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typewritingyip · 20 hours ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Six - Feelings

Part Twenty Five

———

Pilots seem to come from all walks of life, it really depends on how or who recruited them. As the death tolls rose, they started scouring the Earth for compatibility in every place that was reachable by both government agency and private industry.

Compatibility testing is not standardized across the planet, across agencies, or private companies.

Those first few years a significant portion of pilots were underage, found more compatible than older people, the youngest pilot back in the start of the program was registered at thirteen years old. After years of regulation, it was made mandatory that pilots must be of the same age to enlist to become a pilot.

As the number of attacks increased and the number of pilots was rapidly decreasing, many of those regulations were repealed in certain countries; namely the US.

It is legally viable to become a mech suit pilot as young as fifteen in the United States if they are found compatible. One private company accepts people that young for compatibility testing, while the written test is now given with the selective service paperwork to boys once they turn eighteen.

The written test is offered with voter registration, but not required.

—

Archa Three was in a system with two nearby stars, the one the planets actively orbited around and one of an extremely close system. At night the sky would shine with the distant planets and stars, Bluestreak was enjoying the night sky in the quiet. Arm around Sunstreaker’s shoulders, staring at the stars reflecting in the water.

It had only been a few minutes from when Bluestreak went quiet to Sunstreaker falling asleep, the suit slumping just enough to alert him. Ex-venting slowly, he kept his arm comfortably around Sunstreaker, staring at the horizon.

Until his comm buzzed and he nearly growled. Answering silently, “What?” The bite in his voice would have been enough to scare most people, but the voice on the other side of the comm laughed.

Though he was still laughing, it took Prowl a moment to clear his voice, “I apologize, I didn’t realize you were so invested with your overnight watch.” Bluestreak’s face burned, “Oh just shut up, fragger.” Prowl chuckled lightly again, shaking his head a bit.

Prowl and Jazz were on the edge of Paraxus, as Jazz had left Iacon sometime during their hectic day, leaving Sideswipe and Breakdown on effective lockdown in the Iacon apartment. Paraxus though the city was still rebuilding from the war it had become a tactical hub at the start of the battles with the Quintessons, realizing it could not and would not remain neutral to destruction again.

“How is Sunstreaker handling the change in command?” Prowl was keeping his voice down, likely meaning even on internal comm that Jazz was asleep somewhere nearby. Glancing down at the sleeping mech, Bluestreak smiled a bit, “It’s going like you thought it would.” Humming, Prowl fell quiet for a moment.

Bluestreak leaned his cheek against Sunstreaker’s helm, turning up his sensors. Checking the perimeter cameras and sensors with a quick scan, humming then, “He’ll be fine, just has to communicate.” He could almost feel the teasing from the other end of the comm, “That’s why I paired him with you and Ironhide.” Rolling his optics, Blue tucks one servo against Sunny’s side.

“He’s been angry, really angry then so calm. Is that normal or something that’s just Sunny?” Prowl ex-vented slowly, and Blue knew he shifted his weight. One of the mechs few tells, “So, not just Sunny?” Humming again, Prowl shook his helm slowly, “When Jazz went through overuse, it wasn’t this bad. But for him it was fight or die, he couldn’t show who he was. With Sunny and the others, they are out of their suits enough that every time they go back in it’s worse, but this is how they do things on Earth.” Venting shallowly, Blue shifts closer to Sunny, who seemed to move closer and lean more into him.

Looking back out at the ocean, Bluestreak stared, “They're more stubborn than a miner from Tarn.” Prowl’s comm cut out briefly, likely to choke back his own laugher which brought the slightest smile to his face, after a moment Prowl returned, “That is certainly one way of phrasing it, so then, how are things going for your relationship?” It took everything in Blue to not make a sound, gears grinding painfully as he adjusted in his seat.

Prowl just waited, probably wearing his stupid smirk on his faceplates, “It’s fine. Thank you for asking, you slagger.” The chuckle rang through the comm, “These things change and grow, human relationships are different from ours, not horribly so but different enough.” Venting slowly, Prowl stared out the window of the habsuite he was in, Jazz sleeping on his shoulder like Green would, “You have to have meaningful conversation, not just talking at him.” Blue rolled his optics.

The sand was warmed from the suns in this system, but even now away from the heaters it was starting to cool quickly, “We talk.” Prowl hummed, “Sunstreaker is the quietest human I have ever met, versus you.” “Hey!” Trying to hide his grin, Prowl cleared his vocal components briefly, “I am just saying, you two are different. That’s not a bad thing, it just means you both have to have patience.” And Bluestreak’s face burned, glancing down at Sunstreaker.

Though he could see him, he knew the real Sunny was asleep somewhere safe, tucked inside the suit and away from the toxic and corrosive things this planet seemed to be blanketed in, “Yeah, patient.” He vented before looking back out at the ocean, nodding a bit, “I’ve gotta get back to watch, say hi to Jazz for me.” Prowl glanced over at his own companion who was sound asleep, “I will once he wakes up, keep a vigilant optic Bluestreak.” Bluestreak hummed before disconnecting the comm.

He checked over the cameras and sensors, nodding a bit before going back to scanning the horizon. The way Sunstreaker reacted to the Quintesson ship was more than instinct, it was personal anger.

It would be something that they’d have to talk about some cycle, but Blue figured it would be the same one where he explained the so-called inside joke, “Ah, Primus.” he chuckles lightly and shakes his head a bit.

—

Staying connected to the suit while asleep was not smart or safe, but many pilots had done it before and many would do it after Sunstreaker was gone. It exacerbated overuse symptoms and increased the chances of the crash, but sometimes it was easier than dealing with the after effects of disconnecting.

The suit jolted at the same time Sunstreaker did, still connected even in his sleep, and he was gasping for air. He couldn’t see as his cockpit was shrouded in darkness.

A hand collided with his chest and he tried desperately to grab it, “No,” his voice was choked, struggling to get air in and out, the hand on his chest shoved him down, “Relax!” Sunny wasn’t familiar with whatever the muffled voice was saying. Finally, he hits the emergency start up for his visual feed.

Ironhide was over him, pinning him to the sad, practically snarling at him, “Online! Fragging online!” Sunny’s visor brightens just a bit as the rest of his external feeds kick online, sand was spraying all over them, “What the hell?” Ironhide pulls him up and points, “We’ve got company!” He stared for a moment before swearing and online the rest of his suits systems, “Damnit, damnit!” He grabs hold of the controls and adjusts the suit to standing.

The beach was in chaos, it was just shy of morning and there were craters everywhere. It looked so much like the field in Santa Monica. Sunstreaker finally got his head up and stared for a long moment, it was only one ship but it was doing a lot of damage, meaning Sunstreaker had probably pissed them off.

Ironhide still had him by the shoulder and pulls him back behind cover, “When I put you on overnight watch that doesn’t mean give it to Bluestreak so you can recharge!” Hitting the sand again, Sunny groans slightly, “I didn’t mean to fall to sleep! Fuck, alright, just let me handle this.” He slowly rolls and pears over their cover at the ship that was shooting at them.

He could just see Bluestreak tucked in cover, holding his shoulder with his rifle leaned against his side, “Goddamnit, I can’t even get a decent nights sleep.” With a deep sigh, he adjusts the extension for his bracers before going over the cover and towards the gunfire.

—

Sand was still blowing against his suit and it had been hard to sleep, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Hound had disconnected from the suit for the most part, but kept a screen up with the external feel along with a hold on Mirage’s arm.

He was sitting on the floor, helmet off and eating while watching the outside for the clearing of the storm. Every few minutes Mirage would shift them both and send him tilting the other direction. If he got motion sick, it would make the experience only mildly unpleasant. Right now, he didn’t mind.

The external audio was turned down, mostly wind noise, but some of it was Mirage’s murmurings. Some of it even sounded like praying. Sighing slowly, Hound leaned against the side of his piloting chair, adjusting again as Mirage’s grip shifted again. Grabbing his helmet, he pulls it on before turning on his comm and pinging Mirage.

It took a second for Mirage to answer, “I thought you were asleep.” Hound smiled a bit and leaned his head back against the arm of his chair, “I slept for a bit, but after a while the wind isn’t just white noise anymore.” With a hum, Mirage shifted again, “Are you comfortable?” He chuckled lightly, “Yes Mirage, I’m alright.” Hound sighed slowly.

The wind was still howling, “How close to sunrise are we?” Hound closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly, “Only a few klicks or so, least it should be.” Hound nodded then hummed, realizing his mech wouldn’t move, “And then we find the source of the storm?” Mirage chuckled lightly, “If there is one, yes.” he sighed slowly and held Hound that little bit closer.

Hound slid a bit on the floor and tried not to laugh as he adjusted, “I really am fine Mirage, sandstorms happen on Earth too.” But the mech remains quiet and Hound’s breath caught, “Mirage?” There was a moments pause, “Yes?” Sighing slowly, Hound stood, “Do they have storms like this on Cybertron?” And Mirage sighed shakily, “Not where I’m from, no.” Hound stared at his visual feed for only a moment longer.

Back in his chair, he connected with a bit of a jolt and moved quickly, trying not to hurt Mirage while he moved them both. The wind was trying to shove his suit back to the ground and Mirage wasn’t much help, wiggling and thrashing before finally they had switched places.

Hound was now pinning Mirage to the ground, though not face first in the sand, and Hound’s mech was cradling the poor man’s head, “You should have said something.” He really couldn’t see Mirage, the sand was that dense in the dark, but he had him on infrared, “You were asleep when the storm hit and I couldn’t wake you. I was fine.” Hound scoffs and shakes his head, “You’re insane.” But he continues to hold Mirage’s head away from the ground.

To be fair, Hound knew if he wasn’t in his mech, it would be incredibly awkward to hold any person like this. Watching Mirage’s face get warmer on infrared was proving that fact, but he just held on as still as the suit would allow, “Back home, I’m from essentially a desert. I only lived there a few years but it’s still home.” Mirage’s optics turned towards his visor, though Hound wasn’t sure if he could see him through the storm.

“We didn’t get storms this bad and there wasn’t a ton of sand, but we’d still get them. We’d also get the densest fog you’d ever see.” Hound just hoped that his talking would help keep the poor guy calm, he sighed slowly.

Clearing his throat a bit, Hound lowers his head slightly and closes his eyes, “On Earth, more specifically back home, out in the fields on the really windy days we’d get very weak tornados that would really only move the dust around. They were small and harmless, but they’d still send sand and crap into your eyes. Uh, they were called dust devils, I think. But it could be the most clear and beautiful day and it would be ruined by the fucking sand.” His helm lightly touched the edge of Mirage’s chest plating.

Mirage was staring, just able to see Hound through the sand and to say the least was deeply embarrassed. It was one thing to be frightened by a sand storm, it was another to be comforted by the most oblivious mech in the universe. His own hands had been stiff at his sides, as Hound’s had held his head just above the sand, the poor mech's elbows buried in sand. Slowly, painfully slowly he’d rested his hands back around Hound who just kept rambling on about Earth.

It really was a comfort to listen to him, and Mirage smiled softly, brushing a hand lightly up Hound’s side, “Earth sounds so nice.” Hound looked up, visor brightening, “I miss it, sometimes.” He sighed slowly, shifting slightly in his chair while keeping the suit as still as he could. His implants felt like they were burning and the skin around them was swollen, “But the work is here. I wouldn’t wish to be there, when there’s so much to do here.” He smiled a bit, “Do you feel better?”

Mirage really wanted to punch the oblivious idiot, “Yeah, I do.” Hound smiled, “Good, I’m glad.” He lowered his suit’s head back down, “Get some rest Mirage, I’ve got you till the storm breaks.” Mirage stared at him like Hound had grown a second helm, the mech was insane and oblivious. Rolling his optics a bit, he vents out.

Tapping a few things in the controls, Hound locks up the suit, keeping it in place. He doubted it was the most comfortable thing for Mirage, but it might be the most comforting. Yawning, he removes his helmet and tosses his legs over the arm of his piloting chair, “God, it had to be the middle of the night, didn’t it?” Mirage chuckled in the dark, “That is the way things go.” And Hound smiled, closing his eyes.

—

The room was pleasantly dark and the bed decently comfortable, his arm thrown over his eyes. Since it was just himself and Sideswipe, the apartment was almost pleasantly quiet. It had been hard, the first few days of bed rest but his overuse symptoms had been limited before the concussion and he had yet to be back in the suit since.

Almost all overuse symptoms were gone, though Breakdown had experienced them in the past. His were slightly different from the Americans, as his implants didn’t bleed or drain, as most of the skin around them had been cauterized. It was only once on loan to MECHA did any of his integrated hardware get updated.

Almost all of the new stuff was still in fact new. For the twins, their implants and things were only a few years old, Hound and Jazz had had them for almost or around ten years, as had Breakdown with his original integrations. The ones for the upgrades though, those only came about in the last year or two, they would still itch and burn.

Right now his right arm was burning and he thought about getting up to get some water to put on it, but Sideswipe’s music was being played at unbearable levels in the living room.

So, Breakdown just turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

Sideswipe was playing his music while checking through part of the wiring on his suit, nodding along to the few familiar sounds from home that were withstanding. At the end of the week, if Breakdown was cleared by Jazz, he’d be shipping out to join Megatron and Hound while Sideswipe was still wondering who on earth this Elita-One person was.

They couldn’t be that bad, most of who he’d met had been nice enough. Sometimes a little scary but he doubted anyone reached Megatron’s level of intensity.

The little comm on the wall started to ping, which would go ignored until Sideswipe could get his helmet microphone working again, so it would just sit there and ping. He swore loudly as the wires he connected burned his fingers lightly, kicking his assistance suit off the table.

Breakdown covered his ears and turned into his pillow.

—

It wasn’t particularly hard to disable its small shuttle craft, these were run of the mill and more typical back home than they had been in the nearly seven months that they’d been among the Cybertronian’s. Then again, they were fighting an army of these freaks compared to the one or two that was able to topple an Earth city.

Sunstreaker was breathing heavy, mask back on as the air in his tanks was starting to drain with the exertion, “Fall back!” He throws his arm behind him a bit, tangled with the Quintesson, whose ship was above them and still laying down covering fire through the cybertronian camp, “Sunstreaker, don’t be stupid!” Ironhide was behind him, just barely covered by an overturned crate and holding his arm.

It was singed and sparking painfully.

Barely sparing a glance over his shoulder, Sunstreaker drags his blade across one of the tentacles of the Quintesson, splattering his mech in that familiar disgusting green, “Ironhide, fall back and get the others to a safe distance! That ship isn’t going to be able to stay up there if it uses up all its energy on the covering fire!” The Quintesson quickly tugged him back and screamed, trying to pry at his plating.

Someone yelled loudly and several blaster shots came incredibly close to Sunny’s visual feed, one camera cutting out with a flash as he swung around, foot colliding with the beak of the enemy. It shrieked and reeled back, Sunny bringing one of his bladed bracers down on it again, splattering more green across the light sand.

There was no more yelling behind him and he could finally focus on just the fight, Ironhide pinging him to alert him of their retreat location. With a bit of a smile, Sunstreaker dove at the monster again, pulling at its limbs with a horrific squelching noise. Wrapping its limbs around his arms and pulling, tearing them away from the alien and cutting them when they wouldn’t give, it screamed and tried to get hold of his legs again.

He stomped on it and headbutted the thing, though he thought for a second he heard his visor crack, another camera was quick to pop offline, which he doubted was a good thing. Sunstreaker was still able to maintain his entire visual feed, resorting to auxiliary cameras.

This particular specimen had denser skin than other Quints he fought, harder to pull apart and nearly impossible to cleave in two without Sideswipe there, but he was still trying. Spraying the beautiful beach in green as the ship above lets out its final pathetic shots on the distant sand, its menacing hum turning into a pathetic whine.

It started to let out an alarmed sound, which caused the Quintesson to look up and gave Sunny the perfect moment to jump forward, arm going half way deep into its body. It gurgled briefly, spraying the front of his mech greener still, before its tentacles fell from around Sunstreaker and it’s body gave way. It almost dragged Sunny to the sand too.

He hardly had a moment to catch his breath before turning than diving the other way, the absurdly large scout ship crashing onto the beach where it’s energy cells were quick to explode upon impact. Spraying the once beautiful organic paradise in a horrible mix of technological and organic shipwreck. Leaving the beautiful beach on fire.

The concussive wave hit last, slamming into Sunstreaker’s suit like a perfectly placed punch, enough to knock the wind out of him.

Laying in the sand, the water comes up and brushes over parts of his mech and Sunstreaker tried not to laugh. There, on the beach, staring up at the brightening sky, it really did remind him of home for a long moment.

Chuckling and sitting up, he rubbed a hand over his covered face, moving to remove the oxygen mask before stopping. Starting. The hand of his mech had glass sticking in its seams, a light blue glass, “Oh shit.” He didn’t know how bad it would be, but that would be a part that would be incredibly difficult to replace or explain having to replace.

With a shove off the ground, he pulled up the coordinates sent to him by Ironhide and started that way, a few mechs already appearing from around the area to try and start putting out the fire. A few had upgrades that were able to put down extinguishing agents.

Sunstreaker kept walking, even as a few people he knew stopped to gawk at him, which was not a good sign to be able to explain this away.

It got even worse when Flatline came running up to him, the mech was large and intimidating but an incredible medic, “Sunstreaker, you need to stop, just hold still!” His hand lightly grabbed Sunstreaker’s suit, and Sunny pulled back, holding up his hands lightly, “It looks worse than it is, I swear.” Poor Flatline looked horrified, “There are going to be mechs who actually need your help, cause of the explosion and stuff.” Sunny added lamely.

This was not going to help his case, even as he kept backing up, now in the tree line and edging close to where Ironhide had ordered the retreat to. More mecha were gawking at him or even gasping, this was bad, “Sunstreaker, it is more than just appearing incredibly painful, your optics,” “Are fine! I swear, it’s just the visor, I think. I can see.” He tries sidestepping the medic, when sends him colliding with his commanding officer. Today was just turning into the perfect mess.

Ironhide looked ready to yell when Sunstreaker turned to him, before going pale, or cold, Sunny wasn’t entirely sure which to describe it as for a mech, “Sweet primus, how are you still standing?” Sunstreaker winces, “Is it really that bad?” Ironhide gawked at him as someone nearby was sobbing.

”That bad? Kid, your visor is shattered and you’ve got a graze that took out part of your finial.” The sobbing got louder, “Oh Blue, he’s alive! Calm down, for sparks sake.” Ironhide sighs slowly, staring, “Does it hurt?” Sunstreaker could only offer a shrug and the truth, “I don’t feel a thing, but I was designed that way.” Flatline made a strangled noise and Ironhide looked ready to either pass out or murder mankind, he wasn’t sure which at the moment, “Come on kid, sit down, let Flatline at least, at least cover it.” Nodding a bit, Sunstreaker slowly sits.

Flatline filled most of his visual feed in the next second, “I don’t have the parts to replace this,” “I don’t think you could if you wanted to. A lot of your stud won’t integrate with our systems.” Flatline looked to Ironhide, who could only nod, then Flatline swore and started to put god knows what across his suit's visor.

It went quiet for a bit after that, Ironhide disappearing out of Sunny’s field of view and Sunstreaker couldn’t move without being growled at. Intimidating indeed.

It was only once the shattered visor was mostly covered and Sunstreaker had adjusted his cameras did Ironhide reappear, with Bluestreak to his left looking horribly distraught. Sunny smiled and realized that Blue wouldn’t see it before sending him a ping, which opened far faster than would be humanly possible. He still offered a smile, but it didn’t seem to improve Blue’s mood.

Ironhide cleared his throat a bit, “Sunstreaker, I gave an order to Bluestreak here to fire on the Quintesson when he had a clear shot.” He pauses and looks at Blue then back at Sunny.

It honestly looked Sunny way too long to put two and two together, he paused before staring with a slightly slack jaw, “Wait, Blue shot me? In the face?” Bluestreak made a pained noise, “To be fair, he was shooting the tentacle that was trying to wrap itself around your face that you were ignoring. The second shot just hit your face since the first one severed the thing.” Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker goes to rub his face in thought and three mechs were quick to grab his arm.

”Don’t touch it! It’s only a cover till you can get it repaired.” Flatline was glaring now, so Sunstreaker slowly lowered his hands. Ironhide sighed deeply, “This could have been a lot worse, if we were using the weapons from the war.” Nodding for a moment, Sunny looked to Ironhide, “You’re not using the weapons from the war?” “Primus no, those things were designed to kill us. To go through cyber-mater. We only use the new stuff now.” He nods a bit, clearly worried but unwilling to show it.

Bluestreak’s hand lightly covered his mouth, “It’s… It’s only supposed to-to hurt organics.” His voice wavered and rose, but Ironhide’s hand came down, “See? It’s nothing personal, kid. We all get shot by an ally at some point, though it’s usually Mirage as the high caste bastard can turn himself invisible.” Bluestreak looked at Sunstreaker, clearly still distraught and horrified, but Sunny nodded a bit and moves over, taking his hand, “I’m not hurt, I swear.” Ironhide and Flatline shared a look.

With a deep sigh, Ironhide rests a hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, “I think it’s fair to say you're off punishment Civi, just, get some rest while we try to recover anything from camp. Try to recall Skyfire and the shuttle to get the pit out of here.” He nodded a bit before going off, barking orders again.

Sunstreaker stared after them, “That Quintesson comms station was at camp.” Bluestreak took his hand and held it tightly, “That doesn’t matter.” Looking at Blue, Sunny shakes his head lightly, “I’m not hurt Blue, it just busted up a camera or two.” But the pain on Bluestreak’s face wouldn’t be going away any time soon, “But you look hurt and I caused it.” Sunstreaker sighed, leaning his head against Bluestreak’s shoulder.

Even though they were in the tree line, the waves were still audible, “I’m human Blue, whether I was hurt or just my suit, we both know this is what I was made to do.” Bluestreak’s grip held tighter, “I hate that you pilots feel the need to live and die for this.” Sunstreaker smiled sadly, “What else would there be to live for? When your world would die if you didn’t at least try.” He sighed slowly, running diagnostics.

They sat there, silently, Bluestreak looking both at the suit and the human in the corner of his visual feed, unable to stop thinking about the fact that his gun was re-designed specifically to kill organics.

———

A/N

So I basically wrote this all tonight, cause I lost track of time and forgot it was Monday after posting an earlier chapter on Ao3. I was busy today anyways.

It’s not likely that I’ll have part 27 for you guys on Friday, just cause I have to write some personal statement for applications this week.

Also also, earlier when I mentioned it being action and fluff? Yeah, I have written up till Sunny was just starting the fight with the Quint, I did not anticipate the later part of this chapter.

Sunny’s visor for his suit has a small chunk taken out of it, right near where his right eye would be, and it had spider webbed the glass. It’s not a pretty picture, plus the tip of his finial thing had been sheered down. I promise if you look at @cosmique-oddity ‘s art for Arcturus you’ll know what I mean.

Uh, anyways. I hope you enjoy this late chapter. P. 25 didn’t do great last week so we’ll see?

Also I have no idea who Flatline is. I know he is a decepticon medic from IDW and I needed a medic that could be on Archa three with them.

TAGS!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mech pilot jazz au #mecha pilot jazz au #maccadam #the arcturus missions #sunstreaker #jazz #hound #sideswipe #breakdown #ironhide #mirage #bluestreak #flatline

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inky-writing · 2 days ago

Text

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: my bad writing, MDNI, +18 only, NSFW, love, CARLISLE is hot, anyway, THIRST

Word count: 4, 436

<<< Previous chapter

Book II, Chapter 7: A Night In Port Angeles

The cafeteria was loud with the usual chatter of students eager for the weekend, but at the table where Y/N sat with her friends, the conversation had taken an interesting turn.

Mike, with his usual enthusiasm, leaned toward Bella, his grin wide. “So, Bella, I was thinking… maybe we could go see a movie tonight?”

Bella stiffened, eyes darting to Y/N, who barely looked up from her notebook. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the awkwardness.

Mike quickly backpedaled. “I mean—only if you want to! We could, you know, all go together.”

Bella let out a quiet breath of relief before giving an eager nod. “Yeah! A group thing sounds fun.”

Eric laughed. “Wow, smooth, Newton.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Angela chimed in. “We haven’t done anything fun as a group in a while.”

“You in, Y/N?” Jessica turned to her.

Y/N shook her head, offering a small smile. “Can’t. I already have plans.”

As the conversation shifted to what movie to see, Y/N returned her attention to her notebook, though she hadn’t actually been working on anything in the last few minutes.

It had been exactly two weeks since she’d discovered the truth about soulmates in her grimoire. Two weeks since she had confirmed Carlisle was back in town. Two weeks of secret meetings, stolen conversations, and desperate attempts to untangle the web of lies Esme had woven around the Cullens.

She still wasn’t sure what scared her more, Carlisle’s unwavering belief that she was his mate, or the fact that she felt it too.

Carlisle’s pov

Carlisle sat in the dimly lit study of the temporary home he had rented in Port Angeles, his fingers absentmindedly running over the old text in front of him. The words blurred together, but his mind was elsewhere.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days since Y/N discovered he had returned to Forks. Fourteen days of secrecy, of quiet meetings with Y/N, of trying to unravel a mystery that seemed impossible.

He now knew, without a doubt, that Esme had been lying to him.

The fog that had clouded his mind for years had begun to lift the moment he distanced himself from her. It was subtle at first, just flickers of clarity. But every moment he spent away from her, every meeting with Y/N, made it clearer.

Esme had done something to him.

Something unnatural.

But how?

Vampires didn’t have abilities like that. At least, none that he had ever encountered.

Y/N, for all her own growing power, had been just as perplexed. They had spent hours talking, exchanging theories, poring over texts she had access to, and retracing the past century of his life for any clues.

But still, nothing.

A part of him wanted to believe it was just his own mind breaking free of a long-held illusion. That maybe, just maybe, he had been mistaken about Esme all these years.

But another part of him, the part that could still hear Esme’s voice in the back of his mind, whispering reassurances and promises, knew it was far more than that.

He closed the book and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Y/N had asked him once—What does this mean for you?

At the time, he hadn’t been able to answer.

But now?

Now, he knew.

It meant his entire existence had been a lie.

Later that day - Y/N’s pov

The air was crisp that night, the scent of saltwater drifting in from the bay as Y/N parked her Jeep outside Carlisle’s rental in Port Angeles. The house itself was small, nothing extravagant, but fitting for a man like him. A warm glow flickered through the windows, a contrast to the cool evening outside.

She had been here a few times before, but never this late. Never with her heart pounding this hard in her chest.

Taking a breath, she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.

It opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her.

Carlisle stood there in the dim light, wearing a black tshirt, exposing strong forearms lined with veins. His hands, God, his hands, were the kind that looked like they could ruin her.

“Come in,” he said, voice deep, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N hesitated for just a second before walking past him, the scent of something delicious hitting her instantly.

“You cooked?” she asked, surprised.

He gave a soft chuckle, closing the door behind her. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately.”

Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl, and she winced.

Carlisle smirked, leading her to the dining table where a plate was already set. The meal was simple, grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

She slid into the chair, watching as he poured her a glass of water. His movements were effortless, precise, like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.

“I wanted to.” He sat across from her, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, and she had to stop herself from staring at the way the fabric of his tshirt stretched over his muscles.

She picked up her fork, trying to focus on the food instead of the way her skin felt hot under his attention.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable, but thick with something unspoken.

Carlisle’s eyes studied her. “You’ve been working too hard.”

She swallowed, setting her fork down. “So have you.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “True. But at least I don’t forget to eat.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the blush rising to her cheeks.

Carlisle leaned back slightly, stretching his arms behind his head for a moment, and Y/N had to look away before she embarrassed herself. How was it even possible for a man to look so effortlessly attractive doing something so simple?

“You’re blushing,” he teased, voice lower now.

Her head snapped up. “No, I’m not.”

His smirk deepened. “You are.”

She scowled, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip. This is dangerous, she thought.

Because for the past two weeks, something had been shifting between them. It wasn’t just the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, or the way she found herself thinking about him more than she should.

It was the way he looked at her.

Like she was something worth looking at.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake the thought away. “Did you find anything new?”

His expression sobered, the teasing glint in his eyes fading just slightly. “Not yet. But I know Esme is manipulating more than just my thoughts. She’s… controlling on a deeper level.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation, though her pulse was still racing. “She doesn’t manipulate fate. Just minds.”

Carlisle exhaled, running a hand through his hair—a rare sign of frustration. “Then the question is… how long has she been doing this? And why?”

Y/N frowned, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. “You said it started before you even met me, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. But it’s worse now.”

She met his gaze, her voice softer now. “Because of me?”

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he answered. “Because of us.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to stay composed.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what she felt for him.

And, despite everything, despite the way it terrified her, she knew he felt it too.

He just couldn’t say it.

By the time they finished dinner, the wind had turned violent, howling against the windows of Carlisle’s rental like a wounded animal. The rain started minutes later, heavy and relentless, drumming against the roof with an unforgiving rhythm.

Y/N glanced at the window, her stomach twisting slightly. The drive back to Forks would be hell in this storm.

Carlisle must have noticed the way she tensed because he leaned forward. “You shouldn’t drive in this.” His voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes, concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, but even as the words left her mouth, a sharp gust of wind rattled the glass, making her wince.

Carlisle arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not convincing.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. He’s right. It was stupid to drive back in this kind of weather, especially at night.

Still, she hesitated. Staying the night at his place? Alone?

Dangerous.

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. His tshirt clung to his torso, the fabric stretching just enough to remind her of the solid muscle beneath.

She swallowed.

“I have a room,” he added, as if sensing her hesitation. “You’ll be safe here.”

Y/N bit her lip. The wind howled again, shaking the entire house.

Shit.

With a sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Fine. Let me call Charlie.”

Carlisle didn’t say anything, just watched her with those sharp golden eyes as she dialed.

It only rang once before Charlie picked up. “Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She glanced at the window, listening to the wind roar. “I, uh… got stuck in Port Angeles. The storm’s too bad to drive back, so I just got a hotel room for the night.”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I just heard the warning on the radio. Good call, kid. Just be safe, alright?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll drive back in the morning.”

They exchanged quick goodnights before she hung up. When she turned back to Carlisle, he was watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

“You didn’t tell him you were here,” he noted.

She shrugged. “He’d ask too many questions.”

He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he stood, stretching slightly before gathering their plates.

Y/N’s eyes flickered down on instinct.

Oh, hell.

The hem of his sweater lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach, taut muscle and a sharp V-line disappearing beneath his jeans.

Heat flooded her face.

She snapped her gaze away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” he said. “In the meantime, if you want to shower, the bathroom is just down the hall.”

She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. That… sounds good.”

The shower was exactly what she needed.

The warm water eased some of the tension from her shoulders, and she took her time washing the day away. But her mind refused to stay quiet.

Instead, it drifted back to him.

Carlisle.

The way he looked tonight, the way he always looked, really. But tonight, in that damn tshirt, with his veined hands gripping the pan while cooking, with the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly when he moved…

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Get a grip, Y/N.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t just some guy. He was Carlisle Cullen. And no matter what they felt, no matter what he claimed about mates and Esme and manipulation, he was still married.

…Wasn’t he?

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly. It was all too much. The storm outside, the storm inside her.

But even as she tried to shake the thoughts away, the image of him lingered behind her eyes. The sharp cut of his jaw. The way his amber eyes darkened when he looked at her. The stretch of his body when he leaned back at dinner.

Her stomach tightened.

She needed to finish this shower before she lost her damn mind.

She exhaled as she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her like a soft mist. The air outside the warm cocoon of the shower was cooler, making goosebumps rise on her damp skin.

Carlisle had left clothes for her just outside the door, a large, soft white t-shirt that smelled like him, and a pair of sweatpants that would no doubt be too big for her. She pulled them on, her skin still warm from the water, and the fabric felt almost too comfortable.

The t-shirt swallowed her frame, the neckline slipping slightly off one shoulder. She didn't hate it. In fact, she liked the way it felt, as if he had wrapped her in something his. She shook the thought away and ran a hand through her damp hair before padding barefoot back into the living room.

Carlisle was lounging on the L-shaped couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he flicked through channels on the TV remote.

And God help her, she was thirsty.

Her eyes betrayed her instantly, trailing down his torso, lingering on the way the soft fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. Then lower, over the faint ridges of his abs beneath the fabric, down to his strong thighs, which were definitely taking up more than their fair share of space on the couch.

And those damn sweatpants.

She swallowed.

“Find something to watch?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

He glanced up at her and gave her a small, almost lazy smile. “Not yet. Any preferences?”

She shook her head and made her way to the couch, sitting beside him. She tried, really tried, not to notice the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the way his veined hands gripped the remote, the way he smelled like cedar and something inherently Carlisle.

But failing miserably.

He must have noticed the way she kept fidgeting because he finally set the remote down and turned slightly to face her. “How’s your medical school application process going?”

Right. Med school. A safe topic.

She exhaled, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s… a lot. I’ve sent in my applications to a few places, but I’m still waiting to hear back.”

He nodded, eyes warm and attentive. “You’ll get in. You’re brilliant.”

She bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest at the certainty in his voice. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “What do you want from it?”

She blinked. “From med school?”

“From your future,” he clarified.

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly. “I guess… I just want to help people. To matter.”

His gaze softened. “You already do.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. A part of her wanted to reach for him.

No.

She shouldn’t.

But it was getting harder to resist.

She was still warm from the shower, but she felt hotter now. Was it just her, or had he shifted closer?

Her heartbeat picked up.

And then she caught him looking.

At her.

More specifically, at her chest.

Her nipples were peaked beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. The realization made her stomach tighten, heat pooling low.

Carlisle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his golden eyes darkening just a fraction.

And suddenly, they weren’t talking anymore.

Somewhere between words and silence, the space between them disappeared.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was him leaning in, or her shifting closer, but before she could think about it, his hand was brushing against her jaw, tilting her chin up.

A breath.

A moment.

Then his lips were on hers.

It started slow, testing, almost hesitant, but as soon as she sighed against his mouth, as soon as she parted her lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss, all hesitation disappeared.

Carlisle groaned softly, shifting until he was angled toward her, his large hands framing her face as he kissed her with more intensity.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath. He was strong, she could feel it in the way he held her, the way his hands moved from her face down to her waist, pulling her closer, as if he needed her closer.

Her hands traveled up, slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling his skin, the hard ridges of his stomach. He inhaled sharply at the contact, his grip tightening on her hips.

The kiss turned desperate.

She gasped when he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath ragged against her lips as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her chest heaved, lips swollen from the kiss.

Carlisle’s eyes roamed over her face before dropping lower, his hands skimmed up her sides, fingertips brushing beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough. “And I will.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again, fingers tangling in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groaned against her lips, hands gripping her hips, guiding her to press against him.

She gasped at the feeling, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Y/N…” His voice was strained, his forehead pressing against hers as if trying to regain control.

Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling slightly against him.

They were playing with fire.

And neither of them wanted to put it out.

Carlisle’s breath was hot against Y/N’s lips, his hands firm on her hips, holding her against him as though she might slip away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t—not when the feel of him, the taste of him, was setting her skin ablaze.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt, fingers ghosting over her ribs before sliding up, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, her back arching into his touch, pressing her chest against his palms. He groaned, rolling his hips up instinctively.

The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt him beneath her, hard and thick, pressing against her through his sweatpants. Heat pooled in her belly, a desperate ache settling between her thighs.

She wanted more.

Needed more.

Carlisle kissed down her jaw, his lips tracing a slow path to her neck. He paused, breathing her in, before sucking gently at the skin just below her ear. She whimpered, fingers tangling in his golden hair as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

His hands slid higher, pushing her shirt up over her head. She let him, raising her arms as he stripped it from her, tossing it aside.

He froze for a second, just looking at her, his golden eyes darkening as they roamed over her bare skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost reverently.

She shivered under his gaze, heart hammering in her chest. Then his hands were on her again, one sliding up her back, the other gripping her waist as he leaned forward, pressing his lips between her breasts. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, his mouth closing over it, sucking lightly.

She moaned, hips rocking against him, seeking friction.

Carlisle growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on her hips as he guided her movements, pressing her down against his arousal.

“Carlisle…” She barely recognized her own voice, breathless and needy.

He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

Her stomach clenched at the nickname, desire flooding her veins.

“I want you,” she admitted, voice trembling with need.

His jaw clenched, his restraint visibly slipping. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, cupping his face. “Yes. I need you.”

That was all it took.

In a blur of movement, she was on her back, Carlisle hovering over her, his weight pressing her into the couch. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, before trailing his lips down her body, worshiping every inch of her with his mouth.

He peeled the sweatpants from her legs, taking her underwear with them. His fingers traced up her thighs, spreading her open before him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

He didn’t waste any time. His mouth was on her, tongue sliding between her folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She cried out, fingers gripping his hair as he devoured her, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking.

She was so close, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Carlisle, I…”

“Let go,” he murmured against her, his voice like sin.

And she did.

Pleasure crashed over her in waves, her thighs shaking as she came against his mouth. He groaned, gripping her hips to hold her still as he licked her through it, savoring every drop of her pleasure.

When she finally caught her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips finding hers once more. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the thought only made her want him more.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. He sat back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. Her fingers traced over them, marveling at the perfection of him.

Then her hands dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. She felt him—hot, heavy, and thick in her palm. He groaned, his head falling forward as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Y/N,” he growled, his breath ragged.

She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. “I want you inside me.”

His restraint snapped.

He kicked off his sweatpants and settled between her legs, lining himself up with her entrance. He paused, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

She cupped his face. “You won’t.”

With one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into her, stretching her inch by inch. She gasped at the fullness, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to the crook of her neck. “You feel… perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting forward again, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Their moans filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin against skin.

“Carlisle—”

“I know, love,” he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come for me.”

A few more thrusts, and she was falling apart again, her body tightening around him. He cursed, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release.

With a final groan, he pulled out, spilling on her stomach and breast as he whispered her name like a prayer.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies tangled, their breaths mingling.

Then Carlisle lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

The soft golden glow of morning filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting warm streaks of light across the sheets. Y/N stirred, sighing as the soreness in her body reminded her of the night before. She was naked beneath the covers, the faint scent of Carlisle still lingering on her skin.

They had barely slept.

Every time she thought they were done, Carlisle had pulled her back in, whispering her name in that deep, velvety voice, his hands tracing the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. He had worshiped her, again and again, until she had collapsed against him, boneless and spent.

Now, she stretched lazily, rolling onto her back. The sheets were cool beside her. Carlisle was already up.

The distant sound of movement in the kitchen caught her attention. A small smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his shirt from last night, slipping it over her head before padding barefoot toward the source of the noise.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Carlisle standing at the counter, his broad back to her. He had changed into black sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeve Henley, the fabric hugging his muscular shoulders and arms in a way that made her mouth go dry.

He was flipping pancakes, his veiny hands effortlessly maneuvering the pan. A fresh pot of coffee steamed beside him, along with a plate of eggs and toast.

Her heart skipped at the sight.

"You’re cooking again?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.

Carlisle turned, his golden eyes lighting up at the sight of her in his shirt.

"You need to eat," he said simply, a small smile playing on his lips. "You barely did last night, and I kept you… occupied."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "That’s one way to put it."

He smirked, setting a plate in front of her as she sat at the kitchen island. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she whispered, her stomach flipping.

They ate together, the air between them comfortable, though electric with everything that had happened the night before.

But soon, reality crept back in. She had to go home before Charlie started asking questions, and there was still so much left unresolved about Esme.

She kissed Carlisle one last time before heading out, the memory of his hands on her still burning beneath her skin.

By the time she got home, it was early afternoon, and she barely had time to process everything before Bella came bursting into the living room, looking frantic.

"Where have you been?" Bella demanded, eyes wide.

Y/N blinked. "I was…"

"It doesn’t matter," Bella cut her off. "You won’t believe what happened last night."

Charlie had just walked into the room, sighing. "She’s been like this all morning."

Y/N frowned. "What happened?"

Bella ran a hand through her hair. "The others didn’t show up—just Mike and Jacob. Then Mike got sick, and Jacob almost got into a fight with Mike for no reason. But that’s not even the weird part."

She took a breath. "Jacob had a fever… like, he was burning up. And then, after I got home, he called me saying he’s really sick now, but something feels wrong."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

Charlie sighed. "Probably just the flu. Half the town’s sick right now."

Bella shook her head. "No, it’s not just that. He was acting weird. Saying things that didn’t make sense…"

Y/N exchanged a look with Charlie, then sighed. "You should let him rest, Bella. I’m sure he’ll be fine."

Bella bit her lip, looking unconvinced. But there was nothing more to be done.

Still, as Y/N headed upstairs to her room, a bad feeling settled in her stomach.

Something was changing.

And she wasn’t sure any of them were ready for it.

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