’t get us anywhere. Regardless of who killed Mrs. Yamane, peace on the Beach has been disturbed,” he mutters, expression grim, and jovial demeanor absent.

“The number of violent cases has been rising, but we have handled them quietly. This one is a public spectacle that might send ripples of fear through the entire Beach. Aguni, tell your men to go harder on their patrols and to keep themselves restrained.”

“You’re not even going to interrogate her?” Mr. Yamane exclaims, pointing at his daughter.

This time, Aguni is openly sneering at him. “Why are you so eager to accuse my underling of a murder, old man?”

The former CEO shrinks before Aguni, and any bravado he had dissipated. Yamaneko couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk.

“Ah, Mr. Yamane, you were some corporate bigwig before coming to this country, am I right?” Hatter asks him. “As number one,” he nearly growls, voice dropping an octave. “I call the shots here. Your daughter brought back high-value cards from the games. Any member of the Beach like that is a fine asset. Unless she’s proven to be a traitor, murderer or not, no action will be taken against her without the executive board’s say.”

“Then you’re complicit in my wife’s murder. I won’t forget this,” Mr. Yamane spits, turning around to barge out the door.

Niragi scoffs at his dramatic exit. “I really want to put a bullet between his eyes. What a bastard, shitting on the military sect like that.”

“As much as I hate that asshole’s guts, you killing him right after his wife just died would just draw more suspicion to me, and the other militants,” Yamaneko replies, folding her arms and eyebrows creased.

From the corner of her eyes, Mira glances at her with a newfound curiosity.

“I think I should also mention that he begged me for help to get out of this place. The executive board should watch out. He’s known for stabbing business associates in the back to climb the ranks. My father is highly manipulative, and doesn’t stop until he gets the result that he wants,” Yamaneko adds.

“Hmm. He sounds like a potential Heart specialist too. Perhaps it runs in the family?” Mira croons thoughtfully, looking at her with the eyes of a child examining a shiny new bug she had found in the garden. “Ah, but you’re willing to impart information about your own father for the sake of the Beach and the executive board?” she asks.

Yamaneko cringes at the comparison between her and her father. “My loyalty is to the Beach, and to my chief. My chief is part of the executive board, isn’t he?”

Mira regards the CEO’s estranged daughter for a moment, and grins.

“That’s enough. Hopefully this incident is just an isolated case. Ann, if any similar cases show up, you know what to do,” Hatter said, almost with an air of boredom. And with that, Hatter leaves, adjourning the meeting.

“I do think an interrogation is in order, though. If you would allow me to borrow her for a moment, Aguni?” Ann asks, tilting her head towards Yamaneko.

Aguni’s stony expression turns sour, but he nods. The younger militant steps right ahead. “If it helps me prove that I have nothing to do with this, sure.”

The chief backs off, and he turns to the rest of the militants present. “I want to have a word with the two of you. Now.”

As the chief goes off on Niragi and Last Boss, Yamaneko follows Ann to a storage closet for cleaning supplies, and clears her throat.

“Well? We’re clearly not here to play seven minutes in heaven, so if you have a question, shoot.”

Ann rolls her eyes, expression otherwise stoic. “Right. How do you usually execute traitors?”

Yamaneko gulps, looking at her hands. “I usually aim for the carotid, or any other large artery I can target.”

“And why do you choose that method? Are there any advantages to it?” Ann asks, taking out a notepad and starting to jot down on it.

“It puts them out of their misery fast. Plus, the blood spurts in one steady stream without much spraying. It makes cleanup easier.”

Ann nods, and flips a page on the notepad. “What were you doing at around ten thirty in the morning?”

“Grabbing lunch at the lobby,” Yamaneko responds, folding her arms.

“Who were you with? Who did you speak to?”

“Last Boss. Though, I saw my father in the lobby too.”

Nodding and writing, Ann continues. “And what were you doing around two hours before the incident?”

Yamaneko hesitated for a moment, and Ann watched her like a hawk, noting the shift in her body language. Clearing her throat, the militant stammers. “I… I was having sex.”

“With whom?” Ann asks with a completely straight face, pausing from writing on the notepad.

“Is this even necessary to ask? God… I was doing it with Last Boss, obviously. I’m pretty sure some of the people in the rooms nearby heard us too,” Yamaneko says through her teeth, shifting her weight on one foot. “Can I go now?” she asks, face red.

Ann nods, and tucks away her notepad and pen. “You’re free to go.”

The militant leaves. She meets up with the others, who were receiving a tongue-lashing from the chief, and she joins their misery. Afterwards, Aguni motions at his underlings, and they follow. As they walked through the halls of the hotel, Yamaneko felt strength in their numbers.

Then, Aguni halts. “Yamane.” Her head perks up. “How many visa days do you have left?”

She pauses for a moment to think. “More than a week.”

“You’re on patrol duty with me for a few nights.”

“Right. Understood, chief.”

“Meet me tonight at the gate. You’re all free to leave.”

Niragi went ahead and trudged off, mood sour from Aguni’s reminders on the use of violence on the Beach. After checking if no one else is around, Last Boss puts an arm around Yamaneko’s waist, eyes searching hers.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him, before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

“You haven’t been on a patrol yet, haven’t you?” Takatora asked her.

“Mhmm.”

“Stay alert,” he says, voice hinting at some softness.

“Of course.”

Takatora would be lying if he said that he’s nervous about his lover’s first patrol, but as he watches Yamaneko meet up with their leader from a window, he felt some relief knowing that she’s made it far enough to rise to number sixteen and gain some semblance of trust from their chief.

Feeling a little cold from the absence of her jacket, Yamaneko walks towards Aguni, doing the best she can to look focused. She wouldn’t want to disappoint him on her first patrol.

“Yamane, eyes peeled,” Aguni said as he drew his pistol and motioned the younger militant to follow.

“Yes, chief.”

Halfway through their patrol, Yamaneko speaks up. “By the way chief, could you refer to me with my nickname instead?”

This gains her a stern, questioning look. “I don’t want to be associated with my father’s family name anymore.”

The look on Aguni’s face softens ever so slightly, and he grunts in acknowledgment.

“You don’t have to call me chief all the time,” Aguni says to her after some time as he scanned the perimeter for any suspicious activity. His underling looks up to him, a curious look on her face. She hasn’t heard the chief say much outside of games.

“But I find it respectful,” Yamaneko replies, hands hovering near her thighs, where her knives are holstered. Aguni blinks a few times before moving again.

“With proper training, you’d fit in with the SDF. There are more female recruits now, I heard.”

“Nah. I’m too much of a non-conformist for that.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Yamaneko motions to her face with one hand. “Good luck trying to scrub all this makeup off my face, chief.”

The snort he gives her sounds almost amused, but Aguni’s expression remains stern. “That attitude of yours, did it get you in trouble with your father?”

Yamaneko is taken aback from the personal question, but nonetheless, she responds to her leader. “Well, yes. I tried to suppress it and be a good daughter, I promise. Regardless, it’s just an excuse to beat me. Everything I did got me in trouble with him,” Yamaneko says almost too casually, as if her experiences weren’t the damaging, traumatic ones that lingered for years.

Old, painful memories started to stir within Aguni’s psyche upon hearing Yamaneko open up about her own upbringing. In the young woman before him, he saw shards of his past self, the angry young man who wanted to get back at his own father, but was robbed of the opportunity due to his death. His knuckles turn white from the rage simmering in his heart.

They continued walking, looking over the fences for any possible intruders. Every now and then, Aguni would tell the young militant what to watch out for, and what to do in certain scenarios. The patrol ended peacefully, much to Yamaneko’s relief. She leaned against a fence when they got back to the gate. Aguni folds his arms and observes her.

“Is there anything else you need, chief?” Yamaneko asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Yamaneko, day or night?”

“Uh, night.”

“From now on, you’re training with me every five in the afternoon, sharp.”

Eyebrows rising up her forehead, Yamaneko has a dumbfounded look on her face. “Training? For what?”

“Do you want to gain an edge over your bastard father, or not?”

One look in the chief’s eyes, and she knew he had similar experiences in the past; of feeling small and powerless against someone who should have been one’s shelter from the world. “Yes.”

“Then don’t be late.”

Aguni leaves, while a dumbfounded Yamaneko stays in her spot, still processing the events of the day. Cold fingers trail on her good shoulder and she turns to see her lover’s face. A smile blooms on her painted lips.

“Takatora. You didn’t attend a game?”

“I was patrolling on the upper floors. I can’t leave you here on the Beach alone either.”

“Ah,” she replies, holding his hand as they walk back to their room. “I guess we deserve a little break from all the madness of the games.”

After some time, as they lay on their shared bed, Yamaneko asks her lover a question. “Are you worried about my father being here?”

He nods, and squeezes her small hand.

“Don’t worry too much. Besides, the chief said he’ll be training me every five in the afternoon. I’ll kick the bastard’s ass if he tries anything.”

Takatora tilts his head. “The chief?” he asks almost disbelievingly.

“Yeah. It’s kind of strange.”

“You didn’t do anything to earn his ire, didn’t you?”

Yamaneko raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“Good luck. He’s... strict.”

“I know, I know.”

The first day she trained with Aguni, she expected it to be difficult, but not this severe. The wildcat pants as she ran her second lap around the Beach, sweat dripping from her skin and stinging the healing burns on her left arm. Onlookers were staring, and some militants were chuckling among themselves. Niragi sees her, and yells after her.

“Yamaneko, what the hell are you doing?”

“Chief wanted me to run laps!” she shouts, voice hoarse.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?” Yamaneko asks, irritation growing. “No time to talk, gotta run!”

Hanako, the militant who once accompanied her in the dressing room, watches as Yamaneko jogs past her, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. When the chief asks us to do something like that, it’s usually because we pissed him off,” she mutters.

“She must’ve pissed him off bad, then,” Saiko butts in, passing the other girl a cigarette.

As fast as her legs can take her, Yamaneko sprints at the last few meters when Aguni comes into view. As she runs past him, she collapses and lies on the ground. Her feet ache, and it doesn’t help that her sandals aren’t made for running.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to cool down. Walk!” he barks, and Yamaneko suppresses a pathetic sigh as she forces herself up. She paces around in circles, occasionally stretching her arms and legs. Satisfied, Aguni lets her sit, and he tosses her a bottle of water. She gulps it down.

“I’m gonna hit the showers now, chief,” she pants, and Aguni tilts his head.

“You think you’re done for the day?” he asks.

Yamaneko couldn’t answer, looking at him in disbelief.

“Not yet, you’re not. You still have some grapples and knife techniques to study. Stand up!”

She swore she wanted to cry, but Yamaneko kept her mouth in a tight line, swallowed hard, and got on her feet.

“This is nothing compared to the shit I endured in the past,” she thinks to herself, and carries on.

Two. Three. Five. Ten times, she ended up on her ass, disarmed and beaten by the chief every single time. As she was starting to reconsider what she thought earlier, the chief holds a meaty hand out, and she grabs it. Aguni helps her to her feet, and pats her back, almost making her lurch forward.

Yamaneko freezes at the friendly touch. All the touches she got from authority figures, her father especially, was nothing like this.

“Focus on your footwork.”

Then, he leaves without saying anything else. Tired, bruised, but fulfilled, Yamaneko shouts a spirited “Yes, chief!” as he walks away.

Taking a deep breath, the younger militant finishes what’s left of her water, and heads back to her shared room. Takatora is waiting inside, fresh from a patrol, and upon seeing her sweaty and disheveled form, he lets go of whatever he was reading to check on her.

Yamaneko holds two thumbs up and beams at him, voice failing her.

“Did the chief go too hard on you?”

“No. Well, yes. But, it’s fine. I learned a lot,” she says as she sits next to him. “You know, he’s more of a parental figure to me than my own father.”

Takatora snorts at the idea of Aguni being a father, but the more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her. He’ll never say it out loud, though.

On the tenth day of Yamaneko’s training, in the middle of sparring with the chief, one of Hatter’s men approached them.

“Aguni. Please come with us. Take her with you too,” he says in an urgent manner, brows furrowed in concern.

“You better have a good reason for this interruption,” he growls, picking up a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“There’s been another killing. Please take care of it discreetly. Hatter doesn’t like it when things like this goes public.”

A lump forms in Yamaneko’s throat as she follows Aguni to the hotel room holding the victim. When they arrived, Ann was there, assessing the situation, and the victim sprawled on the floor, a diagonal cut on his neck. A few men were setting up a stretcher nearby, and they halted when they saw the leader of the militants enter the room.

“It’s similar to the previous case,” Ann starts, taking off her shades. “The wounds are consistent with the type I found on Mrs. Yamane. A laceration to the neck with a sharp object,” she continues, holding a clean handkerchief and tilting the victim’s head. “And this time, the glass fragments stuck on his skin are more obvious. Whoever committed these murders used a shard of glass as an improvised weapon.”

The taller woman turns to Yamaneko. “I’ve corroborated your statement with the other residents on your floor. They indeed heard you that morning, so you couldn’t have been with your stepmother. Your method of exsanguinating traitors before disposal doesn’t align with the ones used in these murders, either. The odds of you being the killer are low, from this information.”

“Any clue on the killer's identity?” Aguni asks, watching the corpse. The victim died with his eyes wide open, the look of terror etched on his face.

“We have a lead,” says Ann, full of cold confidence. “For now, bring her to the makeshift lab discreetly. I need to do a full autopsy.”

Boots thudding against the floor, Aguni walks towards the corpse, and hooks his arms under his armpits. Instinctively, Yamaneko grabs his feet. As they lay him down on the stretcher, the victim’s mangled arm, riddled with stab wounds due to his attempt of protecting himself from his assailant, slips and dangles off the edge. Looking around, Yamaneko grabs the end of a curtain, and puts it back in place. The victim’s Beach tag, number 28, reflects the moonlight streaming from the window, and Yamaneko’s eyes trail to the glittering mess of broken glass on the floor, which contrasts with the dark blood splatters on the wood.

“Hey, Ann,” she calls her attention. “I think I found the murder weapon.”

The taller woman hands her the handkerchief, and she picks up a large shard of glass, its pointed end jagged and stained with blood. Ann holds it out in the light, making out some fingerprints.

“Good,” she said, then she prompts them to follow.

“That face is going to haunt me,” one of Hatter’s men comments, and Yamaneko gulps.

“Me too,” she adds.

Hatter’s devotee looks at the militant, a question hanging from his open mouth, but he chooses to keep it shut. Sensing his hesitation, Yamaneko rolls her eyes and quietly gets to work.

Glancing at the dead’s face, whose eyes were frozen in an expression of distress, Yamaneko grimaces and closes his eyes with her fingers. She pulls the curtains off the rods, and covers his bloody body. The crimson quickly soaks through the fabric.

That night, the wildcat sat in the bath longer than usual.

Wading over to his lover’s side, Takatora helps Yamaneko settle into his chest as he wraps both arms around her. In silence, she mulls about her day, brows furrowed.

“You’re bothered by something,” Takatora speaks up.

“I had to carry a corpse with the chief earlier. And my father is still living on the Beach. Ugh. Takatora, I just want to get away from all this. I mean, I’m not going to leave and turn traitor. I crave some change of scenery, maybe explore some places outside the Beach.”

Playing with Yamaneko’s hair, Takatora presses his mouth behind her head. “Supply runners leave for food and gasoline at eight in the morning. I help put away the gas when they return in the afternoon.”

Yamaneko looks up to give him a mischievous grin. “Do you think we can scare them into driving for us?”

He nods, and she laughs with a childish giddiness.

“Great! There’s this place I’ve been wanting to visit again.”

#alice in borderland #aib #Imawa no Kuni no Alice #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #morizono aguni #suguru niragi #takeru danma #hatter #fanfic: dormouse #fanfiction #character study

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foruneyti · 4 years

Text

A Curse of Frost and Fear (x) Loki x Reader

“I am afraid to admit that there is no one here but us, yet you have nothing to fear from me. I have no ill intentions in mind. Please, don’t be alarmed – I am aware that the vastness of the empty castle can feel more like a prison than any brick cell, and that being away from home, alone and confused, can feel like torture. It is all that I can offer.” Pairing: LokixReader (reader is unnamed, she/her) Rating: Explicit Tags: Beauty and the Beast AU, slow burn, castle life Warnings: Blood, more tags will be added

Chapter 2: Awoken

The dreamless sleep faded, and a headache took its place together with confusion. Was she… was she still alive? Was this what was Beyond? Then the ache began to spread, down her face and neck, to her arms and chest and down her legs to the very tips of her toes - but the worst came when she tried to move: searing hot pain shot through her abdomen and her thigh, where the sword had sliced through her flesh, and she cried out in agony. Everything hurt, but it felt… better, somehow. Not as bad as it had been. And she no longer felt deeply exhausted either – tired, still, but not exhausted. She tried to open her eyes. They were swollen, and her sight was a little blurry at first, with tears gathering in the corners and slipping down her cheeks; yet slowly her vision sharpened and her confusion only grew. Rich green fabric. To the side an ornately carved post, connected to the headboard that was made from the same dark wood. A… canopy bed? Her body then began to make sense of the sensations above and below: thick, warm sheets, a big pillow, and a mattress that was neither too soft nor too rigid. Biting through the pain she slowly pushed herself up on her elbows. Where the fuck was she? And who had brought her here? Why had they saved her, if this wasn’t what Death entailed? It was almost absurd how abundant the room was in every sense. There were pelts at the foot-end of the bed, visibly of fine quality. The night stands had dizzying details carved into the wood, the knobs of the drawers were made of some kind of ivory or bone, and she couldn’t even start to describe the fine craftsmanship in the wooden panelling that covered the bottom part of the walls; leaving the top part for beautiful wallpaper that was occasionally hidden behind masterful paintings and gorgeous tapestries depicting all kinds of sceneries. A rug covered part of the wooden floor, and flames danced in the stone fireplace on which all kinds of expensive-looking trinkets were displayed. She moved with a groan and positioned herself in such a way that her back could lean against the headboard, granting her a better view of the room. Curtains were drawn in front of the windows, but she could tell they must be massive. There was a big writing desk placed against the wall, between two bookcases that stood far taller than she would ever be able to reach, and there were three doors – all closed – of which the double one in the centre of the wall across the bed must be the main entrance to the room. She guessed one of the other two would lead to an ensuite bathroom. She would need to relieve herself soon, if she managed to get herself out of the bed, and she would need to find something to eat, too; her stomach was growling like she hadn’t eaten in days. As she let her eyes wander more she noticed a tray on the low table that stood close to the fireplace, and her eyes widened. It was as if her needs had shaped reality. Fruit – all sorts of them – and bread with seeds and two elegant glass pitchers, one with water and the other with some kind of juice, and next to them a ceramic pot with a lid on it. Would it be soup? Or stew? She didn’t care what it was, as long as it was edible. There were more small containers but her mouth was watering and she could no longer wait. As careful as she could be she pushed her legs off the bed, threw the blanket aside, turned to sit on the edge, and tested the ground beneath her feet. It was then that she noticed she was wearing a nightgown, and her wounds had been bandaged. There was no red staining the quality linen. Surely she had still been bleeding? Then the linen must have been changed... How long had she been unconscious? And who had done all of this? It was a relief to notice that she was still wearing her own underthings; whomever had taken care of her had not invaded her privacy more than necessary. Gods, it must have been quite the work… Well, whomever it was, she would probably meet them soon, and she would thank them for their generosity – but first she would eat, relieve herself, and then clean herself up if she could find water somewhere. Maybe she should save the water from the pitcher. With one hand on the headboard for support and the other on the edge of the mattress she pulled and pushed herself up onto her feet, and though the pain that shot through her body made her see stars, she was determined to get to either the comfortable looking armchair left of the table, or the divan in front of it. Or maybe just the floor, that would be fine too, as long as she could reach the tray. Careful. One step, then another, hand moving to the nightstand, then letting go and standing without support. With her arms slightly spread for balance she made her way over to the low table and sat herself down as slowly as she could so as not to affect the wounds. It wasn’t comfortable, but the food was distraction enough. It almost made her laugh in giddy disbelief when she found out the little tub she had seen contained a beautiful whitish-yellow butter, and the other some kind of fruity preserve. This luxury was beyond anything she had ever seen in her entire life! She barely thought about whether the food might be poisoned or drugged and dug in without restraint. It wouldn’t make sense anyway. Why would they save her only to mess her up again? Unless it was some kind of weird game; you never knew what kind of people were out in the woods. The woods. The people who had been waiting for her. Were they still there? Had they been found, taken captive, killed? Had they continued travelling without her when she hadn’t shown up? Had they been granted the same luxury as her? Were they here, too, but in different rooms? She forced herself to push those questions away. First things first. So once most of the food had been devoured she stood up again and gave the tray one last look. She had left a few things for later. Should she hide it, or take it with her in some kind of makeshift bag? What if someone took it away when she was in the bathroom? She wasn’t willing to risk these priceless gifts vanishing the moment she looked away, like it was magic instead of truly there, and she knew she would probably be hungry again soon. Her body would need a lot to fully heal. After a few more seconds of running through her options she decided to leave the leftovers where they were. Surely her saviours would provide her with more? It was a baseless assumption – for all she knew they could send her on her way the moment she stepped out of this room and consider their hospitality overstayed. She didn’t know how long they had been taking care of her already, after all. Then it was time to decide which door she should go for. The doors were both on the same side of the room, in the wall opposite from the fireplace. They weren’t far apart, with only a dark wooden console table with above it mirror parting them, so opening the wrong one wouldn’t be much of a detour; but it would suck nonetheless. She had drank almost half of the pitcher filled with juice, and her bladder was begging her to be quick. The right one, then. And she was lucky: as she opened the door, white marble flooring greeted her. In the centre of the room stood a bath bigger than she had ever seen one. It was made from the same material, which made it look as if the floor and the bath had been cut from the same piece; and the countertops of the wooden cabinets matched. The bath was full, too, and the water was still warm! When she walked over she found out – rather clumsily – that the thin, three tiered table standing beside the marble tub actually stood on little wheels and could be moved, and if she had put too much pressure on it the colourful glass vials on top would have toppled over at the sudden movement and shattered on the floor. There were bars of soap as well, and a glass jar with some kind of crystals in it. Was she allowed to use all of this? She continued to her destination on the other side of the room first, not bothering to close the curtains to the ceiling-high window on her way there, and sighed in relief when she reached it. The window didn’t offer much of a view anyway because of the weather. She doubted anyone would be able to see her. She stared outside as she answered nature’s call, but the white, thick fog and the icy patterns on the framed glass only told her what she already knew: outside it was yet another cold winter’s day. After cleaning herself carefully yet thoroughly beside the bath – trying to get in had proven to be far too painful - and even taking the liberty of spraying on some perfume it was time to find something proper to wear. Had her caretakers thought of that too? She made her way out of the bathroom and glanced around, but found no sign of any garments having been prepared. Leaving in just her nightgown wasn’t really an option, though… Yet exhaustion then washed over her, and the ache returned. Perhaps it was best if she rested some more before she went exploring in the hopes of finding her saviours. Yeah… resting sounded good. The canopy bed looked beyond alluring and the moment she crawled under its sheets she felt how gravity pulled on her, how the crackling of the fire sung like a lullaby, and how the soft pillows shushed her to sleep.

Read this fic on AO3 and please leave a comment if you liked it! (x)

#a curse of frost and fear #lokixreader #loki/reader #beauty and the beast au #loki fanfiction #chapter 2

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believerindaydreams · 4 years

Text

Crossing at dawn, part five, in which things get way out of hand

Manny

"Listen," Boone's saying, as short as I've ever heard him. "What if I sell this rifle?"

And you know, it makes sense. He's got one, I've got one, but nobody in DC carries the right ammo for .308 and our supply's running low. Boone's been using a whole-ass minigun since we hit the Mall, in perfect condition with all the spares we've got, and ammo for that is for the taking around here.

Still. Still. "What about mine?"

"You never tricked yours out. Mine's worth more." Boone runs his fingers down that polished stock, visibly reluctant to hand it over, which by his standards is like two soliloquies.

But he lets go in the end. So long Mojave, hello DC.

The merchant we're talking with, Crazy Wolfgang, he might be crazy but he's the first friendly face we've seen since waving bye to Veronica. "I do enjoy the look of it! A spectacular piece of junk to add to the junk collection!"

Carla wraps herself around Boone, nuzzling him, and since my man can't concentrate on cuddles and murdering the shit out of this dumbass trader at the same time, Crazy Wolfgang gets to live another day.

"So does that cover everything we're buying?" Arcade's been doing sums on a clipboard, juggling the caps duffle and the guns we've been collecting to sell off.

"Just about," Wolfgang says. "The tent, the Brahmin, dirty water, chems, one bottle of Nuka-Cola..."

We're cleaned out by the time the merchant's done with us, but we've got the essentials at least. Carla needs that Brahmin milk, and we have something to eat again besides mashed xander root. It's a start at rebuilding our lives.

"One more thing. Where's the closest settlement?"

"Right over yonder." Wolfgang points at a mass on the horizon, a huge metal hulk that looks like it's shot through with stars, in the dusk. Artificial light at night- not a patch on New Vegas lighting the desert, but it looks friendly. "Rivet City. A glorious place to buy, sell, and live, unless you happen to be a ghoul or oddly mutated, in which case they will politely drop you off a plank."

Boone spits on the ground. "Thanks for the warning."

"Warning? I will say, you all look pure enough to pass their admittedly stringent policies. Even if not, a few caps for the clinic doctor might smooth things over." Wolfgang's gaze comes to rest on Carla- and not even on her. "In truth, there's more than one community in the Wasteland where proven fertility is an assured ticket in. Play your cards right, you might get lucky-"

"Thanks," Arcade says. "But frankly, we'll stick with the tent."

Glad he says it. Think my favorite couple is just about speechless.

*****

Arcade

He isn't-

you aren't-

like a radio tuned to two frequencies at once, overlapping, your head's muzzy since that last concussion-

he's shaking, too weak to stand as he scrapes away at cold dirt with a shovel-

Navarro outpost, Navarro outpost.

I wish you were here, Julie.

He wastes purified water in extravagance as he places the prickly pear fruit, covering the earth wound in soft mud, too much for a desert plant but this soil is barren, lifeless, needs all the help it can get.

A tribunal back at the Boneyard, held to judgment. Would you care to clarify that last statement, Mr Gannon?

To wit. The introduction of even the most innocuous organism, into an environment devoid of its typical predators, can lead to catastrophic effects. Rabbits-

you cut your hands open on the next fruit, desert thorns one more injury to add to the list. Carla's touching your shoulder and you wish she wouldn't, you don't want to hear her. "Come to bed. You need rest."

"Look at your rad counter. What else is there to drink?"

"Can do it in the morning," Boone says, gruffly-

and I would prefer not to scream at him, but- "Sweet rads, stop being so loud! I can do this, it's what Followers are for."

They move away, leave an absence to be filled by your Eyebot's quiet hum, a voice with the common decency to stay outside your own skull.

Songs of old America carry you through the night as you dig and plant and swear, chanting the melodies like a rite, the only thing holding you together. Spacious skies and early light.

He passes out around dawn.

*****

Carla

You take a prickly pear fruit in a set of tongs, squeeze it into a soda bottle until the liquid's gone. Then you do it again.

Then you have a clean bottle of purified water to drunk, and it all seems so terribly simple.

Arcade is coming out of his all-day stupor, tearing ravenously at the trail stew Manny's fixed for him. "I had a...there is a word for this. Not a guess."

"A hunch?" you suggest. "A notion?"

"A hypothesis," Arcade says, closing his eyes. An exhausted kind of satisfaction in his voice. "Manny. Take out your gun, would you?"

Manny's too old a soldier to quibble. He takes the hunting rifle off his back, hefts it.

"Point it at a target?"

This is a tent, there's no one else here. Manny swings around, lining up his rifle for a perfect head shot.

You trust them both. Implicitly. But the palms of your hands are damp now, the baby kicks violently.

"She's coming in red," Manny says. "What's going on, you can ask Boone to do it without talking now?"

"That might be more helpful, but- actually, no, I think another night like that would kill me. Um. You can put your gun away now."

Manny does. Your breathing restarts.

"So what was it? I mean, that was just the same as usual."

"The point is, because he wasn't doing it, I was- Manny, forgive me for being terribly blunt, but did you first fuck Boone before or after being inducted into First Recon?"

"Before. Basic was hell for both of us in different ways, sharing a bunk eased it some. Why?"

Arcade opens his eyes again, resumes shovelling down pinto beans and dog steak. "A preliminary hypothesis that the First Recon ability isn't a mutation as such but a transmittable ability, transferred by the well-understood mechanisms of more familiar STDs, a conclusion which the NCR might also have reached sooner if not for the limited sample pool and operational mores on married service members."

"Uh, no? Because if it worked like that...Carla is sitting right here."

"Maybe it doesn't work the same way with women." You can't see his eyes. Something about the light reflecting off his glasses, making it impossible to see. "I don't know. But I'm asking- begging- was it difficult when it manifested for you? Do you know how to make it stop?"

Manny shrugs, strangely helpless in the lantern light. "Dude. I didn't notice anything, but by then I could trip on Turbo without even taking the stuff. My head was pretty well screwed up before I ever met Boone, believe me."

Arcade's so pointedly not looking at you now, his hands shaking as he forces open a bottle of soda and spills half of it on his coat, and you register that same coat is all that's holding him back, his vows as a doctor. Not to force a confidence.

With Rivet City a mere stone's throw away, that means more now than it ever could in the Mojave.

Your voice seems hard to find, but when it comes it's calm, reassuring. "It was like this for me too, yes. Maybe not as bad, but... I'll help."

Arcade lets his head bang to the tabletop. "You have no idea how grateful I am. I don't have any idea...ignore me. I am literally blathering now."

Manny turns to you, a bit of a frown on his face. "Hang on. That whole time in Arizona, when I was spotting for you- you could have partnered me all along? Why wouldn't you want the First Recon expert in charge?"

You think back. To the choking dust of Flagstaff, and the play of an incinerator in your hands as you dealt out death. "It was personal."

"...I never realized Boone picked a wife who was such a good fit," Manny says. His eyes have gone wide.

You shrug a little, and waddle over to the doctor to see about making him feel better.

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

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chapter 5 of to see you home is here! [kristanna / m / aka selkie au]

chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

It was new to him, this uncomfortable heavy heat in his chest, and for several long moments after the door slammed behind Anna he wrestled with it, trying to put a name to it. It had bubbled up in him the moment she’d fallen back from him as he snatched his coat from her hands, replacing the sheer terror and then relief he had felt upon seeing her hold it and then offer it out to him.

The offering, that was what had triggered this tightness somewhere in and around his ribs, the way she had guilelessly held it out to him. He had long since learned such seemingly innocent gifts always came with a punishment that far outweighed the prize.

But Anna, it seemed, was the exception to the rule, just as she’d been the exception to every rule he’d learned about humans.

Don’t let them touch you unless you want to bleed-- she was nothing like the land-bound sailors who were spoiling for a fight that they found easily when a stranger who only barely spoke their tongue wandered in and looked at them the “wrong way”, nothing like the guards who were so quick to swing their little wooden bats, nothing like the hunters who had pursued him for miles through the surf until at last they’d pinned him down and cut him so deeply he’d thought their narrowed eyes were the last sight he’d see.

But Anna had done just the opposite of what he’d come to expect, had bandaged the nasty gash on his chest over and over, and touched him in other ways besides, always brushing her little fingers over his jaw or against his hand or through his hair, ways that made something in him quiver like an arrow that had just met its mark. He raised a hand to his own chest now, wishing it was hers again as it brushed against the rough-hewn white bandage that she’d placed with such tenderness only a few minutes ago.

A smile means you’re being cheated-- that one, too, had proven so far to be false; when Anna smiled at him it seemed to be out of relief or surprise or sometimes, he dared to hope, simple fondness. He’d learned that rule from experience, too, though it had only taken one particularly bad night that had ended with him shirtless and broken-nosed to drill it into his head permanently. Now he knew if one was flashed his way that it was time to check over his shoulder and make a fast exit, and if it was already too late to brace himself for a barrage of fists and curses and to hold onto whatever paltry possessions he’d managed to acquire as tightly as he could.

And there was the most important rule of all, don’t ever give them the chance to even think about keeping you, the one he thought he’d broken today when she brought his coat out from the closet, the reason he’d yanked it from her hand and pushed her away and the reason all softness had evaporated from her expression, from her voice, before she’d turned and left him in here alone.

Shame, he realized now; that was the word for it, the word for the weight pressing into his chest that had slammed into him the moment he watched Anna’s face fall.

He had heard stories before of those who fell for humans, who found themselves ensnared and enslaved for it, trapped on dry land until they stole their freedom back. He’d scoffed at them, at anyone who thought humans knew how to do anything but beat and bruise and curse and cheat, who fell for their cruel little tricks, but now--

But it’s different, he thought fiercely, it’s different. Anna isn’t like that.

He’d been telling himself that since he’d woken one night-- or maybe day; it didn’t matter-- still broiling with fever to the sound of her humming a lullaby and brushing a damp cloth over his forehead and down his cheeks.

She’d seen his eyes flutter open and slowed her movements, whispering something to him, and though he hadn’t understood the words he’d known she was trying to comfort him. And he’d just watched her then as she’d continued her ministrations, the way the firelight made her hair glow golden-red as it slipped over her shoulders like a curtain; the sweet sapphire blue of her eyes as they traced every inch of him, making sure he was alright; the way her cool fingers set aside the cloth to trail over his face in gentle, soothing motions, for no reason except to lull him back to sleep, and despite his struggle to stay awake, to keep drinking her in, she had succeeded.

He wasn’t sure what it might mean to fall in love with someone, but he wanted to learn if it meant more of this, more of her.

He got to his feet then, spurred by that thought. Anna would scold him if she had stayed in here, would put those freckled hands on his shoulders and press him back to the floor and glare at him, solemn-eyed and stern, and he would pretend to resist just to hear her chastise him, just to hear the lilt of her voice and let it wash over him, and only then would he sigh and settle back down. And then she’d smile at him, satisfied, and linger beside him a little longer than necessary, and talk to him, and he’d do his utmost to understand.

But she wouldn’t talk to him anymore, would she, if she was angry with him? And there was a sobering thought, one that gave him pause as he pulled the shirt she’d brought him back on; were things changed now, irrevocably, between them? Hate came so easily to her kind; perhaps his rudeness was all it had taken, and the next time she touched him it would leave a mark.

His gaze slid back over to the coat where it lay rumpled and half-forgotten on the floor, and it occurred to him for the first time that Anna didn’t know. If she had, she wouldn’t have offered it so freely, would she? Would have understood his response, wouldn’t have looked so stunned.

The thought rankled. If she did know, perhaps she would be like all the others after all.

She wouldn’t, the little stubborn voice in the back of his mind insisted. She wouldn’t. They hurt each other, too, if they’re like that. You’ve seen it.

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, frustrated. He didn’t know how long he’d been here; less than a week, of course, but long enough that it was hard to step away from the coat now that he knew where it was, that he could go back the moment he wanted to.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay and see why she was like this, wanted to listen to her talk to him so freely until the words fell into place and he was able to respond the way she deserved. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, to explain himself, to see if she still smiled the same when she knew he was the sort of creature that most of her kind either took advantage of or warded off with crucifixes and snarled maledictions.

But first, he had to earn enough of her forgiveness that she could stand to look at him again.

He cast his eyes around the austere little cabin in search of something he could do to make himself useful; he’d cook for her, like he’d learned to once when he’d tried his hand at working by the docks, but it might only make her angrier if he used the wrong supplies and left her in need of something. He knew how to repair a few small things, too, but there was nothing to be found that she hadn’t already patched with her own two clever hands; no heavy things to be lifted, and in any case he knew that any attempt would leave him bleeding and faint and only frustrate her more.

His gaze landed on a broom in the corner, and there at last was something useful he could do, pathetic and futile though it might be with the way the wind never ceased spreading sand through the cracks under the door and between the boards of the walls. He picked it up and put himself to work, taking extra care with the corners. Just as he’d reached the kitchen, the door creaked open behind him, and he turned so quickly he felt dizzy for a moment.

And there she was, silhouetted in the doorway, Anna with her long red hair and wind-chapped cheeks and her eyes that were always sad no matter how brightly she smiled at him, eyes that were wide now in surprise, her little pink mouth falling open, too, and he couldn’t hold himself back; he dropped the broom and crossed over to stand in front of her.

She had to tilt her chin up to keep her eyes on his. He waited for a moment for a reproach, but it never came. She drew in a shuddering breath and closed her mouth again, but at least she didn’t turn to go this time.

He wanted to tell her all of it, who he was and where he was from and how she made him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something, like he wanted to lean into the wind and let it carry him over the edge. But he didn’t have the words, not the ones she would understand, and so instead he lifted a trembling hand and set it against her cheek, hoping his touch was as gentle as hers always was.

To his relief, she didn’t pull away from him, though a little huff of surprise escaped her. He dared to move his fingers just a fraction, tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone. “Anna,” he breathed, and she went still.

“Anna,” he said again, trailing his fingers over and down the curving slope of her nose, twice, the way she always did to him when she thought he had already fallen asleep, and she sighed, her eyelids lowering.

He wanted to keep going, to trace the pink swell of her lips and comb through the silk of her hair and wrap her in his arms and see if she fit there as perfectly as he hoped she would, but instead he moved his hand back to cup her cheek once more, the shame in his chest burning too hot to permit him to keep touching her like this and satisfying his own whims until he had made amends.

It took him a moment to remember the word she had used earlier, when she had accidentally hurt him, but the moment it sprang to his lips it spilled over. “Sorry,” he said, hoping it wasn’t too mangled for her to understand.

By the shocked expression on her face, it wasn’t. “Sorry,” he said again, moving his hand once more to slide to her forehead, combing her hair out of her eyes and stroking down through it, “sorry, Anna, sorry.”

He sounded like a child, he knew, and not a particularly bright one at that, but then her face broke into a smile that glimmered like sunlight on the waves and he knew that though he would have to leave her soon, he would be aching every moment afterward to come back.

#have a lil kristoff pov #tsyh #kristanna #my fics #selkie au

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rwbyremnants · 4 years

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Really getting into it now! These two have a long journey ahead of them... are you going to be there for the ride?

=Chapter 2

Ruby found herself questioning her life decisions as she sat on the edge of Winter Schnee’s bed, swinging her calves and watching the elder woman cross the room to the wardrobe. This could go very well, or very, very badly, but the time had passed for hesitation and second-guesses. Winter seemed to care enough about her that, even if she wound up not liking what was going to happen next, she would take care of her and reassure her that everything was going to be fine.

"Alright, I'll show you a little something I got you. But do you want me to dress you up, or let you put it on yourself?" Even as she asked, Winter was reaching toward the wardrobe. “This is your show; I’m just the ringmaster.”

Putting her hand to her chin, Ruby thought on that. Although it would be easy to be in control and do it herself, the thought of Winter so intimately dressing her was alluring enough. So alluring that she said, "You can, if you want to?"

The easy smile turned just the tiniest bit wicked. Crooking her finger, Winter beckoned her closer as her other hand raised not to the door of the wardrobe, but to the top of it. "Then step right this way, Miss Rose. I'll prepare you for training."

And then Winter turned to the closet, the one that had lain innocently closed the entire time. Using a key she had apparently retrieved moments before, she unlocked and opened the mysterious door. Biting her lip once more, Ruby did just as she was asked. Hopping off the bed and walking toward the closet doors, she eagerly awaited to see what Winter had prepared for their evening together.

And what a sight to behold! It was full to the brim with various objects for different play. A lot of it suggested that she was a more submissive role the majority of the time, considering the rope and the carabiners that could attach to the anklets and gloves in there. But there were other, more suggestive items.

One that particularly caught Ruby's eye was a long tail, attached to an average-sized, tapered implement… one she could only assume was meant to go somewhere quite unusual. It may feed into her “bad puppy” fantasy, but the small girl could only hope Winter wouldn't ask her to wear that.

"And this… is you." Withdrawing from the clothing rack, she displayed a hangar to Ruby that held what looked to be a somewhat… furry one-piece bathing suit. Light tan in colour and featuring a white "underbelly", it really did seem to be something intended to make one's body look like that of an animal.

Ruby heaved a small sigh of relief. She could see that attached to the suit the other side, was a small tail of its own - one that wasn't very long in length, but did the trick. At least she wouldn't have to wear the plug. But when she looked back at the outfit again, she found her cheeks reddening. She really was going to look the part, besides the paws and the ears, perhaps.

"It looks super cute!"

"This isn't all of it," Winter informed her as she nipped it off the hanger, "but it's a start. We said we were taking little steps, right?" Then she put the hanger back on the rack and said, "Now… I will need to get rid of what you're wearing, as this will fit pretty snug. Besides, the leg holes are a little high-cut, and they would show. But I promise it's all I'm going to do. That alright?"

So she would be naked. Naked except for a furry costume. It was to be expected, given that she'd come knowing they were to engage in more for the evening. But now that the moment had arrived, it was more than enough to bring a bright blush to Ruby's cheeks.

Still, she nodded, taking it from her, then looking to the folding screen. "I'll try it on then."

And Winter didn't say a word. Even though Ruby had said she was going to let her dress her up, she understood; it was a bit different being asked to get entirely nude for the first time in front of a near-stranger. She merely handed over the garment and said, "Hopefully it fits as advertised."

Once walking behind the screen, Ruby made short work of the silk panties; tossing them over the top of the screen for Winter to quite easily see. Then came the task of trying on the furry material. It wasn't as nice against her skin as silk, in fact the material felt rather scratchy and itchy. But it was the knowledge that she would only have to wear it for an evening that powered her through, and she slid the straps over her shoulders to secure it in place.

Although there was a sudden gasp from Ruby. Something she hadn't noticed before was becoming extremely apparent. Reaching her hand down to pat between her legs, she noticed a feature in the costume that she didn't see before.

"Winter? There's a hole in this! D-downstairs. Maybe you should get your money back."

The answer she received wasn't terribly complex. "There's supposed to be one." Then there was a pause for effect, and for the meaning to sink in.

"Oooohhh…"

And then Ruby walked out from behind the screen. Yet again, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking up with bright red cheeks for her approval. The hole around her crotch felt huge, but in fact to anyone else, it was barely noticeable. Unless they actively looked for it.

In fact, from her vantage point, Winter couldn't see a thing. But she wasn't focusing on that, anyway. Instead, she was holding up a few other items, waiting for Ruby to get an eyeful. In one hand, a red leather studded collar; simple, a placeholder for now. In the other, a black Alice headband with two furry ears stuck on.

"C'mere, girl!" Winter said gently, as if she were calling a dog. Because now, she was.

For another moment, Ruby had paused again; getting a good look at the other items in her hand. Once more she'd began to blush, especially at the collar. That would be a real sign of ownership. But not wanting to disappoint, she attempted to play the role. Letting her tongue hang from her mouth and panting, she walked toward her. "Arf arf!"

"Good girl!" Winter cooed. If Ruby had been expecting her to laugh or poke fun at her, that was proven wrong as she reached out to stick the headband into her hair gently, adjusting it so that it sat as a normal headband would. Then she reached to just behind her human ear and scratched lightly.

"And how is my little…" Her voice changed back to its usual tone. "Did you want another name while in petspace?"

"I didn't think that far…" Ruby mentioned, leaning against Winter's hand as it lightly scratched at her ears. What could she name herself? Zwei would be too weird, even if that was her dog. As would Fido or Fluffy or any of those usual petnames. Perhaps something a little more refined…

"How about um, ‘Lady’?" At least that one was somewhat noble-sounding.

"Lady," Winter mused as her scratching ceased, though she left the hand there to support Ruby's head. "Yeah, that sounds just the thing. Hello, Lady."

"Hello- I mean… Arf." Oops, she had forgotten already! In order to try and correct her action, she rubbed her head still against Winter's hand affectionately, smiling all the while.

"It's okay," Winter laughed. "As I said, today is just a training session; you can mess up without being scolded or anything." Then she held up the collar and the tag jingled slightly. It was a blank tag, ready to be engraved. "Is Lady ready to put this on?"

"Y-" she had been about to answer vocally, but stopped herself before she managed to get that far. Instead she just nodded. That was allowed, dogs could nod. To further play into the act, she also raised her hands up, holding them in a begging position.

Winter's smile grew ever more, and she reached out to caress the side of Ruby's head with one hand briefly as the other brought the collar up. Nimble fingers undid the buckle and slid the leather strap free, guiding it around either side of Ruby's neck before she fastened it.

"Just whine if it's too tight," she whispered as she finished off, giving Ruby about a centimeter of wiggle room between her and the new collar.

No whine came. In contrast to the costume, the collar fit snugly and comfortably, with enough space for Winter to get her hands under and tug if she required to. Even if blank, the tag was a nice touch. A true mark of ownership. Looking up to her master, she smiled nervously, awaiting for her next commands. Or any further parts for the costume.

"Now," she sighed, reaching back behind her for yet more parts. These, however, were something she hadn't been expecting; kneepads. They were the same shade as the rest of the "fur". Kneeling down herself, she held one below Ruby's left foot and asked, "Step up for me?"

"Hmm?" It had certainly gotten her attention, what would she want Ruby to wear knee pads for of all things? But not arguing, she did as asked, putting her foot through the hole to work with her. Adjusting it quickly, her new master moved to do the same for her other knee. Then she picked up what was to be the final two pieces of the costume.

"Now," Winter said as she held out one of the fluffy paw-mittens. "Once these are on your hands, you're going to be a little more helpless than before. This is one of the 'play' conditions in which it's useful to remember the safeword, since you won't have your fingers free to reach out and stop whatever's going on. Not that I need you to use it today, since this is just practice, but you said you wanted to know how this stuff works."

"Oh yeah… That was something Qrow mentioned, when he attacked that Roman guy. Something about him ignoring them?" Judging by Winter's blank face at the mere mention of his name, Ruby quickly cleared her throat, changing the subject whilst she held her hand out. "Okay, so I say it when I'm in trouble, right?"

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Winter seemed to bring herself back around after a moment or two. When they opened again, she smiled gently as she began to slide the paw onto Ruby's hand. "Exactly. If you're in pain, or even if you're just very uncomfortable with what's going on. For today, you can also just tell me to stop the usual way and I will, but if we're both deep in play, especially in… consent play, a Dom might not take 'please stop' seriously." The last was said with some discomfort. "But the safeword is like the emergency brake."

"Okay, I get it." Ruby said with confidence, even giving a reassuring nod as she held her other hand forward. Giving a small test on how the paws felt, the main thing Ruby noticed was the lack of thumbs. Picking up anything would be nigh impossible in these. "Why don't we try it now, though? Like you said, this is a practice, so I gotta be ready."

"Alright. Let's begin." Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips for a moment, then pointed to the floor. "Sit, Lady."

"B-but we never-" Maybe she'd be told later. Choosing to obey her master rather than question it further, she did as she was told. Crouching down she placed her hands on the ground, putting herself in a doglike sitting position.

"Never what?" Winter asked. This really was a non-hardline session, as she was asking questions instead of scolding her for breaking character.

"We never, um… decided a word," she clarified, looking down bashfully. "Sorry."

Both of the woman's pale eyebrows arched. "Oh! Oh, right, that would be important… hmm. What's a word you wouldn’t typically say during sex, that you will definitely remember?"

"Hmm…" She had been about to press her hand against her chin, but instead was welcomed by the large plushness of the glove. Quickly recovering right after a nervous laugh, she spoke. "How about… 'Strawberry'?"

"Alright, strawberry. Strawberry…" She was repeating it to herself, not truly for Ruby's benefit. "Got it; the safeword is 'strawberry'. Now, let me see you beg."

Supporting herself on her knees rather than her feet, Ruby did as she was told. Reaching upward with her hands and curling them into a begging position as she sat upright, waiting patiently for any other commands.

"Good girl!" she cooed down at her with a big smile. "Shame I didn't think to buy some tiny cookies or something as treats. Ah well." Then she began to twirl her hand in the air. "Roll over."

"Maybe if we do this again?" she asked. Returning her hands to the ground, she immediately crouched low down, rolling to one side, and then sitting herself upright again straight after.

"Yes, I think so. I wanted to focus on getting the outfit right this time, of course." Winter snapped her fingers and lifted them, just like an actual dog trainer. "Speak!"

Looking upward obediently, she yipped as loudly as she could, continuing to sit patiently right after for more commands. Already the shame of being treated like an animal was making her cheeks heat up. And there was another result she didn't care to admit just yet - but Winter would likely find that out herself if this session continued.

"Very good, Lady, very good. Now, on your back! Go on!" The commands came so easily to her; obviously, Ruby was not her first pet.

Returning to the floor, Lady rolled onto her back. Holding her legs and arms up, she was still trying to make herself appear as canine as possible. Hands returning to the begging position, she also further played into the role by letting her tongue hang out of her mouth.

Reaching over closer, Winter began to rub up and down her belly, careful not to stray too far down. She did, however, caress her chest now and again. All the while, her gaze was calm and loving. Ruby blushed yet harder when the soft hands began to caress her chest. Even through the uncomfortable suit, it was a stimulating feeling, one that she hadn't felt in a while. Winter knew just where to pay attention, to bring out the best reactions in her.

"Does that feel good, girl?" After a few more scrubbings, she straightened and sighed as she began to push to her feet. "Now then, follow me into the kitchen. Come on!"

"O-oh, oka- um. Bark bark!" Yet again, she struggled to maintain her character. But getting onto her hands and knees, she followed Winter through the apartment, managing to just stay by her heel all the while to seem as obedient as possible.

Even the subtle action of crawling was causing air to hit her sex through the opening in the suit. A strange feeling, one that was making her wetter.

Once in the kitchen, the master reached up into a cabinet and withdrew a wide-bottomed black bowl. Then she carried it over to the sink and began filling it. Only once she had finished these tasks and began to lower it to the floorspace at the end of the counter did it become clear what she meant to happen.

"You must be a thirsty puppy."

Raising an eyebrow, Ruby looked down at the bowl questioningly. How on earth was she supposed to accomplish that task? It was completely humiliating.

But that was the whole point, wasn't it? She was supposed to be a puppy – a lesser being. Showing her willingness to obey, she leant in, trying her best to delicately lap at the water. She had little success.

"Awwww, puppy is having problems," Winter cooed in a sad tone of voice. "Shall I help her?"

There was no more forewarning than that before a light amount of pressure was being applied to the back of Ruby's head. It wasn't much; just enough to lower her head another half-inch or so.

"Wait wha-"

The rest of her words were cut off when her mouth hit the water. Though she could still breathe through her nose, she had a task at hand, so at least she didn't panic. Rather than lapping with her tongue, she did just as she was asked instead, drinking water as best she could by slurping it into her mouth.

The toes of Winter's foot flexed in Ruby's hair as she maintained perfect balance, one hand braced against the edge of the counter. "There, isn't that better? Lady was so thirsty!"

Once the bowl was half way down, Ruby was finally trying to retract her head, having had enough. From where she had accidentally managed to inhale some water she coughed, shaking her head to recover.

The pressure against her head vanished, and instead began to stroke down her back. "Now, does Lady need to go walkies?" Then she whispered, clearly not as part of their play, "Just to the bathroom, not actually outside."

At that Ruby's eyes snapped open wide. She'd had a drink of water, and knew well enough what walkies straight after that meant from having a dog of her own! Breaking the character, she asked, "You're not gonna make me actually go, are you?! I can't do that!"

"You can," Winter insisted gently, gazing down at her without any malice or irritation, nor any shame. But she was still coolly confident. "Of course, you might not want to today, and you won't be required. But other Doms who are into petplay might command you to go. You'll want to decide if you might at least consent to 'number one', or to tell them beforehand that it's one of your limits." After a heartbeat, she added in an undertone, "I was going to let you use the toilet, too…"

"Oh…" She hunched her shoulders. It was probably something she should have expected, considering it was one of the most common things dogs did. And yet, for a sexual situation, it was something that intimidated her. She was already intimidated enough by the thought of accidentally-

"I-I… think that's a limit," she quickly blurted out, looking down. "I can't… A-And I don't need to, anyway. Sorry."

Winter sighed before telling her with a gentle smile, "Quite alright. Would you like to come keep me company in bed for a while?"

Finally relaxing again, Ruby nodded, looking up with a grateful smile. At least she wasn't disappointed, again. That seemed to be Ruby's main concern. Determined not to disappoint any further, she got straight back to her hands and knees, crawling to Winter's side.

Once back in the bedroom, Winter quickly crossed to the bedside and patted the mattress with one hand. "Up!"

Making an effort to impress, Ruby took a moment to crouch properly, wiggling her backside to shake the tail on the suit, before hopping upward and onto the bed. Even if the landing wasn't exactly dignified, she at least made it up without embarrassing herself too badly. Getting into a sitting position, she awaited for her master to join her.

Soon after, Winter settled herself into the bed, acting as if she were about to spend an hour or two relaxing there before drifting off to sleep. Pulling Ruby up toward her head by her collar, she reached to the bedside table and took up a remote, using it to turn on the wall-mounted television on the wall opposite the bed.

Laying by her side, Ruby barely dared to make a move. She hadn't been commanded to go anywhere, or do anything else. All Winte was doing was laying, seeming to be ready to watch TV. Despite the low volume, and the fact it could easily be background noise, Ruby didn't know what else to do. Whether or not to make a move.

So she whispered, "Is everything okay?"

"Well," Winter answered in the same tone, "I'm honestly not sure where to go from here. You're new to this, so I'm not ready to start in on you with everything I would for a more experienced sub. Do you… have any requests?"

In all honesty, she did not. She had experienced as much as she thought possible for the actual pet side. The rest was sexual contact, which was something she wasn't ready for, either.

Or… was she? Perhaps not toward herself, but on Winter? She knew that the dom was in control of both of their pleasures, and it was up to them what order things occurred, or how regularly. She could command Ruby at her whim, and she would obey.

"What about other commands?" she asked. "Like… Subs are meant to please their masters, right? I could maybe…"

At this suggestion, Winter leaned away very slightly to blink down at her. "Are you ready for that? Please say 'yes'," she added in a very slightly more suggestive tone, her voice husky as she allowed herself a hint of a smirk.

There was barely a moment's hesitation before Ruby nodded. But Winter needed to hear the words. She wanted to be sure Ruby meant it. And so, looking back into her eyes, she whispered, "Yes. I wanna try, at least."

The smirk only grew. "Don't forget, Lady… your paws won't be of much use here." Her thighs began to part very slowly, though she made no move to force Ruby down there with her hands. Merely stroked along her shoulder the way she had begun doing the minute they laid down together.

Slowly, she began to get on her 'paws' again and edged her face toward the inner thighs. She had been about to raise her hand, to nudge her underwear aside for access, but stopped when she noticed the massive paws again. She'd have to do this a dog way. So she headed inward, nuzzling the material to one side as best she could with her nose. It took longer than usual, but no doubt the effort Ruby made to get such an easy task done was enticing for Winter.

"Oooh," Winter sighed shakily with every blunt push up against her sex from the button nose of her pet. "My little doggie seems quite frisky today. Does she… smell something she likes?"

Satisfied with how far apart she'd nuzzled her legs, Ruby went in for the kill, letting out her tongue again to trail up and down between Winter's sodden lips. It was far wetter than Ruby first realised! But she lapped at it without any complaints, happy to taste her master.

"Oh goodness," Winter sighed, pausing to swallow and inhale a shaky breath. "You're not wasting any time… good girl, good girl!"

Right against Winter's sex, 'Lady' moaned. It had been a long long time since she and Penny were last intimate, and even longer since she was allowed to please her in this way. She more or less forgot what another's flower tasted like! But Winter was different from Penny. She couldn't say whether it was better or not, but it was different. And she enjoyed savouring her – so much she continued to hold her legs apart as she lapped more.

After she had grown used to the sensation, to the rhythm of Ruby's soft tongue, her hips began to buck up into the face nestled between her legs. She could already tell it wasn't going to take long if she was this skilled! A pleasant surprise indeed. Licking her lips, she began to let out gentle breaths of pleasure with every thrust up into the tongue.

The moans of pleasure were a good sign. Maybe Ruby hadn't gone rusty in the interim. She loved Penny, well and truly, but it felt good to have someone else to practice her skills with. To not only please them for her own delight, but to keep herself in top form on the once-in-a-blue-moon occasion Penny did want to do something. If only she could thank Winter for this chance.

Perhaps she would. With a satisfactory experience. Looping her paws under Winter's thighs, Ruby held her firmly in place, burying her mouth right against Winter's sex as she lapped at it over and over again, trying to press in as roughly as she could.

And Winter completely lost herself in the writhing and panting of her own performance, so pleased was she by the attentions being paid her fragile flesh. Perhaps Ruby was new to the BDSM game, but she was certainly no slouch in that department. Her technique might be rough around the edges, but the eagerness and thirst for the action more than made up for that.

Quickly taking a moment to peek up at her master's expression, she could only smile to herself against the flesh. She looked a picture of ecstasy. But it wasn't over yet, she was going to make sure of that. Finally her tongue trailed further upward, beginning to lap and lick at her sensitive clit. Over and over again she circled and flicked, using whatever actions she could to try and get her going.

"O-OH!" Winter burst out at the heightened sensation. Ruby really did know her way around a woman! Raising her legs up, she rested them against Ruby's back as one of her hands came down to clutch into her hair, hoping to encourage her to lap faster and harder, if she so chose.

Now that she had a hand firmly pulling at her hair, Ruby could moan once again. Making the last ditch effort, she continued to lap as hard as she could against her clit over and over again, hoping to send her rocketing to her finish. It would be an honour of she managed it, but only time would tell.

However, no matter how completely overcome with pleasure as Winter was growing, she was still a professional. "Ohhh, good GIRL, Lady! YES! F-finish your dinner!" She was so close - within arm's length of an earth-shattering climax! "A-almost done!" she reassured the girl.

If only her hands were free, then she really could finish Winter off in style, by putting something inside her while her clit was paid attention to. Too bad. Or perhaps she could anyway…

It would take some effort, but she moved her face again to adjust herself. This time, her nose was pressed in against the nub instead, where she continued to nuzzle while her tongue went back to lapping up and down for a moment, only for her to then wiggle it against Winter's entrance. With a little more perseverance, she managed to push it inside, in and out her wet opening as best she could.

A minute of that was all that was needed; Ruby had the right idea, and executed it perfectly. Panting louder and louder, Winter found herself squealing in delight, bucking up against the torturous tongue as her orgasm blossomed into reality, shaking all over as she panted and writhed. It was one of the better ones a woman had ever given her, that was an absolute certainty.

Allowing Winter to ride it out till the very end, she continued to push her nose right against the clit and her tongue in and out for a few moments longer. Finally when the screams of ecstasy had died down, she drew her face back, panting heavily herself now that she was free. She could still feel Winter's wetness over her lips, having to lick them to be rid of it. The taste of a satisfied customer, she thought.

"Was that good?" she asked questioningly, tilting her head once she looked up again. "Haven’t done that in a few months."

"Verrrry good," Winter drawled weakly as she panted to catch her breath. Her hand had fallen from Ruby's hair when she drew away, and now it drifted up and down her own stomach as she basked in the afterglow. "Ohhh, you're very accomplished, aren't you?"

Licking her lips yet again, she nodded rather eagerly, crawling further forward to nuzzle herself back into Winter's side again, just as they were before. At least now that had been done, they could cuddle up and relax for the rest of the evening. If Winter let her stay that long.

"I'm glad." Ruby replied happily. "Penny always said I was kinda skilled with my tongue. Guess she was right!"

Having caught her wind, she pushed herself up onto one elbow to better see her partner for the evening. "But you've said she doesn't enjoy your efforts? That's… I can't imagine that, to be entirely honest with you. Not after what you just did for me!"

Allowing herself the luxury of resting her head on the pillow, she backtracked, "She does when she's in the mood, don't get me wrong! But that's pretty rare for her to want anything. Like Shining Charizard card rare. Which is totally fine, of course; I still love her and all! I just… wanna be good for her when she does want it. Plus I got my own needs."

"Hmm… I have a hard time understanding that from a personal standpoint, but it does stand to reason. Not everyone has to enjoy this like I do." One palm pressed into her shoulder as she leaned over and kissed Ruby's lips, and not hesitantly at all. "Thank you for such good work."

Ruby smiled bashfully back at Winter, taking a moment to nuzzle into her again and bask in her warmth. "Anytime."

"And I don't mind telling you… it isn't as though I'm interested in you romantically, but I do find you quite attractive, so far as women go. Fun to spend time with, to play with."

The blush couldn't get any brighter from before. However, such a remark did bring about a giggle from her. "Y'know what'd be funny? If you and I did get romantic. It'd be like a role reversal of Yang and Weiss."

An awkward little laugh floated out of Winter's throat. "Maybe it should bother me more to mention them when we're lying here, wet and wild as we are. But it doesn't." She glanced over to Ruby out of the corner of her eye. "Does it bother you? Not Weiss, obviously, but mentioning Yang in that context."

She shrugged her shoulders. Yet again she thought back to the truth and dare games they'd all played together, and the various confessions in them. "Not really," she explained, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, obviously I don't want to sit and imagine what she looks like when Weiss uses a strap-on on her like she told us she does, but it's nice to know that she's getting what she wants, I guess?"

A light blush hit Winter's cheeks as Ruby described the scene. "W-well, that's… yes." Clearing her throat, she adjusted her position up against Ruby and settled in more. "Guess pegging runs in the family. I've done it a few times. Wouldn't mind doing it to Yang, either, if it wouldn't make things awkward."

Seemed Winter was more bothered about that mental image than Ruby was. But for a different reason. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you had the hots for my sister."

"Couldn't I say the same thing?" But it wasn't said cruelly, more as an afterthought. "There is something about yours I can't put my finger on. Or in. But I'm sure you don't particularly want to talk about this."

"You're curious of what it's like sleeping with a chick with a dick. I get it." It was as if Ruby had said it a million and one times before. Then again, she probably had. After all, she would have had to offer some sort of explanation to her schoolmates when she suddenly had a sister instead of a brother. And one or two of those friends had brought up that aspect.

But realising it may have been mentioned too harshly toward Winter, she shrugged her shoulders, looking downward. "Sorry, that came out like an accusation. I just… I get pretty defensive over her. She can be an easy target for some creeps."

However, Winter didn't sound chagrined or irritated in the slightest. Her voice was perfectly calm and even. "Oh no, you're right. To be entirely honest with you… she was the first woman I ever allowed myself to entertain any sexual thoughts about. Probably because of that aspect. Of course, NOW I realize that's bad, turning her into a fetish in my mind, but I've moved beyond that in the years since then."

The feelings Winter seemed to feel were ones that were mirrored within Ruby. Not for the same person, or for the same amount of time, but it was very similar to her own attractions she had towards Weiss in the beginning. In fact, truth be told, if Weiss ever gave her the chance of one wild night, or even just a kiss, she would leap at it without question. Although she might be her sister-in-law to be, Ruby still viewed Weiss as one of her favourite people to listen to, even to look at. And when she thought of it that way, it was no different to what Winter was turning Yang into in her mind.

"I'm glad." She attempted to distract herself by talking. "Glad you um, evolved or whatever."

"Yes, that's been a long-term project," Winter laughed easily, snuggling up to her anew. "I went from loathing and mistrusting her completely, to fantasizing about her, to… well, okay, I do still fantasize, but a lot less. And it takes a back seat to loving her as part of my family. Is… does that make sense? Am I a terrible person for feeling that way?"

"No! No I… I totally get it." And she did. Thankfully now she didn't feel as bad about the odd intrusive thought she had about Weiss. The odd fantasy, the odd dream. She didn't care for her any less as a friend or as family, so what harm could it really do? Finally, she felt brave enough to snuggle back against her movements. "Hey, Winter?"

"Yes?" the woman whispered back, moving her hand down to Ruby's side as she began to smooth up and down along it, affectionate but gentle.

Shuffling back and forth a moment longer, she eventually gave in, confessing, "This suit is pretty itchy…"

Winter didn't respond or move for a moment. Then she let her hand slide around to her back, rubbing up and down. "Want me to take it off?"

Ruby shrugged again. She didn't want to disappoint her master, but the material was just so unpleasant! "Unless there's anything else you wanted to do? I can bear with it longer, if you want?"

"Oh, there is. Several things. But we can take it off if it's really irritating you." Her lips pursed. "Perhaps I can have it cleaned, soften up the material…"

"No no, I'll deal for now!" Ruby insisted. She was far more interested in pleasing her master than she was in taking it off. "It can be a reward for after, right?"

The smile was soft and bemused. "Yes, I suppose it can. Alright, very well; up on your 'paws' again."

She began to edge away slightly, to enable her to do so. Rolling back onto her front, Lady did as commanded. She returned to her dog like sitting position on her hands and knees, letting her tongue hang from her mouth as she faked panting again.

"Good girl," Winter cooed as she began to stroke up and down the back of Ruby's thigh. It would convey a certain intent… but she had not proceeded any further than that as of yet. She was still waiting to watch her young charge's reaction.

For the moment, Ruby only continued to pant and sit still. Winter's hand wasn't going anywhere particularly bad, just fussing over her. Perhaps that was all she wanted to do for the rest of the evening, fuss over her pet. But there was still a worry. In the back of her mind, she was still terrified that Winter would try and return the favour. She wasn't ready for that, not yet. Her only hope was to wait and see what Winter wanted.

"Does Lady wish me to… scratch her itches?" Winter breathed as the hand drifted higher with each pass. It never quite hit home, but began to come a lot closer to the mark.

The closer it got, the slower Ruby's panting was starting to get. Okay, don't panic, Ruby, she told herself, holding still as Winter stroked higher and higher. It doesn't happen every time, it might not happen here! Just let things keep going, it'll be fine.

"Oh… goodness, she seems to." The hand had drifted closer still - not close enough to touch her lips yet. However, a drip of Ruby's essence came away on her hand. Withdrawing it entirely, she raised to her lips and let her tongue loll out, exactly where Ruby could watch her take the tiny droplet into her mouth. "Mmm…"

Oh no. She can't put her mouth there! Ruby could only bite her lip as her nerves began to ramp up. Even if she had constantly reassured herself it would be okay, she continued to worry. If Winter really insisted on taking her, insisted on tasting her, she would be done for. Once Winter's hand finally hit home, she flinched away rather quickly, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Wait!" For a moment, Ruby panted quickly, trying to calm herself. She edged herself away from the hand again, looking back at it nervously. The very woman that had cuddled her in a warm embrace was now someone she feared the touch of. What was wrong with her? "I-I'm sorry. I-I just… I'm worried about.. I-I…"

"What are you worried about?" Winter wasn't moving, wasn't backing down. But she also wasn't advancing again. Her hands were pushing down into the mattress, far and away from where one of them had been teasing moments before.

Biting her lip again, Ruby looked downward at the mattress. She wasn't able to make eye contact with her anymore, only able to look down in shame. This wasn't how she wanted to spend the evening, not when it had been so fun already. But she couldn't just leave Winter with no answer either! Finally taking a deep breath in to try and calm herself, she spoke slowly.

"P-promise you won't freak out if I tell you?"

Tentatively, she placed a hand on Ruby's ankle. It was distant enough that she hoped it would be of comfort rather than unpleasant for her. "I promise."

Weighing the options in her head, Ruby continued to stare at the bed a little longer. Their entire experience together was a private affair, that was established before it began. And she had promised to keep calm no matter what it was. With another deep breath in, she finally looked up again.

"It's really embarrassing," she began, hunching her shoulders. "But when I finish? Something happens. Something… not very nice happens."

"Oh?" Unable to help but chuckle gently, she whispered, "It's happened to me, too. I mean… all those muscles down there relax, and sometimes you can't help it. But it's nothing to be ashamed of; everyone does it at some point or another, don't they?"

"Huh?" Ruby could only look on in confusion. It seemed that either Winter had thought of something else entirely, or Winter really had experienced the same thing. Still red with embarrassment, she went on, "But, Penny's never done it! It's only been me, but I feel so bad! Like when it's just me on my own I don't care, b-but when it's on someone else…"

"Of course! No one wants to be heard doing that in the company of others. But with all that gasping for air, it's bound to force some out… in other areas. Honestly, it's nothing to wind yourself up over, Ruby."

"Force- wait…" Ruby's eyebrow raised in confusion. Looking up at Winter again, she asked quietly. "What are you talking about?"

That brought her up quick. "I'm… talking about… well, breaking wind during sex. What are you talking about?"

"Ooohh…" While that was embarrassing enough to think about, it wasn't as embarrassing as Ruby was about to confess. "I-I was talking… a-about, um… something else."

"You were? I thought for sure you…" Waving her hand back and forth, she sighed, "Nevermind. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. What did you mean?"

"Okay. Most times when I finish… by myself, or with Penny, I-I…" Taking a few more deep breaths in, she couldn't look at Winter again, staring downward at the mattress and speaking so quietly Winter could barely hear. "I-I kind of… pee a little."

That sent both of her eyebrows arching upward. "Ah. Is that all?"

"What do you mean 'is that all'?!" Ruby quickly looked up toward her. By how red her face was and how quick her breathing had become, she had clearly been worried about this for a long time. "I know I couldn't go in front of you, but that doesn't mean I want to do it on accident, either! It's disgusting, humiliating! A-and I don't… I don't want to put you through that grossness!"

But Winter did not seem riled by Ruby's outburst. In fact, her composure remained at nearly the same level as she said, "You say this as if I haven't been peed on by a partner before. Or vice versa."

"Yeah, well I don't want to be that girl who- wait…" Had she caught that correctly? Looking back around to Winter, who still seemed perfectly unperturbed about her confession, she gasped, "For SERIOUS? You mean peeing is a thing?!"

One of Winter's silk-clad shoulders rose and fell, entirely nonchalant. "If it's onto another person, it's typically called a 'golden shower'. That's definitely not my thing; I don't mind it, but I've never had any strong desire to have it done to me, and I don't care about doing it to someone else, either. However…" Clearing her throat, she looked away from Ruby briefly. "Being commanded to do it in front of someone… it is thrilling somehow. I don't know why."

"I… Oh." She had gathered that Winter had done some very intense things from the amount of toys she had, and how her room was more or less built for these types of ventures. But the idea of someone experiencing pleasure from that was completely alien to her. "It's just… I hate doing it, but I can't control it! And I don't wanna squirt on people!"

Silence fell between them for a few seconds as her master mulled that over. Ruby really did seem to have herself a huge stumbling block; not one that couldn't be dealt with, but one that she had built up in her mind as something insurmountable. Something that made her a completely unacceptable bedroom partner. This might not be a thing they could fix overnight, but she could try to make headway.

Crawling upward, Winter wrapped her arms around Ruby from behind, nuzzling into her neck and kissing each stretch of skin with great care and desire. With as much gusto as if she were ready to be pleasured again. Once the hands looped around her, and she felt the kisses on her skin over and over again, Ruby gasped in surprise. Winter didn't… mind? It seemed not, from how the kisses continued over and over, leaving no part of her untreated. It was enough to bring a tear to Ruby's eye. She still wanted her, even despite her embarrassing confession, Winter still had a desire to please her and return the favour. And now, she was more inclined to accept.

Though Winter would take it a step further. As her lips lifted up toward Ruby's ear, she began to whisper earnest phrases in the most sultry of voices - and the woman was capable of quite a sultry one indeed.

"I want to feel you. I want to hear you calling out in pleasure. Your body to writhe under mine, your mind breaking from how good you feel." The tongue ran up the skin, only just. "And if you do leak a little by accident… if it happens, it happens. From a body as glorious as yours, I don't mind in the slightest. Christen me with your juices; I should be so lucky."

All Ruby could do was continue to gasp, leaning her head in all manner of directions to give Winter all the access she needed. Those lips just kept pressing against her body, over and over again, sending more and more tingles up her spine. She may still have been worried, but with Winter's reassurance, she could get past that.

And so turning her head, she managed to catch Winter's lips for herself, kissing her back hungrily. One shaky breath later and Winter was returning the contact, winding her fingers into her lover's hair and biting her bottom lip as they began to writhe up against each other again, slowly spinning Ruby just enough so that they could comfortably enjoy each other's mouths. As they did so, she allowed her hand to rest against the plane of her stomach - lying in wait. Needing only the green light to proceed downward.

There came no resistance. Ruby only continued to eagerly kiss back, embracing Winter closer toward her as she allowed her tongue to trace over hers on occasion. She was eager for Winter to keep going now.

That desire was seen to quite soon as the fingers probed downward, between the seams of the costume and into the fragile petals below. Winter's kiss became hungrier, more frenzied, as if hoping it would prove a distraction from what was going on below.

It was working. While continuing to lap at Winter's tongue with her own, Ruby was content with what was happening. In fact, she was encouraging it, parting her legs even further to give Winter more room to work with. At last, Winter broke away from the supple mouth - but it appeared she had a concentrated purpose in doing so. Perhaps it was part of their play, or perhaps it came from an earnest desire to calm her temporary partner. Likely a mixture of both.

"How sweet your body is," she whispered as her finger glided up and down the length of the folds. "So perfect and inviting. As wet as it should be, as I want it to be. What a good girl you are, Lady."

That last made it clear; they were still playing. Anything that happened was just part of their arrangement, and nothing for Ruby to fret over. Sighing softly with relief, Ruby had began to continually push her hips up against Winter's hand. Going back to a game for this occasion put her at ease. Although she had appreciated Winter's confidence building, that was something she still worried about: developing romantic feelings for another.

But now she felt silly. Winter was just a good friend, and they both needed to relieve each other's urges. At least, that's how Ruby saw it.

"She's such a good girl," Winter soothed her further as she added more fingers, pushing the middle one in between the moistened lips as the ones on either side teased them. "Knows who her master is, and that she'll take care of Lady. Yes she does." The tone of her words was halfway between "sexy talk" and "baby talk"; it was both odd and arousing at the same time.

Ruby moaned, relaxing more as Winter continued to tease and taunt her skin. With her skill, it was no wonder she was already beginning to feel her stomach tighten, and her legs beginning to shudder. She was close already, and Winter hadn't even gone inside! A simple consequence of her finishing Winter first: she was far more eager.

For a few seconds, Winter merely kept going, teasing up and down, worrying the flesh. Then she panted, "If I already asked this, I'm sorry, but… have you…" Her finger dipped in further, hoping to indicate what she was asking without verbalizing it directly. It wasn't a fun thing to bring up right in the middle of their play, but it would be very important if the answer was "no".

Biting her lip, Ruby opened her eyes again just to look at what Winter was doing. Was penetration what she was asking about? Leaning to give a small kiss to Winter's cheek, she reassured her, "I have a couple of times. Solo and all."

"Okay... okay, then." And Winter wasted no more time. They had spent so much time teasing each other that Ruby had to be dying to finish by now. Angling herself just so, she leapt straight from nothing to two fingers sliding through Ruby's defenses - not too fast, not too slow. A steady but unrelenting pace.

"OHHHH!" she called out yet again. One of her hands quickly went to grasp Winter's, using it in a vain attempt to try and tether herself. But no success. Those fingers were relentless, making her body quiver more and more as her muscles tightened. "WHOA! Yeah! Holy SHIZ, keep going! K-Keep… WINTER!"

"Yes, call my name!" Winter urged her, waggling the fingers back and forth once they were all the way inside. "Let loose - make as much noise as you like! Nobody will ever hear it outside these reinforced walls!"

For the next dozen seconds or so, Ruby panted and squirmed before shouting, "YES! Y-YEEEAAAAH!"

And that was about all it took before she reached her end. Anticipation and foreplay had done ninety percent of the work. Legs shuddering even more right by her hand, she felt her muscles tightening through the waves of pleasure sent around her body. Over and over again, her muscles clamped onto those fingers, trying to keep them for all they were worth.

However… they still had to contend with Ruby’s issue. Through the muscle spasms, there was a small amount of fluid released against Winter's hand. It was only tiny spurts of clear liquid, but that seemed to be what Ruby described.

"Ohhh," Winter breathed. It was her only true reaction to the spurting of fluid, but it was a reaction all the same. Her fingers curled up and into her a few more times, then stilled, waiting to see what Ruby would do, or ask.

A few spasms of her body later, and Ruby flopped back against the bed. Completely exhausted from their efforts. She had to regain her breath before she did anything else, before she cuddled Winter, before she got out of the-

The suit. Quickly looking downward to where Winter's hand was, she could already see Winter's hand glistening with liquid, and feel that the fur around her crotch was damp. Covering her face with embarrassment, she whined, "I did it again…"

"You did. Naughty, naughty puppy." But what Winter did next was the direct opposite of scolding or being angry. Her hand came up, covered as it was in both internal juices and the ones that she had shot forth upon her climax. Then she took a long, gratuitous lick from the heel of her palm to the tip of her middle finger.

By the time Ruby had ran her paw-hands down her face enough to see, she caught sight of Winter nearing the end of her lick. And right away gasped. "D-don't!" she insisted, blush returning to her cheeks once again in shame. "You don't want to taste that! It's nasty!"

"Hmmm…" Winter smacked her lips a few times. Having caught Ruby's expression, she decided to have a bit more fun with her and licked the palm again, sure to get the wettest areas. "It has a nice tart flavor to it; lovely bouquet. Delightful."

Poor Ruby could barely stand to watch! Surely Winter couldn't experience pleasure from doing anything as disgusting as that? "You don't have to do that for me." she insisted. "You could have just run to the bathroom, I'd never ask you to do that with my p-pee!"

But Winter was chuckling quietly, and it grew louder the longer Ruby spoke. "Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't. It's irrelevant, anyway." Grasping one of her wrists with her clean hand, she pulled it away from her face as gently as she could. "You didn't pee at all, silly girl."

"I-I didn't? Huh?" Once again she looked to Winter's wet hand, and then down at the costume again. The evidence was all there still, she didn't dream it. "B-but… I felt it. It's still on me now. I-I know I did…"

"You did squirt on me, yes, but… what you squirted isn't urine, Ruby." She was going to have to be patient. Caressing her hair as she went on, she asked, "Haven't you ever heard of 'female ejaculation' before?"

That did very little to ease Ruby's confusion. Her hands had lowered from her face, but she still appeared as though someone was explaining rocket science to her. "Sure, I've heard of it, but…" Then she shrugged her shoulders, looking down in embarrassment. "I thought that meant girls like Yang… Y'know."

Winter canted her head from side to side as she considered. "Well… I suppose that's technically what Yang's doing, but not what the term usually means. Some women, when they climax, produce a little fluid this way; it's partly from the bladder and partly from tiny glands inside of you. They're a lot like the glands that help produce male ejaculate; the watery part of it, anyway."

"…Hold on." Blinking a few times as she allowed the new information to sink in, her eyes seemed to dart from side to side for a moment, until back up to Winter's again. There seemed to be an odd mixture of both relief and embarrassment. "You mean all this time, I've been cumming, not peeing? That I can skeet-skeet like a guy can?"

"Not exactly the same, but it's similar. The reason your body does it is the same, and the fluid isn't too far off." Leaning down, she kissed Ruby's flaming-red cheek just to show her she was right there with her, entirely supportive and not even the slightest bit put off. "Now, this fluid still goes through your bladder, so it's coming from the same place as pee. But saying it's pee isn't very accurate. Do… you understand, or am I just babbling at you?"

"I… think I get it." It was still new information to Ruby. But one thing that had been sinking in was a fact that made her feel better about herself. It wasn't as filthy as she thought it was. Though beyond her control, it was something Ruby didn't need to panic about getting on the clothes Winter provided - or her hands, for that matter. Wiping her forehead in the end, she smiled. "That's… a relief, actually. Because I kinda got it on the suit."

Snuggling yet closer, Winter kissed her forehead, then her cheek again. "I'm glad. But even if it had been pure urine, I promise you - promise, promise - that it would have been fine by me. They’re just clothes and clothes can be cleaned. And you shouldn't be embarrassed; it's not exactly common, but plenty of women ejaculate."

"Okay. That's good then… cause otherwise, I would have been worried about seeing a doctor. No one wants to hear about that kind of problem…" Although she had been about to huddle up to Winter again, she looked down at the outfit again. And could already remember how it was feeling. Looking up bashfully, she asked, "C-can I, uh…?"

"Come with me," Winter chuckled as she began to rise from the bed. "Oh, and grab your regular clothing on the way."

Nodding, Ruby did as she was told. Hopping up and off one side of the bed, she quickly managed to gather up the clothes she had scattered over the floor, only just managing to get them over her arms with the clunky paw-gloves. But once that was done she followed again, still like a lost puppy.

Once in the bathroom, Winter turned to shut the door - and laughed when she saw Ruby's awkward grip on her things. "Put those on the counter for a moment and I'll get those paws. Sorry, I… actually forgot you don't normally have paws for a moment, Lady."

"Arf." She spoke the word this time rather than attempted it seriously as she finally put her clothing aside. While she held her hand out for Winter to do as she pleased, she took a good look around the surroundings of the bathroom. A large counter with the sink not even taking up a third of it, a large Jacuzzi and a toilet that looked fancier than any Ruby had ever seen. Giggling to herself, she smirked. "Even your bathroom is worth more than my house, probably."

"It's just a bathroom," Winter commented casually as she removed the second paw, then bent down and worked on the kneepads. Taking everything off was a lot quicker than putting it on in the first place. "But… well, my father insists on the best of the best." While down there, she left a light kiss on the inside of Ruby's thigh.

It was enough to send another shudder through her body. But now that her hands were free, they went straight to the zipper at the front. Cleverly hidden in the middle of the fur, she managed to find the pull and slowly tug it downwards, and eventually wriggle her shoulders out of the costume entirely. And she continued until it was off all the way.

But somehow, being naked in front of Winter didn't phase her at all anymore. In fact, she continued to talk as normal. "Best of the best is really fancy stuff, though! Like, I could live in here, it's big enough."

"You want to live in my bathroom?" Winter laughed aloud, standing back up once Ruby was revealed entirely. "You really are a puppy." Her eyes raked down Ruby's figure, both appraising and already pleased before the appraisal had been completed. "You really are lovely, you know. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

She had been about to grab her underwear when that was spoken, and she grinned to herself again, shrugging her shoulders bashfully. "I'm glad you think so, considering you're the one that suggested this whole arrangement. And then peed on you – or ejaculated or whatever."

"Suppose that's true." Winter bit her lip as she thought something over, eyes directed at the moisture still glistening on Ruby's thighs. Reaching a decision, she left the girl standing there to walk over toward the toilet. As she sat, she slid her underwear down to below her knees, letting them fall to the floor. Then her hand patted her thigh as she commanded, "Come here for a moment."

"Hmm- GAH!" When she looked back to where Winter was sat, and the fact she was sat down with her underwear to the ground, Ruby's first instinct was to cover her eyes, and so she did. "I'm sorry! Do you want me to leave the room?"

"No, I want you to come here," Winter repeated, suppressing a laugh. She knew this was not Ruby's area of comfort and was more than willing to be patient with her. "Have a seat, just for a minute."

"…While you're on the toilet?" Ruby repeated, allowing her hand to fall. When only a nod came from Winter she slowly walked forward, giving into her command as she went to sit on her lap. "Okay…?"

Nodding in satisfaction, Winter looped her hands around Ruby's waist to help hold her steady. "Good. Now, I want to ask you a couple of questions, nothing bad."

Still perpetually confused, Ruby's cheeks reddened as she made herself comfortable. "Okay? What is it?"

"Was there anything we did tonight you really liked? As in, stood out to you that you'd want to do again."

For a moment, Ruby had to really think about that question. There was the kissing for one, that had been interesting and a relief to get out of her system. Then there was the cuddling, and interestingly… "The commands were good." She smiled. "Even if I didn't stay in character very good, I did like that. It reminded me of a teacher I had back in school, this real strict one I had a huge crush on."

A knowing smile flitted across Winter's lips as she waggled both eyebrows. "Ah yes, you did mention that fantasy… but not that it had roots in reality. Interesting. You'll have to tell me more about her sometime so we can do something with that."

"Sounds good to me!" Ruby grinned eagerly. But yet again when remembering where they were, where they were sat, she asked, "Winter… What are we doing here exactly?"

"We'll get to that. Now, tell me if there's anything that didn't work for you. Not just in general, but specifics. This is important for both me, and for you for when you're with other Doms."

"Well…" That was more difficult to think about. The evening had gone well; very well even. Ruby didn't even have to use her safe word that they had set into place, which she expected to be using from the beginning. But there were a few things. "Ironic considering where we're sitting, but being told to go to the bathroom, that's a no. I don't do well with any of those bodily functions." Then she added in an embarrassed mutter, "Hence the freaking out when I thought it was pee."

"Well…" Finally, Winter shivered slightly, and there began a faint tinkling sound into the toilet. Her cheeks flushed when she caught Ruby gaping at her. "Seems I have my own hang-ups. Because I've been trying to get started ever since you sat down. I meant to show you how it's not such a big deal, and ended up showing you the opposite. Pretty silly, huh?"

"You're actually-?!" And Ruby had to continue to sit, cheeks flushing red as she looked off to one side of the room instead. All the while, she remained perfectly still, not daring to move. "I can't believe you did that," she began. "Or are doing that, even. Isn't it really icky to you?"

"No, it isn't. People do it all the time. Besides, it's sterile, you know; it's not as if there are germs in there or anything." The stream was going a little stronger now that she had pushed through that initial barrier of shyness, having another person in the room and so close. "I'm not trying to make you 'like' it, of course, just… it seems like you're almost… afraid of the act. And that won't do, not if I can help you get past that."

"Afraid of it in the bedroom, yeah," she admitted. Having to continue to bear with the sounds, she hunched her shoulders again, face a clear picture of embarrassment. "Look, I know you're trying to help but, I just prefer to keep pee private, you know? I was only scared because I thought I was gonna be doing that on everyone, and that's gross."

"Definitely understandable," Winter chuckled. About that time she finished, and she smiled up at Ruby. "Done. And you lived to tell the tale. Just… food for thought, I guess. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No no, I totally get you, just…" Getting up to finally collect her clothes again, her shoulders remained raised, even as she reached for her panties. "Don't expect me to be whizzing everywhere on command is all. Definitely not right away."

"Wait, wait," she laughed, standing up and catching Ruby's wrists. "That isn't the only reason I asked you in here, believe it or not. Wouldn't you rather have a quick shower first?"

Freezing when her underwear was half way up, she looked over to the shower unit. Just as fancy as the rest of the bathroom, with plenty of different buttons for different functions. And she was a little damp down below. With that in mind, she pushed her underwear back down again, smiling gratefully. "Sure! That’s probably a good idea, yeah."

"I can leave you to it if you'd rather be rid of me now," Winter told her. It hadn't been apparent at first, but now it was much clearer that she was chagrined by Ruby's disapproval of doing her business in her presence. It was one of the few times she'd ever seen Winter not look like the elder, the one in control. She was nervous and uncertain.

So Ruby paused for a moment. Rather than say anything else, she wanted to show Winter that all was well between them. She wanted to show that she appreciated that Winter did want to help, even if it wasn't a thing Ruby would be enjoying any time soon. And to do that, she grabbed her wrist instead, pulling her toward the shower.

"C’mon, shower buddy! I need you to teach me how to use all this new-fangled junk, anyway."

The anxiety faded as she smiled gently, shifting her shoulders so that her kimono finally began to slide free. Pointedly ignoring the way Ruby ogled her revealed form. "That, I can do."

#Lady Stardust #ruby x winter #white noise #popstarverse #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants #nsfw-Text

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alphawave-writes · 5 years

Text

The universe sings for him alone

Synopsis: Talon tries to help him rehabilitate, but nothing can ever stop the universe's song. It wants him, and it wants him alone. It sings him its song because he is the only one that can hear it.

Siebren didn’t plan to be an astrophysicist. Originally, when he was young, he held the lofty ambitions of becoming an astronaut. It was a typical childish dream, but one that he strived to achieve. He trained his body and his mind. He studied all there was to know about space and space travel and the physiological and psychological tolls space will have on him. He persevered, and soon he was accepted as an astronaut for NASA. In another world, he would’ve been the youngest astronaut ever, but something else stopped him.

As part of his training, Siebrun experienced a simulation of the zero gravity conditions similar to what he will work with up in space. He went in, tasked to solve a problem in a recreation of the interior of the space shuttle he will spend the next six months in. Within seconds, gravity dropped. The lights had went out.

He unhooked himself, floated in the darkness, and saw the stars sparkle before his eyes. In the light, he saw a new path, one that spoke of discovery and isolation, the beauty in the mundane. His mind was no longer on his mission. All he thought about was how wonderful the universe and the stars looked, and how he wanted to learn their secrets. He remembered a distinct humming sound that day. He never knew if that sound was caused by the blood filling his ears or the drone of the whirring machines, or if perhaps it was the universe singing to him the hymn of its life. All he knew was that he was drawn in, a child lured away from home by the Pied Piper’s song.

Siebren may not have become an astronaut, but he left that day with a renewed sense of purpose and unbridled curiosity. Siebren the astronaut died so he could be reborn as Siebren the astrophysicist. There was not a day in his life that he regretted his choice. He knew he was destined to decode the universe’s song.

It was only later in his life that he realizes that the universe sings to him not so he understands their pain, but so someone can hear it cry in the dark.

Sometimes he is oversensitive. Other times he is not. He can’t remember if it’s another side effect to the cosmic powers he had been granted or if it he has always lived life this way. He never liked socks and shoes, he remembered, or was that a dream? The lines between reality and imagination have blurred so much. He’s seen so much of the fabric of reality that he can only define it by the seams.

Talon is more than happy to let him walk around the base with no shoes. They seem more concerned about the floating more than anything. A perfectly natural response, he thinks, but a disheartening one nevertheless. He needed an outlet for his powers, and floating was the least disruptive one. There will only be chaos and destruction if he subdued his powers. Many a person have died trying to keep his powers in check. At least, that’s what the jailers in the facility told him. He refused to call them doctors, no matter how much they insisted otherwise. He is insane, but he is not stupid.

At least there is one who is not disturbed by him, and that is Doctor Moira O’Deorain. Though not a trained psychologist by any means, she has been courteous enough to look after his mental wellbeing and doublecheck that the anti-psychotics he had been prescribed are of the correct dosage. He is a rather large man, and his volume of distribution is significantly higher than average, but she calculates it with ease and makes appropriate adjustments based on his behaviour. The staff at the facility had trouble sedating him. He had to learn how to escape into his own mind to endure.

Sigma doesn’t have much of a mind to retreat into anymore. If he tries to retreat, he succumbs. Whenever he succumbs, he loses days, sometimes weeks of memories. He does something in these moments because every time he finally regains control, his body is tired and there’s blood all over his clothes. He checks the calender every time he wakes up. Time is no longer linear.

Moira helps him in the rehabilitation process. They are kindred in the sense that they share a similar burden of understanding the powers they now wielded. Their reasoning differed, however. Moira is convinced it can all be explained by science, and that those who called their powers magic were too feeble-minded to consider the vastness of scientific possibility. Sigma is less convinced that science is the true answer. He hears the whisperings of the universe, singing its sanctimonious melody in his ears, and he thinks that perhaps their abilities are in some part due to the will of the universe. Not that he will ever say this to her. She will dismiss it as part of his ramblings, he is sure of it.

He hears the melody again and grits his teeth. Moira thinks they are mere auditory hallucinations, a result of his psychosis. Sigma knows it is the song of the universe, calling out to him, beckoning him.

Release me, release me!

“You’ve been showing significant improvement, Sigma,” Moira says during one such rehabilitation session. He remembers and forgets his true name with the rise and fall of the sun. As far as he’s concerned, Sigma is his name now.

“I think I have a better grasp on my abilities,” he responds slowly. She gestures for him to demonstrate and he complies. He hums in his head the melody that haunts his waking life. Two hyperspheres appear in his outstretched hand.

Moira smiles. “Fascinating.” She glances down at her notes and for a second she frowns. He blinks, and it’s replaced by a more familiar, studious look. He’s not sure if he imagined it or not. “I have organized a special test today. It is time to test the limit of your abilities.”

His brows furrowed. “My limits? Are you sure?”

“Our organization is interested in seeing you finish your research. Talon wants to help you understand how to harness the black hole again.”

A cold chill ran down his spine as a memory played before his eyes. He yells, weightless and fragile and alone in the deep reaches of space. The black hole is beautiful and horrible and awe inspiring and terrifying. He can feel himself floating higher now, the hyperspheres rising with him. Numbers fly across his vision and his body is numb. The universe is whispering its dark desires into his ear again. Hold it together, HOLD IT TOGETHER!

A hand is placed on his shoulder and he returns back to earth. The voices have quieted down to a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning. The hand releases and he realizes that it belongs to Moira. She frowns.

“Perhaps you are not ready for the next step.”

His eyes widen. “N-no no, I am ready.” His body is quivering and the cool air on his feet is almost too much. He quickly summons the hyperspheres again. “I-I am in control. I can do this. Please.”

Her smile is soft with sympathy but there’s something else in her eyes, a sadistic glint that makes him wonder if she was hoping he would say this. But Moira was his friend, she would not do anything to him unless…no. No, that cannot be the case. There is no evidence.

“If you are sure,” she says, and leads him out of her office. She stands in front of an unfamiliar door and swipes a card. It beeps, green lights flickering above before the door slides open.

He’s never explored this section of the facility, so he does not know what to expect. Whatever he imagined, it wasn’t this. Men and women make a ruckus from their cages, staring warily in his direction. The humans shriek and beg in their native languages. He recognizes what they are saying, but he does not understand them. He’s fluent in six different languages and he understood the individual words, but language loses sense when it is screamed at him with such vitriol. Formulas fly by his vision, desperately trying to find the patterns in their speech but even math fails him. The equations were correct, but the answer was wrong, why was it wrong? His hold on the harness is slipping.

Moira notices his horrified expression. She is unperturbed. “Don’t listen to them. They are far more disturbed than you ever were. You are better than them.”

He nods, but it is hesitant. He floats behind her, staring at the desolate people with sorrowful eyes. Moira stops at another door at the end of the hallway. She gestures for him to enter.

When he does, he very nearly lost his grip on the harness again.

There’s a man strapped to a chair, naked except for some stained underwear and white cotton socks. His skin is dark, or at least it should be, but red welts stain the dark ebony expanse. His purple bruises blend in with his skin under the solitary lamp above him. Sigma thinks the man is unconscious, but is soon proven wrong when he stirs, rabid eyes staring at him. Those eyes are the same colour of his mother’s stroopwafels, he thinks, but no matter how much he tries, he realizes he can’t recall what his mother looks or sounds like. He doesn’t even know if she is dead. The voices are getting louder, and for once, they are screaming the same thing.

This is a torture room, they cry in unison. Danger, hold it together, RELEASE ME, GIVE ME VIOLENCE!

He points his shaking figure at the man. “Who…w-who is he?”

“A criminal,” Moira says blandly, like she is discussing the different varieties of coffee beans. “He has killed many without remorse, and he will do it again if we free him. He is here for the good of humanity.” She turns to him. “He is your first test subject.”

“Test…subject?”

“But of course. Your powers are of high interest. Talon is interested to see the extent of gravity manipulation. There is no device or machine in the earth that can harness its powers. Not like you can.”

The man struggles weakly against his bonds, his yells muffled by the tape over his lips. The voices are shrieking again. HOLD IT TOGETHER, GIVE ME VIOLENCE, LET ME BE WHOLE!

Sigma swallows loudly. “This…this is unethical.”

“Remember the experiments committed during the second world war? The atrocities committed were horrible, but we learned so much about the human psyche. Is that information not valuable nowadays? Did it not shape our understanding of psychology? Did it not expand our knowledge of the human mind?”

Not even I understand my mind, he thought morosely.

“You alone hold a power that scientists around the world thought impossible. Think how many people you can save. The inventions we can craft. Interstellar travel will finally be possible. If you are able to manipulate gravity to its fullest and harness the power of a black hole, you can help so many people. But to understand, you need to conduct experiments. And with experiments, you need experimental subjects.”

He approaches the bound man, instincts taking over as he summons the hyperspheres into existence. He knows it hurts him if he directly touches it. Is it the same for others? Will it hurt this man or kill him? How will this man react? Will the tears flow uninhibited until they are begging to stop? What secrets will spill from their lips?

He catches his thoughts and he almost screams. He wants to retreat but his body does not listen to his commands anymore. His limbs are burning hot and freezing cold and he can hear that melody loop again and again. The floor is crumbling beneath his feet, pebbles of rock breaking away, hovering up to him, building up, up, up. He is barely holding onto the ledge. He cannot let himself succumb. Not again. Release me release me RELEASE ME!

“Sigma,” Moira says.

“I-I don’t want to lose control.” He’s not sure if he’s saying this to her or to himself. Fear has gripped his heart in a stranglehold.

The melody plays again, this time in its entirety. Formulas flash before his eyes. A golden path appears before him, and he swears he sees the universe now for what it truly is. It is stripped of its pretenses, unveiling to him alone the true extent of its depths and it is endless. It calls him forward. He understands it and he doesn’t know why. Everything is rising around him. There’s shouts of surprise and terror but he cannot hear them, only sense them from the shift in the gravitational field. He is floating higher and higher and higher. Not even the ceiling can stop him.

“The universe is singing to me!” He laughs as he succumbs.

He doesn’t feel anything anymore. Not the wind whipping over his sensitive feet, not the weight of another life taken against their will, not gravity. All he hears is the universe singing its song for him alone.

He awakens with a start. He’s in a comfy bed in his room in Talon’s HQ, the blankets tucked just the way he liked under his feet. His eyes are half lidded and his body aches. He blearily turned his head to the holographic clock on his bedside. It tells him it’s 2am. With a groan, he pulls himself up and glides over to the curtains, pulling them open to reveal the stars in the sky.

He remembers the last time he was under a starry night sky like this. It was a frosty November night and he was crying tears of joy when he learned he was going to work with eminent professors in The Hague. His colleagues had said he was overly sentimental and sensitive. Men like him don’t cry. Men like him don’t go out into the winter snow in only a pair of pyjamas and some slippers to stare at the stars with all the love and wonder in the world.

He looks down at his hands, surprised to see that they are bruised at the knuckles. He doesn’t recall how they came this way. They weren’t like that the last time he was awake. Pieces of his memories flood back to him in a tidal wave. He remembers talking to Moira in her office. He remembers torturing and killing a man bound to a chair. He remembers being consumed by bloodlust, of being egged on by his new Talon colleagues, all telling him to embrace the darkness they knew lived in everyone’s heart.

“I’m not a villain,” he cries, even as his hands were covered in the blood of innocents. “I’m not a villain, I’m not a villain!”

He breathes in and out and the images fade away into the night. The lines between reality and imagination have blurred so much. He concentrates on formulas and equations, the one constant in his universe, and slowly he feels himself ease back into control. He lowers himself down to the ground, wobbling unsteadily but successfully remains standing on his own too feet. He has to keep reminding himself to walk every now and then, if not to maintain muscle mass then to remind himself of what gravity used to feel like. His feet are cold and sensitive but he makes no move to put on the socks he knows are stored in the dresser next to him. He wants to feel the ground beneath him. He wants to feel the sand beneath his feet.

He stares at the door for minutes. Ever since he came to Talon, a part of him longs to escape. The people in Talon were far more stimulating conversation than the doctors at the government facility, and they treat him with the gravitas his title commanded, but they still walk on eggshells around him. He cannot leave Talon’s HQ without an escort. He cannot talk to anyone that wasn’t his escort, with very few exceptions. The public will break out in a riot if they knew he was alive, they said.

Some days he wants to be free, but he knows he is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. He knows that, and yet he wants to see the world once more. He misses the little things his old life gave him. The stroopwafels with his morning tea, the afternoon walks by the Hofvijver, the starry night sky that he would admire by afar from his telescope.

The universe sings again, and he realizes he understand the lyrics. It beckons him outside, whispering sweet nothings in his ear that meant everything.

He glances at the holographic clock. It’s approaching 2:30am. He glances at the two hyperspheres he summoned in his hand, sedated and in control. His mind is clear today.

“I suppose it would not hurt to go outside,” he whispers to himself. His eyes are on the door. A smile creeps up his face. "I need the exercise. Stretch my legs.”

He follows the universe and escapes the confines of Talon HQ. He walks into the outside air and smells the dust in the air and feels the earth on his toes. The universe sings for him to return to him, and he sings it a tune of his own creation. One day he will fly up over the atmosphere and be lost among the stars and his mind will be whole enough to give the universe the love and attention it deserves, but that day is not today.

For tonight only, while he has his mind, he walks the planet with his feet on the ground and his head up in space.

#Overwatch #Sigma overwatch #Sigma #alphawave-writes #Can you guys tell Sigma is my new favourite character?#Because he is

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Choice ― IV.i. Complex Creatures Are They

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART IV ⥽

— London, 1876. They have been everywhere and done everything. Watched empires rise and fall and seen marvels never even dreamed of. The Trinity have wealth, they have youth — they have each other. But after two thousand years... is it still enough?

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Invitation to dine at the Montes Estate is a desirable thing. Earning the ire of its Lords and Lady; less so. Though the years continue to change the Trinity's devotion to one another will always stay the same.

[READ IT ON AO3]

London, 1876

“If you ask me my opinion on the matter —”

Valdas sighs around his forkful of mutton — a little thing easily missed by mortal ears, but they catch it quite plainly. Valdas has the patience of a man who has weathered the petulance of monarchies for ages. If he cannot hold back his disdain there must really be something worth disliking about the man.

Well that much is more than obvious. And this is only one of the several evenings they are meant to host the boorish Viscount?

“Please,” Cynbel encourages with less than half a heart, “do go on, Lord Edwards.” And because his head is so far up his own rear end he does. In such a fashion that matches his red-faced appetite no less.

“Well, my opinion is that of Her Majesty’s. Shame only that she could not have exerted her authority enough to silence that ponce Gurney permanently.”

Pick any other dining room in London and one might find Edwards’ sentiments met with agreement from all around. Here, however, he’s lucky to get similar views out of even a third of the table. The best part is that he has the misfortune of realizing it far too late to take it back.

That they have been able to surround themselves with like minds so quickly since their arrival is nothing short of luck. Or perhaps, he’s willing to admit, expert skill on the parts of his lovers.

There’s a reason Cynbel is no longer allowed to attend even a simple tea without one of them; at the very least. Usually it takes both to undo the damage he unwittingly causes whenever he opens his mouth.

Because the Viscount Edwards is a fool he waits — lets the silence drag on uncomfortably in the hopes that someone might raise their voice to agree with him. Doubtful such a fragile ego could handle healthy debate.

Valdas and Cynbel exchange glances of barely-contained bemusement. They do so enjoy watching her tear into lesser men — even if it no longer means literally so.

“If you would not have women in the medical profession, my Lord, where would you have them then?”

Their darling girl — she’s never been known for her mercy. She doesn’t even allow the Viscount a moment’s offense before she snaps her fingers brisk, startling him into attention. “I asked you a question. As you are in my home and at my table, and as the words you so childishly spew are wetted with my wine, the least you could do is muster me an answer.”

“Such a brazen young wife you have, Lord Montes.”

Cynbel covers his mouth with his hand — if he starts to laugh now he simply won’t be able to stop. Valdas, too, looks ready to mock the man but he knows better by now. Both of them know this is simply the mentality of such fragile creatures; it is in the nature of the weak to find someone to subjugate as a means of removing that weakness. But it is still there; they are merely blind to it. And it will be the death of them.

“I believe it was the Lady Montes who was addressing you, my Lord, not I.”

But Cynbel’s restraint is only so much, and far less than his beloveds. “Unless you picked up a fair talent for ventriloquy in secret. Have you, Valdas?”

“I doubt even a master of the profession could impose upon my Lady his will.” She would eat his tongue for even trying.

With every quip the Viscount huffs and puffs, red face now a compliment to the plum of Cynbel’s dinner jacket.

And if there is one thing the Trinity has learned since immersing themselves in the upper echelons of Victorian society it is this: the wealthy are fools who equate riches with longevity; because they have money they think they will live forever.

Yet they do so love to dig their own graves.

“I admit there are certain advantages to having the nurturing concern of a woman at one’s sickly bedside,” Edwards digs and digs and digs, “but there is an inherent difference between the sexes that cannot be denied. That has been proven scientifically! And by those very same who would now burden themselves with the task of catching a woman up to their decade’s worth of knowledge.”

“‘Nurturing concern?’ Who, our Iss’?” Cynbel whispers for Valdas’ amusement even though it receives him the sharp sting of a shoe on his toes.

Though if either man had not seen the carnality Isseya was capable of with their own eyes they might not believe any claims to such. Not of late, anyway. They humor her these lashings of wit because she suffers the brunt of the burdens among this closed-minded society — the least they could do is allow her to bring men like the Viscount to heel like the dogs they are.

A task which she has not only accepted — but which she flourishes in. More than once her words have been enough to sway the dustiest of aged lechers, the young men raised to think their mothers less than them, the whole lot.

And when words are fruitless—because some are born and will die ignorant—both Valdas and Cynbel watch with delight (and no small amount of desire) while she serves them threats on their lives dipped in honey with their wine.

Cynbel shifts so as not to do so obviously — but one look to Isseya’s perfect features and he knows the Viscount will join the latter ranks this night.

He slips his hand down to rest on her thigh. Draws soft circles with his thumb, carves the old tongue they try desperately not to forget in the light drag of his fingernail over silk. Her tension eases slightly.

“Bold that you would impose such vulgarity on me in my own home.”

“Your husband’s home.”

Valdas tsks and folds his hands over his meal. “Best I’m kept out of this, I despair to think of the mess.”

“My home,” another snap to draw the Viscount’s attention, “where you have grossly overstayed your welcome.”

Of course men like him have the gall to look offended. Guest of Parliament or not Cynbel is having a hard time resisting the urge to tear his spine out in the middle of the entree. If he could manage to find it, anyway.

“I beg pardon?!”

“No amount of begging could change my mind, though you are welcome to try.” Isseya smooths her skirts and stands, her lovers following suit. And with them, the rest of their guests save the Viscount join in.

“Montes, surely you see this—this —” Don’t say it… don’t say it… “— this hysteria for what it is!”

Innovation has been a wonderful thing but Cynbel knows firsthand he and his are not the only vampires resentful to some of its finer points. Disposing of a body used to be such a simple thing; you could just leave it out and save grieving families and vengeful lovers nothing more would come of it. Do you know how hard it is to make a body vanish these days?

But the effort of it is a necessary one. His title will spur investigation, and already he’s contemplating when the constable will come knocking with statements of this very argument in hand. And it will be worth it for the satisfaction their beloved will get in eviscerating him.

It is Valdas who speaks and they both know why. Neither of them particularly eager to deal with the consequences of the fangs Iss’ will undoubtedly bare.

“Get. out.”

“My Lord —”

“Now!”

They scurry like the insects they are. Those who have been to the Montes Estate for before—and wish to do so again—are polite enough to push their chairs in before they join the crowd. Valdas takes note of their faces. They wouldn’t have survived this long without knowing the faces of what few humans were worth getting acquainted with.

The Viscount takes his pitiful time. Still aghast; unable to fathom that he is somehow in the wrong despite insulting the hostess numerous times, lacking in the common sense to read the bloody room.

He is the last to leave. As though lingering might somehow change their minds, as though they might apologize. He has the political clout to make Valdas’ work with the House of Commons difficult and he’s undoubtedly petty enough to do just that.

Or he would if he had the chance.

He won’t.

Only then does he notice that Isseya isn’t still at all. She’s shaking.

“Iss’…?” Cynbel moves to pull her close by the waist — or he would if she doesn’t slap his hand aside with a noise of discontent.

He doesn’t know what to say, to do. Looks to Valdas because he is their Light, their Lord, and he always has the answer. But even he seems uncertain.

His tone is perhaps a little too warning and not sympathetic enough. “Isseya, that was uncalled for.”

“Fuck your ‘uncalled for!’”

Cynbel is a victim of proximity and bears the weight of her lashing; squeezes his eyes closed so tight the spectacles they once thought so amusing on him nearly slip off his nose. The stale evening air doesn’t lessen the five points of pain where she gored at his cheek. Feels his blood wet and warm in rivulets trickling down his skin to drip drip their crimson stain on his collar.

Not like they haven’t struck one another out of passion in their eternity together. They have before and no doubt they would again; such is the burden of loving too hard—too much.

But Isseya doesn’t even look remorseful. No, she looks satisfied.

It stuns both of her lovers still and silent. She bares human teeth with a fire in her eyes. “You think all is made calm with a—a touch?! That fucking me content undoes the words I take night after night after night?!”

“Neither of us would dare,” replies Valdas cool and calm. It only angers her further.

“I will not deny it was amusing at first; toying with their heads, seducing their wives, dismantling the safety of the disgusting mentalities they have held for far too long. But I can only take so much. Why should I have to make argument as to whether or not I am worthy of personhood in front of these worms?!”

Cynbel has to wait until his cheek has healed to speak, until he can no longer feel the breeze near the candles against his teeth. “You seemed as if to enjoy it.”

“Like I said — at first.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She snarls. “I do. Every. god. damned. night. I do.” Her chest heaves against her corset with every word and Cynbel can’t remember ever seeing her like this; so repulsed by him, by them. “But I don’t even get to kill them! To show them just who they have angered — who they have wronged. A thousand years ago no man would dare say such things even in my presence lest they lose their precious cocks, or find their entrails strung up like garlands in the trees, or taste their pathetic little spines.

“But I can’t do that anymore, can I? Not without risk of exposure, of being caught. If not as vampires then as murderers.”

“We have all made sacrifices in the face of a changed world, darling.” Valdas insists, but they all know it to be true.

She raises her chin despite the trembling of her lower lip.

“I can no longer, my Lord. Do not ask it of me, not even for another night. I can’t.”

When their Divinity rounds to her Isseya struggles, even if only at first. Tries in vain to pull her wrists from his grasp, to push him away, but Cynbel knows firsthand the efforts are fruitless.

Then, not even a needle of space between them, she dissolves into tears in her God’s arms. Wails with the might of a banshee muffled into his collar and he weathers the storm of her in an eternal embrace.

Of course. Of course they have all given up the old world, the old ways in lieu of progress. And Cynbel thought himself the most resistant to it all but he could not have been more blind to the truth. In many ways he is still given a berth to be the hunter, the predator that lurks beneath his skin. But not her, not Isseya.

When Valdas goes to rest his hand upon her hair the ornaments braided in stop him. Ornaments, baubles they bought her, bound her with Cynbel’s mind unhelpfully reminds him — but he pushes it aside to gently comb them free, to free her even if just a little bit.

He could—should, is about to—step back. But with claws still stained by his blood Isseya reaches back for a fistful of his dinner coat. Don’t go. So he doesn’t; rests his forehead against the crown of her and allows them both to envelop her until she is no more.

It was a drunken amusement to them; this echoing cavern of a house in the heart of crowded London. Certainly it was more space than they would ever need. They had their bed, as they had always done. And more often than not every other room stood still — as preserved in time as the home’s occupants.

Only by force has the Trinity ever slept apart.

Until now.

He’s awake but Cynbel doesn’t open his eyes. And when he does his arm is thrown over them. Trying to keep the world away for as long as possible.

It’s with a selfish relief that he wanders into the dining room to find the other parts of his soul looking as just as sleep-deprived and lost as he feels.

Cynbel’s half into his seat at Valdas’ left when he catches Isseya’s subtle cough. Looks up to her as perfect as ever and strangely he’s a little disappointed their healing did not let her stay red-eyed and savage — as though it somehow seeks to invalidate her agony — but he can’t imagine not being at her beck and call and makes his way to her instead.

Before Iss’ can rise to meet him Cynbel takes a knee at her side.

The absent rustling of papers stops behind him; Valdas taken with the sight of them even all these years, decades, centuries later. But pride is for those better-rested, so Cynbel settles on contentment that only grows when Isseya’s hesitant hand begins to card through his hair.

“Waking was…”

“Torture?” she offers, and he takes it because it’s true, “I… would fall to the edge of sleep, but there was such a void around me I never really rested.”

Cynbel nods, knows. “I must have come to around midday but could not bring it upon myself to move.”

The Children of Valdemaras look to him as one. Neither of them could expect the stack of bound papers he produces from his lap. “I finally finished that play I started with William.”

They laugh because it’s ridiculous and because they could not possibly lament any more than they already have. There’s a comfort between them even if he’s sitting on the rug so that’s where Cynbel stays; where he pulls the manuscript down and flips through it while Isseya tries to read over his shoulder. “No no, go back, I saw ‘cock-chamber’ what the bloody hell is a ‘cock-chamber’?” And when Valdas does not answer his Golden Son makes use of long legs and nudges teasingly at the man’s groin for incentive to do so.

“Come on, tell us. Tell us. Please tell us? Tell us please!”

“You’re like a child!”

“You adore it.”

“I — you both know very well that this catastrophe of a script was started under some very strong hallucinogenics. Get your foot — we’ve discussed my dislike of your feet!”

Valdas bats away the offending foot; fixes what likely would be a harsh and cold glare down at his firstborn. But there’s a snort up above Cynbel’s head and both of them look to the sight of Isseya with different tears in her eyes, desperately plugging away at her nose and they’ve only made her laugh like that maybe ten times in two thousand years and she’s so beautiful — he’s so beautiful — they are both so fucking beautiful it hurts him all the way down to his bones.

“Oh I remember,” Isseya agrees, “and if my memory serves me—which it usually does—you came back to us in full costume regalia for the role of a… what was it, beloved?”

She looks down to Cynbel, whose mischief matches her mirth.

“Why my dearest love I do believe it was the role of a whore.”

Not that they haven’t told him this story dozens of times for the sheer amusement of it, but that each time Valdas still manages to look so offended makes it all the better.

“I—without proof I refuse to believe —”

“You made such a pretty whore,” Isseya croons.

“I would have paid you in the crown jewels.”

“You—the both of you are such awful, terrible, ungrateful progeny!” And I will love you as I have loved you, as I love you now; boundlessly and effortlessly and eternally. He doesn’t need to say it. That’s what makes it wonderful.

By the time their attending man comes in with the post Cynbel has returned to a proper seat. But the corners that divide the three of them no longer feel so sharp at the edges; the distance no longer so vast.

How delightfully, dreadfully domestic they are in these moments. One could forget they once ravaged continents were they to see this, now; three vampires pouring over letters, missives, the paper.

Isseya lets out a noise of discontent, a lilted “bastard,” as she devours a small handwritten missive. Cynbel glances at the envelope but doesn’t recognize the handwriting.

“Not another wedding invitation, I hope.”

“You know I would prefer it to this betrayal.” She takes no small amount of satisfaction in holding the thick vellum sheet over the nearest candle; lets it burn bright and until the flames tickle her fingertips before she drops what remains onto her empty plate. “It seems my own ungrateful progeny has taken it upon himself to choose the new home of the Musea Sanguis.”

Valdas frowns. “We agreed Jingyi was to move the collection here, to London. Don’t tell me he’s kept it in Paris.”

“On the contrary, snide little worm stabbed us in the back. He sends his ‘good tidings and well-fucking-wishes’ from New York.”

And they all know what that means. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with the Godmaker taking principle ownership of the Musea, in fact given the political unease on their side of the world it makes the most sense.

Still. “It would have been nice to reclaim a few of our things before they fell into his hands,” Valdas mutters, and is not disagreed with.

With the fewest ties to society Cynbel rarely has anything specifically bearing his title. And if he does its importance is always greatly exaggerated. Like the invitation to Tepes’ new estate in Prague — he thought the man would have given up by now; what with his other dozen requests for their attendance at his bal masqué ignored. Unfortunately not.

Today, though, is different.

“Would you look at that…” He drags his knife along the common stock envelope but there’s only one person who would take the time to address him these days. “Seems Ambrose has made his way North. Though I suppose if there’s ever a time to wander those winters it’s when you can no longer feel the chill.”

“The boy from Virginia? He still writes?”

Cynbel shrugs and hands the letter off to Valdas’ curious eye. “What can I say, he saved your life and I was feeling nurturing.”

It’s the word that earns Isseya’s scornful mocking. “Then you shall be the one to keep the estate tidy.”

“I am the fairer sex, thank you for noticing.”

“Positively porcelain.”

“Isseya, my love?”

“Hm?”

“Kindly fuck off.”

It’s the kind of laughter that can’t help but be infectious. Seeping from one to the other to the other and linking them as they link their hands.

This. Cynbel knows it, feels it between and through them. This is worth living for.

And it is.

They’ve given themselves this gift for a reason. This indulgence, this life of excess. It is their reward for such a brief time without. Is it possibly too much too fast — he won’t say no. But what is endless life without going a little too far sometimes?

And though they are so desperately (painfully, yearningly, eternally) in love, the Trinity accepts that there are simply some facets of life in which they will never agree.

That would make this splendid time — trivial though it is — a first for them. A time in which they are all contented enough.

He should have known it would come crashing down sooner or later.

It takes a few days, lulls them into a false sense of security, but it does. It always does.

Cynbel’s mood sours the moment he steps into the mortuary. The smell that tickles the tip of his nose — fake death. Just let corpses rot, fucking humans.

“You’d better have a good reason for dragging me down here so close to dawn, Whittaker.” He barks because he knows his voice will echo harsh on the room’s tiles, because he knows the skittish man will (and does) cringe and make his shriveled self smaller at the mere presence of him.

Whittaker is a small whelp of a man. He never stops fidgeting, messing with his hands. Cynbel has half a mind to take one of his medical devices and saw his feet off at the ankles just so he doesn’t have to hear the rustling of his shuffled steps.

As expected he jumps out of his own skin; barely puts it back on before he’s tripping over himself in an attempt to greet the vampire at the door.

“As I ss-said in my letter, I deeply apologize for the inconvenience, sir,” and his words are oily with prostrated subservience, “but this could not w-wait. You will thank me f-for the warning.”

Exactly how Whittaker’s mortal life had crossed paths with enough evil to curse him revenant is a mystery Cynbel will never solve, but one that will haunt him until the end of his days.

“This way, if you please.”

Technically there is not a living soul among them. Three bodies — two who just so happen to have the fortune (and misfortune in Whittaker’s case) of permanence on this the plane of the living.

The revenant’s translucent hand hovers over the sheet for a moment. Perhaps he debates on whether or not to withdraw his summons — though they both know Cynbel will not allow it. He grasps the edge and pulls it back.

Cynbel isn’t surprised to see Viscount Edwards there; their unwilling guest of honor. Gladdened, perhaps. Concerned, deeply. But not surprised.

“You recognize him then.”

“Would you have called me here if you thought I would not?”

There is almost an “ah-ah,” from the mortician as Cynbel reaches for the corpse, but he thinks better of it and simply hovers. A fly seeking spoils while the vulture circles carrion.

His touch is clinical, methodical. Fingertips over peeling lips and down the full face. Eventually he whips the sheet aside and lets it fall behind him to be forgotten. Hears the mad dash of Whittaker to pick it up but doesn’t really listen to it.

“I feel no trace of warmth coming from him.”

His question, unspoken, is answered; “Lamplighters pulled him from the Thames not a few hours ago.”

“A drowned man doesn’t look like this.” Like this, he says, but even for a connoisseur of death such as himself Cynbel struggles to put it to better words. And he cannot help his reluctance to turn the man’s chin this way and that — but there are no wounds to be found even on his neck.

With every answer, a dozen questions more.

When he finally manages to wrench his eyes away Whittaker is back on the other side of the table straightening his smock. “I’ll need a carriage and a disposable driver. He’s not yet in rigor — have you a trunk or a crate? Something discreet.”

No creature as low on the evolutionary food chain as Whittaker should ever look at him like that; with pity. He’s feeling enough strangeness as it is — adding anger would only be adding fuel to the fire. “This is not a task to be negotiated, whelp. I’ll take him back to Montes and you will claim the death a suicide.” Why else would he have brought Cynbel here if not to help him cover it up? “Isseya can perform her own autopsy.”

“Ah, see…” Whittaker ticks his tongue; Cynbel takes great pleasure in the thought of ripping it out with a pair of nearby forceps, “that — I mean to say — that won’t be possible this time.”

This time. Because he’s to believe this creature has suddenly grown a spine? Bodies in far worse condition and definitively by the Trinity’s hand (because this, this he isn’t sure) have gotten the same treatment. Why else would he keep Whittaker’s ill company? He wouldn’t.

Cynbel leans forward and braces his hands on the edge of the table. It creaks under the weight of his years and Whittaker is right to jump in fright.

“And the logic to your insanity would be…?”

There is a great deal of fumbling and the metallic clatter of scalpels on the stone floor. All leading to an offering; a file of worn leather — something that has seen its share of reports all of them with bodies such as the Viscounts; set about in an endless cycle of morbidity.

“A—A detective of the Yard, sir. He’s already opened an investigation.”

Happenstance and the Trinity’s bad luck, really, that at the same time two skin-and-bone Lamplighters soaked through were catching the attention of a night constable, across London a detective was doing his level best to avoid his wrathful wife by staying on the job as long as he could. That he was two steps out into the night just as that same constable was rushing up in a fright.

Happenstance and really. bad. fucking. luck.

“So you s-see,” Whittaker hastens to finish his tale, casts glances at the poor excuse for a window near the ceiling to gauge the morning’s arrival, “I must dissect the poor Viscount here. Claiming his body gone would — dare I say it — be even more suspect than it already is.”

“So you brought me here to make a mockery of me?”

“Of cc-course not sir!”

“Then why —”

“To warn you.”

There’s a twinge of the Veil in the bespelled man’s warble. Whispers both his and not on lips that don’t move, a tongue that doesn’t speak. Cynbel prides himself on being a worldly man, on knowing secrets of both the worlds of light and shadow, and has seen this from Whittaker before.

If only it would stop the sinking pit of despair growing inside.

Their home is vast, yes. But Cynbel is loud.

“Isseya! Isseya!”

He breezes past the one who tries to take his coat and thinks little of it. No break in his bounding strides up the stairwell three at a time even though he hasn’t an inkling where they might be hiding at such a cunning hour.

“This isn’t the time for games! Valdas — Isseya!”

“Grief, you’re a dramatic one. We’re in the drawing room!”

Cynbel rounds the doorway to a peculiar sight. The first of its kind and for them that’s a bold statement.

But Isseya does not look up from her careful medical practices. Her grip doesn’t waiver even slightly on her scalpel where it slides like a hot knife in butter inside their Divinity’s abdomen.

Valdas reaches up what little he can where he lays prone on a chaise and dabs at her forehead with a handkerchief. As though live and conscious surgery is as much a part of them as lovemaking.

If this their darling girl’s fascination with the medical profession continues it may very well become such.

Cynbel’s words choke back down his throat as he approaches. All thought gone but for the sight before him. Watching intently as she slices along the layers of Valdas’ skin until she can pull back the flesh enough to expose bone.

Valdas hisses at that, which causes Isseya to still. Not to remove herself from him, but to wait until he gives the go-ahead for her to continue.

“I’m glad you’ve returned before she finished,” wheezes Valdas — a noise that draws Cynbel’s attention up to his similarly-filleted left lung as it goes through the familiar process of molding itself back together, “here I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t get the opportunity to ask your opinion on the matter.”

Would his opinion have stopped her? “My opinion on what, exactly?”

“How lovingly our dearest penetrates me, of course.” Both of his children can see the strain on his insides as he holds back his laughter. “She’s not as thick as you are, Cynbel, but she’s a quick study.”

“Obviously.” She mumbles back.

“Do you mean sexually or medically, beautif—aah, ow—ul?”

Even at the compliment she remains focused. “Yes.”

For a moment it’s almost enough to forget; to imagine all is well. Until it isn’t.

Valdas picks at a stray bit of flesh absently. “Whatever had you in such a maelstrom must not have been that important. Though if you care to explain why you return so close to sunrise, I would hear it.”

Isseya muses alongside; “One would have thought you got your fill of sunlight for the next century or so. I certainly did.”

Yes, right. “Whittaker sent for me.” And their disgust is understandable.

“What could that thing have possibly wanted that warranted such an outrage?” asks Valdas, but it’s Isseya that Cynbel fixates on when he speaks next.

“He wished for me to identify a body pulled out of the river. That of Viscount Edwards.”

Her composure slips in an instant. Her blood-slicked grasp veers harshly to the side, is followed quickly by their Lord and Light’s cry of malcontent and fresh blood bubbling up from the new incision. Of course he has sustained greater wounds, he is the Made-God of countless ages and innumerable battles. But that doesn’t stop Valdas from watching their darling beauty with a hesitant shadow on his previously carefree expression.

It takes little time for Isseya to regain her composure, she clasps fingers interlaced over the wound as if to demand the pieces of him knit back together. Cynbel grabs a cloth from the nearest washing bowl and kneels beside her to help.

That she goes rigid at his touch hurts him more than she can ever know.

The Made-God speaks first. Because his Golden Son has no more to say. Because his Priestess will not.

“Explain yourself.” But the movement only agitates the wound and the doctor.

“When you’ve healed. Stop talking.”

“I am not beholden to your whims, Isseya,” Valdas doesn’t care that he smears his blood on her as he grasps her chin; forces their eyes to meet, “you are beholden to mine. I seek an answer, and you will not deny me.”

Decades have passed since they have heard that voice from him. The one that demands their worship and takes nothing less than all they are. The voice of their Maker; more than a God in affectionate compliments but real and true. Old and craven.

Even Cynbel feels the pull of his blood towards Him, how it turns his skin inside-out and bends his spine in supplication. Were he not so desperate for the same answers he would almost pity her.

Fuck, she’s so proud. Not defiant—never—but proud. “Of course, my Holy One. I could never — would never think to.”

“I will not repeat myself.” Explain yourself.

“There is nothing to explain.”

He moves in a blur; a speed they will never hope to match. Grip tight enough to part her lips and expose her tongue. Her scalpel still stained with his blood now with the tip pressed against it. She learned her favorite torture methods from Him after all.

“You would lie to me with mine own tongue? Then I will take it back.”

“Were I lying I would cut it out myself in offering,” and for the first time she actually wavers, “but I am not, and would ask my Holy One to spare me for it.”

Two fights in the same fortnight. He wants to scream. But he cautions a tender hand between her shoulder blades instead. “Iss’… think about this.”

Not like they haven’t killed for revenge before. So why does she tempt his wrath like this here, now? Why would she not boast of this cur’s well-deserved death like she would any other?

The thought must occur to Valdas at the same time. He drops her and the blade all at once and pulls her against him, teeth grit through the pain of his healing body but that would never be enough to stop him.

Their kiss isn’t one of apology. This is what the two worshipers of Valdemaras walked willingly into millennia ago. They love Him for this. And He loves them in return.

Cynbel’s wide palm rests where their thighs meet. Their hands cover his on instinct.

“Wash up,” he tells them, “I worry that the revenant calling on me was a sign that this will not be a thing so easily ignored. The Yard has called for an investigation.”

It’s a messy thing; the way three bodies intertwine fingers. But they have seen the uniformity of two held hands and deemed it mundane; too mundane for what they are together.

“I…” Isseya tries to speak — but the words catch in her throat. So of course Valdas kisses her again; of course he takes the words she cannot say.

“I know.” He rasps.

“You swear?”

“On my love for you,” he squeezes their hands again, “for both of you.”

Promises like that are not easily cast aside.

“I’m still struggling to understand what makes this one instance different than all the others.” And Isseya has a point, really she does — but the growing petulance in her voice is admittedly unbecoming of someone with her rank and years. “He was a disgusting, pathetic little nuisance and — and surely the both of you can attest I was positively tame that night.”

Valdas exhales through his nostrils long and slow. A pointed effort on his part to continue sipping his tea rather than speak his thoughts on the matter.

“Unlike the Ambassador to Bombay?” He’s the most recent in Cynbel’s memory and only because he still remembers the smell of fragrant oils, burning flesh, and tropical fruit. A wonderful chance to reminisce of their days trekking across the continent.

“He touched me.”

“And lost those charming looks he so coveted for his troubles.”

Valdas’ cup clinks against the saucer and draws silence from them both; has them waiting on bated breath.

“A fine memory to be sure, though made less so when paired with the hefty sum it cost our coffers to shut him up.”

Cynbel averts his eyes. Isseya refuses to regret her actions — rightfully so — but even she can’t deny the effort it took to smooth over that particular incident.

“My point remains. The Viscount and I exchanged words but he left very much alive. Call upon the other guests — force them to speak on my behalf.”

What made Cynbel think Isseya was behind the Viscount’s midnight swim in the first place? It didn’t take a genius to come to that conclusion. Revenge is to justice is to swift acts of cruelty — all things they love about her.

Valdas pinches his brow. “He was a guest of Her Royal Highness. She will want to see a culprit found and hanged.”

“Well that’s not so bad.” Cynbel himself has been hanged more times than he can count. But his relief is not shared among them.

“If Isseya is hanged we will have to flee London.”

And as always their Divinity is the most rational even in irrational hours.

“Worse —” the serving spoon in her hand doesn’t survive intact; is quickly replaced by the attending butler so used to their displays of frustration, “— if I am hanged he wins.”

“He is dead, dearest.”

“His ilk, those fucking skeletons with their skin that clings like wet lace to their outdated ideals of broodmares and sacrificial virgins.”

A word choice that has Cynbel adjusting his cravat. “You say that like being a sacrificial virgin was a bad thing…” And its a sympathetic offer his God gives but he takes the outstretched hand nevertheless.

Isseya continues; “Hang me and any woman who dares challenge those living mausoleums will suffer the same. And that I will not abide.”

Their God hums his approval. “I was wondering when you would find your righteous cause.” And her confusion only amuses him, but he takes pity and continues; “Thank about it. All of my attempts at freedom from my Maker—fruitless at times but not always—they have fueled me as much as your companionship. And Cynbel… well.”

“Such lofty compliments you bestow.”

“You tread dangerously, beloved mine. But you always have, haven’t you? Just as Gaius will always be snapping at our heels there will always be war and you haven’t exactly been subtle in your desire to seek it out.

“But nothing has held my Priestess’ interest for long enough to consume her, as we have been consumed.”

She hesitates.

“Now that I have found it I will burn London to the ground before I let it go.”

“We would not dare ask it of you. This is a good thing, Isseya. Even shadowed in death as it is.”

“A little death isn’t a bad thing.”

It takes a moment but soon his lovers wear matching smiles; the pressure of what might come eased from their shoulders.

Truthfully it would solve much of their current strife if something were to rile the world. Something to silence the aristocracy and cull the herded masses. Something to distract the Yard so the Trinity may take care of this unpleasantness swiftly and quietly.

Cynbel would kill for a war right now.

Idle hands supping on silver spoons have always fueled the world’s creativity. Didn’t matter where they went, what they saw, what was tearing nations and empires in half outside the safety of gilded walls.

The rich always find a way to make life interesting. Anything for them to feel something, even the barest spark, that their wealth no longer offered.

All those brimming vices, the pot so very near boiling over, paired with the stiff and reserved top of the English social class? Fucking insanity — and the best kind, too.

All one had to do was pull back the velvet curtain to see every temptation succumbed to, every fantasy explored, every debasement given if only for a night — if only here. What? They had to be known for something; better sodomy and seduction than for their body count. Or… that was the plan.

“Forgive the interruption, my Lord,” says the butler with all the tact of an ass in a thoroughbred race, “but your presence has been requested in the library.”

How laughable, he thinks, and because the opium started to kick in mere minutes ago he does indeed laugh. Swings his head heavy with no crown in sight and looks up with utter disinterest.

“It’s not Whittaker, is it?”

“No my Lord.”

“Thank the Christian god.” Cynbel, however, makes no move to stand and take his leave. Instead he goes back to the far more enjoyable show of paint-smeared flesh closest to the window. At least his abandoned hobby was good for something.

“Ahem, my Lord.” What are they paying him, again? Whatever it is it isn’t enough — such determination, such professionalism and decorum. Though his voice strains the third time; “Please, my Lord.”

“Cynbel just go with the fucking man,” growls Valdas from his confines; his eyes brighten red when his firstborn doesn’t immediately obey, “because at this rate I’ll have his head just to shut him up and Tobias has been so very good to us.”

“He’d be far better if he would let me enjoy the show in peace.”

There it is; the barest chip in Tobias’ almost preternatural ability to stay composed. The young man nearly rolls his eyes but catches himself at the last breath of it — especially when he sees Cynbel has indeed abandoned his delights.

“Very well,” he relents, but Tobias’ relief is short-lived, “can’t you just invite whoever it is up here? I hate that I should be inconvenienced because someone didn’t bother to send word they were calling.”

That the butler’s hesitation is confusing doesn’t make it any less amusing to him. Not until Tobias forgoes his usual announcing tone to lean forward and practically whisper into Cynbel’s ear.

“Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak out of turn. But I would rather think you would want to keep a detective far away from events such as…” he gives a shaky exhale, “such as these.”

His ease drops out from underneath him and makes Cynbel pull back; judging the truth in the familiarity of Tobias’ too-bright eyes. A detective, though of course he should have suspected this it comes no less of a surprise.

The Trinity seek one another out about the width of the drawing room. Statues of flesh soft as silk but no less stone amidst passions abundant; their artist might call them The Tragedy of Youth. Or something equally waxing philosophical and waning in temperament.

Valdas nods almost imperceptibly. Go.

Well there’s no use in staying now, anyway. Nothing kills arousal quite so easily as the police.

Just before Tobias opens the library doors Cynbel stops him with a touch to his shoulder. “Wait — did you sense anything about him? Is he…?”

With the high almost completely vanished it’s easier to see through Tobias’ glamor. He prefers to keep himself ignorant to the young man’s true face — even despite coming into a fair bit of contact with various sects of faerie outcasts through his long life there’s nothing quite so disturbing as when the shimmering veil of magic is parted and one catches the first glimpse of them. Cat-like eyes and too-high cheekbones on faces nearly always perfect and even.

Unlike in his earlier years it’s nearly impossible for the Trinity to come across an exile of the Fair Folk that meets even half their age but it isn’t impossible. Tobias is a mere three hundred at best — “But time is so different in our lands,” he had told them, “your ilk are so easily measured in generations, but we are less so,” — yet how his true face looks upon Cynbel now makes the vampire feel…

It makes him feel vulnerable. The gall of him.

Cynbel does little to contain his relief when the butler shakes his head no. “The detective is entirely human, my Lord. His aura carries echoes of will-o’-the-wisps, but —”

“But they are likely from his interactions with the revenant at the Yard.”

“I thought the same. My Lord, if I may…” he hesitates; to see an elven face uncertain is an ominous thing, “he carries the burden of grief in his soul.”

“He has seen death, it doesn’t surprise me.”

But Tobias is insistent. “The grief is not his own. Mortals are dull things to be sure but few among them have been known to… understand our world even if they are not conscious of it.”

There’s no masquerading it — its a warning; one Cynbel would be a fool to ignore. And of course he wants to hold them both back just a little longer, ask Tobias what exactly he’s trying to say, but he knows it would just be in vain. Powerful creatures were the fae. Powerful and utterly incapable of saying anything plainly and not laced in a thousand metaphors.

So Cynbel just nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

Tobias’ glamour begins to shift back into place. Though his eyes may look human now, though, he can’t see anything but the seelie truth. “The Trinity has been good to me. I could have found the same fate as the rest of my kind; wandering the foggy moors up North and giving the humans something to both fear and revere. But I have work, I have my own earned wealth… I would not see that taken from me so soon.”

As long as our interests align. It’s the only thing about the boy Cynbel half-likes.

He gives the go-ahead and Tobias opens the doors.

#bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #playchoices #choices bb #bloodbound #oc: isseya #oc: valdas #oc: cynbel #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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