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writingsbychlo · 5 years ago

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fakers | alpha!void

word count; 13,813

summary; you just need someone. topretend to be your alpha until you can graduate, and unfortunately, the only applicate candidate is Eli, your best friends void twin.

notes; stick with me, okay? Void’s name is Noah in this, but he goes by ‘E’ or ‘Eli’ for his reputation. He’s Noah Eli Stilinski III, named after his dad’s grandfather since Stiles was named after their mom’s grandfather, just roll with it.

warnings; smut, a/b/o themes throughout, mating, marking, blood play, reference to harassment, reference to cheating.

The minute you took your seat at the lunch table, Scott’s nose was twitching, his eyes flicking to you as he politely tried to ignore the scent but it was hard, and you gave him a small smile in thanks. Your eighteenth birthday had been a curse, in your opinion. Only two months prior had you hit the big number, and you once reasonably diluted omega scent had shot up to incredibly potent, even betas being able to smell it.

By eighteen, most omegas had found an alpha, a relationship to be in and the scent of their mate would cover their own, their body reacting to the affection even if they hadn't been given a mark yet, but not you.

It wasn’t unheard of for omegas to still be single and unmarked at eighteen, it was becoming more and more common as the modern-day evolved, but it still sucked to be a high school senior and have almost every alpha within your vicinity leering at you constantly because their own pheromones decreed that upon sniffling out an omega who was ready for a heat that they should immediately jump on that.

Stiles slung an arm over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your temple and doing his best to spread his own scent all over you, not that it would help much, he too was an omega, but unlike you, he’d found an alpha. Four weeks before Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, alpha and deputy-in-training Derek Hale had shocked everyone by stepping up and asking Stiles on a date, the two still happily together

He did his best to spread his own scent on you as often as he could, but since your birthday the act had practically become irrelevant. Your friends did the best they could to protect you, shield you from the alphas that often tracked you through the corridors and attempted to convince you to go out with them, but you didn’t want any of them. What you wanted was to graduate, and go to college, and find someone who liked you for you, not because their genetic chemistry told them they did.

“You should get a fake alpha.” Isaac joked, your eyes snapping up to shoot him a false glare but Stiles shrugged beside you, squeezing your shoulder lightly.

“I hate to agree with the person who wears scarves in August, but it’s not a bad idea. Find someone who you can trust, and ask them to scent you until graduation.” Your gaze flicked to your best friend, eyes widening as you looked at him and he sipped at the straw fixed through his drink, his own stare unwavering as you studied him for any sense of a joke, your shoulders deflating under his arm.

“Yeah? And which alpha am I supposed to ask? Jackass Whittemore? Or perhaps that one guy over there who’s been undressing me with his eyes since I sat down?” Stiles followed your gaze, flipping off the boy with a protective scowl, a sigh sounding from him. The same sigh bounced all around the table, and Allison snickered, Scott shooting you a pitiful look as his girlfriend opened her mouth to speak:

“Isn’t Stiles’ brother an unbonded alpha?”

Stiles’ jaw clenched at the mention of his brother, and Lydia’s jaw clenched at the mention of her rival for highest GPA and grades. She worked her ass off every day for those grades, she studied and she showed up to every class, even when she was sick. Noah ‘Eli’ Stilinski skipped half of the days, was often put in detention for being caught smoking behind the gym, and got into regular fights.

Lydia hated that he so effortlessly managed to keep up with her and Stiles’ top averages.

Chatter then picked up once again as Lydia made a crude comment about the aforementioned boy, Stiles jumping in to defend his ‘evil twin’ - as Lydia so eloquently called him - and yet even Stiles couldn't help but cringe in the onslaught of bad deeds and acts voiced all around the table. Your mind drifted from the conversations though, a huff on your lips as you balanced your chin on your hand, the chatter becoming background noise as you got lost in your thoughts.

You watched as the blue jeep pulled up, silently cheering to yourself as you noticed two passengers int he vehicle instead of one, and you bounced over to the car, Stiles waving at you spastically with a wide grin as he yanked the key from the ignition, hopping from the car in unison with his brother. Your eyes locked with that of the second Stilinski boy, and he sent you a lopsided smirk, his eyes scanning over you slowly as he rounded the vehicle, slinging his bag up onto his shoulder.

“You smell fuckin’ fantastic today, sweetheart.” He shot you a wink, licking his lips as he walked past you and Stiles elbowed him in the ribs, a scowl on your face as the boy commented on your evident and alluring scent, but you took a deep breath, Stiles asking if you were ready to head inside, but you shook your head.

“I need to talk to your brother for a moment.” The pair stilled, your best friend looking at your cautiously and Noah glanced back over his shoulder, raising a brow at you and his usual cocky smirk was back as you shot him a pleading look, Stiles gasping beside you as he clicked in.

“No! You can’t ask him!”

“I have to!” You hissed, your fingers locking around the other boy’s wrist as you dragged him away, and he let himself be pulled along with a cocky look on his face as he followed after you, and you eventually released him, rubbing your hands together nervously as you avoided his gaze.

When you looked back up, he was watching you carefully, a coy glint in his eyes, and you swallowed thickly. “I don’t like when people talk about how good I smell. I don’t like being looked at all the time, I don’t like the attention.” His gaze moved over your face, his brows furrowing a little, and your eyes left his as heat rose to your cheeks. “I need someone to scent me and pretend to be my alpha, just until graduation. I trust you, I’ve known you since we were five, and who else understands the struggle more than someone who’s brother is an omega, y’know?”

You punctuated your words with a little laugh, shaking your head as you tried to steady your racing heart, your body feeling like it was on fire as you stood before the taller boy.

“I mean, it’s not like you want to settle down any time soon anyway, so y-” You cut your words off as you watched his fingers jiggle, his eyes directed over your shoulder, and as you turned to look, you noticed a beta from your English class gigging as she pouted at him, as though you weren’t even there, and your breathless laugh of disappointment was mixed with a scoff as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, never mind. This was a bad idea.”

His eyes snapped back to you as you spoke, his lips parted as you moved your bag back up your shoulder, one of his hands reaching out to grasp at your elbow but you jerked out of his reach. “Wait, what? I’m listening, I swear.”

“You can’t even give me your attention two minutes to have a conversation, Noah, h-”

“Don’t call me that here, someone might hear you.” He mumbled, and you rolled your eyes at his aversion of his first name. He dubbed it too old-fashioned and biblical for his tastes, choosing to go by his middle name ever since he started high school and you’d never bothered to get into the habit.

“Sorry, Eli.” The word was practically spat from your tongue as you held your hands up, taking another step away from him. “No other alpha would believe you were in a relationship anyway, it was stupid. I’ll find someone else.” You didn’t give him a chance to reply, choosing instead to walk away, looping your arm through Stiles’ as you walked into the school alongside him, never once bothering to look back.

The idea only festered in your mind, your embarrassment bubbling over as you thought about the conversation and the failure of the plan lingered in your mind all throughout your first to classes. It wasn’t long until Lydia had pried the information on your dull mood out of you, exactly halfway through first period English to be exact, and she’d given you a glare for bothering to talk to her academic archnemesis for a good five minutes before she caved and comforted you.

The rest of your classes were spent trying to decide between other alphas you could go for. Jackson Whittemore was ruled out immediately, he was a jackass and wouldn’t do anything to help you, and neither would any of the other goons on the lacrosse team. Other than the boys in your friendship group, they were all a bunch of sweaty assholes, and the alphas were the worst of them. The alphas you knew that were nice enough to want to be with were all with a beta and in happy relationships, and Stiles was the only other omega you knew of.

The search seemed to be entirely pointless, your options dwindling back down to none, and despite her attempts to cheer you up as she reapplied a layer of pastel-pink lipgloss in the mirror hung up on the inside of her locker, you were still in a dismal mood, and desperately trying to ignore the burning gaze of the blond boy down the corridor from you. As she closed her locker, she opened her mouth to give you yet another pep talk to help you get through the day, her freshly plumped lips sealing into a thin line as she glowered at an unknown source over your shoulder, and you turned in time to see the boy who had caused your morbid embarrassment of the day coming stalking down the corridors toward you.

His eyes locked with yours, his feet carrying him directly toward you without a sign of dodging or stopping, and your eyes widened as he got closer and closer to you. With heavy hands on your hips, he pushed you backwards and into the metal of the lockers, your body colliding with the cool surface as a surprised squeak left your lips, his nose running along the underside of your jaw, tipping your head to the side as you went pliant under his hold and the front of his body was almost pressed against yours, a wet kiss being placed to your jaw as he nuzzled into your neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” Your voice was practically squeaked out, and his hand squeezed your hips, before sliding around to sit on your back as he pulled your body flush up to rest against his, his arms snaking around your waist and his cheek rested against the top of your head. You were limp in his arms, shocking filling your body and he chuckled, the sounds rumbling in his chest and you could feel it pressed to your own as he dipped down, lips brushing the shell of your ear and hot breath fanning over your skin. “I said, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m scenting you, sweetheart. You’re not going to find anyone else to play alpha for you until graduation. Might as well be me.” You sighed, your eyes connected with Lydia’s as she wore an equally wide look of shock, and you lifted your arms, your hands holding onto his forearms carefully as you relaxed a little bit, and he rubbed his face into your neck one more time, before pulling back enough to look at you. “Lydia, you are burning holes into the side of my fucking head. Stop staring at me.”

His words were growled out, his eyes locked on yours and you swallowed thickly under his intense gaze, your lips sealed shut but your red-headed friend scoffed, the toes of her heels clicking on the ground in agitation, her retort being shot back without hesitation. “Stop leeching on my best friend and I will.”

He finally turned to look at her, the usual stormy expression he wore was plastered on his face and he rose a solitary brow at her, and she stared him down, unwilling to be the first to cower. “Why don’t you go on ahead, we have things to discuss. I’ll walk (Y/N) here over to the table when we’re finished, she won’t be alone. I swear it.”

Her eyes flicked to you, and you sent her a small nod, which she accepted, snarling at the boy still holding you tightly before she was walking away, her heels clicking on the floors as she left and the Stilinski twin turned back to you with a gleeful grin.

“I’ll make you a deal, hm?” You narrowed your eyes at him, but gave him a lone nod in signal for him to continue with his words, and he nibbled on his lower lip, before jutting his chin out toward you a little as he held his head high. “I’ll act like your alpha until graduation.”

“You will?”

“You’re awfully surprised by my reaction. You did ask me, and you know how hard it is for me to say no to you.” He dipped his head down, taking a low sniff and humming happily under his breath, when you frowned.

“I don’t want you to say yes to this just because I’m an omega and it’s all instinctual for you to want to help me. I want you to say yes because you want to help me.” You mumbled, and he pulled back to look at you, his eyes studying yours carefully.

“I’m not doing it because an omega asked, I’m doing it because you asked. I do want something in return, though.” Your face crumpled as you blushed, pulling away from him a little as you stiffened in his hold, and he shook his head profusely as your mind spun. “No, not what you’re thinking. I’m a little offended at your reaction, but it’s not that.”

“Then what do you want?”

Your voice was cautious and unsure, and his grin dimmed into a small smile, his fingers reaching up to tuck loose hairs behind your ear. “I have a lot of college applications and interview letters. You have to help me apply, and proofread them all.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Your jaw dropped, before a wide smile took over your features and you searched his face for any signs of deceit, his features reading true and you dropped your forehead forwards to rest on his shoulder, a relieved laugh leaving you and you felt his hands smooth along your back reassuringly in slow circles. “I can’t believe that’s all you want. You’ve totally got a deal.”

He chuckled in your ear, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he pulled away, guiding you toward the lunch hall as you both thought over the bargain you had just made.

On your side, you had never felt safer than you did in this moment. Your best friend’s brother had his arm wrapped around you, his scent already lathered over you and for the first time in months, you didn’t have the piercing gaze of desperate alpha’s watching your every move. Unconsciously, you curled into his side a little more, the familiar smell of the boy you’d known ever since going for your first playdate at the house of the boy whose name a five-year-old you couldn't pronounce brought you a much-needed comfort. Noah Stilinski Jr had never treated you as a possession, or belittled you for your omega state. Perhaps it had been because his mother wouldn't allow it, or perhaps it was simply due to having a twin who was the only other omega in your year group, but he treated you with respect, even if he was a player, and it was only three months until graduation; you could survive until then.

On his side, he was holding you protectively close, the long-buried crush he’d held on you since he’d turned twelve and watched you bounce into the joint birthday party he and Stiles had while wearing a pretty and sparkly dress was beginning to poke its head up once again, and he brushed the tip of his nose against your temple, no idea what he was getting himself into, but he wasn’t willing to let any other alphas near you, whether the relationship was real or fake.

The next morning, you were anxiously waiting outside of the school building, Allison on one side of you and Lydia on the other as they chatted between themselves, the nail of your thumb caught anxiously between your teeth as you tried desperately not to bite it off, simply holding it there for reassurance. The scenting you had been given yesterday was superficial and had worn off the second you had changed your clothes and slept overnight, and you knew from experience with Stiles that it was a while before an alphas scent would start to really cling to an omega.

Eyes were back on you, watching you with steely gazes as both boys and girls alike around you watched don carefully, your heart racing as you waited for the blue jeep to pull up. When it finally did, minutes before the bell rang to signal homeroom, the dirt-smeared vehicle pulled up and haphazardly into a parking space. Your anxiety only seemed to spike as you watched both of the identical boys’ exit and make their way toward you. Stiles had a wide grin on his face. Practically bouncing along as his hands grasped onto the straps of his bag, and his brother walked along beside him, face pulled in a neutral expression, his hands clutching a small bundle of material as his own bag hung from one shoulder.

Your eyes were sealed on him, and he allowed the edges of his lips to flicker up in a barely present smile as he approached, his features softening just enough to ease your worries, and Stiles reached your first, his arms wrapping around you in a hug as he greeted you, before quickly moving on to chat to Lydia and Allison, shepherding the girls inside without even a glance over his shoulder as he allowed his brother to talk to you.

He stood closer to you than he ever had before, bar the previous day’s locker encounter, and he still for a moment, his eyes scanning over you, before he was making some form of grunting noise in the back of his throat, his free hand reaching up to take your bag in his hand as he slipped it from your shoulder, offering you the bundle of grey material he was clutching. “Put this on, and wear it until it doesn’t smell like me anymore, and then I’ll give you a new one.”

You took it from him, shaking it out and looking at the pale grey hoodie before you, and his brows raised as he watched you pause, before you were tugging the baggy material over your head, smoothing it down over your shirt, the oversized jumper hanging slightly loose on you, sleeves falling to the middles of your hands and you ran your palms over the front of it, smoothing it down and admiring the softness of it under your hand. Reaching over, your head snapped up when you felt his fingers brush along the back of your neck, scooping your hair out from under the collar so that it could fall freely down your back once again.

He checked his watch, fishing into his back pocket as he deemed the time to be appropriate, before producing a small and battered cardboard packet. Popping a single neatly wrapped roll from within, he balanced it between his lips, the lighter from within the box clicking a few times as he shielded the flame from the breeze before the end took up an orange ember and immediately began to burn down to ashes, glowing brightly when he inhaled. His hand dropped or yours once he had folded the packet back away, lacing your fingers together and pulling you closer to his side, the other hand with two fingers holding the cigarette on either side.

Letting out the deep breath he was holding, smoke curled into the air as he released it slowly, angling his head upwards as not to blow a mouthful of smoke straight into your face, and you were grateful for it, despite how much you may despise it. Instead of complaining, you chose to twist into him, burying your face into his shoulder and scrunching up your nose as the smell that clung to his clothes, knowing he must’ve smoked in the car on the way over here too, but his arm looped around your waist, holding you to him tightly and letting his fingers draw patterns on your back as you stood in silence.

It was odd, being so comfortable with him. You were well aware of his reputation, of all the bad habits he kept up, and perhaps it was just the fact that you were finally getting the physical attention from an alpha that your body screamed at you to get, but you were happy, and it didn’t feel wrong to let your own arms come up to wrap around his waist as you tried to cover yourself with his scent as much as you could.

You were grateful for the bell ringing, and you hadn't realised you were holding your breath as much as you were until you took a deep breath, watching as he dropped the nearly-finished cig to the floor and stomped it out, guiding you toward the building with slow steps. He could almost feel your hesitancy and nerves, choosing to squeeze your side in comfort to let you know that it was okay, and the action let a surprising amount of calm wash over you.

He walked you all the way to your first class, as he peered inside the classroom, glaring daggers at every pair of eyes hat scanned along your body lustful from within. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“You will?”

He chuckled at your surprise, nodding down at you and shuffling to the side to allow other students to shuffle into the classroom and past the pair of you in the doorway. “I hate cafeteria food, but it’s curly fry day, so it’s not so bad.” He shrugged, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek before he was walking away, and you rubbed at the spot with the sleeve of his jumper on your body the moment he was out of sight, and you slipped inside to talk to sit in your usual seat beside Stiles, who offered you a pensive look, your thumbs up reassuring him that the plan was going well.

“I can’t smell you as much, the alphas probably still can but at least it’s not quite as..”

“Strong? Overwhelming? Irritating?” You offered, and he chuckled, leaning back in his seat as Coach Fistock walked into the room, scowling and setting up at the front, a coffee mug all but slammed down onto the desk as he mumbled to himself.

“I wouldn’t say irritating. You smell good, it’s just.. powerful.” He gave you a dazzling grin as you rolled your eyes at him, choosing instead to focus on Coach as he began to command attention with a range of vague insults and shouts into the room. Each of your classes had been a little easier, you’d found, as even when the alpha wasn’t with you, the jumper on your body offered you a little protection as he dulled your natural scent and mixed it with his own. Lunch was rolling around before you knew it, and you were adding an extra portion of curly fries to your tray as you lined up with your best friend, listening to his chatter about movie night and how last night him and his brother had told his dad all about the deal that had been made, so it wouldn’t be weird if anything happened between the two of you when you came over.

“You remember that this is just for the public eye, right?”

Stiles glanced over at you as he paid for his food, nodding at you with an expression on his face that read as ‘duh’, but he shrugged anyway, moving out of the way to let you pay for your own food.

“Yeah, but Dad said it might be a good opportunity to scent, you know? My dad also said he was proud of my brother - I know, I was shocked, too - he said my mum would be proud of him for helping you out, and I swear I heard him sniffle for a second. I called him out on it and he punched me.” That made you laugh, your friend glaring at you as the two of you walked back over to the table where your friends were waiting, and the second twin had stuck to his word, his face appearing in the doorway as he looked around for you, quickly weaving between the tables.

The seat beside you had purposefully been saved empty, and he sunk down into it with a slouch, a cheeky smirk on his lips as he glanced at your meal. “Hungry, sweetheart?” You rolled your eyes at him, pushing a tray of curly fries over to him as you shook your head, snapping the seal on your water bottle and lifting it to your lips, his brows furrowing as he looked at them. “You bought me fries?”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“We already have a deal. You don’t have to butter me up.” He mumbled, but didn’t hesitate in digging into the potato treat, and you followed suit, shaking your head at his words.

“I’m not, I just wanted to buy you some fries.”

He stared at you for a minute, his eyes narrowed on you before his shoulder sagged and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Thank you.” He paused, before leaning in, rubbing his nose along your jaw and running a hand along your back, making sure to be obvious for any onlookers that might see you. He sat quietly as you chatted with your friends, busying himself with his phone, texting and playing games, slipping outside for a while and coming back smelling of fresh smoke and burnt tobacco, before sitting with you for the rest of the lunch break.

Your days rapidly fell into a new routine that involved him, the days turning to weeks and the little things all became easier. Conversations came without effort to the pair of you, and he even made the effort to reach out to some of the others. Around week two, he started to talk and join in with the conversations at lunchtimes, and his number had become one of the most frequented in your texts list. The physical affection had become more natural, and despite how much he scowled about it, he no longer complained when you called him by his real name in public. It came to being after a very snappy “I have known you since we were five, I’m not calling you ‘E’ when your name is Noah!” to which he merely huffed, dropping his shoulders from their defensive position before allowing a small smile to break through.

To almost everyone's surprise, he’d managed to reign in his flirting to a few small comments that were let slip while aimed at you, and as far as you were aware, he hadn't been with anyone else since your agreement had begun. He was showing up to school more, and actually attending his classes, and the stress you had felt had been deeply relieved.

You no longer felt like you were being watched when you walked through the halls, or worried when you walked alone that a particularly brass alpha might make a move. Even when they did, as much as you hated it, Noah would step in at every opportunity he had, leaving you to frown at him and patch him up after he threw the first punch and started a fight, getting himself battered and bruised in your name.

His hand in yours, kisses being pressed to your cheek or forehead, became a staple in your life, and you quickly found yourself missing the touch, seeking it out as soon as you could, in every free moment. His efforts to scent you had become almost instinctual, even when the two of you were alone. You often found yourself with his hands on your shoulders when you sat at the Stilinski dinner table doing your homework with Stiles, or his body pressed up close to yours when he joined you to study.

When your month marker had rolled around, you’d had a hiccup in the fifth week of your agreement, one that had panicked you greatly for the future of your deal. You’d been waiting at your locker today, Stiles bouncing up to you with pure excitement as Noah fidgetted and stood stiff, a moody expression on his face. His hand had found yours and you’d leaned into his side, his body stiff and he didn’t look at you as you did, never returned the attention or made an effort to acknowledge them.

He had walked you to your class, but was still of a bad temper, his response short and gruff, growing in increasing frustration as he merely grunted and gave you one-word answers, and eventually, you had given up. Lunch was almost over when he excused himself from the table, going to swap out his books at his locker and you turned to Stiles, your eyebrows raised. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“He’s in an awful mood! What did you do?” You pressed, and Stiles pouted, sipping at his chocolate milk and frowning at you.

“It wasn’t me! Actually, it sort of was.” Your brows furrowed, and you pinched his arm as you encouraged him to keep speaking, a yelp leaving him as he rubbed at the patch, scowling at you. “I may have let it slip that you hate the smell of his cigarette smoke the other day, and he’s been on the patch since last night.”

Your eyes widened, and Stiles covered himself for the assault he thought to be coming, but your body slumped, eyes wide as you thought about it. Reaching idly for your bag, you swung it up onto your shoulder, abandoning your half-eaten meal as you jogged quickly from the lunch hall. When you found him, he was glaring into his locker, white-knuckled grip on the door making you think it may actually dent.

Placing your hand over his, he jumped in surprise, looking over you once before closing the locker door, leaning back against it and crossing his arms. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be having your lunch?”

“You gave up smoking for me?”

His body went rigid and tense, his lips pursed before he let out something between a sigh and a groan, shaking his head. “Fucking alpha instincts to look after you.” He was irritated by the action, and rubbed at his arm, your eyes closing in on the space as he lifted up his sleeve to show you the white patch stuck to his pale skin, and a smile found its way onto your face.

“You gave up smoking for me.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond, before you were standing up on the tips of your toes and pressing your lips to his cheek, your forehead bumping against his temple and he hummed, his arms wrapping around your middle to hold you as close to him as he could possibly get you. Your face ended up pressed into his neck, your giggle muffled by his skin as he squeezed at you, his hands holding you so you couldn't get away for him.

After that, the weeks rapidly flowed into months, the connection between the two of you only growing. Along the way, the lines between what you were and what you could be had become blurred, the affections you shared had spread to when the two of you were alone, even if you didn’t need to be scented. More and more of your trips to the Stilinski household had been to visit your alpha, as well as your omega best friend, and Stiles was still hanging the time he’d come home from Derek’s to find the two of you curled up together in a nap over your head as blackmail.

His kisses were now placed regularly on your face, his softer side coming out and only showing for you as he peppered you with affections whenever he could. At some point, you had shifted from your usual place between Stiles and the Sheriff on the couch to squeezed onto the lounge chair beside Noah, his arm wrapped around your waist. Stiles had smirked at you each time, until the week that Star Wars had been selected thanks to it being Stiles’ week to choose, and Noah had spent the entire movie mumbling jokes and comments into your ear, which you couldn't help but laugh at. Stiles told you to take the movie seriously, but you just couldn't.

An ever-revolving collection of his hoodies had begun to build up in your bedroom at home, and you regularly found yourself wearing them, just to feel comforted and closer to him. On the rare occasion, he would place a small kiss to your lips. Those times were rare, and the first time you hadn't even realised it had happened until a while later.

You had spent the day helping him write out all his application letters, one by one until they had all been sent off, the darkness having rolled in as the early hours of the morning ticked by, Stiles snoring loudly beside the two of you as he was surrounded by print outs and forms for GWU, the Sheriff walking through the door and staring at the three of you in your hurricane of sleepy yawns and envelopes, papers spread out around you.

He had offered you a lift home, choosing to wait out by the cruiser as you gathered your things and his son walked you to the door. It had been a simple gesture at the time, and neither of you had thought too much about it when his hand had cupped your cheek, his eyes dropping tiredly as he pressed his mouth to yours in a small peck, and you had eagerly returned the action, your body melting into his for only a moment.

At first, it had only happened again when you were alone. When you had been hanging out at his place, the two of you sitting on his bed and watching a movie on his laptop, or when he’d meet you at your lockers between classes when no one else was around. Scott and Allison were the first two to actually see you kiss, you hadn't even realised they were in the area when you had run up to him, waving a letter of invitation to an open day at one of your n his face before wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips meeting his for a split second before you’d caught Allison’s squealing near you.

Isaac had been next, and he was where the truth had really slipped out, because he had spilled the news to Stiles and Lydia, the former of whom had called you as he had dinner with his boyfriend and demanded you tell him whether Isaac was lying or not, and the latter of whom had simply started smirking at you each time it happened. Everyone else finding out had been a slippery slope, the two of you eventually having given up hiding on the occasional times you wanted to kiss the boy protecting you, or when he wanted to kiss you.

Some of the colleges you had helped him apply for had matched your own, and only two months after you had sent off all your applications, the time for open days and stay-overs at your colleges' choices had rolled around. You were nervous, to say the least. You had gone to elementary school, middle school and high school with Stiles, your best friend and your only omega support. The open days had been exciting, the parties thrilling and the people welcoming, and you’d found that even when you were alone, you weren’t looked on as an omega outsider. The fact that you were unmarked seemed to slip by without bother, and it only built up your excitement to go to college, to join the real world and find your place.

Your last college was the one you were looking forward to the most, and you were practically bouncing with joy as you held onto the hand of the alpha Stilinski, both of you having been invited down to this college for the look-around weekend celebration. Stiles had lent you the keys to the jeep, very reluctantly, and you’d driven down together, matching hotel keys tucked into each of your pockets to the room you were sharing, his fingers flexing around yours as he held you tight.

The activities fair was bright and colourful and loud, and you had already gathered a handful of coloured leaflets, most for you and a few for the man beside you, and he simply pressed himself up to you and stood protectively by your side as you socialised and talked to the owners of each booth, letting him place kisses to your temple and the sides of your head as he waited each time.

You had seen almost every stand as you made your way to the end of the rows, your eyes flicking over the last cluster to see if there was anything you were interested in, when you were suddenly jumping in excitement. “That one says ‘omegas’ on it, I want to know what it is!” You left his side, dashing through the crowds quickly and leaving him to follow, his chuckle barely reaching your ears as you disappeared into the swarms of people.

‘Single Omegas & Omega Support Group’

You swiped up a leaflet, flicking through the pages with a wide smile, immediately writing your name down on the ‘interested’ sheet and filling out your details. When you spun around to find your man, he was standing only a few feet behind you, his eyes narrowed on the sign as his hands stuck in his pockets, his once playful expression now twisted and sour, and he didn’t lighten up as you jumped back into his view with a wide grin.

“What’s up with you, grumpy?”

You leaned up to peck his lips, his head turning to the side as your lips met his cheek and you frowned, pulling away and looking at him. “Single omegas support group?”

“No, single omegas and support group.”

“Same thing.” He growled, and you stepped back, your eyes wide as you looked at him and you rose your brows, lifting a hand to rest on his arm but he jerked away from your touch. You couldn't understand his anger, and you swallowed thickly, tucking your collections of brightly coloured pamphlets into your bag, glancing around the two of you as you felt the tension between you build.

“I just figured it would be good for m-”

“Because you’re single?” Your jaw gaped, opening and closing as you tried to find words. You had never put a label on what you were exactly, but it hurt to hear him so quickly jump to that conclusion. In your mind, you were a couple, you had long since passed the time of dancing around your idle affections, choosing to indulge in them together, but apparently, your answer didn’t come fast enough for him as he scoffed, and he stepped away from you. “Right, I see how you feel then. It’s fine, ‘bout time I got my sexual freedom back anyway. Just in time for college.”

With that, he was storming away from you, your eyes watching him go as he slipped into the crowds, not looking back, and you merely shook your head, knowing he’d get over whatever he was hung up on eventually, and you could explain to him why you had actually been interested in the group. Instead, you pulled your itinerary from your pocket, unfolding the piece of paper and checking your schedule, choosing to give him time to cool down as you went about your day and continued with your activities. You figured he’d just catch up with you at some point.

Next up was taking a tour of campus living and sorority houses, and you had loved every second of it. You weren’t overly interested in joining a sorority, but it was nice to meet all the girls there anyway, and it was especially nice to get a real chance to look around the dorms you might be staying in. They were roomy, both the individual, pairs and group ones had a lot of space. Each building had large communal kitchens and dining rooms that were fully decked out, and they weren’t the well-worn and dirty places, but instead clean and stylish, they weren’t destroyed or gross but the sparsely furnished places were somewhere you could actually see yourself living in, and you were sad that the alpha you felt so deeply for wasn’t here with you to look around them.

A sweet girl in a green shirt with the university insignia was standing outside of the building when you left, handing out leaflets and chatting about a welcome party being held at one of the sorority houses, and you took one, smiling politely and stepping aside to check the time on your phone. Your notifications were empty, and you lifted the device to your ear after clicking on his name in your call logs, and it rang for a few beats before being cut off and sent to voicemail, telling you that he was ignoring your calls.

If he wanted to play that game, then fine.

Instead of lingering on the thought, you chose to check the address on the paper, making your way through the large campus and eventually finding where you were supposed to be, music pumping through the air loudly before you’d even finished walking up the front garden of the large house. You had sent him a text a while ago informing that you were going to a party, and where it was, hoping that he would come and meet you. Hours passed by, many drinks being consumed and many conversations being had but you never caught onto his familiar face. The lingering sadness of your argument faded away as you found yourself slightly tipsy, giggling with two omega girls you had found, before piling yourself into a taxi and slurring the address of your hotel to the driver.

The drive was short, or perhaps that was just what your drunken mind had left you believe, but you were soon leaning against the walls of the elevator and watching excitedly as the floors clicked up to your level, joy buzzing through you at the thought of crawling into the large double bed with the man you cared so deeply for, and putting this stupid disagreement behind you.

Your card swiped across the reader beside the frame, the door clicking open for you and the dopey smile soon fell from your face as you took in the sight before you. Naked, hot and sweaty was your alpha, buried deep within another woman, her legs wrapped tightly around her waist and his lips locked on hers as he pounded into her. The door slammed against the wall as you lost your grip on it while stumbling, and his eyes widened as he saw you there, but you were soon enough just backing out of the room, far too tipsy and tired to actually deal with what you were seeing.

So, that’s where your ‘relationship’ stood with him.

The door slammed shut behind you as tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away, not bothering to look back as you made your way back down to the lobby to request a second room for yourself. The morning brought a hangover and regret, sadness welling within you and the bed you were sleeping in alone felt cold and unwelcoming, when you should have been in the arms of the boy you had come with, but he’d been fucking another girl in your shared bed.

Eventually, you had dragged yourself from between the sheets, working yourself up to going to the original room to collect your things, and you thanked whatever higher power there was that he was still passed out in the sheets with his latest whore when you arrived, leaving you free to gather your belongings and sneak back to your new room in peace.

A hot shower had barely cleared your thoughts, and your eyes still stung from tears, but at least you were fresh-faced and ready for breakfast. You ate alone, in silence, choosing to text him and tell him in the simplest terms you could muster that you would meet him at the car at eleven for the journey home. Halfway through your food, Stiles had texted you, asking how it went, and you felt nauseated, abandoning your food in favour of calling him, breaking down in tears the second you heard your best friend’s voice over the phone as you spilt everything that had happened to him.

At ten forty-five, you returned to your room, gathering your suitcase and returning the keycard to the desk, thanking the attendee and making your way out to the car. The source of your emotional turmoil was already sitting in the vehicle, radio turned on with low volume as his fingers tapped on the steering wheel, and he made no effort to get out and help you when you loaded your bags into the back. He didn’t greet you when you climbed into the passenger seat, he didn’t even look at you, his jaw clenched as he kept his eyes on the road and turned the key in the ignition, silence filling the car.

His neck and jaw were littered with dark purple hickies, his hair still messy and he was wearing the same clothes he had been yesterday, the smell of cheap perfume still clinging to him, and you turned away, your body facing the window as your head rested on the door, and you chose to put your earphones in and crank up the music to drown out your feelings, not a single word being spoken between the two of you on the drive home.

Barely two weeks had passed since you had spoken to him, and your heart was aching for him, your body screaming at you to return to your alpha, but he was avoiding you at all costs. He was missing school again, getting plenty of detentions when he did show up, and the smell of him was wearing away.

It was clear that he was no longer your alpha, and others were beginning to approach you again, the freedom and security you had found when you were by his side was slipping away as you once again became timid and scared, nervous about the people surrounding you. Stiles was struggling to keep an eye on you more than ever as graduation closed in and more and more alphas began to desperately proposition you before you went to college, wanting to claim you and make you theirs, their natural instinct being to do so.

He was elated when his letter from GWU had arrived, and you had a small bundle of letters to open, including one to the college that you so desperately dreamed of attending, and he was busily setting up two glasses on the coffee table, takeout menus ready and a stack of movies loaded up for the two of you as he buzzed around, awaiting your arrival.

“What are you moving about so quickly for?”

“I forgot to set up!” Stiles snapped, glancing up at his brother who was dawdling on the stairs, and one lone eyebrow raised as the other stayed solitary.

“Date with Derek?”

“No, (Y/N) is coming over.” He stiffened at that, his glare fixed on his hyperactive brother as he scoffed, and Stiles looked up at him hands on his hips as he paused, an angry expression on his usually joyful face, and he tutted. “I’m not going to stop hanging out with my best friend in my home, just because you fucked up and fucked someone else.”

“Can’t fuck up something that never was!” He retorted, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl Stiles had set out, and the former twin huffed, hands twitching by his side.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Noah.”

“No, I’m not, Mieczysław.” Stiles scowled at the use of his real name, watching his brother retreat back to the stairs, and though he knew it wasn’t his place to step in, he couldn't help but open his mouth, the words pouring out before he could stop them.

“She didn’t like the group because she thinks of herself as single.” His brother paused his ascent of the stairs when he was only two from the stop, and Stiles stood at the base of the stairwell, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m the only omega she’s known for her entire life, and when I went to GWU to check it out, I met this guy from an omega support group who was really nice, and it was an easy way to meet other omegas. She didn’t want advice on being single, she just wanted a chance to meet other omegas. I encouraged her to look for one of those groups too, because she’s going to need new omega friends when I can’t be with her, and you didn’t even give her a chance to explain that before you were hopping into the sheets with someone else.”

The news hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt as though he’d been winded, his body twisting to sit on the tops step as he looked at Stiles, not getting a chance to say anything when the door was suddenly being knocked upon, loud and frantic and Stiles disappeared from his sights to open the door.

“Hey, you made it a-” He paused, the door quickly slamming shut and he leaned down, peaking between the bannisters of the railing to see you clinging onto Stiles, his brother holding a hand to the back of your head as the other wound around your waist. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

When you pulled back you were shaking, and you didn’t notice the other twin lurking at the top of the stairs, too busy blinking back the tears that lined your eyes as you let out a nervous and relieved laugh.

“You smell like cheap beer, weed, and random alphas?” His nose scrunched up as he held you at arm’s length, and the hidden twin could smell it all the way from the top of the stairs, rage twisting in his gut as the word ‘mine’ played on a loop within his mind, unable to stop it from happening as biology took over.

“I was walking over and there was this group of alpha guys, they were sort of drunk and some of them were smoking pot and they just got a little confident, because my scent has been coming back stronger. They made a bunch of comments and came over to me, and they wouldn't leave me alone, so I ran the rest of the way here.” Your words were spoken through deep breaths as you tried to calm both your nerves and your racing heart, and both twins frowned, one filled with concern while the other filled with guilt.

“I should have come and collected you, instead of letting you walk.”

“Hey, what can you do? That’s just the life of an unmarked omega, right?” You joked about it, brushing off the incident as though it was nothing and it only made him feel worse, because he had abandoned you over his own impatience, jumping to conclusions and leaving you to fend for yourself. He watched as Stiles guided you to the living room, letting you put down your belongings as he spoke to you about getting a bath, and you never even noticed when Noah slipped from the house, boiling with rage and practically seething as he walked along, but Stiles did.

Your best friend ran you a bath, making sure to tip far too much scented bubble mix into it to ensure the smell would leave your skin, and he’d left a small pile of clothes out for you on the counter for when you finished as he threw yours into the wash to get them clean for you once again. You were feeling better, you felt fresh and rejuvenated and pure joy was flooding through your veins as the two of you poured over takeout menu options as Indiana Jones played in the background on the tv screen, the door opening and slamming closed shocking you so much you almost fell from the couch.

“You’re wearing my sweater.” You pinche the fabric between your fingers, having grown so accustomed to borrowing clothes from either of the Stilinski boys that you had lost track of which item of clothing belonged to whom, and your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a second, widening as you took in his bloodied knuckles, grazed cheek and a bruised jaw.

“My clothes will be done soon. I’ll give it back in a minute. I didn’t know.” Your voice was scratchy and full of emotion as you spoke, your gaze leaving him when he could only muster a nod in response, before he was taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing upstairs. Your jaw dropped as you turned or his brother, a smirk on his face and you slapped him on the arm for giving you the wrong hoodie, but your eyebrow raised too. “What happened to him?”

“Well, I think - I think - he got in a fight.”

Your face dropped at his sarcasm, and you scowled at him, flicking him on the tip of his adorably sweet nose and his face scrunched up at the action, his tongue flicking out to prod at the tingling tip of his nose, his eyes crossing as he pulled a face at you and the action prompted a giggle from you, but you whined at him as you encouraged him to tell you what happened.

“Fine! Fine. If I’m taking a wild guess here, I’d say that he wasn’t too happy about the fact that you got borderline assaulted by some random alphas on your way over here, and so he headed out and got himself in yet another punch up for your honour.” Stiles paused, glancing at you carefully, before continuing on; “He’s miserable without you, he misses you.”

“Oh.”

Silence sat between the two of you, and you picked at your nails, choosing to snuggle into the couch and watch the movie, ignoring Stiles’ burning gaze on the side of your head, before he snapped, pausing the movie and groaning loudly when five minutes of silence, bar the tv noise, had passed by and you still hadn't budged. “Oh, my God. This is killing me, please just go and talk to him?”

You looked over at him, your jaw hung slack and he fixed you with a stern glare, both of you knowing you wanted to, and eventually you were heaving yourself up from the couch, climbing the stairs slowly as you made your way to the bathroom. He was rifling through a first aid kit when you approached, and you clicked the door shut behind you, leaning back against it, and he swallowed thickly when he glanced up and saw you, pausing his search through the small medkit as he cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

He winced at the sound of his own voice, and you simply nodded, moving toward him and plucking items for the box, well experienced in patching him up after fights by now, and he simply allowed you, choosing to lean back on the counter until he was the same height as you.

“What are you and Stiles doing?”

When he eventually spoke again, you were in the middle of dabbing a fresh ball of disinfectant soaked cotton along his grazed cheek and cleaning it up, your movements pausing, and you dropped your hand to look at him. “We were opening college letters together. He got his from GWU and I got my top choice, y’know, the college we went to look at together.” He frowned at your words, but licked over his lips, nodding and putting on a fake smile as you went back to work.

“And how did it go?”

“We both got in.” You got caught up in your thoughts as you discarded the cotton wool ball, squeezing bruise cream out onto your fingers and holding his face, tilting it to the side so you could smooth the paste across the skin and rub it in gently. “It’s great, actually, it means I’m only a two-hour drive from Stiles, so I won’t be quiet as alone as I would have been at any others, y’know? He’s there if I need someone.”

“You never would have been alone.” His words were whispered, and you paused, silence falling over the two of you as you rubbed healing gel onto the cuts and scrapes on his skin, and you packed away the kit, putting it back in the cupboard once the box was sealed shut and the anticipation was killing him, his mind spinning as he tried to find words to get you to talk to him, to talk about what happened, anything. “You didn’t tell me why you wanted those leaflets.”

Your eyes narrowed on him as his eyes widened, your eyebrows pulled together as your jaw ticked in anger. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance to explain.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, well, you didn’t come back to the room for hours an-”

“Oh, so it’s my fault that you slept with someone else in our bed? I’m so sorry you were forced to have sex with the hottest whore you could find because I was trying to give you space after you stormed off and ignored my calls and texts.” You were growling at him, his alpha instincts kicking up in both rage and lust at your feisty attitude, and yet he hated the way it was making him feel, because he was further fucking up what he had already fucked up, just because he couldn't find the right words to say. “You couldn’t even wait one night during an argument before needing to get your dick wet again?”

“I thought we were breaking up, or breaking off whatever we were..”

“Couples don't just break up after one fight! No relationship would ever last if they did!” His breath felt punched from his lungs as he stared at you, eyes wide as you huffed, cheeks flushed from your shouting and you ran a hand through your hair, because you had confirmed it for him, and he couldn’t help the smile that was forming on his face.

“We’re a real couple?”

“Well, I thought we were, but then I came back to find you in bed with another chick, so..” You prodded at his chest, and he couldn't find it within himself to be angry because his hands were finding your hips and he was pulling you closer to him, even if your hands did flatten against his chest in a very weak and rapidly abandoned effort to push him away. Your arms ended up crushed between the two of you as he pulled you in close, raising a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, the tip of his nose bumping against your own.

“I want that for us. I want that to be us. I want us to be a real couple.”

You sighed, your anger slipping away as you looked up at him, shaking your head fondly, the word ‘dumbass’ slipping out under your breath, as you leaned in, resting your forehead on his shoulder and laughing under your breath. A muffled voice came through the door, smug even through his warm tone, as he told you he was going to go over to Derek’s for a few hours, and congratulating you for working it out.

Once the front door clicked shut, the sound of the jeep starting up, his fingers found yours, lacing your fingers together, he pulled you from the bathroom, guiding you along the familiar route to his bedroom. Kicking the door shut behind him, he picked up a torn open envelope from the desk and waved it at you, your eyes taking in the logo, flicking back up to him, filled with hope. “I got in, too.”

You jumped into his arms, his arms wrapping around your waist as you squealed, his arms wrapping around your waist as he laughed into your ear, spinning you in a circle before placing you back on the ground, ideas and thoughts already spilling from your mouth. You still had all the brochures for clubs you’d thought he might like, and you were waving excitedly as you told him all about the tours he’d missed, that there were joint dorm rooms, and how maybe the two of you could get one together.

Slipping a hand into your hair and one on your hip, he silenced you, his mouth closed over yours mid-sentence and cutting you off as he pressed a loving and passionate kiss toy our lips, his finger straightening in your hair and on your hip when your lips pressed back to his with just as much vigour. Your arms wrapped around his neck, stabilising you as the depth of the kiss made your legs shake, his tongue tracing the seam of your own and you happily parted them for you, his head tipping to the side to allow himself deeper access to your mouth.

“You’ve never kissed me like that before.” Your words were spoken breathlessly, your eyes still closed, his too, his lips barely brushing against yours as he took a deep breath, and he hummed lowly, the sound rumbling from his chest as he squeezed at your hips. He licked over his lower lip, catching against yours too, and you chased his lips a little, a chuckle on his lips as he gave you a sweet but short kiss, indulging you just enough to gain a little sigh from your lips as you rocked back from standing on your tiptoes to on the flats of your feet. “Why have you never kissed me like that before?”

“It’s not for a lack of wanting to.” He teased, and your hands slipped down from his shoulders to grip at his waist, tugging needily on the edge of his shirt to pull him closer to you, a needy whine on your lips as he indulged you, pressing the front of his body up to yours. “People who are faking it don’t kiss like that.”

“I really wouldn’t have complained.”

“Good to know.” He smirked, dipping back down to once again kiss you, his tongue slipping straight between your lips to toy with your own, your body going pliant in his hold as the slow kiss took your breath away. Your feet were moving beneath you in stumbling steps, until the backs of your legs met the silky fabric of his bedsheets, and you tore your lips away from his, taking a deep breath as you did, lips wet and slightly swollen as you looked between him and the mattress. You’d been on his bed before, laying across it with books and laptops spread out around the two of you. You’d been in his bed before, his arm looped around your waist and your back pressed up to his front as you took a peaceful nap, and yet this context was entirely different.

His hands slipped to your jaw, guiding your face back to his, and his thumbs smoothed over your cheeks as dark eyes stared into yours lovingly. “Tell me what’s going on in that little head of yours.”

You licked your lips, looking down and nodding as you tried to clear your thoughts, your hands tugging the ends of his t-shirt and lifting it up, your hands slipping under the thin fabric to brush over his skin, his muscles tensing under your touch, rippling as your trailed your fingertips from his sides to the happy trail covering the loosely defined abs under his shirt. “First of all, I really want you to take your shirt off.”

He grinned cheekily, his head tipping to the side and he let you push the material up his sides, before he was reaching behind his neck and peeling the top from his body, dropping it to the floor and letting you smooth your hands over the hard planes of his chest. He flexed the muscles under your touch, your lips clamped between your teeth, and his hands found the edges of the jumper that belonged to him, hanging around your mid-thighs and he tugged it up to your waist, catching your eye as he looked for confirmation from you. Lifting your arms up above your head, he dragged the material away from your body, a growl sounding from him as your body lay bare beneath the fabric, his eyes darkening and he skimmed his hands over your sides, a short pant leaving him as he watched your nipples pearl in the cold air, standing taut for him and just begging to be licked at. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“What I want.. like, really want, is to not go to college as an unmarked omega.”

A sound you had never heard him make before rumbled from him, the vibrations of it practically carrying in the air as the deep sound shot straight to your core and your whole body shivered as his face flicked with a range of emotions. It was borderline pornographic; the possessive, aroused and purely desperate noise he had made and your knees buckled under you in submission, his arm catching you around your waist and pulling you in close to him as he used his other hand to tilt your head to the side, allowing him to nip and bite along the flesh of your jaw.

Licking a wet stripe along the skin at the base of your neck, goosebumps coated your skin at the feeling and he took a deep breath, holding your gaze on his once he pulled back. Placing a sloppy and frantic kiss to your lips, he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling over you quickly and caging you in on the mattress, the tip of his nose bumping yours. “You’re my omega.”

Everything possessive in him made everything instinctual in you needy, your hips rolling up into his, your breath punched from your lungs and he met your rolls thrust for thrust, his cock hardening in his jeans, a hand on one of your thighs, lifting your leg up so he could slot himself between your legs. “Going to mark you up, make you mine so everyone knows. My pretty little omega, all mine.”

“All yours, alpha. Make me yours.”

Some kind of cross between a whimper and a groan from him was muffled by his lips on yours, and he trailed his kisses along your jaw, sucking and lapping at your skin as he went, ensuring that he was leaving hickies dotted along your flesh as he went, taking his time and holding you softly. Closing his lips around one of your nipples, your back arched up into his mouth, the rough pad of his tongue swirling over it, pleasure jolting through your body at the stimulation, one hand coming up to lace into his hair, tugging a handful into a fist.

Giving the other the same stimulation, his fingers danced over your ribs and sides as he moved down to slip his fingers under the elastic of the large sweatpants on your hips, wet kisses moving along your navel before he paused, blowing cool air streams over the shining trails left on your skin.

“You’re not wearing any panties are you?” He grumbled deep in his throat when you shook your head. “I can fucking smell you, baby, I bet you’re just dripping for me.” Placing a light at the outside of your thighs, your hips lifted for him, feet planted flat on the mattress as he peeled the fabric away, dropping them to the carpet to join your top and his already there. With a hand on each knee, he parted your thigh, inhaling deeply and kissing at the inside of each thigh, fingers massaging your flesh as he worked his way up to your dripping core. “You want my mouth, baby?”

“Yes, please.”

“Anything for you.” With that, he dragged the tip of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, sealing his lips around the bud and sucking harshly, a squeal leaving you as your back arched. He repeated the action, twice, before he was settling more comfortable on the bed, his arms wrapping around the backs of your thighs to hold you still as he lapped at the delectable taste of your juices sliding from you.

He was taking his time, teasing your entrance and occasionally dipping his tongue into you, his teeth scraping over your clit and your toes curled as he slurped and sucked, your walls squeezing around him as his fingers dug into your skin. Slipping one hand up, he pushed the pad of his tongue down on your clit, rubbing slow and delicate circles into the bud and you tugged at his hair, moans spilling from your lips as the languid stroked of his tongue sparked a fire to start curling on your stomach, a climax slowly beginning to build as your muscles began to tighten.

With a particularly harsh suck, your toes curled, a whimper leaving you, your hips rolling into his face and he picked up his speed and force, your thighs clamping around his head, his hair tickling against the skin and you could feel his sharp jaw moving quickly, before he pried your legs back open as far as he could get them, growling into your pussy as the vibrations shot along your nerves.

Raising one of your own hands to paw at your tits, you tugged on your nipples, groping at the mounds as you dragged yourself into a climax, your back leaving the bed as you rolled your hips into his face, his name leaving your lips in a mantra, body shaking and tensed as your eyes squeezed shut. He continued his ministrations, dragging your orgasm out for as long as he could, until he was pulling back with shiny marks on his chin and a filthy smirk, wiping his chin on the back of his hand before leaning over you and planting a hot and open-mouthed kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself briefly on his tongue.

“You taste fucking delicious.” He whispered the words to you, bumping your noses together and running his hands gently over your body, your own finger catching around his wrists to still his movements and he looked at you curiously, a brow raised. Leaning up, you caught his lips with your own, nibbling on his lower one and he growled, pulling back to give you a mock glare as he took your hands, pinning them to the bed above your head and chasing your mouth, your lips meeting in a rough collision. “Such a pretty girl for me, all flushed and fucked out.”

“I’m not fucked out yet, you’re taking too long.” You retorted, and he huffed, pinching at your side as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, wrapping with your own as they visible played between your quick and needy kisses, your body already building back up as he slipped a hand up to swipe at your core, chuckling at the wetness that was already building.

“I’m trying to be a good alpha and look after my beautiful omega.”

“Well, could you look after your omega by fucking me senseless until I’m screaming?” His jaw dropped, a loud and unashamed moan leaving him at your words, his eyes only getting darker as he gaped at you. Lifting a hand from where it supported him above you, he cupped your cheek, his thumb tugging down your lower lip from a second as he licked at his own and thought about his actions.

“Since when did you have such a filthy fucking mouth on you, sweetheart?” You grinned, shifting just enough to suck the digit between your lips, a breathy sigh leaving him as you swirled your tongue around the pad, sucking lightly and grazing his finger with your teeth, winking at him and his eyes glazed over and went half-lidded as your actions. “I thought you were cute and innocent, huh?”

“I could be dirty just for you.”

“You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart.” He mumbled, and you raised a brow, taking one of your hands from the spot he pinned them too and dragging your nails across his torso lightly, before cupping at the prominent bulge in his jeans and squeezing tightly, his hips bucking down onto your palm.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” You teased, and he grinned, kissing you quickly before rocking back to kneel between your legs, popping the button on his jeans and tearing the zipper down.

“Tell me how you want it, baby. Tell me what you want from your alpha.” Standing up, he dropped the denim, palming at himself through the black cotton of his boxer-briefs and kicking the restraining material from around his ankles.

“I want it hard, and rough. I want you to fuck me so good that I’m seeing stars, and so I know nobody will ever be as good as you. I want you to mark me, make me yours.” He bit on his lower lip, dropping his boxers and stroking at his length, wandering across the room to snatch a condom from the top drawer of his desk. Tearing the top of the packet open with his teeth, he rolled the rubber along his impressive shaft, his cock bouncing in its stiff position as he made his way over to you.

“Nobody will ever get to know, because you’re all mine, for the rest of your life. You’re mine, baby, my omega.” Rolling his body back over yours, your arms looped around his neck, a quick peck being pressed to your lips before he lined himself up, sinking into you quickly and his jaw dropped as your wet warmth encased him, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“I think that’s just the fact that you have a massive cock.”

His arms shook at your words, a loud laugh leaving him and he fixed you with a loving look as he settled still, the environment around you being somewhere between playful and intense, hot and still relaxed, and you’d never felt more loved. Pulling his mouth down to yours, you kissed him deeply, your walls fluttering around him as you conveyed everything you felt, a sweet noise of approval sounding on his mouth. He returned the gesture enthusiastically, before easing his hips out of you, his mouth open against yours as he gasped at the feeling of your walls trying to pull him back in.

Leaning away, he smirked at you, pushing a hand up over your body as he pressed you back into the mattress, his fingers sealing around your throat just tight enough to excite you, flexing against the column of your throat, the edges of your lips tipping up in a grin, flashing your teeth to him as he rocked his hips back into yours, joint moans leaving the two of you. The pace picked up rapidly, the fingers of his other hand clenching in the sheets as he rammed his cock into you, the breath forced from your lungs with each slam he made into you.

Your walls squeezed around him, cursed hissed out between his teeth as his jaw clenched, a whimper falling from you as you watched the man above you pound you into oblivion. His eyes were locked on yours, a thin sheen of sweat on your skin as your name fell from his lips on repeat, your back arching up and chest rubbing against his as he fucked you.

Hiking a leg up higher onto his waist, he sunk into you further, quickly dropping himself down from his palm to his forearm, his nose bumping against yours, hot breath from his pants washing over your skin and you dipped your tongue from your mouth, licking at his lips teasing and he growled, his mouth slanting over yours as he slowed his pace.

Scooping you up under your shoulder blades, he pulled you back, until he was sitting back on his heels and you were perched in his lap, his pulsing cock buried within you deeper than ever as you sat on his thighs and your hands tightening in his hair, pulling on fistfuls. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your chests pressed together tightly as slick skin slid against slick skin, and his hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold as he bounced you on his cock, your eyes rolling back. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Tight and wet for me.”

Once the pace was set, your legs tightened around him, and you did your best to meet his movements, one of his hands slipping down to palm at your ass, short nails scraping over your skin. Pulling his hand back, he slapped down on your skin roughly, your hips jumping into his and you whimpered, pushing his palm smoothing over the stinging flesh and you pushed back into his hand, a breathless chuckle released against your mouth as he groped at the flesh, repeating the action as your skin burned and flushed red, the sweet sound of his name in a cry leaving you, and he moved across, kissing down your jaw.

Tipping your head back, your hair fell away from your shoulder as you exposed your neck to him, your stomach twisting when he licked over the slightly sweaty patch, scraping his teeth over the place he would mark you. The high inside of you was building, your hips rocking down into his as he assisted you. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

He swallowed thickly, slamming you down onto his cock and holding you there tightly as he bit down onto your skin, your body flashing with heat and pure bliss as you exploded around him, shaking in his arms as you came, your eyes rolling back in your head and the dull and throbbing pain of the bite mark he gave you was overruled by the feeling of pure love coursing through your body. He dropped your bed back to the mattress, an animalistic sound leaving him as he hiked your leg up onto his shoulder, loud shots and grunts spilling from him as he fucked himself into you so quickly that your eyes were rolling back and you were seeing stars.

Licking the pads of two fingers, he dropped them to your swollen clit and rubbed harshly, screams tearing from your lips as you trembled in his hold, your eyes rolled back as you came from a second time, your core flooding his cock with arousal, ecstasy flooding your veins and walls clamping around him. His body dropped down onto yours as he came, thrusting weakly into you to prolong your peaks as much as he could, your body quivering under him as you caught your breath.

Your arms wrapped around him tightly, holding his body to you despite the fact that his weight was crushing you and he made a happy sound, nuzzling into your neck and kissing over the mark on your neck, a deep sigh being let out before he pulled out of you, a groan on his lips as he got up from the bed, tying the condom off and dropping it into the bin before grabbing a handful of tissues, kneeling beside you as he wiped the stray blood from the bite mark on your shoulder.

He trailed a finger around it, a smile on his lips as he looked at you. “You have my mark.”

“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled at your words, and tipped your neck to the side so he could admire his work, and you shuffled backwards up the bed, his body following you, your head finding the pillow as you snuggled into the plush cushions happily.

“You’re perfect, absolutely perfect.” Dropping down beside you, his fingers brushed through your hair, smoothing it away behind your ears and you grinned at him, letting him adjust you carefully as he tucked the covers around you, a giggle on your lips as he fussed over you. “What are you laughing at?”

“You’re in alpha-overdrive.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, scowling at the smile on your lips as you let him fuss over you. “I’ve been suppressing my urge to go ‘alpha-overdrive’ on you for fucking months.” He settled himself under the covers beside you, his arms wrapped tightly around you, a yawn on your lips as you nuzzled into his body.

“I wasn’t complaining, I like it.”

“Good, because I’m going to be looking after you for the rest of our goddamn lives, little omega. I’ll be the best alpha the world has ever fucking seen.” He kissed at your cheek, arm tightening around you more as the two of you laid back, bodies aching and tired but thoroughly satisfied. “So, why don’t you tell me all about those college dorms, hm?”

“You’re going to absolutely love them.”

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

Text

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie.

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering.

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild.

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone.

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost.

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.”

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.”

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me?

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath.

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor.

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm.

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking.

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away.

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room.

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth.

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do.

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #pacific rim #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction

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solalunar-eclipse · 4 years ago

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Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter Two: Shadow

One | Three

Word count: about 6500 words

No warnings, just more angst than last time because Shadow.

Author’s Note: Thank you all so much for the great comments you left on chapter one- it’s really what keeps me writing and posting.

In other news, I believe that Hanukkah started yesterday evening, so to anyone who celebrates that holiday, Happy Hanukkah!

...

It was the dawn of a bright new day, and Shadow stirred as the sun rose, feeling oddly content. His bed was warm, and he was comfortable, and he really didn’t want to get up just yet. Fumbling around on the bedside table for his book, he began to feel even better at the thought of hiding under the covers for another hour or two, curled up reading…

Except his book wasn’t there. He made several quiet irritated noises, before forcing himself to sit upright.

Chaos, he was not a morning person.

This was incredibly frustrating, of course, since he only needed about five hours of sleep a night and tended to wake up early. Coffee beans usually helped with that, though, and some hot water.

His thoughts now focused on coffee, Shadow dragged himself slowly out of bed, shuddering as the cold air hit his fur. He searched through the clothes he’d brought and pulled out a warm, soft sweater, sighing with relief as he put it on. It was his favorite, too, since it matched his stripes nicely.

Sliding on a pair of slippers (plaid, fluffy, chosen by Rouge) he padded downstairs silently, eyes scanning the area for his book- and caffeine. He wandered through the main hall, enjoying the view that the large windows provided of the snowy landscape. Still, he wished they’d turn the heating up a little, shuddering as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly.

As he walked into the kitchen, still half-lost in a morning haze, Shadow was fully awakened by the shock of seeing other people up. More specifically, Rouge’s mother and stepmother were cooking. Already. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting, and his quills bristled in surprise.

His friend’s mother startled and dropped the flour she was carrying, while her stepmother yelped and fumbled with the frying pan on the stove. Shadow rushed over and caught the dropped bag before it could explode, his nerves feeling slightly shot from having to deal with so much this early on.

“My bad,” he whispered, placing the flour on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake yet- sorry.” he finished lamely. The hedgehog began to feel slightly uncomfortable, as both of the other occupants of the kitchen were looking directly at him. Until now, he’d managed to avoid everyone’s notice pretty well at this party, fading quietly into the background after that first introduction.

He was not prepared to socialize, especially not this early.

Camellia just smiled at him, though, and said kindly, “It’s perfectly alright, honey, we didn’t realize anyone else could stand to get up so early either!”

Rouge’s mother rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Shadow as she walked past him. “You say that like I like mornings, Cam.” she quipped.

He felt awkward just standing in the middle of the room- especially having interrupted their formerly-private moment- so he took a couple of steps to the side quietly. “I’ll just be out of your way now…”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it at all!” the bat exclaimed. “Were you looking for something, sugar?”

Having two terms of endearment directed his way in as many minutes stressed (and slightly flustered) Shadow, and he found himself beginning to retreat into his usual cold persona. The hybrid muttered, “I was just looking for my book. If you happened to know where the coffee is, that would help. That’s all.”

The cardinal handed him a bag of coffee beans, still smiling warmly. “And I think your book’s over there, honey.”

Shadow took his book and turned to walk out of the room, nodding a quiet ‘thank you’ as he did so.

However...the second he set a foot outside the kitchen doorway, he froze. Looking back over his shoulder, he asked, “...how much more do you have to do?”

It would be downright rude to leave his hosts doing all the work, wouldn’t it?

...and why did that sentence sound like someone else had said it?

“Oh! Well, we have the eggs, and the waffles, and the…” the bat began to rattle off a long list of the different things they had to make. “But don’t worry about us, dear, you have your book to read!”

He wavered a moment longer in the doorway, before reluctantly putting the book down. Walking back to stand in front of them, he sighed. “Where are the aprons, then?” he asked flatly.

“Are you sure, honey?” Camellia asked. “You really needn’t trouble yourself…”

Shadow raised a brow ever so slightly. “I’m sure.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” Rouge’s mother gasped. “We usually get help a little later on, but if you really want to…”

“I have a little experience with cooking, but not much.” he warned, taking the apron she offered him and putting it on. (This was true. He only knew how to make waffles and French toast, and that was just because Rouge decided she would go without breakfast if she had to cook.)

The cheerful cardinal pulled him over to the counter, making Shadow startle slightly. “Have you ever made hash browns before, honey? Those shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“No…?” he said, a little confused. “I...I’ve never had those before. What are they?”

“What?” Lila cried out, on the other side of the room. “What has Rouge been feeding you? Well, it’s about time you learned then.” She moved over to stand next to Shadow, handing him a bag of potatoes.

The hedgehog just stared at the vegetables, his mind going blank.

He needed to have his coffee before he dealt with this. Now.

…

Two hours and several handfuls of coffee beans later, Shadow could say that he absolutely knew what hash browns were, having produced enough of them to feed an army. He had also made veritable mountains of scrambled eggs and stacks of pancakes, all while asking ‘Are you sure we need this many?’. He’d thought that the dinner spread was incredible last night, but seeing everything as it was being made only served to emphasize just how much food everyone here needed.

A few other family members had shown up near the end to help out Rouge’s parents, but the real flow of people was only just beginning. Young children were now rushing down the stairs, lured by the smell of breakfast. A few adults began to come down as well, along with Rouge and Omega.

The younger bat looked a little surprised to see Shadow in the kitchen, and he internally cringed as he realized just how bad he must look right now. His quills were tied back in a sloppy ponytail and the apron he’d been given was more than a little long on him. It wasn’t long enough to conceal his slippers, though, and his sweater was rolled up past his elbows, while his arms were covered in flour, sugar, and even a little bit of oil.

“Aww, hon! You’ve been helping!” she said, batting her eyelashes in a blatantly over-the-top manner. She was clearly fighting the urge to laugh at his appearance.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”

Rouge’s mother bustled up at that, smiling warmly at him. Shadow became significantly more uncomfortable- he was used to having glowers and wide-eyed stares directed at him, not...that.

“He just walked over and demanded an apron, then he got right to work!” she said cheerfully. “He’s really quite helpful, honestly!”

Omega looked at the older bat. “Shadow does not like to admit that he’s helping, even when he is very clearly doing so. His pride is too great to ever admit that he’d do such a thing.”

The hybrid scowled. “That is not true.”

Rouge giggled. “Oh, it’s not, hm? Then what about the time you finished-”

“-don’t you dare-”

“-cleaning my room when I-”

“-now you know how it feels, Shadow-”

“-shut up-”

“-took a quick break, or the time when-”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Shadow roared, leaping at her. Rouge’s mother seemed quite startled at this, but Rouge started cackling just like last night, and Omega looked incredibly smug (somehow), watching as she dodged his attack.

“Just look a little sad, Mom, and maybe tell him you’d be ‘ever so grateful’ and he’ll drop everything to do iiiaaaAAAAH!!”

Shadow had managed to catch Rouge and pin her down on the couch. “Take it back.”

“Never.” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

The hybrid prepared himself to inflict some sort of punishment (messing up her makeup, perhaps, or tickling) when he was hoisted bodily and flung over a very square and very metallic shoulder.

“Umph.” he wheezed in a very undignified manner as Omega hauled him out of the room.

The robot looked very pleased with himself. “Ah yes. Revenge is truly sweet.”

...

“Alright, guys!” Rouge announced after breakfast. “It’s perfect weather out, so you know what we’re gonna do? We are going sledding.”

Shadow- who had been cleaning up and lost in thought- nearly hit the ceiling. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, hon, we’ll get you all wrapped up first.” Rouge said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The hybrid’s body immediately sagged in poorly disguised relief.

Five minutes later, Shadow wore three layers of shirts, a coat, sweatpants, snow boots, thick gloves, a hat, and a scarf. “I look like an idiot.” he growled.

“Would you prefer to be cold?” Omega asked him dryly.

Shadow shuddered at the very thought. Pulling his clothes a little tighter, he was suddenly launched back into the past, a very particular memory running through his mind.

“You ready for lessons today, Shadow?” a young, blond-haired girl asked.

Maria.

Shadow, at the perky young age of two and two-thirds (eight mentally), leaned on the edge of her bed, smiling. “Always!”

Professor Gerald entered shortly with their lesson for the day- exponentials for Maria and multiplying fractions for Shadow- and began to teach.

As Shadow worked on his problems later, the professor’s voice going on in the background as he spoke to his granddaughter, he began to notice his fingers trembling. Weird.

The longer he worked, the more it spread, until his fur was bristling and his whole body shook occasionally. But he was the Ultimate Lifeform! He was made to be tough!

So he kept on going.

Eventually, his breath began to come short and his teeth clicked together. He accidentally dropped his pencil, his fingers trembling too much to hold it.

Maria noticed.

“Shadow, are you alright?” she asked. “Come here for a second…”

He walked over, trying to keep his legs from shaking and failing miserably. She reached out to touch his arm, but gasped as soon as she felt his fur.

“Maria!” he cried out, worried. “Maria, what’s wrong?”

“You’re freezing, Shadow! Come here…”

She pulled him onto the bed next to her, the warm quilt on it keeping her from struggling as Shadow had.

He let out an involuntary sigh as warmth began to flood his body, melting away the shudders and allowing his breathing to return to normal.

“Strange…” the professor had said, after getting Shadow a warm jacket to wear. “This was unexpected- I didn’t think it was so cold! I know the temperature on the space station is meant to simulate wintertime inside on Earth, but it’s only an indoor climate.” He’d later discovered that Shadow’s DNA predisposed him to get cold easily.

Or as Rouge put it: “You’re half lizard, hon. I’m honestly surprised you don’t spend all day lying on hot rocks when it’s cold.”

That event had led to a lifelong hatred of Space Colony ARK’s air conditioning (and several heated glares at the ventilation system for Maria’s benefit).

And then…

Shadow remembered what it felt like to have ice cover his body. When he’d woken up from his frozen sleep, he’d been filled with a chill he just couldn’t shake.

He’d been able to ignore it in his quest for revenge, but from then until he finally went Super, he had struggled to become warm, even in the tropical heat of the jungle. A cold sensation had settled in his very bones.

But now, he no longer felt frozen inside, and the cold was just an irritation, albeit a slightly more emotionally charged one.

Wasn’t everything.

Rouge and Omega had both been incredibly understanding, though. The bat had never made him go outside when it was cold, and she often dumped armfuls of blankets on him at random moments. (He appreciated it more than he let on.) The E-series robot was more subtle in his support, doing things like handing Shadow an extra scarf before he left their house or silently placing a mug of hot chocolate next to him when he shivered.

And now, they were standing in front of him, having packed all of these clothes for his benefit.

Somehow, Shadow couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“No,” he sighed, “I suppose I don’t.”

“Alright, guys, let’s go!” Rouge practically dragged them out the door, pushing Shadow up onto Omega’s shoulders and then flying up to grab his hands once they were outside.

“I will never comprehend how such a small being has the power to lift both myself and Shadow.” Omega commented as they took off.

“Lots of practice- hff- and weight training- hh- does the trick.” Rouge gasped, evidently straining to keep them in the air. “I’m- ngh- out of practice.”

“It’s fine, Rouge.” Shadow said, his voice muffled by the scarf. “Take your time.”

Eventually, they made it to a giant hill with an incredibly steep slope. As they trudged up to the top, the (relatively) small hedgehog began to notice just how very angled and high the incline was...

Shadow regretted everything.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Rouge?” he asked, watching as Omega lay down on what would have been his chest to be the actual sled.

“Of course, hon! It’s going to be great!”

“Uh…” the hedgehog muttered nervously, even as he allowed Rouge to pull him onto the robot’s back. “I…”

“Alright let’s go.” Omega said quickly, firing his rocket boosters.

Rouge whooped and Shadow (to his eternal shame) screamed as they blasted down the hill at top speed, flying across a patch of ice at the bottom and skidding to a stop several yards away. Panting heavily from his adrenaline rush, Shadow fought to get his thoughts in order. “That...that was….”

“Awesome!” Rouge shouted. “We’re doing that again!”

“...alright?” Shadow agreed. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, but it was a little fun.

The next time, Rouge tried lying down and yelled the whole way- not being able to see where you were going made things a lot more scary. Omega tried carrying them up to the top of the hill as well, completely eliminating the usual grind of dragging a sled up the slope that came with this activity. Shadow got into it eventually, clearly enjoying himself despite the fact that he never quite yelled like Rouge as they careened wildly downhill.

Eventually, Rouge convinced Shadow to try lying down as well. “Don’t worry, hon, I’ll hang onto you and make sure nothing bad happens.” she reassured him.

“Okay...okay. Just make sure you hold on tight.” Shadow groaned, clinging to Omega with enough force to strain his fingers.

They blasted off down the hill and Shadow shouted in surprise- this was so much more intense! He felt every bump and jolt all the way down, but it was all fun.

Until Rouge yelled, “Omega! Tree!!”

Shadow gasped, startled. There was a tree and it was coming up-!

Omega fired his left booster, spinning them far away from the tree. Unfortunately, that meant spinning literally, as he’d majorly overcompensated for the potential collision. Whirling around in a circle, both Shadow and Rouge were thrown off. The bat managed to catch herself mid-air with her wings, but the shaken hedgehog wasn’t quite as lucky.

Shadow’s vision went completely white. For a moment, he feared he’d hit his head- but it was only snow. He sighed in relief.

That feeling didn’t last long, though, as he felt the cold begin to seep in from all sides. Panic wormed its way into his chest- and then when he tried to move, he could only push helplessly against the lightly packed material.

Calm down. It’s only snow. Rouge and Omega will be here any minute now.

He took a deep breath.

And another.

And then Omega was there, clasping his hand to pull him out of the snow, and Rouge was sitting on his shoulder, looking worried but pleased to see him alright.

“I’m so sorry, hon, I didn’t mean for that to happen…” she said sympathetically.

“Neither did I.” Omega added, and Shadow noticed that the robot wasn’t quite looking him in the eye.

The cold was quickly banished with yet another reminder of just how much his friends cared. “It’s fine. I just…” He looked away, a little embarrassed. “I did what the therapist told me to do and just breathed, and waited for you.”

“Awww, that’s good, hon! Tolja therapy’d help somehow.” Rouge smirked at him, but it was all warmth and kindness underneath.

Shadow shuffled awkwardly in the snow. “It seems that way...I’ve decided to keep going with it, after all.”

“Excellent.” Omega said, and Shadow felt even better. “Now we should get back. Shadow appears to require the immediate application of blankets and hot cocoa.”

The snowy, slushy hedgehog was not in the mood to protest, and simply said, “Yes. Now.”

...

Two pairs of red eyes narrowed in a face-off. It had taken their owners over an hour to get to this point- the final competition. The winner of this match would be crowned champion.

About half of Rouge’s family watched, holding their breath as Shadow opened his mouth to speak.

“E-4.”

“Miss.”

“Dammit!”

Shadow didn’t care one bit who might hear him swear right now, his teeth gritted and mind racing a mile a minute. He was supposed to be good at tactics and strategy, yet here he was losing at Warboat. Badly.

Three of his ships, covered in red markers, lay slain off to one side. Meanwhile, Omega had only lost one and a half of his. Accursed computer processors.

The hedgehog was certain that Omega would have a gigantic grin on his face, if it were possible for him to produce one. As it was, he stared constantly at Shadow, even as he moved his markers around.

“C-6.”

Shadow felt relief flood his very soul. “Miss.”

It didn’t take long for Shadow’s fourth ship to get knocked out, even as he still searched for Omega’s third. He was getting trounced, and he knew it. Yet still, somehow, he had a shred of hope.

But then, two rounds later, he snarled furiously when Omega switched his LED eyes from full circles to half-moons- an evident hint at a smile.

“H-2.”

Shadow’s stomach dropped. “No!”

“Yes.” the robot said proudly, before planting a red marker on his board.

The hedgehog began to search frantically for Omega’s ship, his moves becoming increasingly random and less thought-out as imminent destruction closed in.

Finally, something happened. “A-1.”, he muttered, resigned to his painful end.

“...hit.”

“Yessss.” Shadow hissed, somehow feeling triumph despite his imminent defeat.

“Yay.” Rouge remarked dryly from the spectating area. “Consolation prize.”

“Shut uuup.” he whined petulantly, before realizing how very relaxed his demeanor had become. Straightening his back and smoothing down his quills, he allowed that familiar blank expression to settle back into place. “No distracting the players, please.” he added coolly.

Was it him, or was that a flash of...disappointment he caught from her?

Anyhow, he lost on the very next turn. Grumbling quietly, he went to sit down on a couch as Omega partied loudly with all of the children, blasting up-tempo dance music from his speakers.

It was one of the children (such sweet little kids, some of them were) who suggested that they make trophies. Pulling out cardboard and paper to draw on, they quickly made little certificates and gold, silver and bronze medals. One parent found some ribbon to thread through a punched-out hole, and then the little ones all scrambled to set up a proper ceremony “like on TV”.

As Shadow bent down to receive his handmade medal and crayon certificate, he knew without a doubt that this was being saved. For good.

…

Later, Shadow was relaxing in his bedroom when Rouge’s mother walked in, Omega following behind her.

“Oh, good, I’ve found you!” she said, her voice bright as always, but...off, this time. “Would you mind coming with me for a minute?”

As Shadow followed her out of the room, exchanging bewildered looks with Omega, he realized what the strange tone was.

Her voice was brittle. Fragile. As though it might break if one of them spoke wrong.

They entered a different room, one high up and far away from the rest of the party. Rouge’s mother stood in front of them for a moment, pulling at her sweater before deciding to sit down. She looked at her gloves for a moment, clearly thinking…

And then promptly burst into tears.

The two were incredibly startled at this, and despite both being relatively...emotionally inexperienced, they gathered around her to try and help.

“Uh...I...is something wrong?” Shadow asked, immediately kicking himself mentally. Of course something’s wrong, people don’t cry if everything’s perfectly fine!

Omega, thankfully, got straight to the point. “What is it?”

“It’s...no, no, it was...Rouge.” the bat said, her voice sounding choked.

“Rouge?!” Shadow’s quills bristled. “What happened?”

“She...when Rouge came back. From her two years, you know, away-”

Shadow and Omega did know, now.

“-she came to the party two years ago, and she was different. She was cold, and distant, didn’t talk, and only laughed a- at people, not with them.”

Rouge? Cold and distant?!

“She wouldn’t talk to anybody about her life- the only reason I even knew she worked for G.U.N. was the logo on the paychecks she sent. When she stopped sending those, after I told her the news about Camellia- she took that well enough, but after that...I heard nothing. Nothing, for almost ten months.”

Omega’s eyes were wide, and Shadow was sure his own were as well.

“A-and then one day, she called me up. Her voice was different. Warmer. Happier. She apologized for her silence, and said she’d been in a bad place. I blamed myself, and accepted her apology, of course. She had to grow up so young, do so much all by herself… and she paid the price for it...for a while.

“And then I happened to look at an old article a couple weeks later, and I realized why she was better- and I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. My baby girl, in the news! And of all the things...fighting a world-renowned supervillain alongside the likes of Sonic the Hedgehog!

“But that wasn’t why she was better. No, when I started searching the internet frantically and saw her perched on the shoulder of a massive black and red robot, laughing uproariously- when I finally worked up the courage to go to her social media pages and saw, not darkness and pain, but her with an arm slung tightly around a young striped hedgehog, flashing the biggest smile I’d seen in years, I knew.”

Shadow’s hands were jittery and he really wished his heart would stop beating so loudly.

“It was both of you. I never found out the specifics as to how she met you two- I hope she’ll tell me the story someday- but you saved her from all of it. She had coworkers, sure, some nicer than others, but you gave her friends, and ones who understood her position at that.

“And this year- getting into a snowball fight! Telling silly stories at the dinner table! She would never have done that last year, mark my words.”

Rouge’s mother was smiling broadly through her tears now, looking at both of them. She reached out and hugged Omega, tightly but quickly, and did the same for Shadow, leaving him dumbfounded. “Just- I-

“Thank you.”

Shadow sat there for a minute, unable to do anything other than keep a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly, though, he noticed some movement by the door, and spun around to see Rouge standing there, absolutely silent as mascara-filled tears streamed down her face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, presumably to keep from making any noise.

“Rouge?” her mother asked, startled.

“Mooommmmm….” she whined, her own voice sounding tight- and then she rushed across the room and into her mother’s arms. “I love you, Mom.”

Shadow tried very hard to ignore the burning sensation just behind his eyes.

“You’re right. About, like, all of it.” Rouge said quietly, once she was finished crying with her mom. “Nothing here mattered to me when I was out there every day being, basically a soldier, y’know?”

She sighed, wiping more tears from the corners of her eyes, and stood up. “I think now’s a good time to say something that I’ve been thinking about for a while. Sorry if it isn’t perfect-” she laughed thickly- “I’m not exactly in the best state right now.”

Rouge’s mother smiled at her. “I’ll give you three some privacy, then.” she said gently, closing the door on her way out.

After she left, the younger bat resumed her impromptu speech. “Okay. Omega....chaos. Omega. Ohhh man.” She pointed at him. “That day? When you busted out of heckin’ nowhere and started blasting your machine guns like mad? O-one of the best days of my life. Wanna know why? I met you.”

Omega looked very fixedly at a point on the wall behind her.

“You literally carry me places. You crush our enemies with your epic missiles and fists of steel. You helped me prank Knuckles so bad he was checking everywhere for traps for the next week. You’re so fun and I just. You. Awesome. I can’t explain it properly right now but hopefully I’ll get to do a lot more of that later. You’re the best ever.”

“I…” Omega sounded like he was at a loss for words. “I am...honestly extremely flattered by this statement. I will continue to carry you places and destroy all who oppose us.”

“Awesome.” Rouge grinned.

“Aaaand Shadow.” She wheeled to face him, and the hedgehog in question attempted to mentally prepare himself and failed horribly. “You. You are so cool there are no words to describe it. And I don’t mean because you own a motorbike or you dress in all black or any of that stuff.

“I mean because like half the people who’ve been important in your life so far have been trying to kick the ever-loving hell out of you...and yet you get up each and every single time they do it and win. Honestly...I’m proud to know you, Shadow. And I hope you know that if you need me, for anything ever, know that I will give up the Master Emerald in a hot second to help.

“So yeah. And you’re the first guy I’ve ever met who’s actually willing to talk makeup- let alone likes it. The one who tries all the new restaurants with me. And the only person I will ever know who can somehow handle going to the mall with me more than once in a week.” Rouge finished with a smirk. “I guess you really are Ultimate.”

Everyone in the room who had tear ducts was currently using them. A lot.

Shadow sniffed furiously and wiped tears from his eyes. “Th- thank you…” He cursed internally as his voice betrayed him.

“Oh yeah, get ready for more.” Rouge warned him. “There’s more.”

The hybrid’s throat tightened in response.

“You know how I said, before we came here, that you guys meant as much to me as my real family?”

“Yes?” Omega asked, his voice sounding a little quieter than usual.

“To heck with that. You guys don’t have to, like, change anything because of this, but you are my family. You’re both my real family. As real as Mom is.” Rouge said, her words shaky yet determined.

Shadow felt as though he’d just been struck by a bolt of lightning. Dazed, he swayed slightly, clinging to the edge of his seat.

Family?

Is...is Rouge...is Omega….

He began to hyperventilate just thinking about it, just considering that after all he’d been through, after everything he’d lived through- at the end of it all, waiting for him, right now, was a--

“Shadow. Shadow, hold your breath.” Omega reminded him, and he shut his mouth and clasped his hands tightly for a minute.

A family? My family?!

“I- yes. Please. Yes. Family sounds good.” Shadow managed to stammer.

“Well, then!” Rouge said, looking pleased. “Now I get to assume the official Big Sister duties of kicking anyone who dares look at you wrong and buying you food.”

Shadow blushed a little. “Rouge. I don’t need protecting like that...”

“I know, but since when’s that going to stop me?” she asked. “And don’t start complaining- being the baby brother’s the good life, from what I’ve heard.”

A fresh wave of tears poured down his face at the words ‘baby brother’.

Of course, that was when Omega decided to go completely off the rails. “Am I the middle sibling or the youngest?”

Shadow and Rouge stared at him for a second. Then they both started laughing wildly, the toll of the various emotional highs and lows hitting them all at once.

“M-middle one.” Rouge gasped out eventually. “Definitely, the attention-seeking middle sibling.”

Omega made angry eyes for a second, but reconsidered. “Fine. That...yes, that works.”

“Family group hug?” Rouge suggested, smiling warmly at them both.

Shadow nodded weakly. “F-family group hug.”

Omega picked them both up and held them tightly. “You both will always be my favorite organic beings.”

“Thanks, Omega.” Rouge said, squeezing them both a little tighter.

…

A couple of hours later, Shadow was pulled out of his room for the third time in two days, again by Rouge’s mother. “Sorry to bother you, honey, I just wondered...would you mind giving us a hand with dinner? You were such a great help with breakfast that Cami and I had hoped....”

Curse you, Rouge.

So now he was in the kitchen. Again.

Only things were very different this time. Now, there were about ten people in there, all rushing around in some complicated pattern and carrying hot, cold, cooked, uncooked, and various other kinds of dishes all over without running into each other.

Somehow.

Shadow, despite feeling very overwhelmed and (strangely) underqualified, took one step into the fray- and immediately jumped several feet straight back as he was nearly mowed down by one of Rouge’s auncles rushing past with some sort of casserole.

“Sorry, kiddo!” they yelled over their shoulder, handing off the dish to someone else before sprinting back across the kitchen. Seconds later, another relative vaulted over the island in the middle of the room to get to the sink as quickly as possible, while carrying a semi-full plate that he somehow managed to keep steady.

The hybrid suddenly remembered several battles and sparring matches that he’d participated in. This...actually looked a lot like those.

He locked eyes with Rouge’s stepmother. She didn’t have time to say anything to him, instead just tilting her head in one direction. Shadow’s eyes snapped to a frying pan left unattended and knew what he had to do.

He took a running start and launched himself clear over several people’s heads before sticking the landing right in front of the pan. Several people applauded, and one person- the vaulting relative from earlier- frowned, having been severely upstaged.

So it was a competition, then?

Shadow looked directly at him and smiled like a feral shark.

...

The wild food preparation/parkour show finished with several people throwing the food to each other across the room like in a musical (Shadow thanked his lucky stars that he’d caught his- it was made of glass), and he decided it only existed because Rouge’s family was extremely over-the-top.

Immediately following that, everyone gathered around for another large dinner, during which Shadow only ate a little. And after too many more embarrassing stories, everyone gathered into a room to watch one of those cheesy Wintersweek romance movies that always came out in droves at this time of year.

Shadow said that they were all incredibly cookie-cutter style stories, each one following the exact same plot. Rouge claimed they were uplifting, fun stories and that she didn’t care if they were all the same. Omega liked to categorize all of the things that were wrong with them, so he was willing to sit with Rouge as she watched them.

The hybrid had scoffed cynically and walked away, filling the kitchen sink with water in the next room over and making a big deal out of clattering the plates around that he planned to wash.

Romance movies were so overrated.

Shadow could still see the screen through the doorway (not that he wanted to), and despite his wishes, the movie kept distracting him. He couldn’t stop himself from looking up to see what was going on.

It appeared to be a classic enemies to lovers story, as currently the shy young woman with a rock band shirt- who also happened to be the main star (cliche alert)- was glowering furiously at the trendy, popular blonde movie star. Who was, of course, berating the main character for her poor customer service.

At a coffee shop.

Shadow sighed loudly.

And of course, just as he’d suspected (he wasn’t paying that much attention to the movie all these films were the same really) they both ended up competing. In a Wintersweek cooking competition.

The movie star was confident she would win. Her film crew was ever-present, taking all the best shots of her as she ‘worked’.

Obviously, the main character was determined to beat her through hard work and skill. She was fully prepared to show this star just who she was dealing with…

...and all that and so on. Shadow rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the soapy water.

And then (this movie was like every single other one!!) their partners both came down with an illness that wiped out several other competitors as well. So naturally they were forced to work together. And of course they worked well, too.

(Shadow had stopped working on the dishes by now. Somewhere around here, he’d forgotten to look away.)

By the time these two had begun to look past each other’s flaws and see the real person beneath them, his eyes were riveted to the screen. It was still bad, he told himself, even as he watched every move they made. It was still bad.

They were working together now, smiling slowly and talking quickly and sometimes, occasionally, laughing. The obligatory hands-touching-by- accident scene happened. The two looked into each other’s eyes.

Shadow couldn’t decide how he felt anymore. Confusing emotions swirled inside him.

The kiss scene. (He saw it coming a mile away.)

The awkwardness. (Just to build up the tension.)

Their lips meet. (And a little voice deep down inside Shadow whispers…

...that feels right.)

The hybrid didn’t move a muscle for the next several minutes of the movie, refusing to miss a moment.

The couple won the competition. Of course, he thought, some form of rational thought returning to him. That was to be expected.

As the movie ended on their celebratory kiss, Shadow began, strangely, to feel as though someone had just punched him in the chest. When the credits rolled, he left, walking away from the movie, trying to get rid of this strange sensation.

He heard the click of Rouge’s high heels follow a minute after. And then the stomp of Omega’s ironclad steps.

Folding his arms, he tried to project an I-don’t-care attitude. Unfortunately for him, Rouge and Omega could a) tell that he was projecting said attitude and b) figured out quickly what he was really thinking. Curses.

“Was it the movie?” Omega asked bluntly.

The only acknowledgment Shadow gave was a slight twitch of his shoulders up and down.

“Did you hate it?” Rouge questioned.

Again, just a twitch of the shoulders.

They both studied him for a second.

“No…” the bat whispered, her teal-shadowed eyes widening. “No, you liked it! You liked it!”

“I did not!” Shadow spat furiously, more venom than he’d intended finding its way into his voice.

“You did.” Omega said. It wasn’t a question.

“I mean…” he sighed, looking away. “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

“Come on, Shadow…” Rouge said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Please?” Omega asked.

The hybrid groaned. “I...it was just- it wasn’t good, are we clear? It was just sappy. But. If you insist. I suppose...romance...argh. I can’t say it!”

“It’s okay, hon, just be patient.” Rouge said soothingly.

“Ugh...I mean...I’ve never dated someone before. Is it...really that nice?” Shadow muttered. His eyes narrowed, daring them to taunt him.

Omega looked at him, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “You want to date someone?”

“Wh-no, not like that! I- I mean...not just anyone…” he sputtered.

“So you’ve got someone in mind, then?” Rouge smirked at him, raising a brow.

“No!” he snapped, his eyes wide. “I- just meant- promise me you’ll never set me up on a blind date, are we clear?”

“Promise.” she said. “And I’m not crossing my fingers, either.” The bat waved both of them in front of her to demonstrate.

“However, we will force you to converse with others at future social events.” Omega declared. “I have heard that this is the first step in a successful relationship.”

Shadow scowled, but without any real heat. “Don’t you dare.”

Rouge giggled. “No more sulking edgily in the corner for you, emo-hog!”

He groaned. “Are you both turning against me? Really?”

“Of course we are.” Omega remarked. “That is exactly what family is for.”

“I don’t know whether to feel flattered or irritated.” Shadow grumbled.

“Flattered. Definitely~.” Rouge quipped with a wink.

“Ugh. Well, I’m going to bed now. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” he sighed, stalking out of the room.

“Aw, come on, Shadow!” the bat said teasingly. “Don’t you want to watch the sequel?”

The hybrid spun around so fast his quills nearly sliced up the doorway. “I’m sorry, the what now?”

“The sequel.” Omega repeated flatly. “You know you do.”

He hesitated.

“Fine.” Shadow growled through gritted teeth, his hands occasionally clenching into fists. “But only if I get to run commentary with Omega.”

“Sounds fair!” Rouge chirped, flying off with the other two right behind her.

As they walked away, Shadow in the back, he allowed himself a small, secret smile. They truly cared about him, and he knew they only wanted to see him happy. The teasing was all their way of showing affection. His eyes began to glimmer softly with a faint hint of happiness as fond thoughts and memories drifted through his mind. One sentence, though, stood out above all the rest.

I love my family.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #team dark: a holiday special #team dark #several other things i should probably mention:#please please please don't sled down a hill while lying down #you might crash into a tree #only do so if you are on top of a sentient robot that can steer for you #also i will give omega ALL of the cool upgrades #you can't stop me #and i do hope shadow's not too ooc #i tried my best (even looked up character analyses) but he's SO DIFFICULT to write well #hope you enjoyed!#there's one more part left now- we can't leave our favorite gem thief out!#sol's fanfiction

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littleredroseonthevalley · 4 years ago

Text

Land of the Blind

Summary: Nathan is caugh on a DUI and is sentenced to comunity service. There, he meets someone who can change his life.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 5400

Notes: So, Natey-boy again. Who hasn’t gotten over him yet?

בשוק סמייא צווחין לעווירא סגי נהור

In the street of the blind, the one-eyed man is called the Guiding Light

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan Sterling! Come over here, bro!" Beau Han bellowed, causing several heads in the party to turn, but he remained uncaring, as he went on to wave his bottle of beer as a half-hearted greeting.

Nathan sighed, shaking his head in frustration at the closest thing he could call as best friend. His boorish antics got old fast, and he had to take them for years now. However, it did not keep the young, blond man to slip into the seat next to him and grabbing a bottle of beer.

They had met in college, when they pledged the same fraternity. They both came from privileged upbringings, with the difference that Beau was nouveau riche, while Nathan was a Boston Brahmin. The Asian boy, because of that, submitted himself to be his faithful lapdog, and he did not care for the difference between that and “true friendship”.

"Anything fun going on around here?" Nathan asked, unamused.

Beau gave a casual shrug, before pulling a face. "No hot girls are allowed here, apparently."

He craned his neck then, as if looking for something. Nathan frowned, opening his mouth to question him when Beau beat him to it. "Eh, Nathan? Where's Becca? I thought she was your conquest for the week?"

Nathan flicked his finger dismissively, before downing the bottle of beer. The voluptuous girl was not bad-looking, on the contrary, but she really was just really bossy and nagging, and her name was tarnished since her parents divorced and cut her off, it was no fun.

Not to mention, she wanted commitment, too. She wanted to raise herself from the filth she was thrown in. It was a big no-no for Nathan. He did not, under any circumstances, do commitments. Anytime a girl seemed to imply that, she was out. Especially the social-climbers.

"She's old news already, Beau.” He responded, lazily. “I can't seem to find anyone else up to my standards."

"Your standards must be reaching heaven, my dear friend." Beau shook his head as he chugged his beer, before wiping the corner of his mouth to clean himself of the trail of white booze. "I'm pretty sure dear Katie would be glad to lecture you again."

Nathan sighed, shaking his head. Katie was the exact reason why he is so averse to commitment. She was his cousin’s wife, daughter of a fisherman from down at the harbour, and seemed to think they were a loving family just because they were around the same age. She firmly believed in love and that Tanner was her One and Only.

To him, it all sound either naïve or malicious. She knew he was cheating on her with the Emersons’ slag, Scarlett, but she took it because parting with the Sterling fortune was too much to bear. Not that she will ever really have to, having birthed a daughter already.

He almost scoffed at just the mere idea of fairy-tale love. Pick any marriage on his lineage, from the very day the first member of his family set foot in America hailing from Norway, and they would be a good example that love did not exist. Including Kate and Tanner’s.

“She can’t lecture me if she doesn’t know, and evidence shows it isn’t that hard to hide things from her. She is pretty stupid.”

"Damn, you're bad!" Beau chuckled heartily before pulling Nathan up from his seat, gesturing to the platform set up for the party. "Let's go dance, and maybe pick up some hot girls, yeah?"

The corner of Nathan's mouth lifted slightly. Yes, that was exactly what he needed.

"Yeah, you're on."

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan, you honestly shouldn't… " Beau stopped in the middle of the sentence, hiccupping for probably the umpteenth time. "Drive the car in such a state. You might get into an accident."

"Shut up, Beau, unless you’d like to walk." Nathan threatened. He was sure that he could handle liquor well, Beau was totally underestimating him. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who needs help getting home. Whose party is this again? Elliott's? I'm sure he'll be glad to drive you home."

"Yes, see that horn over there?" Beau hiccupped again, before chuckling and pointing at the roof of the house. "It’s Elliott's!"

"Damn, Beau, you are drunk." Nathan shook his head. Beau really seem like a stupid teenager at times. He muffled a sigh. “Call yourself an Uber. I know you like to spite your mother.”

"No need. Beau's going home with me." A familiar voice stated from behind the said male's bulky form.

Nathan's eyes widen by the tiniest bit, before he recovered, trying not to laugh. Trying to make him jealous? With Han? How quaint. Too bad it would not work.

"Oh, alright then." Nathan said, grinning as he saw his friend's face morphed into one of horror's, but he paid him no heed. He was apparently still sober enough to realize what he was getting into. "Have a nice night, Claire."

Without another word, he silently washed his hands from Han before he slipped into his Ashton Martin and sped off. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, most probably a side effect from the consumption of beer. It had actually been a while since he had gone home with a girl, and for this moment, this silence was actually rather nice and peaceful.

He took a deep breath before he relaxed against his comfortable leather seat.

The sirens of police cars suddenly broke him out of his reverie, and he immediately swerved to a stop in an unconscious move.

Ugh, Nathan, you moron! What did you stop for?

He suppressed his grumbles as he rolled down the window of his car to come face-to-face to Officer Silverhawk. He muttered a curse under his breath. Of all people... Of all days...

"Good evening, Officer Silverhawk." He greeted grudgingly.

"Yes, Nathan." She sounded displeased. "What're you doing out here that late at night? Is that alcohol? You reek of it!"

"No, of course not, ma’am." Nathan lied smoothly. "I wouldn't do such a dangerous, reckless thing."

“You certainly would.” She said, unbelieving. “Give me your keys. I’ll pull up your record.”

"Don’t get your panties on a twist, Officer Silverhawk." He muttered.

Officer Silverhawk looked up from scrolling through the records at the mention of her name, but Nathan waved his hand like it was nothing.

"Well, Nathan…" She said, sounding gruff. "It's not the first time you've been caught speeding. In fact, this is the fifteenth time, and there's another few which was after consuming alcohol."

Again, shit.

"Well, I'm afraid you'd have to go to the police with us. Don't worry, you will most likely just have to serve community service if it comes to that." Chief Silverhawk seemed to meant for her to sound reassuring.

However, she seemed smug and Nathan noted irritably that her upper lip seemed to twitch slightly at that comment.

Fuck was the only thought echoing through his mind. His parents were going to kill him.

*_*_*_*_*

“You are a disgrace, Mr. Sterling. You are a smudge on this town prideful tradition, and a shame to your surname.” Judge Rhodes said, sternly, from his bench. “I am very glad that I was able to shield my stepdaughter from the likes of you.”

Nathan used much of his willpower not to roll his eyes at that comment. Judge Rhodes was obsessed with his wife and stepdaughter, to the point it was nauseating.

The man congratulate himself into making a “safe” town for his family to live, as if he would ever be interested in Emily Harper. She was a very creepy character, and he is not alone in thinking that. Yes, she was his neighbour, but they just never interacted anymore.

He could remember that, before Queenie Harper married Dr. Rhodes, before even Evan Harper died of a heart attack, him and Emily would spend a lot of time together. Mrs. Harper would have him on their home to relieve his nannies, and the two kids would spend the Summer afternoons together.

Over Winter, while he was away in New Haven with his parents, however, Mr. Harper passed away and Queenie moved away with Emily to God knows where. They returned years later, when the old bat had already remarried, conveniently, with the new county judge.

Every time he sees her, which was actually quite rare, she would be wearing a long dress and she would be wearing a sunglass with Zigmund Ortega, if he remembered correctly, the felon son of their housemaid, or with either of her parents by her side.

“I would prefer to send you away for a month at the county jail. That ought to straighten you out. However, the laws of the state of Massachusetts do not allow me.” The judge continued, doling out the punishment. “Therefore, I hereby sentence you, Nathan Sterling, III, to ten weeks of community service. I really hope this would be of help to your behaviour."

The gavel went down, he was taken away from the courtroom to where his family was restlessly waiting, no doubt anxious to give him a piece of their mind. He almost wished that Rhodes had locked him away.

“A DUI, Nathan, honestly.” Lois Sterling, his mother, admonishes coldly. “Why don’t you just piss on your great-grandfather’s statue at main square while you’re on it, huh?”

He limits himself to a glare. His mother really knows how to make a bad situation worse just by standing in the room.

His father, in turn, merely sighed, patting Nathan's stiff shoulder. "Learn something there, son."

"Nathan, you're an idiot. I swear, you are!" Katie huffed, looking very much like an angry poodle dog. "But I really feel like something good may come out of this whole mess, so don't go messing things up."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want, Cinderella."

All he got was an answering smack.

*_*_*_*_*

"Well, now what am I supposed to do?" Nathan asked, refraining from groaning as he looked at the peeling layers of wallpaper in the room of the orphanage.

The matron of the establishment narrowed her beady, black eyes at him, as if threatening him, before she pushed the grey bun on her head up higher. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated, before turning to face her. "I'm sorry, Ms..."

"Mrs. Higginbotham." She snapped, her lips twisting to a grimace. "You weren't listening."

"I'm sorry." He shuffled his feet and stared at them for a moment, trying to deceive her into thinking he was feeling guilty, which he obviously was not.

She released a sigh. "It's alright, boy."

Some people just were so easy to deceive. Most people, in fact, were easily thwarted by him. Call it a congenic trait.

The older woman motioned for the wall. "You need to peel of the wallpaper of this entire room before repainting it. A few older children will be coming in to help you out later, so don't worry about the workload."

He nodded.

She mimicked his movements, looking satisfied before leaving him with the appropriate tools.

He sighed, pulling his sleeves up and dreading the loss of a shirt. "Better get to work now, I guess."

"Hello!" A cheery voice disrupted his concentration, and he turned to face her after scraping off the last peeling layer of white from the ceiling.

What he saw was an assorted group of approximately thirteen-year-old teens standing there and looking at him. He fought back a grimace, before he raised his hand in an awkward wave.

"Uh, hi?"

"We heard you were here to serve your sentence." One of the boys blurted out.

The boy beside him smacked him.

"Not a sentence, Nicky. That's such an exaggeration!" He paused, before giving Nathan a curious look. "Or is it?"

"Alright, boys." A girl who was obviously the leader of the group of five stepped out, holding her palms up for silence. "Enough. We are here to help."

The two boys bowed their heads in resignation. "Sorry, Vanessa."

She nodded her head in satisfaction before turning her attention to the gaping Nathan. "What do you need help with, sir?"

"The scraping of wallpaper at the rest of the walls, I guess. I already did the ceiling. Then we can paint this room." He replied after recovering quickly. "And don't call me 'sir', please. It makes me sound old."

Vanessa grinned.

"Okay. Let's get to work then!"

This kid must be something to control them like that. Blonde curly hair, bright blue eyes, clearly a strong-willed kid. Had not been for the crude demeanour of her posture, one would say they were siblings. He found he rather liked her.

A few minutes after they started work, Nicky, if he remembered correctly, suddenly asked. "Brad, aren't you looking forward to the afternoon?"

The boy who smacked Nicky turned, his eyes bright as a cheeky smile surfaced, accidently scratching the wall with his tool in his carelessness, but he paid it no heed.

"Like, duh! Emmy is coming!"

"Emmy?" Nathan could not help himself from asking.

All eyes in the room turned to look at him, looking shocked before exclaiming in unison, "You don't know who's Emmy?"

“No, not really.” He responded.

“Emily Harper.” Vanessa supplied, helpfully. “She’s a voluntary teacher here. The kids that have been here the longest call her Emmy.”

“Oh! She’s my next-door neighbour.” He gasped in recognition. "Um, well, we’ve met, years ago, but we’re not close anymore. She's kind of... I don't know… "

He tried to untangle himself out of the situation, noticing how everyone seemed to stiffen at his words.

"You're one of those creeps who look down on her, right?" Nicky yelled, his face red with anger as he fisted his hands, stepping forward and looking as if he was about to hit him.

"Nicky." Vanessa's soft voice stopped him, and he bit his lip before muttering an apology.

"I'm sorry, Nathan, we're rather protective when it comes to Emily." She managed a smile. "I sure hope you aren't one of those who look down on her. She is a lovely person. She really brightens up our day."

He smiled back, unsure of what reply to give.

After that exchange, the room's atmosphere seemed to escalate to a freezing region, where everyone talked among themselves, occasionally only speaking to Nathan when they need to.

It seemed hours to him before Mrs. Higginbotham came, looking very pleased with their progress. "Well, you are almost done, ain't ya?"

All the teens nodded their heads eagerly, excluding Nathan.

"Well, I suppose you all can go for your break." She turned to leave before she angled her face back to face them once more, a twinkle in her eye. "By the way, Ms. Harper has arrived."

It was a moment after she left, before all the children threw down their tools and dashed out, pushing against each other as they stumbled along the corridor. Nathan blinked once in bewilderment, before he decided not to follow.

He continued working on his part of the room for a few more minutes, before his stomach growled. He bit the inside of his cheeks, before resigning. Now, he would have to find the canteen by himself.

How pathetic. Why did he have to stop his car when Officer Silverhawk signalled him to? Walsh would never let her come after him, anyways. There were so many better ways to spend his precious time, to the point he is willing to go work with his father.

Pulling the towel off his neck, he jumped down from the stool before trudging out of the room. The county orphanage could not be that big; he was sure of it. It should not be too hard to find the canteen.

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. This work really was exhausting.

As he walked down the hallway, commiserating with himself, a beautiful melody drifted to his ears then, and he immediately perked up. Someone was playing the violin, and that person was really good at it, too.

Unknowingly, his feet followed the source of the music, and he stopped in front of a door at last.

Placing his hand on the doorknob, he debated for a while whether he should go in or just leave it be. But the curiosity of knowing who was inside overwhelmed him, and he twisted the knob as softly as he could before he poked his head to the room.

A redhead with long, flowing curly hair tumbling down to her waist was on the middle of a mostly empty room, holding the instrument. She was wearing a white floral dress that reached over her knees. He watched, transfixed as her fingers danced over the strings, her eyes closed and her full lips in a concentrated pout.

"Nathan?" Mrs. Higginbotham's voice broke him out of his entranced stare.

The music abruptly got cut off and the girl turned to face him. His jaw almost fell to the ground.

"E-Emily?" He managed to get out.

She smiled a breath-taking smile, standing up from her seat, her eyes still closed as she tilted her head to the side for a moment.

"Hi, Nathan."

"Hi?" But it sounded more like a question. The beautiful girl playing the violin just now... Was actually Emily Harper? The ghost of Birchport? The bratty child of the county judge?

He swallowed, watching as her long, elegant fingers pressed against her full, red lips, looking embarrassed.

"Did you hear me play?" She asked, a soft stutter on her words.

"I did. It was beautiful." He breathed, still looking utterly entranced, his emerald green eyes lighting up as they stared at her.

Red coloured both her cheeks as she fidgeted even more, seeming to feel the weight of his stare. "Thank you, you’re too kind."

Suddenly, someone coughed in the room, and Nathan realized they were not alone. The entire roomful of teens and children and Mrs. Higginbotham were looking at him, seemingly in amusement and curiosity.

"New brother!" One of the younger kids squealed before clapping his hands together, looking very happy.

Nathan stared at them with a completely bewildered expression.

"Well, Nathan, how nice of you to join us." Mrs. Higginbotham said, motioning for him to take a seat and snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higginbotham."

"Sorry, Nathan. I really thought you were one of those creeps who look down on Emmy." Nicky whispered to him from in front and Nathan tilted his head to the side. Why would anyone look down on her? She was beautiful, and she played such beautiful music.

Before he could ask, though, Emily had already picked up her instrument and placed on her neck, measuring the tempo for a new song. She seemed tense now, her fingers stiff. Was it because of his presence?

He wondered about it, before shaking it off. Impossible.

Her first note was slightly shaky, before it was followed by a firmer tone. As she continued on, her confidence began to grow and the music slowly crawled to a crescendo, her fingers flying over the strings.

He could not help but gape. She was the epitome of beauty and class. Maybe she would be deserving to be his next conquest.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Mrs. Higginbotham murmured from beside him.

He nodded, not speaking, transfixed by the song.

"You can't even tell that she's blind." She said softly and Nathan whirled to face her in shock.

"What?"

"Why, yes, Nathan. She's blind." She said, a little surprised. “I thought you knew. Most people in town do.”

“I… She wasn’t blind back when we were close.” He responded lamely.

Higginbotham tutted, lost in thought. “She did lose her sight, just after her father’s death.”

“How did it happen?” He asked, curiously.

“You’d do better asking her yourself.” She answered with a tone of finality.

That night, as he went out with Kassidy Marquez, his mind was elsewhere; thinking of a certain redhead with a lovely blush.

Soon, he broke off with a shocked and angry Kassidy, because he simply could not stand the heaviness in his heart.

*_*_*_*_*

Emily teaches music to the children at the orphanage, or at least tries to. Their music room was on the bare side, so their lessons are mostly consisted of her playing for them to hear. After every break she plays, she would tell the children the stories of her life, and Nathan would sometimes be one of the characters.

When she was feeling particularly wicked, she would tell some humiliating story of the two of them when they were kids, which would always finish with him red as a tomato and mumbling, “That’s so not what happened…”

She, however, never told them about the time she spent away from Birchport, curiously enough. She never told them how she lost her sigh, nor where she had been or what she had been doing. It was mysterious.

Every day, after clock out, Nathan would go home alone looking dazed, and Katie would be waiting for him on the foyer, just to pester him as always, wondering who the girl was.

She sure was not the only one wondering.

He stopped going out at night, he stopped dating different girls at the time. In a nutshell, he stopped doing everything like he would always do. Instead, he would always go to their library to play the piano when he had any free time.

There was a time he loved playing the piano. His mother had commanded him to chose an instrument, and he took to that. He even had quite a deal of talent, but on his Senior year in high school, Lois barred him from playing and at Hartford was impossible. By the time Summer came and he returned to Birchport, he had long forgot it.

The change of his personality within such a short period of time was shocking, to say the least. It was a pleasant one, though, of course.

He would always look out of his bedroom window, gazing beyond the gardens, wanting to see her, but he would never have the chance to. So, he had to wait every day until he reached the orphanage.

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan, it's your last day of community service today, right?" Katie declared, over breakfast. "It must have been a long two months and a half."

He shook his head, but refrained from a snarky comment. Nathan had been more patient with his cousin by marriage these days. In fact, he had been more patient and mindful with just about everybody, with the notable exception of his mother.

Happy people want for everybody to be happy too, he reasoned. Since he felt more comfortable in Emily’s company, he stopped to be so cynical about everyone’s angle when talking to him, he became more trusting. He was even beginning to accept that Katie was just a good person, after all.

"It's not long at all." He murmured, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly. "Not long at all."

Nathan, Snr., stared, seeming shocked, but said nothing. An approving smile was on his face. They simply have to meet this miracle-worker.

Lois, in turn, glared at her son. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, boy. The next time you pull out something like that, you won’t be getting off so easily.”

The young man shrugged and got up to his feet, leaving the house with no further words. He jumped into his car and drove as fast as he could to the orphanage, getting straight into work as soon as he arrived.

He watched her as he ran his errands, during every break of that week, watching the beautiful girl playing music that touched his very soul. He was captivated, he was entranced, and he was completely falling to the grace of it.

Not only to the violin, but to the girl playing it.

The slight furrow between her brows as she contemplated something; how she pressed her fingers against her lips when she was embarrassed; how her hands would wrang together when she was nervous; how she would bite her lip when she was frightened; how...

Fuck, how did he know these things?

He buried his head into the crook of his arm. It was the last day of his community service, and he was actually here, obsessing over a girl. A girl who barely knew him and would certainly hate to.

"Nathan?"

It was then, did he realize that Mrs. Higginbotham has been calling him for some time. She looked rather displeased. Again.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She smiled. "As I was saying, I've seen in your information that you're rather talented in the piano. Why don't you two play a piece together? As a farewell?"

"You're leaving?"

A slight furrow could be seen from his view and he smiled, though he knew she would not see it. She actually looked concerned. He almost laughed at the irony of Judge Rhode's words on his sentence. Well, it certainly backfired.

He nodded slowly, out of habit. "Well, yeah. It's my last day of community service."

“I’ll round up the kids, while you decide on a song.” The matron declared, excusing herself. “I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

A pause.

"So, would you like to play a duet with me?" He asked, his tone velvet and smooth.

He would not talk to her anymore after this. Perhaps he would, they were neighbours, but it did not seem likely. It would not be like it was now, in these hallowed rooms, away from their families and away from the prying eyes of the community.

As he spoke, he took big strides, reaching her quickly. He took her hands that were wrung together on her lap before taking one of them to his lips, pressing his lips against them gently. She blushed deep red.

He felt his crooked smile on his face. His real smile, the one born out of legitimate joy, that he almost forgot he had. He frowned at that thought, dismissing it away quickly.

"A duet, my Lady?"

"Sure…" She stammered, a blush still on her cheeks.

He sat on a bench and stretched his hands to play the old piano that the institution kept and he had tuned earlier that month.

There was a silence as they shifted to make themselves comfortable, before he blurted, “Where were you?”

“What?” She asked softly, in confusion.

“We were friends, Emily. It might have been long ago, but I remember that much. I left for New Haven after Labour Day one year, and when I came back in the Spring, you were gone.” He said, rather feverishly. “Then, as suddenly as you left, you came back, and now you are blind. What happened?”

The girl turned her face away, trying to hide the tint on her cheeks. “It was entirely too sudden. My dad died, and then we moved right away. I didn’t know until I heard the movers come into the house.”

“Why, Emily? What happened?” He insisted.

“My dad, he had a heart attack while driving. He hit a tree and died from the impact. I was on the car with him, and the glass shards from the windshield cut my eyes.” She explained. “The doctors in Boston said I wouldn’t be able to see anymore, so my mother moved us to New York, so I could attend a school for the blind.”

“I see.” He nodded, sober. “And Judge Rhodes?”

“My mother met him in New York. He is a good man, just a little overbearing. He thought it would be better to live in a small town, that it would be safer, so when I got into Boston Conservatory, they decided to relocate to Birchport for me to commute.” She finishes her story with a soft voice, barely perceptible.

“I see. Thank you for telling me.” He responded, a little ashamed of himself. He should not have pressured her that way.

“It’s okay, I’ve been meaning to, actually.” Emily said, smiling again. “I was honestly quite intimidated by you in the beginning. You seemed always so angry and frustrated.”

Nathan chuckled. “It’s because I was.”

“You’ve mellowed out since.” She concludes. “I’m glad. You have a nice voice when you’re happy. I like it.”

“I have a pretty voice…” Nathan teased. "I must be pretty hot, huh?"

She giggled softly. "Yeah. You seem to be, if I remember you right."

"You aren't the only girl who say that."

Her smile melted away then, and Nathan berated himself for saying such a thing.

“You’re very perceptible. I live in a house full of perfectly seeing people, and none of them identify what I think or feel.” He smiled sadly, trying to cover up his slip of the tongue.

“I’m sorry for that, Nathan. You shouldn’t be made feel this way.” She raises her hands to him. He picks them up and cradle them on his. “People are good in hiding emotions in their faces, but not on their voices, not on their bodies. If there is one good thing about being blind is that it is difficult to be lied to.”

They took a minute to enjoy each other’s bodily presence, one that was too soon interrupted by a loud cough from Mrs. Higginbotham. All the older teens behind her stifled their laughter, seeming to know what was going on.

"What piece then?" Nathan questioned, a smile seeming stuck on his face. He just could not stop smiling.

"How about Dvořák?" She offers. “The fourth duet.”

"I like it." He murmured, watching as she fumbled with the stacks of scores for a moment before pulling out the desired one.

"I hope you'd have no problem with it. Um, no, I'm not underestimating you, it's just..."

He laughed. "No worries, Emily. I can cope, and I know you're not."

He could not help the arrogance that slipped through, but it was him, after all. He was not called a piano prodigy for nothing. His thumb brushed her warm cheek casually before they turned to the score before them.

He counted softly under his breath before his fingers swept over the keys in a beautiful, enchanting dance. The soft, soothing melody filled the room, their music interacting beautifully on the dusty air, and a smile would surface on both Nathan's and Emily's face as a surge of electricity run through their veins.

"Beautiful piece, isn't it?" Emily whispered, almost too soft for him to hear as their fingers choreographed a breath-taking dance, without any rehearsals or practice. They felt whole.

"Yes." Nathan murmured, unable to stop the next sentence from slipping out. "More beautiful when it's played with you."

He knew that out of all the girls he had been with, she, Emily Harper, the ghost of Birchport, brought out the best in him. He did not need to look at her to know she was smiling a timid smile.

They struck a final chord and simultaneously turned to face each other; though Emmy could not see him, before breaking out into a joyful laughter. The people in the room started laughing too.

The younger children had no idea what was happening, but they joined in, clapping their hands and squealing, immersing themselves in the happy and light atmosphere.

The fingers that were once dancing over the keys were now interlaced with each other tightly.

He knew it then, as he swept a strand of brown hair away from her closed eyes, a beautiful smile on her face; that he wanted her to love him; that he wanted them to be together.

"Emily." He murmured, cupping her face gently in his hands, before he pressed a soft kiss against her full, pouty ones, watching as a familiar red coloured her cheeks.

"Yes?" She answered breathlessly.

He smiled. "I promise I’ll share my eyes with you, if you promise to always be with me."

He watched a tear escape from the corner of her closed eye, before leaning forward and capturing it with his finger.

“I promise.” She whispered.

The children cheered while Mrs. Higginbotham looked at them with a berating eye-stare, scolding them for the display, but she could not stop a soft smile from spreading across her face, either.

*_*_*_*_*

TF Masterlist

Taglist: @alicars; @boneandfur; @catlady0911; @choicesyouplayandmore; @choicesficwriterscreations; @cocomaxley; @choicesfannatalie; @emerald-bijou; @hellospunkiebrewster; @liamxs-world; @lizeboredom; @mfackenthal; @moodygrip; @mrsdrakewalkerblog; @onesuntowngirl; @shelivesinthewoods; @theroyalweisme; @tornbetween2loves; @topsyturvy-dream; @youvileevillittlecockroach

#The Freshman #the junior #Nathan Sterling

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kiatheinsomniac · 5 years ago

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Huntress II

[ I ] [ II ] [ III ]

(Y/n)'s (e/c) eyes flickered between the two women who were seated before her.

The one on the left was blonde with curled hair that cascaded in ringlets over her shoulders, complimenting her tanned skin. Her face bore dark brown eyes that glimmered with sparkling tears, they reminded (Y/n) of a lost fawn. She wore an elegant grey dress with detailed beading and a white front and clutched a tear-stained handkerchief in her left hand. She looked as though she had hardly slept since the murder. This one was Lucia - the daughter of a Count and Countessa from Venice.

The second was much darker-skinned. She had her ink-black hair parted down the middle with the upper half of her locks styled up in a bun. She wore a white dress with a red sash around the middle and embroidery over the skirt of it. Wrapped around her shoulders was a cascading cloak with all the detail of a tapestry and embroidered with patterned glass beads. She wore a golden circlet and red veil that was attached with a clip at the back of her head. Many earrings and bracelets, as well as a golden necklace, flaunted her wealth. This was Halime, the daughter of a very successful and wealthy Ottoman trader. She was very tired too and had been awoken from sleep to talk with the Witch Hunter. A cup of coffee was clutched in her hands to assist in rousing her sleep-fogged mind.

"I need every detail that you can remember about that man and anything that felt different about that night, what made it out of the ordinary aside from the murder?" (Y/n) questioned as she dipped a quill in some ink and poised it over some parchment.

"It was just another street party." Lucia began, "We go to them all the time. This one was in the piazza down the street. It started off perfectly fine but then he showed up. He wore white robes and a red belt with a symbol that looked like an arrow pointing up on it." (Y/n) scribbled this down in her cursive handwriting. "He was so handsome that you could have wondered if one of the old Roman gods had returned to walk the earth, I suppose that this foolishly made us put our guards down."

"Yes, vampires tend to be very attractive: it's what lures their prey into a false sense of security, it makes them desirable. Carry on."

"He was an excellent dancer. I was rather shocked that Elizabetta was dancing so well with him: it's no secret that she was not a very good dancer." Lucia paused, "I couldn't wrap my head around it but I ignored the red flag because I had no reason to sense that something supernatural was happening at the time."

"It was like she was a puppet on strings. . ." Halime spoke up in a soft voice, staring at the steam coming off her dark coffee, "Like he was controlling her, had her hypnotised. . . Can they do that?" There was a silence while (Y/n) noted down, what she believed to be, key information.

"Yes and that makes this vampire very dangerous; he is clearly very powerful. They all have simple powers, ones to help lure in prey. But some have their own unique abilities - it's rare to ever hear of vampires with the same personal ability. I hope that he does not have one. . . Please continue."

"His name was Ezio." Halime carried on, "I overheard him introducing himself to Eliza, I can remember gossiping about it. Eliza was drinking a lot of wine - usually, she would not drink but that night was an exception with him. I swooped in to make sure he wasn't trying to get her drunk and take advantage but he was so charming. He knew of my father's business too so we spoke about that for a while though he admitted to disliking coffee. In fact. . . looking back on it now. . . there was so much food there, so much to drink. . . he didn't touch any of it. . ."

"Human food and drink will make them ill, they can only keep it down for so long before they're sick. I've known one who tried so desperately to be human again - she was turned into a vampire against her will and some villagers were worried she would attack them. I thought I would have to fight her tooth and claw but she called me her angel and accepted death. . . She didn't want to live an immortal life as a monster."

"Do you think that Ezio was turned into one?" Lucia questioned.

"I can't tell yet. He may have been bitten, he may have been born a vampire, he may have traded his soul. I cannot tell as of yet. But, this is an investigation and you two must carry on telling me about the events of that night."

"Yes," Lucia looked to Halime, "I joined them perhaps an hour after he had been talking with Eliza and Halime. Poor Eliza was worried she would get too drunk and asked him to escort her home. We were both very against this, to begin with, but the way he spoke about her and how sincere he looked. . ." A sob escaped her lips, "He was so convincing and if only we'd persisted, she'd still be alive." Her young Ottoman friend turned to embrace her as she sobbed.

"You two found her in her room afterwards when you came to check on her. Was the window open?" (Y/n) quizzed. She felt sorry for the crying Lucia but she had to get her work done if she wanted to stop any more people from dying the way Elizabetta had.

"Yes, I was the one who closed it." Halime nodded her head, her bracelets on her wrists jangling as she ran her hand up and down her weeping friend's back. "We found her naked. . ." She looked to the door and lowered her voice, "Between us three. . . Eliza was not as pure as her family believe her to have been. I knew exactly why she wanted Ezio to escort her home - she wanted him to share her bed."

"I had a feeling that he had slept with her then killed her. It's very common for vampires to do that. Some get the blood pumping with fear, others with pleasure." She noted down Ezio's behaviour. One thing didn't add up. If Ezio had escaped through the window, the heel of the palm of the blood print on the window sill would be facing inwards.

"Thank you for your time, girls. If you remember anything else that you think could be useful, don't hesitate to find me." Halime nodded for both of them while Lucia continued to sob. (Y/n) could see the hollow look in the girl's dark brown eyes as she comforted her friend.

The Witch Hunter made her way outside to the gardens and walked around the wide of the building until she could see Elizabetta's bedroom window. Her (e/c) orbs widened as she squinted against the sun. There was a trail of dirty bootprints on the side of the white wall that led to the balcony two rooms down. He must have held onto the edge of the roof and made his way over! (Y/n) felt an anxiousness loom over her. He was incredibly athletic if this was the case. She attempted to recall the layout of the mansion. That balcony was part of the Doge's study.

Why would a vampire go there if he had an unfinished meal in the other room? It made no sense to (Y/n). She made her way back inside and paused outside the study. She knew that the Doge would not like her snooping around, therefore, she quietly pushed the door open and examined the room. Nothing seemed too out of order at first glance. She made her way over to the balcony and, sure enough, there was a bloody handprint on the rail. He had stopped in here.

(Y/n) pulled a pendulum out of her pocket. She had to find something missing in a room that she was utterly unfamiliar with. She wrapped the silver chain around her knuckles and held it up in the air, keeping her arm perfectly still as she watched the point of clear quartz settle in the air, going still. She looked over her shoulder at the door, making sure that the coast was clear before beginning.

"What did the vampire take?" Nothing happened for three moments before it slowly began moving back and forth, towards a bookshelf that was placed on the left side of the room. The (h/c)-haired female slowly stepped forwards, following the direction which it swung in before she paused in front of one particular part of the shelf. "Thank you. With that said, she pocketed the pendulum and ran her hands over the leather-bound books and volumes. Her eyes slipped shut as she ran her fingertips over the spines before they snapped open and she pulled a red one off the shelf swiftly.

It was old, that much she could tell, and it seemed to buzz in her hands almost - a thrum of energy was tied to it. Though, only someone so in tune with this layer of our reality would be able to tell. Someone like a vampire or a witch hunter. She flipped through the pages: all hand-written about precursors and magical items that she had never heard of before. This shocked her, she was so very well educated in her profession that she was surprised to discover something she didn't know. Her fingers ran along where pages had visibly been torn. Why did the Doge own this book? Why did Ezio want it? (Y/n)'s eyes narrowed and her heart fluttered as she began to get the suspicion that she was out of her depth. There was something going on here that she was not aware of, something that the Doge was hiding.

Something that the vampire wanted.

Her lips parted as a piece of the puzzle in her investigation fell into place. Elizabetta had been Ezio's key inside. Vampires, like many supernatural creatures, could not enter a place unless invited. She had been his way inside and he had not finished drinking her blood because he had his fill, cutting off a loose end at the same time, then attended to the real reason he had come here.

There was no way that she was not going to read through that red book, therefore, she tucked it into the depths of her cloak and walked back out again. This was her new piece of evidence. She could question the victim's parents later. For now, she needed to understand the vampire on the loose, not the corpse.

(Y/n) made her way into her assigned room which she had been showed to earlier. She turned the key in the lock behind her so that she would not be disturbed.

It was a small but snugly furnished room. The large four-poster bed in the close left corner with its red sheets and white pillows took up around a third of it. At the end of the bed was a trunk where her bags were being stored. The far wall bore two tall leaded windows on either side of it. Against the right wall were a table and a vanity. The fireplace was in the middle of the left wall. It had a plush wooden chair and black pillow by it. Candelabras were scattered across the room to provide light at night.

The (s/t)-skinned female unbuckled her dark grey cloak to hang it up on the coat rack by the door then sat by the plush chair in front of the fire, the book in her hands. She paused to look into the flames.

The soft crackling began to ring in her ears, echoing and it quickly became a raging roar of flames at war with firewood. Screams of agony and shrieked prayers rang in her ears, the cheers of a crowd. She could smell smoke and an awful burning as well as dusty hay.

Snapping herself out of it, she sprung from her seat and toed off her boots, curling up on the bed to read instead. Tears pricked at her eyes but she smudged them away quickly, opening the first page of her book in order to try and understand why the vampire wanted it so badly. This one was too important to allow him to get away, for he would be kill number twelve.

Her final victim.

♰♰♰

Series of papers were piled over the desk, some of them pinned to the wall. Ezio's eyes picked apart every piece of information before flickering up to a drawing of his goal:

The Apple of Eden.

He was determined to but this centuries-long war to rest. He had traded his very soul for it, for immortality, for a body that was stronger than a human's in every way, for him to stop wasting time on sleep. The only price was that he would have to drink the blood of humans to survive.

Too many lives had been lost to the war between Assassin and Templar and he intended to put an end to the killing once and for all. He wouldn't have made such a self-sacrifice if he did not believe that he would succeed. He knew that if he could put an apple, he could cause the final killings of the remaining Templars that would put all the bloodshed to an end, that would guarantee freedom of will.

His large hands, olive-toned, skimmed over the papers. trying to organise the mess.

He was inside a singular room: a large one at that. It was high-ceilinged and lit with candles and small fires on intricately carved marble candelabras. The stained glass windows were boarded up, the pews in disarray and many of the statues were covered by dusty sheets. Art, armour, fine jewels and old weapons, as well as books and sketches, were set around the place.

He had set up his workspace at the very back of the abandoned church where the altar had once been. There was a large bed with tapestries hung around it to replace the fact that it lacked posts. Rugs were layered on the floor and a case of wine bottles was stacked on the shelf. Well, they had once been used for wine but now they had been repurposed and held blood. He could no longer enjoy wine like he did when he was still the careless young human boy romancing every pretty woman in Florence.

A child laughed behind him before a sheet was pulled from a statue of an angel, causing dust to swirl in the air. The eyes were painted black and the paint ran down the angel's cheeks like demonic tears.

But no one was there.

"I will not tolerate your games." He growled to the daring ghosts of the church who soon fled the room, knocking over a book in the process of leaving. The church was full of wandering spirits, many of which were daring children who were in search of a little fun and entertainment.

But there was one spirit in particular. . .

A laugh resonated throughout the hall. For someone so recently dead, she was very strong. Though, this was simply because she had a direct link to Ezio: killer and victim. Her blood was still in him, after all.

"You won't get away with it. You'll be stopped." The ghost of Elizabetta smirked as she stood perfectly still behind where Ezio was seated at his cluttered desk.

"And who will stop me? Your Templar father?" He sighed, not wanting to entertain the taunting spirit.

"No. But she will." The ghost smirked, "I actually helped her out earlier, she knows what you took and soon enough she'll find out why. My father's hired her to avenge me by ending your supposedly immortal life." Ezio whipped his head around at this, tossing his tied-back dark down hair as he did so. His chestnut orbs glinted with anger and worry as to what the ghost was speaking of. His scarred lips curled down into a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a witch hunter in the city — a very skilled one at that. She's travelled very far because my father would only settle for the best of the best. (Y/n) (L/n) ring a bell?" She smirked. Ezio turner back around and held his head in his hands. No! He had sacrificed too much on this path for some human to end it now!

"Begone! You're not welcome here!" He snapped, not even facing the spirit of Elizabetta who simply giggled as she vanished into smoke, her spirit having to leave the abandoned church now that she had been banned from it. She loved getting under the cold skin of the man who had ended her life so abruptly.

Ezio growled irritably in the dimly-lit room. Surely the spirit was only taunting him? But what if she was telling the truth? He wouldn't put it past the paranoid Dodge to do such a thing. Sighing, he stood from his cushioned seat and made his way towards a door in the corner which led down to the basement of the large church. Upon opening it, a spider scuttled across the stone floor, legs running rapidly over the uneven bricks.

The vampire stepped over the threshold and small, wall-mounted braziers lit up, the oil in them burning silently and causing a soft glow to illuminate the previously pitch-black stairwell. He found himself in a room full of stacks of shelves, dividing the dimly-lit and cluttered room into aisles. Inside the containers of preserving liquids were hearts, lungs, intestines, kidneys, brains, eyes, tongues, fingers and so on. Strings of cobwebs hung from the ceiling and mould was beginning to grow from the dampness that seeped between the bricks.

Closer to the back of the room were scrolls and papers tied with twine, coated in dust. The abundance of books could not fit onto all the shelves so they stacked up in piles, some of them lying open or discarded from where Ezio had ransacked the room for information on the Pieces of Eden or codex pages. Eventually, he made his way to a wooden box, sealed with wax and a sorceress's spell to keep it's magic contents inside.

A hidden blade protruded from Ezio's sleeve with a satisfying 'snnk' and cut along the lid of the box, slicing through the dripped red wax until he could prise the old box open with his hands. Inside, was a thick lock of braided blonde hair, healthy as the day it was cut. Mermaid's hair. It felt soft as sea-foam and smelled of a hot tropical harbour's breeze. They say, that if you capture a mermaid, she can tell you your future because they can read the very waves of the ocean.

But you didn't need the whole creature to do that.

Ezio wound the braid around his hand and whispered under his breath, uttering the question to the blonde tresses which he held mere millimetres from his lips. He needed to know if Elisabetta was bluffing or not and he had to know if this Witch Hunter was a true threat. Usually, he would not take the words of a ghost so seriously but he knew in his gut that something else was amiss here. A woman's voice whispered to him:

"She will find you and she will do everything in her power to kill you. Beware, for she will burn all that stands in the way of vengeance for her sisters."

#ezio auditore da firenze #young ezio auditore #ezio auditore/ reader #ezio auditore da firenze x reader #ezio auditore da firenze/reader #vampire au #ezio auditore vampire au #huntress #au #assassins creed #assassins creed II

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years ago

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FIC: With Wax Melted III

---

The table was somehow not crowded at all as the sound of cutlery scraping, requests for platters to be passed and the quiet background music filled the kitchen. It had been a while longer before Jo announced dinner was prepared and she’d gently coaxed the group into moving. Grey was almost certain she’d made the table bigger somehow but that was a thought for later, when he wasn’t having to negotiate exactly how to fit everything on a plate together.

“Hun,” Jo murmured as she leaned over his shoulder to take the bowl filled with the home made pasta dressed in the pesto and fresh rocket leaves and dish out a small pile onto his plate. About half the size he had been trying to negotiate onto the plate. “You realize the bonus of family-style is that you can take seconds, right?”

“Oh, true.” Grey let out a quiet laugh as he sat back in his seat. His plate could be filled again if he wanted it to, and as he took a forkful of the zesty pasta and enjoyed the slight lemony finish, he knew he’d be taking a second helping of pasta if not everything. “This is so good, Jo.”

He wasn’t kidding though - the taste was just right with the pesto he’d been talked through tasted like a truly basil bliss. The lemon offset it perfectly and the pasta itself was al dente and Grey was going to never get over how quickly and efficiently Jo had whipped up the fresh dish. The yellow strands were beautiful and were delicate in a way he’d never attempted to make of his own nor were they as thick or too perfectly made as the store bought where it lacked the rustic and obvious care and love that these ones did. It was perfect.

“Of course it is, you helped.” The blonde chided him back, tapping the back of his head with the handle of the serving spoon before she rounded the table to help the other blonde in the house sort out her meal. “Hey, lemme help, Ombre!”

“You helped make the meal?” The question came from Grey’s right, and the curious look on the elder’s face was veiled slightly more than the curiosity in his tone. Amon glanced between his plate and the shadow before giving a slight nod. “It’s very well made.”

“Oh, well, I helped. Jo did a lot of it.” “Really?” “She’s definitely under playing how much is her work-”

“Multitalented, hmm?” Amon turned from looking towards Grey down towards the other end of the table where the two blondes were talking and Jo was dishing up not only the pasta but encouraging the younger girl to try a little of both the vegetarian and meat options - “If you haven’t tried meat, you should and see how you feel, Ombre” - before he turned back towards the man beside him. “I have to stop underestimating her, perhaps.”

“Don’t do that,” Grey grinned a little, taking the plate of caperese salad that Harry handed him to add a few of the fresh tomatoes onto his plate. “She likes being underestimated.”

“Yeah, and she also likes shooting you in the back when she gets the chance.” The researcher piped up as he let out a laugh of his own, tucking into the crumbed beef parmesan that had both the gooey cheese layered on top and the thick tomato sauce Grey’d made layered between the still crisp beef schnitzels. Jo must have only heated that through enough to brown the cheese under the griddle so that the crumb wouldn’t get soggy, and if the eggplant version wasn’t so delicious, Grey’d be tempted to give it a try himself. The sauce had been thick when he’d last seen it, and he almost had thought when he left it it had been a little chunky still - but the sauce that filled the layers between the umami-rich eggplant slices was instead thick in a silky way with no graininess. The béchamel white sauce and golden brown cheese on top had the right level of gooeyness to it, pulling in a long string of golden deliciousness with each slice. That Jo’d made both options was going down well, as both Grey and Shada appreciated the meat-free alternative and Harry and Ombre both had a bit of each on their plates, while Amon had been advised with a sly look from Jo she’d made sure to make their beef version a little bigger. Harry grinned around his mouthful before adding. “I mean, it’s good when she’s on your team but sucks when you play for the opposition.”

“I’ve seen that being on her bad side is not a good idea.” The slightly deeper tone in Amon’s voice piqued Grey’s interest before he found himself blushing to realize exactly how true that was, and the veiled intent behind the man’s words. That was something they couldn’t see eye to eye about, but Grey found himself appreciating that the other had put that aside, as usual, on his behalf. There was a pause before the older man asked carefully, the cool tone disappearing from his words. “But what do you mean by team?”

Grey half listened in as Harry appeared to go onto one of his famous, disjointed stories explaining the whole concept of first-person-shooters and gaming; eyes darting on occasion to see that Amon seemed to have known exactly what he was doing getting the other distracted and babbling away. It took the pressure off both Grey and Amon to do more than nod or mumble encouragingly while getting to enjoy their meal, and Grey did always find Harry’s passion for their shared hobby to be fun to experience second hand.

As he chewed on a piece of his garlic breadstick (which was somehow pillowy and held a sweet nuttiness from the browned garlic, and he almost felt proud at his contribution to this part of the dinner at how well the garlic and herbs had been balanced), Grey turned his attention past the two other men down to the other end of the table where Jo had finally sat down and was now caught between his two sisters talking about some shopping trip they hoped to do. It was fast paced, and Grey watched on as Jo’s eyes darted back and forth between both other women like a tennis match trying to follow the flow of conversation and getting horribly lost. After a few moments of observing, the blonde finally seemed to notice his observation - brown eyes fixing onto his instead for a moment before he could see her cheeks turning bright red around a bite of her dinner at being caught and the wink Grey delivered her. Jo quickly swallowed her mouthful and jumped right into the middle of the conversation, a tiny twitch to her lips letting Grey know it was just as amusing to her.

“Brother?” “Hmm?”

“Can you please tell Cupcake that I will entirely behave myself this year for Christmas. Please?” Shada’s voice singsonged across the table as she had spotted his watching the three women’s conversation. “I won’t even try to sit in Dean’s lap if he forgets to ask me to.”

“Oh like I believe that, Shada.” Grey chuckled, shaking his head at the other. “Anyway, if we’re having Jo’s family for Christmas then-”

“Then we get to come too, right?” Ombre chirped up happily, tossing her hair in a hilarious mimic of her older sister. “Oui?”

Grey shook his head for a moment and found himself sighing deeply as Jo chimed up with that teasing look on her face. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure we’re doin’ anthin’ for Christmas. At least, not with anyone else.” The eyelash batting from the blonde did nothing to stop the embarrassed groan that got from him. “Just kiddin’, but I really don’t know if everyone will be around this year.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a relaxed one this year.” Grey added, shrugging a shoulder at the deflated looks he was receiving from both sisters. It was still a month away, they could work something out closer and perhaps they’d be distracted or busy anyway. The approving look he was receiving from the man beside him helped a little, as did the way Harry quickly jumped in to explain his plans for the holiday season and changed the topic along with it.

Dinner flowed well though, and Grey found himself in awe at just how comfortable it felt for him to be sat there surrounded by the group that had assembled. Even Amon was convivial and Grey had watched eyes wide when Ombre had tried to convince the demon to ‘do the pretty eye trick’ only to have her distracted by Jo’s suggesting they go feed Nana her dinner since they’d finished early. The look of relief on the demon’s face though at nobody else daring to use the phrasing or to bring it up was priceless though, and a gift of itself to Grey. That it was comfortable for three monsters, a demon, a hunter and a hunting researcher to be sharing bread - quite literally when Harry and Shada squabbled over the last roll before Jo offered half of hers to the loser, Harry - and it feel like a regular family occasion felt both surreal and perfectly normal for Grey. Normal was whatever his life with Jo was shaping up to be after all, it was normal for the sun to rise in the east and for his world to warp itself to neatly match with her rising times that perhaps it should feel equally normal for her world to wrap and bend itself to match his.

---

When the idea of dessert had been brought up originally, with everyone splayed around the lounge room in different levels of satiated from the amazing meal already served, there had been a round of denials and claims that another mouthful would make them explode. Jo had tutted quietly behind her teeth and suggested she’d just bring in a little something in case anyone got pekish - and with the arrival of the large serving platter covered in delectables, those denials got far far quieter.

There were the small pastries from earlier of the salted caramel tartlets that were so perfectly sweet but bitter with the mix of salt and dark chocolate cutting through the sugary sweetness of the rich, buttery caramel, lemon meringue pies that had even been decorated with small pearls of ruby red pomegranate seeds that added to the sweet tartness of the cirtrus bites and meringue kisses which had swirls of colors both blue and yellow throughout to make small flowers of sugary whiteness that Grey had seen crafted beautifully, and that tasted like heaven the moment he tried any of them. There was fresh fruit with strawberries and blueberries and delicate mandarins sitting beside lovingly prepared slices of plums and pears, with halved figs that appeared to be drizzled with honey sat proudly next to walnuts, and almonds, and grapes. There was a small pot of what looked to be whipped, sweetened ricotta for dipping right beside another bowl of melted chocolate also awaiting the dip of a delicious morsel. There were cut up pieces of waffle and tiny doughnut balls sitting and waiting for their time to be enjoyed, and finally what looked to be a few shards of very quality chocolate decorated throughout. The whole platter was as vibrant and inviting as breakfast and dinner had been, and while Jo disappeared back into the kitchen in search of drinks, Grey was surprised that everyone held back enough for her to get out the door before the first few pieces picked and enjoyed.

“Ah ha!” Jo cried proudly as she came back in, a tray held in one hand that held the drinks for the group like the seasoned bartender she was. She pointed a finger around at everyone, not missing at all the sticking fingers or the half eaten evidence of their snacking already. “I told you you’d all find room, didn’t I?”

“It isn’t our fault,” Harry was the first one to speak up, licking the cinnamon sugar from his doughnut ball from his fingers before grabbing one of the serviettes that Jo’d left out. “You made it look all pretty. And I, for one, know what it’s like to miss out on your baking. So I clearly had to eat something.”

“Oh clearly.” The sarcasm rolled off Jo’s tongue quickly but it was obvious she was as amused as everyone else as she handed the researcher a milky looking glass with his Bailey’s and milk. “What are the rest of your excuses?”

“I never claimed I was full!” Ombre chirped up from where she’d opted to sit on the floor between the coffee table and television facing everyone. She had floofed her skirts out and was extremely excited that Nana had come downstairs during dinner and was laying on the rug nearby her. Grey’d watched the cautious look the dog gave the newcomer and was so proud to see how little reaction she had given other than an uncertain tail flip. “Besides, the tartlets are si doux - so so cute! I must try!”

Shada leaned forward from her spot on the couch beside Harry’s armchair with a small smirk all her own as she popped a grape into her mouth. “Can’t let it go to waste when you’ve put so much work in, Jo.” The smile Grey caught from her slowly shifted as if an idea had crossed her mind and he felt himself shaking his head right as the brunette added, “Surprised there aren’t any cupcakes, Cupcake.”

“Made them the last few times, and I had pastry on hand.” “Oh? So bought then?” “Nah, just made a pumpkin pie last week and made a double batch.”

The cups of tea were sat down quickly in front of the two other women from her tray as Jo shrugged a shoulder, before she moved around to the large armchair that the eldest in the room had taken up. Grey had happily suggested that his friend have the comfortable armchair nearest the spot on the couch that he’d taken for himself beside his sister, and watching as Jo handed off the glass, Grey had been amused at how accommodated for the demon had been. As well as everyone else. There’d been Guinness available as well as the regular beer line ups Jo kept about for hunters and herself, there had been a bottle of Baileys cooling in the fridge to make Harry a creamy after-dinner-drink, there had even been some specifically chosen Irish whiskey and liqueur that was what filled the glass that Amon was swirling carefully with a considered look. Grey couldn’t help the rush of warmth he felt realizing how much Jo’d taken everyone’s preferences in mind with even the dessert platter and the bourbon and coke she slipped into his hand; his sunshine making sure that everyone felt the same amount of warmth and hospitality throughout the whole night.

“And you, hunny, what’s your excuse?” Jo caught his attention from his musing with a wide smile as she perched herself on the arm rest beside him. Grey blinked uncertain what she was asking for a long moment, before she took pity on him. “You said you were full, and I come back in to see you dippin’ three waffle bites into the fondue.”

“Well, you know me. I fondue.” “Do you? Fondue?” “Sometimes.”

“Oh stop flirting you two.” Harry chuckled, breaking the joke as Grey tugged on the end of Jo’s hair playfully before turning back towards his friend. “Didn’t you spend enough time doing it today, huh?”

Grey found himself shaking his head as he laughed and tried to fight the blush from making itself known on his cheeks. “Hey, there’s company around, Harry. Besides, we were busy with preparing dinner all day.”

“Oh, totally,” Jo gushed on top, and Grey saw her shifting to sit on the rug between his end of the couch and Amon’s armchair with the same bright red threatening her cheeks. “We were slavin’ over a hot stove all day, ain’t nobody had time for anythin’ else.”

“I find that hard to believe.” The growled comment from the other end caught everyone’s attention before the blush came rushing up full force as Grey caught the knowing look in the other man’s eye. Amon’s brow jerked up for a moment in a way that was so familiar to the expressions possible from him usually, and Grey felt himself letting out an awkward but amused laugh at recognizing exactly that look. “Though I do hope you had an enjoyable day, Grey.”

“Thanks, Amon.” Grey murmured the response out as he scratched at the back of his neck and tried to fight the blush down. It wasn’t hard to appreciate the at least jump from Harry’s teasing, but it didn’t escape him that the same was still happening.

He was saved from trying to work out how to change the topic as he watched in almost sickeningly slow motion as Jo’s hand moved from popping a meringue in her mouth to hitting out at the demon’s calf. “Oh, don’t you start teasin’ him too.” Jo chided around the mouthful of sweets, and tossed her head back to pin the other with a look. “He’s been very busy day - we took Nana for a walk down by the lake to chase the ducks and got lunch out. Ain’t nobody got time for much else when the pup wants somethin’ - as you know very well.”

“Ah yes, you did seem to raise a very demanding pup.” “She is a goddamn princess - she can be demandin’ as she wants.” “That says so very much.”

“Why thank you.” The glowing smile that was directed up towards the other from the blonde made Grey laugh at how carefree it was before Jo’s look transformed into a smirk and she crawled around the edge of the coffee table to sit next to the pup in question and give the slowly wagging dog a large amount of happy pets alongside the other blonde. “You’re such a good girl aren’t you. Don’t listen to grump ol’ Amon, he forgets what it’s like to be young like us.” The cooing was as gentle but clearly loud enough for everyone to hear and get a good laugh out before Jo and Ombre disolved into a quiet conversation over the dog.

Grey leaned forward to rest a hand over his friend’s forearm though, the corner of his lips twitching into an uncertain smile. “Jo just spoils her, I guess.”

“You might have to watch out for that one day. Unfortunately if you let your... pup make too many calls early on, you’ll have trouble helping them make good choices later.” Amon’s words sounded more bemused than annoyed, and the slight worry that Jo’s teasing might cause a problem disappeared at catching the other man’s eye as he took a sip of his drink thoughtfully. “Though perhaps you too will luck out.”

Grey swallowed a sip of his own drink trying to loosen his throat as he smiled across at the other, before his attention was grabbed by Shada demanding he explain some movie plot line Harry was talking about but couldn’t remember the name of the film for. That took almost everyone to work out that the researcher had completely mixed the plot lines of Venom and Upgrade which turned into an argument on which was better, and then why posession is so over used in Hollywood and before Grey knew it, Ombre was shouting loudly while Harry was teasing her about living out the intention of the Lazarus Effect, and everyone was laughing in their own way at the ridiculousness before diverting into just how wrong movies are about practically everything which lasted late into the evening.

---

“Thanks again for coming, Harry,” Grey said as he pulled the other man in for a quick hug and back pat before they stepped apart. Harry was smiling wide and Grey met it equally pleased as he’d accompanied the other to the door. It had gotten very late, and Grey hadn’t even known where the time had gone. “We’re catching up Sunday for brunch?”

“Yeah, man. There’s a burger joint down the refurbished docks I wanted to check out.” “Burgers sounds good. They got outdoor seating?” “Totally. You can probably walk Nana down and then we can actually have beers.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Grey nodded repeatedly and wasn’t surprised to be pulled in for another quick hug from the other before Harry made his way down the steps and towards the van parked out front. It always felt good to catch up with the other, and getting to find somewhere new to enjoy in town would be good for both of them. “See you!” He called out a little quieter than needed as he waved a hand after the other.

“We’re headed off too,” Shada said, getting a jump out of Grey when she and Ombre appeared to pop up behind him without his having noticed. The cheeky grin at catching him off guard was printed across both women’s faces as they moved in to hug him in conjunction. “Tell Jo we’ll be around to get her next week for shopping-”

“If she doesn’t have a, uh, for her it’s called a hunt right? Not a job?” “That’s right, Ombre.” “Ah, droite! I got it right!”

“I’ll make sure to remind her, but what do you mean tell her?” Grey smiled widely at both his sister’s as he pulled them both in after a moment for a hug each. Ombre swished her skirts as she shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand at the other to talk when Grey and Shada finally pulled back from their tighter hug. “Sis?”

“Your gal tired herself out. Again.” Shada replied with a smirk, dark eyes glittering with amusement as she jerked her head back towards the lounge. “You left for all of two seconds with Harry, and she did a repeat of last year.”

“Huh?” Grey frowned in confusion for a second before he shook his head and couldn’t help the impulse but to get a third quick hug from each of his sisters instead. When Ombre wiggled in against his side, an amusing feat given not only her height but her chunky heeled shoes, Grey finally held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you two stay safe and have a good night, yeah?”

“Totally. It’s just in time for breakfast croissants in Paris after all,” The brunette said cheekily as she ushered the youngest out the front door, sharing a roll of the eyes with their brother as Ombre let out an excited squeal at the idea. “I do hope you’ve have a good day, brother.”

“With you guys, and Amon, and Harry, and Jo?” Grey said gently as he held onto the door and saw the blonde dash off down the steps excitedly before he caught his sister’s eye again. “How could I not?”

There was a pause as the dark haired woman seemed to pin him for a second, as if trying to discern if there was something she had missed, before the smile on her lips grew wider and almost as bright as his favorite kind of smiles. “Oh good. We’ll be around soon, Grey. I love you.”

“Love you too, Shada.” Grey couldn’t help the impulse then to quickly tug her into another hug, bringing a loud laugh out of the other at the tight squeeze, before they both finally pulled back and gave a gentle wave as Grey shut the door and Shada ran off after their younger sister.

He had completely forgotten Shada’s confusing commentary until he made his way into the lounge and had to bite back the laugh at spotting Jo’s head dropped where she was leaning against the side of the armchair, seemingly fast asleep, with their dog’s head laid equally asleep over her lap. In the chair, Amon was seated but seemed to be completely ignoring the dozing pair as he simply held his glass, staring at it considering.

“Oh no,” Grey finally managed to get some words out without laughing as he moved around the back of the couch towards the small group. Nana’s head slowly lifted, showing she had been merely dozing and her tail began to thump softly and sleepily against the floor. “Sorry that I left you with the boring pair, Amon.”

“It’s fine, Grey. I am sure that you’ve had a very eventful day, and she was-” There was a pause as the other appeared to pull his attention out of the slowly melting ice in his glass to look between Grey’s face and where the hunter was clearly fast asleep. Amon appeared to take a moment to select his words, brows creased slightly as the words took time to come to him. “-clearly very attentive and stressed this evening.”

“Stressed?” “Perhaps not, but she was far less relaxed than your usual evenings.”

“Oh.” He found himself nodding as he moved closer to sit back into his spot on the couch, eyes not once moving from looking towards the dozing blonde. She did seem to have deeper bags under her eyes than usual that evening, and Grey had noticed she had had a relatively small dinner - more on her feet fetching this or that for others, or focused on adding to conversation and including everyone than on her own meal - and hadn’t even finished her whiskey and coke given it was almost entirely full in it’s spot on the coffee table, water floating atop where the ice cubes had melted. “Well, she... Jo does like to be a good hostess I guess.”

Amon quirked a brow up as he took a long sip of his drink, and Grey found his eyes darting from Jo’s face up to the other’s knowing look but unable to meet it for long. “She cares about you, boy. At least in that she has improved.” Amon growled the words out quietly as he swirled the last of his drink in his glass. “If she did not care for making you happy, do you think she’d have made the effort it takes to include myself?”

Grey couldn’t help the warmth that spread to him thinking about that. The other was very correct in that his very presence, sitting as he was in the form he was in the space he was, was something that required time and thought. And on top of that, coming from the blonde hunter, something extra to make that choice and trust - let alone the extra care to accommodate the other’s tastes for dinner and drinks. The amount of effort in that alone blew him away without even taking in that, as was slowly becoming tradition, she had trusted Grey’s trust in the demon enough to lower her guard such that she’d dozed off again in his presence. He shook his head sharply to try to stop the prickling feeling he felt in his eyes at looking at the image before him that tugged at something sharply inside.

“Well, I’m very lucky then.” He finally found the words himself, the depth of meaning only barely scratching the surface as he finally looked up to catch the other’s eye. Shrugging a shoulder as he finished his own drink, Grey sank back, boneless, into the couch with a sigh. “I.. I really have to say thank you, not just to her, but you too Amon. This was... a fantastic surprise. I really, really have to thank you for coming.”

“No need, boy.” The demon said carefully as he lifted his drink to his lips and finished the last of it with a worn sigh - the honey-infused whiskey the traditional post-dinner drink but one less common on this side of the pond - before he slowly pushed himself to his feet careful not to disrupt the sleeping hunter even as the dog got to her feet with a wag of her tail. Amon let out a quiet, warning growl as the dog moved to step onto Jo to jump at him and held the pup’s eye until Nana sank back down into a sit. “It was a pleasant evening. Far different than the last few times I had taken such a form up here, at least.”

Grey tilted his head to look up at the other as he set his empty glass down on one of the coasters on the coffee table. “Oh?”

“Definitely. However, I do find this a lot more restrictive so I will be heading off.” “Oh. Yeah, let me walk you out.” “Of course.”

The pair both slowly moved out of the lounge quietly, and Grey was not surprised to see Nana shuffle along quietly behind them as intrigued as she was by seeing the wolfish friend as he was that evening. He gave a gesture towards the stairs towards the dog as they reached the hall, and was pleased to see that with only minimal bouncing and weaving between his and Amon’s legs that Nana headed off to her bed without a fuss.

“Don’t forget to repaint those traps before bed tonight, Grey.” The taller man said quietly as he moved through to the threshold, looking up at the ceiling carefully. “Most was left in tact so it simply requires a touch up on the scratched areas.”

“Thanks, I’ll get to it right away.” Grey nodded as he glanced up and could thankfully see clearly even in the dim lighting the exact spot that needed repainting, before he moved forward to wrap a tight hug around the other for a moment. It was somehow strange to do this when it was a hard, human chest he had his face pressed against rather than thick, black fur, but it was as comforting and felt almost as natural before he pulled back with a smile at the same on the other man’s face. “Thanks again. For... For everything, Amon. I hope you know the importance you have, especially today of all days.”

There was a pause before the other man gave a nod, his eyes veiled but obviously aware of the significance despite the time since. Grey wasn’t sure if it was because he remembered specifically dragging him almost kicking and screaming from under that burnt out wreckage or not, but even if he didn’t - Grey was glad to acknowledge it to the other. That as much as Jo had given him on that day, she hadn’t been the only one nor was she the one that had been there with him the longest in that darkness. She was the sunshine that broke through the rain, but the demon shrugging a shoulder before him had been the rock that he’d clung to to avoid being washed away. At the thought, Grey quickly jerked forward to deliver another, brief but tight hug, before he pulled back.

“Again, thanks.” Grey smiled widely as he got a firm nod from the other, before Amon turned and began to step off the stairs, following the same rules to get away from the house before disappearing as Grey closed the door.

The rug was quick to replace, and as Grey turned about he moved as quickly as possible to replace and protect the house again before he headed back into the loungeroom. Jo was right where he’d left her, slumped up against the armchair and still fast asleep, her hand curled softly around where Nana’s paw had been.

He moved quietly over, and sank down to a knee beside her. “Jo, pretty one, wake up.” Grey gently shook her shoulder, softer than he probably need to to rouse her but enough that she should wake, only to have two hands reach out to grab his shirt instead. He tilted his head but could see her eyes still closed over and with a sigh, he shifted to slide a hand under her legs and his other around her shoulders. It took a moment before he moved to lift her, letting out a shocked breath when her arms went around his neck and he could feel the warm breath on his cheek. “Okay fine, we’ll get you upstairs then, huh?”

“Nuuhgh?” The vague noise came from the other before the hands around his neck held tighter and wound their way into his hair, before Grey gave his own sigh in response. Holding tighter, he slowly made his way out of the lounge, closing the door behind him and glad that Jo’d cleared away the dessert tray earlier in the night that he didn’t have to worry about anything but the lights as he slowly made his way upstairs. “Huungh?”

“Bed time, Jo.” “Uuh?” “Don’t worry, everyone’s already gone home, pretty one. Now its time for bed.”

“Mmmmokay.” Jo groaned the word out quietly, tucking her head against his chest as they got up the stairs and Grey navigated through the bedroom door. This was possibly the most unexpected end to the evening for him, but as he laid the other out on the bed and moved to tuck her in, he was unsurprised to find the two hands holding him tug gently to pull him down too. “Mmnoo.”

“Okay, Jo, but jeans off.” Grey chuckled quietly at her fussing and fighting to keep him near, shifting to kick his jeans down quickly before stripping hers off her legs too before climbing into bed behind her.

Tucking in against her back, Grey found himself tugging Jo back against himself and curling in against her to relax. It had been a long day, but as the other twisted around and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, Grey couldn’t hold back the laugh knowing that the day had been practically perfect for him, and his night was setting up to be just the same watching over until the sunrise and his sunshine would wake up.

---

#cc #ca #greypov #happy grey day part 3

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kumeko · 5 years ago

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Title: rust at the edges

A/N: For mino, for a dimilix exchange! I absolutely loved the prompts I was given. enough that I want to write the second prompt too. Fingers crossed I finish it!

…

Felix tugged at his collar. The bowtie was constricting, almost choking, and he bit back a growl of frustration. It was bad enough his father forced him to come to the capital in the first place; to throw on the formal wear on top of that was pure torture. The suit felt too stiff and bulky and he felt almost like a marionette as he moved.

“Uncomfortable?” Glen asked, standing tall next to him. There was a lazy smirk on his face, as though he was enjoying a private joke, and Felix hoped the joke wasn’t him. His brother didn’t look the least bit phased by the situation.

Then again, maybe he was just used to it, helping their father as much as he did.

“Yeah.” Felix frowned, his cheeks puffing as he sulked. They’d been standing in the castle’s ballroom for years it felt like, waiting in line to greet the royal family. All around them, the other nobles quietly chattered with one another, low murmurs that sounded like snakes hissing in the grass. “Why am I here?”

“You said you wanted to help out,” Glen chided. He crossed his arms, raising a brow as he looked down at Felix. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.” Felix scowled. “I just thought I would help on the battlefield.”

“Don’t let the chandeliers and jewels fool you. This is a battlefield too.” As Felix blinked at him blankly, Glen chuckled and ruffled his brother’s hair. “You just have to say hi to the prince and then you can go.”

“Really?” Felix squinted at his brother distrustfully; Glen had tricked him before. Many times, actually. He wasn’t sure what Ingrid saw in him. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” Glen stepped forward as the line moved. “Just make sure to be polite and—”

“And make sure Father doesn’t get angry,” Felix finished, rolling his eyes. He tugged on his collar again with a grimace. “I know, I know.”

“Great.” Glen stood straighter, his smile tightening. He adjusted his sleeves quickly. “Because we’re here.”

“Wha—” Felix cut himself off as the people in front of him dispersed and suddenly, he and his brother were at the front of the line. The ballroom itself was magnificent to behold, with candles in niches and ornate carving on the wall. All of this paled in comparison to the three regal thrones that stood in front of him, on an elevated platform. The armrests were carved like lion heads, inlaid sapphires and rubies giving them a facsimile of life. Candlelight softened the harsh edges of the throne.

Dressed in blue silk, a kind queen waved at them from the leftmost throne. Felix knew he was staring, his eyes jumping from her to the stern king in the middle throne before finally settling on the young prince on the last throne. He was staring and his father would be angry, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. As it was, he was having difficulty remembering how to breath as he gaped at the golden prince who smiled like sunlight.

Felix tore his eyes away before they burned. They were the same age but everything about the prince felt softer, more fragile. Dimly, he was aware his brother was kneeling, and Felix quickly feel to his knees as his brother nudged him gently.

“Your majesty,” Glen greeted, his voice slightly deeper. Any other time, Felix would have teased him for that. Now, he was too aware of the prince, of his stare.

“Glen.” The king inclined his head slightly. “It is good to see you. I trust you are well?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Glen lifted his head, facing the king head on. “I have brought my brother here as well. In time, I am sure he will come to aid both you and the young prince.”

Felix quickly looked up. “Y-yes.” He stared at the prince, at his blue eyes and kind smile and nodded quickly. “I’ll make sure to protect his highness.”

He thought the prince smiled wider at that, but he couldn’t be sure.

ii.

Felix tightened his grip on the reins, pulling them short as he stopped his horse. Around him, a battle raged, soldiers screaming as they charged at one another. The rain had stopped hours ago but the field was still slippery, mud splattering everywhere as swords clashed and heavy metal boots stomped. It was chaos and he didn’t know where to turn.

Glen would have known what to do. Glen would have seen this all and known just where to go. Bile rose up Felix’s throat and he leaned over his horse to hurl. For all his knowledge, Glen was dead and Felix didn’t know how to feel about that. Even now, it didn’t seem real, that his brother had died protecting the king, that the king was dead and a war now filled the vacuum left behind.

Did Ingrid know? Felix didn’t think he could tell her, didn’t think he could watch her face break at the news. He had seen how she’d looked at Glen, how her eyes had brightened whenever they’d visited. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he straightened up, wiping his mouth. An arrow whizzed overhead and he ducked.

He was in a battle. There was time to think about this after; right now, he had to survive. No, more than survive—he was here for a specific reason: Dimitri was fighting. Dimitri was fighting and Felix had promised to protect him and while he didn’t know what Glen would have done, Glen would have wanted him to keep that promise. Forcing down the nausea, he drew his sword and quickly scanned his surroundings.

Enemies and allies alike were coated in mud, their colours hidden behind a thin layer of brown. To his right, there was a large clash of foot soldiers, with lancers on horseback charging down at them. A loud neigh directed his attention to his left. A black stallion reared, a man with a spear clinging to its back. No, not just any man, it was Dimitri.

And his spear was covered in blood.

Dimitri laughed darkly, twirling his spear above him before plunging it into the chest of a soldier in front of him. There was nothing clean about his cut. Almost savagely he yanked the lanced out of his opponent, leaving a jagged mess as he urged his horse to run down another enemy. It was like watching a feral animal, each blow wilder than the last. Blood flecked his blonde hair, his face, but none of that deterred the prince.

Felix almost dropped his sword at the sight. The prince had gone mad. It was almost beautiful, the carnage, the smooth flow as Dimitri speared soldier after soldier. Vomit rose up his throat once more and this time, Felix didn’t fight it.

iii.

It was unfortunate, really, how small the academy was. The dorms were all hemmed together, the classrooms right next to each other, and narrow corridors connected them all. Ever a creature of habit, Felix always took the same route to the training grounds. The same tiny hallway where unfortunately Dimitri was returning from his daily practice.

Felix clicked his tongue. He should have waited a little longer. Now he was going to have to deal with it. Maybe, just maybe, the boar was tired—

“Felix!” Dimitri greeted cheerfully.

—and of course he wouldn’t be so lucky. Squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw, Felix continued to march forward, ignoring Dimitri.

“Felix?” Dimitri repeated, stepping to the side until he blocked Felix’s path. And of course, because of how small this place was, it was entirely impossible to walk around him. “Heading for some training?” He smiled brightly, as though he were a man and not a beast.

“I don’t waste time on animals,” Felix spit out, his right hand curling into a fist.

“You really do hate me.” Dimitri frowned, his sunny smile dimming slightly. “I cannot understand it.”

“There is nothing to hate,” Felix corrected sharply. “You are just a boar, a wild animal. I don’t think about such things.”

“Boar?” He bit his lip and rubbed his forearm awkwardly. “I would hope you would think a little more of me than that—we are childhood friends.”

“Friends?” Felix snorted. “I do not become friends with animals.”

“And I am not an animal,” Dimitri rebuked, a trace of anger in his voice.

“…no, I suppose not.” It would be so easy to forget. To remember that sunny child from their youth and let it all go. Dimitri looked like a perfect prince, just steps away from taking his place on the throne.

Blood-soaked steps away. The pretty child might have turned into a handsome man, but all Felix could see was the smirk on Dimitri’s face as he taunted his victims. The dark laughter as blood sprayed on his uniform. The bitter aftertaste of bile hadn’t left his mouth.

Felix stepped to the side, forcing his way past Dimitri. “Animals don’t do what you’ve done.”

Dimitri flinched and he felt a small satisfaction at it. A small heartache at it.

#dimilix #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #felix hugo fraldarius #dimitri x felix #fe3h #fe3houses #fanfic #I'm not entirely happy how I used the prompt #i wish I had more skill but alas

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capriciousdm · 4 years ago

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Missing in Kolstoke (Session One)

The Green Fairie Inn, The last coaching inn on the forest line, this poor rundown compound is the only drinking establishment at Kolstoke Keep. As such, almost everyone from the keep, village and surrounding farmsteads can be found here at some time or another.

The main room is filled with old tables and chairs that seem more scrap than furniture. A long, scarred bar with dented and corroded brass fittings runs the length of the room with smokey tallow candles providing just enough light to see by. A thin layer of dirty rushes covers the floor and hides god-knows-what lying there.

The bartender is a thin, scruffy-looking man with a halo of fine blonde hair circling his otherwise bald pate. His clothes are clean, however, as is the green bartender's apron he wears.

A single tired-looking serving wench hustles about the room, bringing the various patrons their drink orders. Occasionally a young boy can be seen with a tray of food coming and going from the courtyard which attaches to the kitchen.

A Grimalkin jumps to the bar and orders a drink. He grabs the ale and scrambles up into the rafters drinking as he looks around the room. The folks sitting at the tables and filling this room are diverse. There’s Goatfolk and humans, but there’s a few that seem just a bit out of place. In the corner sits a Tortle speaking with a rat on the table. His quarterstaff sits to the left of him resting on the wall. There’s a short and stout man with light shining off his bald head. Seems like the perfect target to mess with.

“Barkeep, what’s the news around here?” The man with the shining head speaks.

“What’s the news with your head?” The grimalkin slanters around the rafters above the dwarf’s head.

“Oh shut up, you pussy.” The bartender looks at both of them and starts to speak of the forest that surrounds them. Most of the towns sit on the outside of the forest line. The forest holds wonders of plenty, but most aren’t worth the risk. There’s groups that do stay within the forest. These we would call Drunes. We don’t really get in their way and so they don’t really get into ours. As the various visitors to the Inn are beginning to settle in for an evening of drink and games, the door bursts open and a middle-aged woman rushes in.

"Come!! You must all come and help! My little Kenny is gone missin' an we need to find em before it gets too dark! Com'on...get yer lazy asses out o' those seats and give us a hand!"

The locals jump up right away and head out the door, while those visitors to the town look around in confusion. The barman yells out to those remaining in the room.

"All those who help will get free lodging and food for their stay here! What say you?" Most of the remaining patrons turn back to their drinks, food and games, seeming to ignore the man's offer. He glowers at a few that are staring at him questioningly. A Goatwoman, A tortle, the grimalkin, the dwarf, and a worn down man walk out the door like the devil slapped them.

"Outside with thee then. The reeve will probably be there sorting people into groups...hurry up all who wish to help!", the bartender says as he ushers the last group helping out the door. Once outside the townsfolk have divided into search parties. A man comes over to the group and looks at the last group leaving the bar over.

"Ok, we have divided up the groups and have them searching the farms and the town. What we need is a group to head over towards the woods and search the paths that way. Do you think your group can do this?"

The description given is of a young boy about 8 years old with brick-red hair and a splattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He has a slight gap between his two front teeth and is wearing brown woolen trousers, a red linen tunic with a leather belt and, like most lads of his age, went barefooted. He may or may not have a wool cap on his head.

The group is told to head down a path leading south of town, passing another group that turns at the edge of the forest to search the fields nearby. Being late in the afternoon, as soon as They enter the woods, the bright spring light quickly becomes diffuse into a green gloom. The fresh spring breeze quickly drops, and the air becomes very cool and still. Small animals and birds can be heard scampering about the bushes and trees. Several paths can be seen before heading deeper into the forest. Listening, they only hear birdsong and the slight breeze in the leaves.

“Well, I’m Sir Fluffy Bottom III, who are all of you?” The grimalkin speaks to the group heading down the path.

“I’m Glond Battlehammer.” The dwarf gets straight to the point.

“Seraphina here!” A goat woman speaks from the middle of the group.

“People from the sea call me Skip.” The worn man gruffly speaks.

“Percival and Sliver back here.” The Tortle walks in the back of the group with a rat peering out of his shell. “Also , I think the boy headed off the path back there just a bit, there were some footprints.”

After what seems to be hours, but in reality, might be closer to a single hour, the path leads to a clearing. This break in the wood is of man-made purpose, and the remains of some sort of building can be seen in the encroaching greenery. A strange round tower-like building is situated in the centre of the clearing...broken with small heaps of masonry scattered here and there. The faint outline of several outbuildings and perhaps a palisade can still be discerned in the overgrowth. The group finds a single remaining room with an intact roof. There’s no door to the room, but the opening reveals a very dark interior.

Skip goes into the room and makes his shield light up to help see. Above him awakens a colony of bats. They start to swarm the room flying in all directions. Swarms of bats circle the party as they invade the creature's home. Among this swarm, the group sees several larger specimens that are more aggressive than their smaller cousins and attack.

Skip sends a wave of electricity into the air. Percival swings his quarterstaff and connects with one of the bats. Sir Fluffy stares at the bats overhead with an arched back and hisses at the ones that fly too close. Glond uses his hammer to try to hit one, but the weight of the hammer spins him into a full circle. Seraphina has bats all around her. Skip tries to ring a ball, but it just agitates the bats even more. Seraphina trips trying to get away from the bats and falls to the floor. Sir Fluffy leaps into action by jumping off of Glond’s riverstone like noggin. Leaving scratches on the top of his head.

Glond turns from the pain and is met with Percival’s staff right to the face. Glond readies to attack, just to be thrown around by the weight of his hammer again. While still in air, Sir Fluffy impales one of the bats and rides the body to the ground. The cat is able to jump up again and land another bat as Percival’s staff bludgeons one out of the air. As Skip kills one more bat, the rest of the bats fly out of the opening in the room.

The group searches around the room. The room is covered in bat guano. Shapes of furniture remain, but under several layers of bat guano. The room is searched and the party decides to rest here for a bit.

#dnd #Dolmenwood #dnd 5e campaign

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itbeajen · 8 years ago

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Set Me Free | Bakugou Katsuki | Mermaid!AU

i. Captivity The sound of their laughter makes your stomach churn, and causes you to burn with humiliation. You could never tell if they were laughing at you, or something else. But regardless, you didn't want to know. Not when they were so hideously blatant about their intentions. You were their trophy. A prize that they managed to fish up. And displayed like a prize you were. The complex acrylic cage was bulletproof, and was nothing more than a giant rectangular tank placed against the wall. The interior was filled with coral inserts and various caverns, all meant for you to swim through and 'live' in. As if you can call this a life when you're basically living as a live display case. You scoffed as you made your way away from the front of the tank, away from the prying eyes. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. You settled down inside one of the caverns and you stare lifelessly at the shackles that pulsed a vibrant purple. But despite its beautiful hues, you resent it and all the implications behind it. I just want to swim freely again in the ocean where I actually can call home... not in some small cage.

ii. Alarm "Sir, I believe they're onto us." "What?!" The messenger doesn't flinch, but you almost flinched for him. He was new. Oh, he was definitely new. You could tell from the way his pants weren't hemmed to his height and how the uniform's tie wasn't tied the way the boss liked it. You were resting on one of the outer corals, actually basking in the small amount of sunlight that filtered in from the sun roof above you. But the moment you close your eyes, you open them in shock once you hear the muffled shouts of anger and fear the filled the room. Security guards were briskly walking in and out of the room, and the boss looked displeased. You couldn't help but finding yourself amused at their suffering. But the moment you decide to finally look away, the messenger makes eye contact with you. Dark red hues burned with determination and fire within, his gaze locked with yours, and you find yourself being unable to look away. Although his demeanor showed indifference and clear disgust towards the person who had to call his superior, the way his gaze slowly trailed over your figure makes you realize he's different. Your bright hues dazzled beneath the sun kissed water and the boy finds himself entranced, before he quickly averts his gaze. You feel your shoulders drop, and you sighed. At least he didn't look at me like I was some piece of meat. It's been a while someone judged me for being.. a person. iii. escape route You weren't expecting to be waken up in the middle of the night by an explosion. The group of explorers standing at the entrance of the broken wall surprised you. And you could tell from the way they stood that they were here for a purpose. But you feel your heart skip a beat when you recognize those fiery red orbs. He glances at you, and immediately barks something towards the long black haired male wrapped in a scarf. The leader, or who you assume to be the leader with the way everyone listened to him, nodded in agreement before issuing commands. You watch with a bated breath as you see them going around sifting through the various cabinets. But you find yourself swimming away from the sudden chunk of metal that falls into the tank. "You moron, didn't we just say safely cut a hole? What the fuck were you thinking? What if it hit her!?" the blonde shouted harshly. You find yourself swimming towards the entrance, and the red haired male looks down at you with a bright smile, "Hey there! You're safe now!" The boy before you looks at you in confusion upon seeing the mixture of emotions on your visage. But before he can reassure you of anything, the first whirring sound of the alarm going off. A slew of curses is heard, and the blonde simply clicks his tongue in irritation and looked down at you. "Hey, swim away from the surface. I'm going to blast this entire tank away." "Eh?!" But before you could even get somewhere far away enough, the entire tank shatters under the weight of the water stored inside. You feel the wave of water threatening to take you away, but two strong arms wrap around your waist and pulls you away from the shards of acrylic. "Okay, now let's get the fuck out of here." iv. gratitude "Truly, thank you so much for saving my daughter. If I had lost her..." your father, the king of the ocean, pauses as he's choked up on emotions. You sat on the pier between him and the brave group that came to save you. The shimmer of your tail glistened healthily in the sunlight as you waited patiently for their interaction to end. The black haired, you learned his name was Aizawa during the 3 month long stay with him and his large rag tag team, explained your situation. You were healthy now, much better than the state they had found you in the tank. The king listened intently and he sighed, "I should have known. The magic within her is strongly based on sunlight and being around a good environment. When you are born with the four cores within you, being around an environment that enhances them are the best for them to grow properly." "She doesn't speak much either, not that we've seen her do much of that sort anyways." Aizawa sighed and then he glances at you, only to see that you're gone. The splash and flicker of your tail that grazed the surface water indicates where you've gone. Your father is immediately alerted, and his guards chase you down immediately. But their worries are gone when you launch into the air, your entire body shimmering from the thin layer of water that clung to you as though it was a part of you. A clean and neat dive with almost no sound is seen as you swiftly made your way back to the pier, only to barely graze your father's tail with yours as you made your way towards the beach in a hidden alcove. "Shouldn't you-" "No, she knows where she's going." v. see you later "Took you long enough," he grunted as he walked up to the water. You slowly beached yourself and you give him a small smile. His normally explosive behavior was, if you dare say, reeled in around you. You weren't sure why, but you were okay with either side of him. "So you're leaving?" He said it quickly. Almost as though he didn't want to believe it, and he isn't looking at you. Although you should have expected this, he's never really looked at you since then. Your hands dance over the scales of your fin and with two pulses of blue magic washing over you, legs and feet replaced the magnificence of your tail. He hears the soft padding of your feet on sand, and when he finally turns around, you stand before him. He doesn't understand or know how you've managed to magically create clothes. But his thoughts aren't focused on that, not with your brilliant smile radiating before him. "You-" "Thank you, Bakugou." His eyes widen at the sound of your voice, and you giggled and then gently leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "I'll never forget you. Thank you, for saving my life. And for keeping me safe while I was still here." When you take two steps back, your hand gently wraps around his as you slip something onto his wrist. But just as your touch was so fleeting, he barely glances down to inspect the bracelet, but during that time period you were gone. He looks up to ask you why, but you were gone. He barely catches the shimmer of your silhouette beneath the waves, and the ethereal 'see you later' that he knows this wasn't just his imagination. But he knows just as well as you do that this 'see you later' wasn't just words of parting, but an actual promise to see you later. His hands gently wrap around the bracelet, and he smirks. See you later, you weird fish girl.

#jenbean writes #bakugou katsuki #bnhafic #reader insert #mermaid au #bakugou katsuki x reader

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padfootagain · 6 years ago

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Guardians Of Middle-Earth (III)

Chapter 3 : The Marshes

Here comes the third chapter for the series 'Guardians of Middle-Earth'! This one is a bit shorter but I'm setting lots of important things in this chapter.

Warning for violence, death and darker themes so be careful if you are not comfortable with these things.

As there are two different timelines, the paragraphs of the same timeline are separated with these ****** and of two different timelines with these -----.

I really hope you like this chapter. Please, please, please, tell me what you think about it, it's very important to me to know what you think so I can keep on improving the storyline.

The beautiful aesthetic was made by @marvelcapsicle !

Word Count : 7714

They had called for a break. A little pause in the middle of the story. An interlude in his tale.

When his father stood up from his chair, he didn't have a single look for his son. During all his speech, his father had never met his eyes. Eldarion didn't really know why the thought was so painful to him. It was a strange thing to think about, that two persons who had been so close and so alike could now act as perfect strangers. Perhaps it was a way for the King to protect himself. Perhaps he was just ashamed...

Once the Hall was empty, Eldarion was led back to his bedroom, the same he had as a child, the room that had seen him grow up and become a man, the warrior he was now. It was there that he had played as a boy, on this desk that he had learnt to write and read, in this bed he had had so many nightmares and dreams. On the little table he used to draw on with his mother when he was a child, the guard placed a plate with cheese, bread and ham, along with a glass of red wine, before leaving the room. The soldier closed the door behind which Eldarion used to hide from his father when the King was angry against him. The prince didn't hear any footstep. Clearly, he was allowed not to be sent to the dungeons, but he was still a prisoner in his own home.

Or well, in this place that used to be his home... He felt like a stranger in these halls now.

He sat down at the table, and drank a gulp of wine, looking by the window. He could see the peaks of the Mountains covered with white and immaculate everlasting snow. The rain had stopped by now, but the sky was still grey and heavy with rains. He wondered if he would see the first snow fall on the mountaintops this year...

A sudden and sharp pain pierced his left forearm, and he winced, holding his limb. He took off this glove he always wore, revealing the beginning of a bandage that covered his whole forearm. He stroked soothingly the painful area, feeling the burnt skin cracking under his fingers. He knew he would have to change this bandage soon, and he wondered how he could find the herbs he needed to heal without alarming anyone about his wound. It was not a secret he meant to share yet...

He started when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," he answered, putting his glove back on and hiding his wounded limb with his sleeve once more.

As the door opened, he recognised the blond man before him in a second. He had not seen him in five years, but he could have recognized those hazel eyes anywhere.

"Eren..." Eldarion breathed, standing up.

But the man froze when Eldarion made a movement towards him, and so they both stood there, still, staring at each other.

"Nice beard," Eldarion said, nodding at his friend's face now covered with a thick layer of golden hair.

When he had left, Eren used to shave every morning. He looked much older this way.

"I should not have come," Eren breathed.

Eldarion merely stared at him.

"I thought... I thought it would be good to see you, but I was wrong," the blond man went on.

"Good for whom? Me or you?" Eldarion asked back, his voice soft and low.

"I... I do not know."

He made a movement towards the door, but was surprised when Eldarion didn't make a single movement to make him stay.

"You don't seem happy to see me," he told the Prince, though he was facing the wooden door before him.

Eldarion shrugged.

"I would have said that you were not happy to see me."

There was a long silence, during which none of the young men moved. Eren was still staring at the door, but somehow, he couldn't find the will to lift up his hand and reach for the doorknob.

"Is it true what they say about you?" he asked.

"I do not even know what they say about me," Eldarion answered with a shrug.

"That you are a drunk. That you did not do anything for five years. That you killed a man..."

Eldarion didn't say a word, and before his silence, Eren turned around, facing his old friend once more.

But he couldn't recognize the friend he had once had in the man who was facing him. The glitter of joy that always shone in his eyes had not completely disappeared, but it was veiled now, as if some shadow had been casted upon his soul. There was a kindness and a softness in his movements and in his deep voice that was not there when he had left. There was wisdom on his brow now, where there was only innocence before. He could see sorrow and happiness both mingled at the corner of his deep brown, almost black eyes.

It was hard to recognize the boy who had left, but it was hard to see the thug that people described as well. He looked like a King, not a thief or a murderer.

"You don't even try to defend yourself..." Eren breathed.

Eldarion merely shrugged again.

"I guess... I am just beginning to understand why all this is happening."

"Is it true what they say?"

"I am not a drunk," Eldarion answered, staring at his old friend, and Eren could see that there were no lies in his eyes. "And I have certainly not remained idle for five years."

"And what about murder?"

"Have you not heard what I said this morning?"

"It is no murder when you are merely protecting your life."

There was a short silence, during which the Prince intensely stared at Eren.

"You're wrong," Eldarion said slowly. "It's always murder. You take a life, you kill..."

"If you defend yourself..."

"It makes no difference, not for the person who kills... Not for me, at least. Sometimes the guilt is not as strong, when you kill someone who is plainly evil. But it is rare."

Eldarion sat down at the table again, and took a mouthful of bread.

"So... Are you still a soldier?" he asked Eren.

"I'm Captain," he answered, and Eldarion couldn't refrain a little smile at the sight of his friend standing straighter.

"Have you ever fought?" Eldarion asked in a whisper.

There was no disdain in his voice, it was a mere question, as if he was looking for someone who had lived the same things as he had...

"I never went to war, if it is the meaning of your question," Eren answered. "There has been no war in Gondor since the fall of the Enemy."

Eldarion looked at the Mountains again.

"It shall come soon enough..." he breathed, almost whispering.

He turned his attention back to Eren.

"How many men are there in the City? Ready to fight, I mean."

But Eren merely narrowed his eyes.

"I do not think that I am supposed to talk about such matters with you."

Eldarion merely nodded, though Eren could see the frustration badly hidden in his eyes.

"I should go," Eren said, taking a step towards the door.

"Eren," Eldarion stopped him as his hand reached the doorknob, "could you tell something to my father for me, please?"

"What do you want me to tell him?" Eren asked.

"Tell him I need to see him. I need to talk to him, in private. Without his advisers, without any other King or representative... I need to talk to him, and only to him. Could you ask him for a meeting, please?"

Eren was surprised to hear a member of a royal family ask something with a very polite 'please'.

"I'll ask."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye, Eldarion."

"Goodbye, Eren."

When Eren left the room, taking a last glance at his oldest friend, Eldarion was deep in thought, staring at the void on the other side of his window. On the table, his meal had remained untouched at the exception of the mouthful of bread he had eaten whilst talking to his friend. And something was telling Eren that the rest of his meal would remain in the silvery plate.

***************************************************

He knocked on the door of the King's private office. Being the son of a respected fighter and the oldest friend of the King's son had its advantages. He didn't fear to come knocking on the door of the King's office. He knew Aragorn saw him as a second son.

"Come in," said Elessar.

Eren entered the room, closing the door behind him. Aragorn was standing by the window, staring at the green fields that laid around the city. Eren couldn't help but think about how Eldarion had looked so much alike when he stood before his window only moments before. The King and his son had the same expression on their faces when they were lost in thought.

"I am sorry to bother you, Your Highness," Eren said politely.

"Did you go see him?" Aragorn asked urgently, though there was insecurity in his voice too.

It was the first time Eren heard such tone in the voice of his King.

"Yes, I did."

"And? What did he say?"

"He said he was nor a drunk, nor an idle person."

"What about murder?"

"He did not say he was innocent, but I do not think he was talking about the murder of the Easterling."

Aragorn frowned, turning around and staring at the young man that stood near the door.

"What do you mean?"

"I think he feels guilty about every life he took. He referred to the men he talked about this morning as men he had murdered. I think ..." Eren added, shaking his head. "I think he sees every life he took as an act he should be ashamed of, and he feels guilty even if the circumstances called for him to kill without shame. But I do not think he could murder someone in cold blood."

Aragorn nodded slowly.

"No, I do not think he could either. I hope not."

"What shall we do then?"

"We cannot protect him against the judgement. He must face a jury, and be found innocent or guilty, as the judges may decide."

"He said he needed to see you in private. He was insistent about it. And... there was something else he said..."

"What was it?"

"He asked me if I had seen war. When I told him that there had been no war to be fought in Gondor since the One Ring was destroyed, he said that war would come soon enough to our lands."

Aragorn stared intensely at the Captain.

"He seemed serious," Eren added.

"I will go see him later. We must go back to the trial now. Did he eat anything?"

Eren shook his head.

"Merely a mouthful of bread."

Aragorn sighed.

"He is just like me on this point, and always has been... He never eats when his mind is troubled."

"He seems to be like you in many ways, Your Highness."

"Future will tell us if you are right on this statement, I suppose..."

*******************************************************

"So... you headed for Rohan, is that correct?"

The trial had resumed. Now that the Lords and Kings were fed, they were all curious to hear the rest of Eldarion's tale. Eomer more than anyone, as the name of his lands had been mentioned. Eldarion's father was still making sure not to look at his son in the eyes.

But Eldarion shook his head.

"It was not that simple, I'm afraid."

"Where did you go then?"

"We came back to the Pool, to join the others. The next morning, as we were walking North, we stopped in a little house on the road. We were trying to get some bread for the road."

"And? What about this house?"

"Well... I guess you could say that sorrow was there."

"What do you mean?"

Eldarion intensely stared at the King of the March.

"Their daughter was missing. She had gone away to look for berries in a nearby clearing. But she had not come back. She had disappeared for five days when we arrived to the house."

"You went looking for the girl, then?"

Eldarion nodded.

"We started to look for clues in the clearing where she was supposed to have gone to. But it turned out to be much more complicated than what we had thought at first."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Five years earlier

Ithilien

"These are blueberries."

Ana took a step towards Urin, looking at the dark fruits he held in his gloved palm, and nodded.

"That's what the girl had come here to look for."

Eldarion kneeled down in the middle of the clearing looking carefully at the ground.

"There are traces here," he said, loudly enough to call all his companions, and soon they were all around him.

He took a closer look at the footprints in the muddy grass. It had rained the previous week, and surely these traces had been made when the earth was still drenched with raindrops, for they were still carved in the dirt.

He pointed at a footprint that seemed shorter than the others.

"These must belong to the girl, the person seemed smaller and lighter than the others."

He looked at a bigger mark.

"These are men's prints. Or Orcs', I cannot tell, they are too old for me to read. But they wore boots that's for sure."

"Let me take a look," Ana told him, and he stood up, leaving the Witch take a look at the traces on the ground as well.

She nodded.

"El is right," she said. "And I think that the reason why you could not tell if the traces belonged to men or Orcs is because there are traces of both species."

She pointed at one print, looking at El, and she saw that he was listening closely.

"These are Orcs' prints. Do you see the very large heel? it cannot be human's footprint. But these," she added, pointing at some other traces. "These are human's. Do you see the difference?"

Eldarion nodded, a focused expression on his face, making her smile. He seemed to be willing to learn all that he could. His thirst for knowledge seemed insatiable.

"But most of them were too much destroyed," he said. "We cannot know how many of them there were."

She shook her head.

"No, we can't. But we know now where the girl disappeared. And who is responsible for it."

"I have not heard about alliances between men and Orcs since the War of the Ring. And even then, they were answering to Sauron, but didn't fight together."

"I don't like all this," Adhalan breathed. "We should not be here, a terrible feeling crushes my heart."

"We cannot abandon this girl," Eldarion protested. "She must have been kidnapped..."

"She's probably dead already though," Goin said slowly.

"It is our duty to go and investigate further on," Eoden replied.

"It is not our mission," the dwarf replied. "We left to go to the East, not to look for disappeared girls."

"What makes you think that these Orcs and Men are not linked to what is going on at our borders?"

While his companions were arguing, Eldarion had explored further on the clearing, and had found other traces, heading for the trees.

He looked up at the sky, at the Mountain of the Ephel Duath on his right, and quickly knew where they had been heading.

"They took her to the Dead Marshes," he said, loudly enough to cover the sound of the discussion behind him.

He pointed at the grass next to him once they were all paying attention to his words again.

"These traces are deeper than anywhere else in the clearing, and they start where you're standing, where the traces of the girl disappear. Someone carried her towards the trees."

The next second, Ana was by his side, examining the traces as well.

"He's right," she nodded.

"That doesn't tell me if she's dead or alive," Urin said.

"We must go anyway."

"We should head for Rohan..." Goin tried to argue, but the Prince interrupted him.

"We do not know if she is dead or alive, it is true. But we cannot take the risk. What if she is still alive.? Would you let a twelve year old girl die? I thought we were here to help. We must do what is right."

The two dwarves looked up at the Witch, and even before they could speak a single word, she knew that they were expecting from her to take the final decision.

"What do we do then, Ana?" Goin asked. "Do we keep on looking for her?"

The woman looked at her elfish friend, and then at Eldarion and Eoden, hesitating. She heaved a sigh.

"We're going to look for her."

*****************************************************

The traces were discreet, almost invisible, and many times they thought they had lost the tracks they were following. But with Ana, Adhalan and Eldarion to guide them, the group had all the chances of finding the right path through the wilderness.

They crossed the woods, and arrived at the Dead Marshes as the sun was sinking beyond the horizon, sending red sparks throughout the cloudless sky.

It was a swamp. An infinite swamp, continuing beyond the limit of sight. Only muddy waters and little bushes. The scent was terrible, and Eldarion was certain that he would remember it forever. He would never forget the scent of rotting flesh that emanated from the waters, nor the perfume of the poisoned and twisted plants that covered their path, nor the fragrance of death that seemed held in mid-air. There was evil and sorrow upon these lands, of that he was certain.

And deep down inside him, Eldarion was beginning to doubt. Perhaps it was not so much of a good idea to go there after all...

"We'll walk through the marshes tomorrow at dawn," Ana decided. "It's too dangerous to walk through the swamp without light. The evil resting on this land is still too strong for us to conquer without the sun."

"We should get back under the cover of the trees, it will be safer," Adhalan breathed, clearly uncomfortable as well to be so close to such a strange place.

Ana nodded in agreement, and they walked back under the cover of the tall trees, making sure they were far enough of the marshes not to smell its stinking scent anymore. They prepared their encampment, ate together as they had always done since they had left Minas Tirith. And since their misadventure at Minas Morgul, Ana and Eldarion had adopted the habit of eating next to each other. There was no annoyance nor anger left between them, and they were actually becoming close friends. And Eldarion was relieved to be now able to call the Witch a friend.

As everyone was slowly falling asleep, Eldarion lit up his pipe, breathing in the bitter and yet sweet smoke he liked so much. It was his turn on sentry, and for four hours he was to stay awake and alert to protect his friends. And so as he exhaled a small cloud of smoke, painting crazy forms on the shining heavens, he prepared himself for four hours of focused and yet boring watch.

But after only twenty minutes, he heard someone walking towards him, and he instantly recognized Ana's footsteps on the fallen leaves.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

She sat down next to him, warming her hands before the dying fire.

"I can't sleep," she answered. "So, I thought I could keep you company for a while."

"I won't say no to someone to talk to during my watch, that is for sure," the man smiled.

There was a moment of silence, as the Witch was lighting up her own long, wooden pipe.

"El?"

"Hmm?"

"How are you these days?"

The man frowned.

"I am... perfectly fine. Why would you think the contrary?"

"I mean... do you sleep again now?"

He looked at the ground, fleeing from her intense green stare in which the blazes of the nearby fire were shining.

"I do sleep," he breathed after a long silence. "Not very well, though."

"You're having nightmares?" she asked, her voice soft and full of understanding.

"Almost every night. Only when I am exhausted and cannot stay awake because of weariness am I able to sleep without troubled dreams."

"It's normal," she reassured him.

He slowly nodded.

"Do you still have nightmares? After all these years of fighting?" he asked the Witch.

"They wane after a while, they come less and less often. But they never completely go away."

Eldarion nodded slowly, a sad smile forming on his lips.

"It's funny, this is the part no one talks about when they speak to you words of honour in war and glory found in combat."

"Because it would be admitting a reality that would not be at their advantage," Sarah answered.

She was surprised when he went on in her stead.

"Because there is nothing glorious or honourable in killing a man," he said.

There was sadness in his tone, and yet his voice was firm.

She nodded slowly.

"Exactly," she answered. "But then, no one would pick up a sword and learn to fight if they knew what it really means. And once you've done it once, it's already too late. It is a step you can never take back."

"It does not always make us evil though, does it?" he asked her. "If you fight for what is right, for what you believe in. If you fight to defend the ones you love, and not for selfish purposes, or out of cruelty."

"But you must always remember that many enemies think that they are doing what is right," Sarah told him. "Not thugs or criminals but... soldiers. It is not because they fight against you that they are evil. They fight most of the time for the same reasons as you do."

"I know," Eldarion nodded. "Which brings us back to the beginning. There is no true honour in war."

She stared at him, a small smile on her lips, and the man noticed her intense gaze set upon him after a while.

"What is it?" he asked her, looking at her again.

Her smile widened.

"You are a good man, El," she said, her voice soft, and barely audible above the sound of the cracking logs of the fire. "And I hope you remain that way despite what we might see. I hope you keep valuing life as much as you do now. I hope you remain good, instead of trying to be great."

"Is it a bad thing to be great?"

She shook her head.

"Not necessarily. If you can remain good."

He nodded slowly.

"Does my father fit in this category for you?" he asked her.

"He does," she nodded. "Even if I still prefer Strider to Elessar."

"How was he back then? When he was not a King?"

"He was always good, always ready to serve and protect. But he was tortured by different things than he is today. He was a man of the shadows, when now he's under the glances of all in Middle-Earth. I enjoyed the days when he didn't think only about Gondor, but about Middle-Earth in general. And I preferred the days when he couldn't give me orders as my King."

Eldarion let out a little laugh, looking at the fire again.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked the Witch.

"Of course, I can."

"I'm afraid not to be good enough," he confessed. "I'm afraid to disappoint him. It's hard to be the son of someone who has done and fought so much, someone so respected. I'm afraid I could never do things well enough for him to be satisfied, for him to trust me with the protection of our Kingdom. I'm afraid I could... not make him proud. And I'm afraid to disappoint Gondor as well."

He looked at her, laughing softly again.

"I bet you find this stupid," he mocked himself.

But she shook her head.

"I think you are merely willing to be good enough for your father to trust you. I do not think it is stupid. I think it's human. But if I may give you an advice, El..."

"What is it?"

She stared intensely at his brown eyes.

"Do not lose yourself as you try to make your father proud. You are alike on many things, but I can see that you are different as well. Do not try to be like him, or to act like he would have acted if he had found himself in the situation you face. Do not lose yourself. Besides, your differences is what may make you a better King than he is one day."

He set his glance on the fire again.

"I doubt there could be a better King than him one day, though," he breathed.

She smiled, before looking down at the fire as well. And they remained there, silent, sitting near the fire, until the man's watch was over and it was Adhalan's turn to stare at the darkness of the night.

********************************************************

They woke up at dusk. The first lights of the day had barely licked the top of the dark mountains behind them that they were already ready to leave.

Deep down, they all knew that time was playing against them. It was the sixth day. And none of them could see obvious reasons for the ones who had kidnapped the girl to keep her alive. Her family was poor, it couldn't be for money.

Why then?

"Be careful," Ana warned her friend as they all stood before her, their packs on their backs, ready to walk back to the marshes. "The marshes will try to kill you. The marshes will try to make you fall into the waters. Don't look into it. Stay on the path. Walk only were I walk. Is it clear?"

They all nodded, and followed the Witch as she guided them through the tall trees. The green leaves above their heads were bathed with a light that was so red, they seemed to be bleeding.

"Keep your eyes open," Adhalan said, her voice lower than usual. "We should not be here. These lands do not want us here."

"We need to go, Adhalan," Eldarion replied, and he nodded when Ana made a movement to enter the swamp.

"Do you know the path?" Eoden asked her, following her footsteps as she started to walk upon the narrow pieces of grass.

"I have not walked through these marshes since I went looking for Gollum, before the War. It was a long time ago."

"Can you lead us?" Adhalan breathed, worry crossing her ageless brow.

"Well... I guess that we shall soon find out."

"Don't look at the water," the Elf instructed again. "Don't look at the flames either."

Eldarion had heard many tales about the Dead Marshes, although he realized then that they had all been understatements. The scent was the worst. The air was foul, the smell of rotting flesh so intense it felt to him like it entered his body through his skin. It made the atmosphere thick, stiff and almost unbreathable. He tried to breathe through the collar of his shirt at first, but soon the fabric was imbued with this poisonous smell and he gave up. Nausea shook his stomach soon after, and despite his silence, Ana could feel that he was not well.

"You look pale," she told him, slowing down her pace to walk by his side, whispering to avoid their companions to catch her words.

"I'm fine," he replied, refusing to complain.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded.

"Where does that smell come from anyway?" he asked more loudly, and all his companions looked up at him.

"The dead," Adhalan answered, nodding towards the water next to them.

For a moment Eldarion was tempted to look into the grey water of the swamp. But the words of warning that he had heard a long time ago came back to him, the memory so vivid that he could almost hear his father's words echoing in his ears.

Some lands have seen too much darkness to heal, the ghosts of those who lost their lives there still haunt such places. And these are powers and curses that no man can fight against.

So instead, he merely looked up at Ana, but when he met her eyes, he had the feeling that she had been reading in his mind. That she had guessed his thoughts and the temptation that had crossed his heart. And for the first time since they had fought near the ruins of Minas Morgul, he saw doubt glimmering in her green eyes.

"Just follow my steps," she said, and there was warning in her voice.

He nodded, following her in silence once more.

After just a few more minutes in the marshes, a greyish fog started to cover the swamp. It was thick and just as poisoned as the air, only now, they were struggling to see their path.

"This is folly," Goin blurted out after a while. "This place is gigantic, beside being cursed. We will never find the girl. They could be anywhere at all in those bloody, stinky marshes..."

"There is only one safe path to cross the Dead Marshes," Ana replied. "Why would they try to take any other road that would lead them to certain death?"

The dwarf opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't find any argument.

"I still think that it's a bad idea," he merely mumbled under his breath.

Adhalan suddenly froze.

"I can hear something," she breathed.

They all turned towards her.

"What is it?" Eoden asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

There was something in the elf's expression that made them all speak in whispers.

Eldarion closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sounds around him. He had too shush his other senses, forget the strong scent of decomposition, forget the feeling of this mysterious fog that cloaked his skin...

After a few seconds he could hear them...

"Voices," he breathed.

Adhalan nodded.

"I guess we've found those we were looking for," the elf whispered.

"What do we do?" Urin asked, looking up at Ana. "We surround them?"

"We could get lost with that fog," Eoden shook his head.

"We should stick together," Goin agreed.

"Adhalan and El will guide us," Ana decided.

She smiled at the young man as he walked before her.

"A few more weeks and we shall make an elf out of you," she teased, and despite his effort to hide his smile, the little thing curved up his lips.

Adhalan and Eldarion took the lead, letting the distant sound of voices guide them through the opaque mist.

They didn't need long before all could hear the harsh voices bickering though, and soon they were close enough to decipher the meaning of the words that were spoken.

"You told us we would be paid five golden coins for the girl!"

"You hurt her ankle, she won't be able to walk. It's damaged good!"

"You're trying to discuss the price, but we had settled on a price before! And what makes you think that my guys hurt her?! You were there too, remember? Perhaps it's one of yours..."

"Watch that tongue of yours or I'll cut it off!"

One voice clearly belonged to a man, when the other, sounding like rumbling stones, was too cavernous to belong to a human. Undoubtedly, it was an Orc's voice.

Eldarion and his friends stopped when they started to distinguish the pale light of torches alit through the fog, kneeling down to avoid being seen.

"How many?" Ana asked in a whisper.

Eldarion shook his head, clenching his jaw in frustration. He couldn't identify the sources of all those sounds that reached his ears, no matter how hard he tried to focus.

"Still a bit of work to do to reveal the elf in you, right?" she smiled at him.

"There are five of them ahead," Adhalan whispered. "Two more on the left, and four on the right."

"There are people crying as well," Eldarion added. "Probably prisoners."

Adhalan nodded.

"They're further away, on our right."

Ana nodded slowly.

"El and Urin, the two of you come with me. We'll take care of those on the left and take care of the prisoners. Adhalan, Eoden, Goin, you'll have to stop the six others."

"More work for us, huh?" Eoden joked, but before Ana could reply, Eoden was already on his feet.

"Men are so reckless," Adhalan rolled her eyes, before standing up as well, and following Eoden towards the camp.

"Let's go!" Ana patted Eldarion's shoulder, and she Eoden and Adhalan towards the soft light of torches.

Eldarion took a deep breath, resting his fingers on the hilt of his sword, the blade still protected by its sheath.

He knew what he had to do. He had done it before, but he wasn't sure to be able to do it again somehow.

The first time he wasn't really aware of his movements, his actions were made and decisions taken out of instinct, reflexes. But now he knew. He knew about the blood, the sound of swords clashing together, the noises made by a man taking in his last breath, the expression painted over the face of a dying man... He had seen all this before, he had been the cause of it. Could he be the cause of it once again?

But then the image of a little girl passed before his eyes and he stood up, following Ana.

Weighing the two options, he had taken his decision.

This little girl was worth the nightmares that would shake his nights...

These thoughts had passed through his mind in a matter of seconds, and he was quickly by the Witch's side once more, right before she would plant her long sword through the back of the closest of her enemies. It was Eldarion's sword that swung through the stiff air next, stopping a man to strike the Witch. In one more swift motion, Anduril had cut the human's throat and he fell to the ground in a thud.

And when Eldarion's eyes fell on his shining blade again, it was drenched with blood.

He froze for a second, his eyes moving to the motionless form at his feet, but he quickly shook himself, despite how fast his heart was racing.

There were all those shouts now, and the sharp sound of iron clashing, and the smell of fresh blood almost covered the poisonous smell of the swamp...

He shushed his senses for a moment. It was not the time to think of such things, there was no time for hesitation.

When his eyes came back into focus, an Orc was racing towards him, and as he clenched his jaw, Eldarion was ready to welcome his foe. He dodged the first strike, but it was much stronger than he had expected, and the hilt of his sword went colliding violently with his nose. The cracking noise was sharp and clear, followed by a jolt of pain coursing throughout his whole face, the feeling of a warm liquid flowing down his face and soon covering his lips. He paid little attention to all this though, too busy dodging the Orc's broad sword again. This time, Eldarion was fast enough to wound the monster's leg, making his foe fall to the ground, before piercing the Orc's chest with his blade, the metal darkening with blood a little more.

Actually, the battle was over before they really realized it had started. Their enemies were not expecting any attack, and their little company was enough to win the battle easily.

Ana quickly turned to Eldarion as she noticed him holding his face.

"Are you hurt?" she asked him, worry making her frown.

He revealed his bleeding nose, but a small smile was curving his lips.

"Just a broken nose, I will get over it," he reassured her.

She inspected his nose, delicately touching the sides of the wounded area, but he instantly winced.

"It is broken," she nodded.

"Hey, look," Eoden said softly, and both Eldarion and Ana turned towards him.

He was standing before what looked like a cage, set upon some kind of long chariot that a tired horse was tied to.

And inside were four terrified children.

Eldarion's jaw dropped in horror.

They were dirty, crying, frightened, and even from where he stood, he could see that they were trembling.

Ana slowly approached them, breaking the locker with a mere gesture of her hand.

"We're here to help," she said softly. "We're here to help you, to bring you back home."

She slowly opened the door, and extended her hand.

"Come on, you're safe now. Can you come down? We will take care of you. Are you hurt?"

The children looked at each other, but Ana's voice was so soft and soothing, they soon crawled towards her. The first boy to reach her must have not be older than eight years old, and he wrapped his arms around her neck, clinging on her for dear life. She carried him out of the cage, whispering soothing words in his ear.

Adhalan and Eoden picked up two others, and Eldarion advanced to help the last girl.

Considering her features, he guessed that she was around nine years old.

But she was scared, staring at his broken nose that was now slowly turning in a strange shade of yellow, and although the blood had now stopped from flowing down his face, the dry liquid was still covering his short beard.

He smiled.

"I broke my nose," he explained. "I'll be alright though. You should get down, we will help you."

She finally crawled towards him, and let him pick her up.

"What's your name?" he asked softly, making his voice as calm and comforting as he could.

"Clea," she whispered.

"That's a beautiful name. I'm Eldarion."

He carried her away from the battle field, following Ana, Adhalan and Eoden who had settled away from the corpses. The two dwarves were searching the bodies and the rest of the thugs' belongings, trying to discover who were those who had captured these children.

Eldarion put her down on the ground next to the other children.

"Clea, are you hurt?" he asked softly.

She nodded, before pointing at her arm.

"Can I take a look?"

Again, she nodded in silence.

He slowly took her arm and lifted her sleeve. His eyes widened when they fell on the red mark.

"Did they do this to you?" he asked, his voice shaking.

She nodded again, and he noticed that she was beginning to cry again.

"Hey," he whispered, drying her cheeks with his thumbs. "No one will hurt you anymore. With us, you are safe."

He opened his bag, picking up some of the herbs his mother had given him, along with a piece of cloth he would use as a bandage. Next to him, Ana was inspecting the upper arm of the boy, finding the same mark as the one that was carved into Clea's flesh.

The two adults exchanged a glance, but didn't say a word in front of the children.

Eldarion took a few leaves, and the little girl looked at his movement with curiosity.

"I must clean your wound, Clea," he explained. "It will hurt a little bit, but after that, you will heal much faster."

He poured water upon the wound first, and the little girl jumped at the sensation of the cool liquid on her arm. But when he placed the leaves upon the red lines, she started to cry again.

"It will not last for long," he reassured her.

Indeed, not a minute later, he was taking the herbs away from her arm and pouring soothing water onto the burn again. He wrapped the bandage around her little arm, and gave her a warm smile.

"It is over," he spoke soothingly. "You were very brave."

The two dwarves finally joined them, nodding at the questioning look on Ana's face.

"We burnt the carcasses," they told the witch, and indeed, the smell of burning flesh was starting to replace the foul smell of the marshes around them. "We didn't find much though."

"We should talk about all this later," Adhalan whispered, glancing over the spot where the children had gathered.

Ana nodded.

"The girl I picked up says she's the daughter of the family we visited a couple of days ago," Eoden said. "We should take them there."

Ana nodded again.

"Perhaps they will know where the parents of the other children are," she added. "Let's take them away from here, before the scent of burning bodies is too strong."

She turned towards Eldarion.

"How is your nose?" she asked him, but he gave her a reassuring smile.

"It can wait. The children cannot."

She nodded one more time, a small smile on her lips, before focusing on the children again.

"You're going to come with us now. We will take you out of the marshes."

Eldarion looked at Clea as she started to walk after the adults, but the little girl seemed so terrified and exhausted and lost...

"You look very tired, would you like me to carry you?" he asked, bending down to look at the little girl.

She nodded, extending her arms towards him.

He picked her up in his arms, carrying her away from all this pain she had been through.

"Are they going to come back?" she asked in a shaky whisper.

"The men who hurt you? No, Clea, they are not going to come back," the prince reassured her.

"Are they dead?"

"Yes, they are. So you see, they won't come back."

She tightened her hold on him.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he could feel her tears wetting his neck and jaw.

He merely stroked her back soothingly as he carried her out of the marshes. And it was a strange feeling shaking his heart, but somehow, remorse was no longer crushing his chest as he remembered the lifeless face of those he had killed that day. Somehow, he knew they would haunt his nights, but no regrets would torture him this time.

As he held tightly the shaking frame of this little girl against him, he knew that she was worth it.

When they finally reached the cover of the forest again, the night had covered the world with shadows, the stars covered by a strange veil that Eldarion could not explain. Perhaps an evil sign, or mere clouds travelling through the sky.

Ana prepared a fire to warm the tired children. They were given food, water and warm blankets, but Clea seemed unable to fall asleep. She kept on staring at Eldarion with eyes full of worry.

"You need to rest," the young man told her.

"I don't want to sleep," she lied.

"There is no need to be afraid anymore. They will never come back, Clea."

"But what if you leave?"

His expression softened, his dark brown eyes gentle.

"I am not going to leave, Clea. Come here."

She stood up and walked to him, falling into his open arms.

"You need to rest now," Eldarion whispered in her ear, his voice soothing and warm.

"Don't go, please," she asked, and he could hear tears in her voice again.

"I'm here. Now, close your eyes, and try to sleep."

He held her in his arms, and soon, her breathing had slowed down, becoming deeper and more regular as sleep overtook her and eased her mind, her trembling muscles growing numb.

"You are talented with children," Ana noticed, smiling at the sight.

Eldarion smiled.

"I have younger sisters," he explained. "I used to help them when they had nightmares."

"Let me take a look at your nose," Ana offered, sitting down next to him.

They were all gathered around the fire, most of their gazes lost in the dancing flames and flying embers. They were lost in thought, the images seen that day haunting their minds.

Eldarion winced as the witch pressed a wet piece of cloth against his nostrils.

"Sorry," she whispered, worried to wake up the child that was now deeply asleep in Eldarion's arms.

She cleaned the dry blood on his face, her touch delicate, his eyes fixed on her.

"How do you feel?" she asked after a short silence, and somehow, he could read in her tone that she was not talking about his broken bone.

"Fine," he answered. "Better than I expected."

"Because of them?" she asked, nodding towards the children, and the prince nodded. "Remorse?"

"Not really," he shook his head. "Not much guilt either."

She smiled as she put the cloth away.

"What are we going to do with them?" Urin finally asked, now that all the children were asleep.

"Take them back to this family we have met," Ana answered.

"What if they ignore who the other children are?"

"We shall ask the children themselves then. But for now we need to find a shelter, and this little house is the best we have for now."

"Are we going to talk about this letter on their arms?" Eoden asked, anger shaking his voice.

"It was black-speech, right?" Eldarion asked. "I recognized the letter."

Ana nodded.

"It was black-speech for 'G'."

"Him again..."

"These children were branded," Adhalan said. "It can only mean one thing."

"I have heard of people disappearing near Eastern borders," Ana said. "And not only children. Clearly, this is a whole organisation."

"Do you really think that they would use these children as... as..." Eldarion asked in shaking whisper, but he couldn't manage to breathe the words out.

"Yes, El," Ana nodded, her tone revealing the anger boiling through her veins. "They were to use them as slaves."

#eldarion #eldarion imagine #eldarion fanfic #lotr #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien imagine #tolkien fanfiction #tolkien #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn imagine #aragorn #imagine #writing #fanfic

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fanscribbling · 8 years ago

Text

Terra Nova ~Part Six: Panopticon~

[See my Masterlist for earlier sections- don’t know why but right now adding the links are negating my tags. Tumblr.]

I’m ridiculously pleased that the reaction to this series so far has been mainly WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING??! XD Exactly what I was aiming for. Well wonder (mostly) no more, this behemoth chapter holds many answers! (I’m afraid the others will most likely be shorter :P ) Six down, four more to go! <3

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS/TOS).

Pairing: Reader X Bones (and they’re FINALLY together!)

Words: 3,066

Warnings: Some mild swearing, general tension, kidnap mention, seizure mention, death mention (non-active character), general angst

Tagging: @medicatemedrmccoy, @outside-the-government, @kilismaiden, @gerardwayisapotato, @yourtropegirl, @malindacath, and @imaginativefanatic. Let me know if you want to be added!

“What the hell!”

Jumping apart, the two of you scrambled out of the bed and pressed your backs into the opposite wall. Bones looped his arm around you and pulled you close, weaving your shaking fingers with his.

“So you saw that too huh?”

You felt Bones laugh weakly. “I’m starting to doubt my psychosis theory, unless someone’s lacing the water.”

“We can’t wait any longer,” you said, ignoring his last comment and turning to face him. “We’re stuck here for God knows what reason, and if it’s generator interference I’m a Klingon. We need to take stock, see what’s around here, then reconvene.”

He nodded silently, pulling his comm from his belt. “Do you know a private frequency the two of us can use?”

“Yes,” you took the device and fiddled with the knob, then did the same to your own. Handing Bones his comm back, you moved across the room.

“Y/l/n to Bones,” you whispered.

“McCoy here,” came his hushed answer.

“Good,” you smiled and walked back to his side. “I’ll check out the expanse behind the houses, see if anything’s odd.”

“Our phasers are gone,” Bones said. “How will you-”

“I’ll be careful,” you said simply. “Promise.”

“Do,” leaning in, Bones pressed his lips to yours. When he pulled away you could see fear in the corners of his eyes. You laid a hand gently on his cheek.

“You’re not getting rid of me Leonard McCoy,” you smirked. “We have unfinished business.”

Bones laughed softly, and his hand came up to meet yours. “As long as you promise - I’ll take the main township.”

**************************************************************************************************** “Are you certain you’ve checked all seventy-six Denovian dialects?”

Kirk pressed his thumbs into his temples, breathing deeply and trying unsuccessfully to force the faint ache from his muscles. If only there could be quiet for one goddamn minute.

“Yes Sir –” Uhura shouted back, her voice cracking with strain, “and all recorded variations. Mr. Spock should be back with more files soon.”

“Good,” Kirk replied, his own voice becoming increasingly ragged. “Thank you Lieutenant, I know I’ve asked this twice already.”

“No problem Captain,” Uhura nodded. She gave him a quick smile, then refocused on her screen.

Closing his eyes, Kirk sighed and turned on his heels. The head was still there. It was hope to the point of foolishness to think otherwise, with the creature’s voice still filling the bridge. The harsh hissing never ceased, like constant intense static, with pops and clicks that were starting to set his teeth on edge. Kirk had no idea how it was even possible to make that sound, and as he settled back into the captain’s chair, his eyes roved over the creature’s face for what was certainly the hundredth time. The skull was long - longer even than those generic twentieth century alien models. Long white hair fell in layers around the large eyes, which blinked with some kind of translucent secondary lid. It felt to Kirk like their gaze never ceased. Silver skin shimmered like fish scales, sparkling in the bridge lights, and the mouth - oddest of all - was frozen in a perpetual O.

They’d be beautiful if they weren’t holding two of my people, Kirk thought. Then, with sudden inspiration, Kirk moved to the head in two quick strides and thrust his face into the open mouth.

“Captain?”

“Yes Mr. Spock?” Came Kirk’s muffled voice.

“May I inquire as to why you are currently inside the projection?”

“Research, Mr. Spock,” Kirk replied, looking around a second or two longer before extricating his head. “I was curious as to how one being made two sounds at once. The answer is two internal mouths, one on each side of the jaw.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said, moving to the head and glancing in as well. “Highly reminiscent of the natives of Targos III.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

The captain and his first officer looked at each other for a moment, and Kirk swore he could almost see a smile on the Vulcan’s impassive face.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Spock said, moving quickly across the bridge. “It looks like we have a framework.”

**************************************************************************************************** “Doctor.”

About to leave the house, Bones spun to find Trixie standing behind him. Her face was set, and he noticed that for the first time there was no hint of a smile.

“Trixie. Look, I just wanted to see the town at night, the stars must be –”

“You saw the wall.”

Bones broke off, momentarily speechless. “Yes.”

Trixie nodded, smiling sadly. “The sweep’s done, we’re safe to talk now. At least,” she laughed humourlessly, “we think so.”

“What do you mean the sweep?” Bones asked, moving towards her. “And okay, if we can speak freely, what on God’s green earth is –”

“Just follow me,” Trixie said, turning to move off into an inner room. “We’ll tell you what we can.”

**************************************************************************************************** “Goddamn leaves,” you muttered to yourself, crushing weeds with your boots as you tramped through what felt like endless underbrush. Turning your flashlight towards the ground you growled. “Goddamn grass and stupid purple flowers.”

You’d been walking for ages, and covered what you were certain was miles of forest. Even as you ranted at nothing, venting your frustration at being trapped, you couldn’t help the happiness that kept pushing its way through the anger and fear. You could still feel his mouth on yours, his hands on your skin. A smile grew across your face, even as you halfheartedly smacked a low hanging branch, a slight spring in your step.

Too late, you realized that you probably should have checked the ground before bouncing. You felt your toes catch on something and stumbled forward, grabbing out for anything, and both your hands landed flat – pressing hard against thin air.

**************************************************************************************************** A door creaked open slowly.

“Hello,” Bones smiled kindly as he greeted the young woman who had appeared. She glanced at him quickly, eyes moving immediately back to the wooden floor, arms wrapped around herself. She moved off around the room, settling down by Lan and pressing herself into her companion’s side. Lan wrapped a protective arm over the woman in turn, rubbing a hand along her back.

They all sat in a circle, chairs and stools pulled up around a fire pit. The flames were false, but still it helped to make the room feel a little warmer. Bones shifted in his seat, looking around at their faces. Like the newcomer, there were a few he’d not seen before. A man with a pointed face, thin dark eyes, and a large scar running across his forehead, nose, and mouth; a stocky woman with short black hair that grew along either side of her head, exposing the deep green markings that ran along her scalp, trailing down the edges of her face, neck and arms, to stop at her fingertips; and last the woman now nestled in Lan’s arms, brown skin unhealthily pale, and her body willow thin - almost emaciated. They fit naturally into the group, who sat hunched, faces in their hands or eyes staring blankly into the flames.

“We wanted to meet your partner too.”

Bones turned to the woman on his right. Her blonde hair fell beyond her waist, and her eyes were a piercing blue against the paleness of her skin.

“Most of you already have.”

“No,” the woman shook her head, “no we haven’t. Where is she?”

“Exploring outside.”

The woman nodded, turning back to the fire.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Bones said, trying to start some kind of conversation.

“Lenore,” she replied, not looking at him. “Ship’s Counsellor – USS Farragut.”

“What?”

Before Bones could ask anything else, Ayo entered and took the last empty seat.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t say anything,” Trixie began, lifting her head and looking at Bones. “We never can in the day, and last night – with the new baby – they’d wouldn’t have left us alone.”

“Look,” Bones said, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “You say you can speak freely now, but you’re all being very cryptic. What’s going on, are you being watched?”

People around the circle shared looks. They seemed to be deciding who should answer.

“Yes,” Tanya said, breaking the silence as she shifted Colin in her arms. “At least, that’s what makes most sense.

“They do a final check every night,” Lan added. “And food appears most mornings. On the days it doesn’t, we have to go into town, to the market.”

“We have to keep smiling,” a small voice said, the words halting and slow. The group turned towards the woman by Lan’s side, who shifted her head so she too could look at the doctor. “They don’t like it - when we’re sad.”

“Melody was having trouble adjusting,” Lan said. “We never found out what happened, but out of nowhere she was lying in the middle of the street, seizing.”

“Maybe I can help –” Bones began, leaning forward, but at his movement Melody sunk back, burying her face in Lan’s shoulder.

“When we found out Wendy was expecting they knew too,” Ayo said, and Bones turned to look at him. “Food with more nutrients appeared, heavy in folic acid and calcium. When she craved something, it arrived the next day. That’s why she wanted the sheet. They weren’t going to invade her privacy, not then. They didn’t get to control that.”

“The wind,” Bones said, understanding dawning on him, “and what she was saying –”

He paused, looking from Lan to Trixie to Ayo. He had suddenly realized who was missing. “Where’s Wendy?”

“They don’t like it when we’re sad,” the man with the scar repeated, his hands moving in fluid movements as he signed. “Or when we’re difficult. Sometimes they send challenges, and sometimes –”

“Sometimes,” the tattooed woman broke in, her voice hard. “Sometimes people disappear.”

**************************************************************************************************** It felt like your brain had shorted out. Unable to believe what you were feeling you lifted your right hand, leaving your left flat against the air, and watched as a leaf danced a few inches in front of it, blown by a breeze you couldn’t feel. You replaced your hand – still solid.

Stepping back, you took a few deep breaths. You must be overtaxed, or tired, or something. This could not be real. Shaking your head, you moved a little to the left and extended your arms. This time, your right hand found a transparent wall and the other cut through the air, throwing you off balance.

You tumbled to the ground, knocking the air out of your lungs as you landed on your side. Groaning, you sucked air back into your lungs and rolled onto your knees. Halfway to your feet, you paused when something glimmered a few meters away. Focusing on the light, you moved slowly towards it, careful not to press yourself against the barrier, should it be there. You had no idea what could be on the other side.

**************************************************************************************************** “I was in my quarters.”

Trixie was speaking, her voice low and taut. Her fingers interlaced, hands twisting as she told her story to the floor. “I’d just finished a call with my parents. Dad was so happy; mum had come home from the hospital with the all clear. I was going back to Georgia the next week during my leave. It was a routine maintenance check, nothing dangerous. I’d done it a hundred times, but that day I left the airlock, and then I was here.”

She pressed her palms to the sides of her head. Melody shifted and Lan went to Trixie, kissing her forehead softly. Back shuddering, Trixie took in a long breath.

“There were thirty of us then. I was the last addition before they sent the plague. We woke up one morning and there was just this rotting –” she broke off again, wiping her hands roughly over her glistening face. “Anyway, there were only a few left after that. I’ll never forget the sound Lana made. Fourteen- she was only fourteen,” Trixie looked up, and Bones could see anger rising to replace the pain. She clearly felt it too, and stood in one sudden motion. “I can’t, I need to walk for a minute.”

The room was silent as Trixie left. Ayo sighed. “It’s still hard sometimes, even to remember.”

“All the time,” said the tattooed woman, whose name, Bones had been told, was Jaz. “It’s always hard. I’ve been staying inside for now – can’t smile much. I’ll have to come out soon though, they might start thinking I’m useless,” she let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Can’t hide in the Panopticon.”

“If you need any help –”

“Yeah, Lenore, I know. Thanks.” Jaz said, her voice losing its sardonic edge. Her London accent grew thick as she refocused on the stick she was pulling apart. “I promise, I’ll come to you if I need. Right now I have to wait it out, they were all I had.”

**************************************************************************************************** You could feel damp seeping into your shirt as you pulled yourself around a large bush. Huffing with effort, you extricated yourself, brambles scraping along your boots, and with a few more shuffles, you were there.

The longer you stared at it, the odder it seemed. It crackled with energy, throwing light across your hands and arms. Floating a foot off the ground, it sparked upwards in a long triangle. For a while you sat there, staring at it, your mind working overtime thinking of a way you could interact. Finally, you decided there was only one real option, and took your communicator from your belt.

You extended the device towards the split in the air, memorizing Bones’ frequency just in case your comm survived. Closing your eyes, you listened for the hum of the energy, letting the pitch settle inside you as your mind searched for a memory of a similar tone from the Enterprise. This was a party trick of yours, but even in fun you’d never been more than a few hertz off. Relaxing, you started to hum the sound as well, letting your fingers move the comm dial automatically as a faint memory appeared in the back of your mind. The device began to shake, a thin squealing sound sliding from the casing seams. You were close, so close-

The squeal stopped, the dial slid into place, and your eyes flew open as the energy arced across the air, opening a large cut in the space in front of you.

**************************************************************************************************** “It was a cargo run,” Jaz was saying, directing this towards Bones. “Alpha Taurus VII to the nearest Starfleet base. I was the only human in a mixed crew, I even got these tattoos to match theirs. We were a family, and then I met T’pal.”

Jaz smiled, more to herself than anyone else. “He was so logical about it. I mean Vulcans, that’s how they are, but the way he said it – For us to be parted Ashayam, would be to part your moon from its tides. So straightforward, I loved that about him. We loved each other, and our daughter,” Jaz’s hands were clenched tightly around the stick, knuckles white. “She’ll be walking now, and talking. At least, if it’s been as long as it seems. We were an unlisted freighter, maybe that’s why they felt I wouldn’t be missed,” She laughed softly, running a hand over her scalp. “Maybe they were right, he’s never come for me.”

“No-one’s come for any of us Jaz,” Tanya replied, her voice stern but not angry. “Ayo and I know there are people back on Earth looking for us. We were taken mid-lesson, in front of all our students. They’re getting sloppy, and one day we’ll get out of here, but we have no clue where we are – most likely no-one can find us. T’pal’s looking, you have to believe that.”

“You’re past the horizon line,” Bones said. “It’s not on Starfleet’s charts. The Enterprise was meant to be the first to reach it, that’s why we were so surprised when we got the medical beacon.”

“So that’s how they did it,” Judy breathed. “We were wondering how you found us. If that’s the case the Enterprise won’t be going anywhere. If they can pluck us from our ships halfway across the galaxy, they can keep all of us here, and they won’t give up easily.”

**************************************************************************************************** There was a hallway in front of you, dark and empty, with grey stone floors. Glass walls vaulted upwards, and moving closer to the window in the air, you saw that large pillars marked breaks in the clear surface. The stone arched upwards and fingered out, twisting with ivy that hung down in vines.

It was beautiful, you thought, like a cathedral.

Your eyes roved over the scene, coming to rest on the opposite wall. At once, you felt your heart start to race, jumping into your throat as you shuffled backwards so fast your knees stung. Hiding yourself behind a small fern, you wrapped shaking arms around your sides.

It was a large black frame, set into the glass with thin doors on either side. The inside of the frame was dark, but you could just see small waves slopping against the barrier, the silhouette of a wooden dock not far in the distance. It wasn’t this that had sent you reeling – it was the words, set in gleaming silver against the darkness of the water.

Terran Wing: 1500-1650 CE. Enter to explore.

As you watched, your breathing shallow, a tall figure strode quickly to the other side of your window. They held a small device covered in blinking neon lights, and their mouth was open in a perpetual O.

**************************************************************************************************** “Just one more variation,” Spock said, leaning over as Uhura’s hands flew across the console. “Add an Ataxi- yes, that’s perfect Lieutenant.”

“Should we modulate?”

“No, this will do,” Spock straightened up, turning to Kirk. “Captain, I believe we –”

His words were cut off as the hissing dropped in pitch and skewed, resolving itself into a booming, baritone voice.

“You are in orbit around A’xar, the private property of the Nexus Conservatory. You will leave orbit in two hours or your ship will be disabled and impounded. All unnecessary inhabitants will be removed.”

The head paused, as if listening to something.

“No sound is emanating from your bridge,” it said. “I believe you understand.”

And it disappeared.

#write away the winter blues #Terra Nova #reader X Bones #bones X reader #Leonard McCoy X reader #hehehehehehe #FINALLY SOME ANSWERS!

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sagenundlegenden · 8 years ago

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The Infernal City lore notes

Posting for a friend, these are notes I made after reading the Elder Scrolls novel The Infernal City. Just random things that struck me as interesting or notable. Spoilers, definitely.

PART ONE

PT ONE Ch 1:

- Pushbottom is the slum of Lilmoth- “Imperials had dwelt here, too, in the early days when the Empire had first imposed its will and architecture on the lizard people of Black Marsh.”—now dominated by criminals and political opponents of the An-Xileel

- Attrebus rescued a colony of Argonians from slavery

- Glim: “My people knew slavery under the old Empire. We knew it pretty well.” Annaig: “Yes, but that was ending when the Oblivion crisis happened.”

- Lilmoth’s imperial estates were looted, but some foreigners kept on by the An-Xileel as advisors (like Annaig’s father); ch 3- “only licensed foreigners” allowed in Lilmoth

PT ONE Ch 2:

- Penitus Oculatus: has Inspector rank, barracks is the Telhall; are taught not to question orders “You are an instrument, a utensil of the Empire.” (Intendant Marall to Colin)

- Colin thinks of a Nord story about a baby born with a knife for a hand; his mother had been impregnated in a rape and attempted murder; the baby cuts his way out of her and she laughs as she dies; when his victims ask him who he is, he answers “Dalk” which means knife in old Nord

- Colin’s assassination target mentions a book called Astorie Book III and quotes from it: “No food, no wine, no lover’s kiss is as beautiful as a long deep breath.”

- One of the PO is a Khajiit

PT ONE Ch 3:

-the An-Xileel ruling council is called the Organism, in Lilmoth led by Archwarden Qajalil

-Argonian native language is called Jel; Lukiul=”assimilated”, used for Saxhleel who have adopted imperial culture; Xhu=okay; Xhuth!= exclamation;

- “The Hist gave his people life, form, purpose. It was the Hist who had seen through the shadows to the Oblivion crisis, who called all of the people back to the marsh, defeated the forces of Mehrunes Dagon, drove the Empire into the sea, and laid waste to their ancient enemies in Morrowind.

The Hist were of one mind, but just as he was four beings, the mind of the Hist could sometimes escape itself. It had happened before.” – the city tree of Lilmoth was a fragment left over from a tree destroyed 300 years earlier b/c it went rogue

-Lilmoth is mostly sunken into the soft soil; its patron is Xhon-Mehl the Fisher, Ascendant Organ Lord; the An-Xileel had excavated an ancient pyramid that used to be part of the city

- the Psijic priest Urvwen warns about Umbriel, says “We don’t teach our beliefs to outsiders. We counsel, we help.” “Help with what?” “Change… Change is inevitable. Indeed, change is sacred. But it is not to be unguided.” “Mundus—the world—is a very delicate thing, you know. Only certain rules keep it from returning to the Is/Is Not… I feel the ropes of the world, and they have become too tight. And that is never good. That is what happened in the days before the Dragonfires first burned—“

PT ONE Ch 4:

- Lazarum of the Synod had created a flying spell; Synod has conclaves, members have to pay dues

- Annaig does virtue tests on a substance from Oblivion, finding out its main property is restorative, secondary alteration

- Drykillers- only non-Argonian mercenary company in Lilmoth

- Glim thinks Coo is a venin bat or bloodmoth

PT ONE Ch 5:

- Black Marsh coast is lined with mangroves which look like crouched spiders with legs interlocked; there was an Argonian folktale that they originally were spiders that had gone against the Hist and earned their wrath

- Umbriel resembles a giant jellyfish but the underside is like a mountain ripped out of the earth and turned upside down; the top is level with towers and arches; there is a long, drooping fringe hanging from the upper edge like a lace collar disheveled by the wind and frozen in place, or like spider silk but some shining, and constantly dipping down then returning to the center of the island

- Glim starts to return to Lilmoth in a Hist daze

PT ONE Ch 6:

- if Argonians go far enough away from the Hist, they don’t hear anything

- Glim says “What the Iyorth was that?”

- From Umbriel they see humans, Argonians, sea creatures including Dreughs marching; some Bretons at Hereguard Plantation (one of the only farms still run by Bretons) fight the Umbriel creatures

- Glim understands that the rogue Hist only wants the “Lukiul” (assimilated) and foreigners to be killed by Umbriel; the An-Xileel and Wild Ones had gone away during the siege

- Annaig mentions a person called Irenbis Songblade who exploited faction fighting in Cheydinhal, probably in a story

PT ONE Ch 7:

- Umbriel residents speak a dialect of Ehlnofex

- Argonians do not have a sense of time, all moments are together as one

PART TWO

PT TWO Ch 1

- Attrebus: “The Empire is still reclaiming territory, both literally and figuratively. There are many battles yet to fight before our full glory is reclaimed.”

- Attrebus wants to fight for a place called Arenthia in Valenwood, Mede I won’t allow it

- Mentions bandits around Cheydinhal

- Annaig’s last name is Hoinart

- “Titus Mede had been—and was—many things. A soldier in an outlaw army, a warlord in Colovia, a king in Cyrodiil, and Emperor. And to Attrebus, a father. They looked much alike, having the same lean face and strong chin, the same green eyes. He’d gotten his own slightly crooked nose and blond hair from his mother; his father’s hair was auburn, although now it was more than half silver.” - Titus has curly hair

- Mede is not concerned with Umbriel moving towards Morrowind

- Says he took the city with under 1000 men; “routed Eddar Olin’s northward thrust with barely twice that”

PT TWO Ch 3

- New town of Ione, where Attrebus has a house—an Oblivion gate opened right in the middle of a company of soldiers, commander Tertius Ione led the defense w/ a cobbled-together militia of local farmers, he disappeared but a Breton came out who was half mad & died a day later; gate later exploded

- Sardavar Leed- “where the ancient Ayleid elves had once herded his ancestors, bred them for work and pleasure.”

- Vaermina – “Dark Lady”

PT TWO Ch 4

- the Ayleids used a metagastrologic in their banquets- like a drug that stimulates the taste sensations

PT TWO Ch 5

- Colin mentions an insurgent faction from County Skingrad called the “Natives”

- Describes magic as “the spark in himself that belonged not to the world but to Aetherius, to the realm of pure and complete possibility. He was lucky—this was easy for him. If he’d needed to start a fire or walk on water, it would require training, a mental sequence worked out by someone else to convince him that such things could be done. But for what he was doing, he need only focus and pay attention, look beneath the rock that everyone else didn’t notice.”—is able to conjure up the ghosts from the attack

PT TWO Ch 6

- “cats are less than friendly with the Empire they had once been a part of”

- Riverhold is swarming with imperial agents

- slarjei- desert animal

PT TWO Ch 7

- Penitus Oculatus was watching the Thalmor; there was a Thalmor sympathizer sleeping with an official in the war ministry

- The rebel “Natives” in County Skingrad are supplied and funded by the Thalmor

- Mede says “the Thalmor are in everything these days” “their aims are obscure”; Colin objects “their goal is clear—the pacification and purification of all Tamriel—to bring about the new Merithic (sic) era”; Mede responds “we have an inkling of their long-term goals, Inspector, but their intermediate plans are less scrutable”

- Colin says they are harassing refugees from Summerset Isles and Valenwood

- Mede says Leyawiin is still restless under his rule

- Colin’s inspector says he could get assigned to spy on Nords

- Colin drinks Colovian highland ale with juniper added, popular in the west; most Colovians in the IC are military

PT TWO Ch 8

- Rimmen has an Akaviri shrine called the Tonenaka with 10,000 statues, canals

PT TWO Ch 9

- Cheydinhal is famous for thirty-layer cakes

- Khajiit mounts are like apes, with thick forearms half the size of their rear limbs, with red stripes (Senchetigers—pt 3 ch 5); a Merish looking woman had black tattoos on her skin

- “the moons come from the east”

- Je’m’ath= protection for a favor

- The Khajiit start hospitality with a ritual of serving cake sprinkled with moonsugar and a few drops of liquid—this is a rite of hospitality that confers protection on the guests; they then ate honey and date soup

- The appearance of Khajiit depends on when in the moon cycles the kits are born

- The potentate of Rimmen has declared free clans outlaws

- There is no law in the north of Elsweyr since the Empire left—bandits roam freely

- Rimmen has domed buildings of white stone, a palace with a golden dome & sheets of water; there are “viridian moths”; only half of the residents are Khajiit and most of those are skooma addicts

- Attrebus and Sul buy moon sugar at the “Kingdom of Rimmen State Store”

PART THREE

PT 3 Ch 2

- Skyrim has steam baths, which have spread as a fashion occasionally in Cyrodiil

PT 3 Ch 2

- A former 18th legion soldier who fought with Mede is working as a regulator for the Kingdom of Rimmen because there is little work in Cyrodiil

PT 3 Ch 3

- scratching under one’s chin and then under the other person’s is a Khajiit greeting (or show of respect?)

- “Seidar”— like a debt of honor

- Northern Elsweyr is swarming with renegades in hill forts

- Vivec held up the Ministry of Truth (described as “a moon from Oblivion”) and after he died or disappeared, Vuhon and others built the ingenium that used souls to keep it aloft; the ingenium exploded, hurling Vuhon and Sul into Oblivion, and the Ministry fell to earth, triggering the eruption of Red Mountain

- The ingenium used souls to keep a vent into Clavicus Vile’s realm open; Vuhon may have made a bargain with Vile to trade energy for souls

- When Sul arrived in Oblivion, a black figure named Umbra tossed a sword back through the rift; this figure had cut a piece of Vile’s power off to make the sword more powerful, after which Vile had circumscribed the walls of his realm to imprison the figure there—only the sword could get through the rift

- Vuhon made a pact with Umbra to make a new ingenium to let him escape Vile’s realm

PT 3 Ch 5

- In the collapse of the old empire Bravil and Leyawiin were independent and at odds; Water’s Edge was protected by remnants of the imperial navy and served as an alternate port

- College of Whispers outposts are called cynosures

- Attrebus’ sword is called Flashing

PT 3 Ch 7

- Khajiit call Hircine “the Hungry Cat”

- Hircine will always give prey a chance to escape for the sake of the hunt

- Khajiit expression for dying is to be “on Khenathi’s path”

- They are confronted by a driver of Hircine’s hunt who is a werebear- tall Nord with blue markings on his chest riding a bear

- Hircine hunts with a pack of werewolves; looks like an enormous man with the antlers of a stag

PT 3 Ch 8

- Vivec City is now Scathing Bay, a perfectly circular lake with an island at its center that is indented by a crater; the Argonians perform some kind of ritual there

- Some Argonians settled in southern Morrowind but would be in Umbriel’s path

- Sul’s real name is Ezhmaar, his lover is Ilzheven; he summons her as an ash wraith

PT 3 Ch 10

- Colin uses the Cloak of Nocturnal for stealth

PT 3 Ch 11

- Glim has a faintly chlorine scent

- Sul conjures a crocodilian daedroth who snarls in hate at him but must obey his command

PT 3 Ch 12

- Sul uses a white-fire spell called balefire

- Vuhon had devised a way to use living souls to power the ingenium, but it requires “large” souls—Ilzheven had one of these; Sul tried to free her and the fight destroyed the ingenium, sending the Ministry hurtling to land

- Vile tightened the circumscription after the sword was thrown through, and the only way Vuhon could escape was to leave with a piece of Vile’s realm “twisted like a sausage skin until it separated”; he came to Mundus so that Vile couldn’t pursue him; he was able to seal the rift but is searching for the sword through agents, and wants to bring Umbriel to rest on White-Gold Tower

PT 3 Ch 13

- Sul summons a powerful daedra but it makes blood come from his nose

#Elder Scrolls #Argonians #Hist #Dunmer #lore

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serenfire · 8 years ago

Text

regrets of a tour guide | victuuri fic

Yuuri is the first to recover, scrambling up and lending the man a hand. “I’m so sorry!” he gushes. “Are you okay?”

The hood of the man’s jacket is thrown off, and he takes Yuuri’s hand gratefully, his shoulder-length silver hair fluttering like a dream. “I’m fine,” he assures, and Yuuri may have gotten a concussion, because he swears the man looks just like–

“Oh my god, Victor,” the short blond kid next to him doubles over laughing. “That was just like a rom-com! I can’t believe you actually caught the pig as he fell.”

–Victor Nikiforov.

(In which Yuuri falls into Victor’s arms and can’t seem to get untangled, featuring the Phichit! on Ice show and Yurio’s disapproving frown.)

ao3 link

Yuuri chews on his already raw lips, hovering outside the door of Victor’s hotel room. He paces back and forth on the plush carpet, willing himself to at least knock or something.

But showing up at someone’s place of living seems more desperate than just calling, and calling is more desperate than texting, Yuuri reasons with himself.

He stares down at the new number in his phone, titled ‘Vicchan’ by Phichit as he entered in the number just an hour ago.

“Come on,” Phichit had protested, when they were both at his apartment that Saturday morning, resting their feet in ice baths and watching old kung fu movies. “I know his personal cell phone number, and at some point you’re going to get tired of being an old, lone geezer, and want to call him up in the middle of the night to profess your love--”

“Fine,” Yuuri had relented, handing him his cell. “But, for the record, I’m not old, or a geezer.”

Phichit enters the numbers in. “I see you didn’t protest the ‘loner’ bit.”

“Well,” Yuuri shrugged modestly. “Even famous celebrities such as myself have a flaw or two.”

Now, Yuuri stands in front of Victor’s room, hands growing clammier by the second and his knees experiencing a phenomenon he remembers from last year’s Grand Prix, to be characterized as a fall in slow motion.

Yuuri sucks in his breath and raps on the door.

Inside is complete silence.

Apprehension gnaws on Yuuri’s gut--is Victor not here? His Instagram and Snapchat feeds haven’t been updated since yesterday, and Yuuri took that as proof that Victor had barricaded himself inside the Shangri La, but maybe--

The door opens, and Victor stands in front of Yuuri, squinting in the sunlight. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a jacket altogether too hot for this climate, and as he invites Yuuri inside his room, Yuuri sees why. Victor’s air conditioning is blasting on the coldest setting, and Yuuri shivers despite himself.

Victor notices that. “Oh, sorry about the weather, I’m trying to recreate Russian climate.” He turns the air conditioning off. “I’m a little homesick.”

“Got it,” Yuuri says between his teeth chattering.

Victor arranges himself on the giant bed pleasantly, feet tucked under his legs in a criss-cross position. He almost looks like he’s meditating, if not for the laptop strewn next to him. “Can I help you?”

Yuuri nods several times. “I’m here to ask--well, because last time was such a mess--”

As he stutters over his well-made plans, Victor nods and absentmindedly strips off his jacket, revealing nothing but a tight undershirt on beneath. Yuuri stutters to a stop.

Victor shrugs as if the outline of his pecs and abs aren’t making Yuuri’s stomach do some impressive flips. “It’s warm in here. Anyways, carry on--unless your plans suddenly just changed.”

Yuuri is sure that his right eye is blinking without his control, and wonders exactly what Victor had planned on doing to control Yuuri’s stress in the skating rink: wear seven layers of formless clothing? A ski mask? Not attend? Because Yuuri knows that every second with Victor in as little clothing as possible ratchets up his stress and adrenaline beyond belief.

“Nope,” Yuuri says. “I was hoping to invite you and Yurio to lunch to experience Bangkok more fully.”

“Huh,” Victor says, squinting at his laptop screen. “I guess it is lunchtime. Well,” he smiles at Yuuri, and his dimples are cute in the dim light, “I will formally accept your offer. Um--I may need to change.” He winks.

Yuuri raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Clearly. Now, should I personally knock on Yurio’s door to ask him, or should I text him?” Phichit had also added in Yurio’s number as an afterthought, titling it ‘Russian Two’.

“Do you get it?” Phichit had asked. “‘Russian Two’, like ‘Thing Two’, like Victor and Yurio are Things One and Two--”

“I get it,” Yuuri had assured him.

Victor is already taking his undershirt off and stepping into the bathroom. Yuuri avoids his eyes to not see the miles of bare, taut skin.

“Knock on his door,” Victor says. “Yurio is a true millennial and never answers his texts.”

***

Yurio shows up at his door with a shirt on that reads IT’S JJ STYLE in bold lettering. “Otabek gave it to me,” he says, and Yuuri can hear the longing in his voice. Yuuri is definitely not getting involved in that.

“Uh-huh,” Yuuri says. “Victor and I are going to lunch. Do you want to come?”

Yurio scowls at him. “Is the food free?”

“Of course the food isn’t free,” Yuuri says. “That’s not how the economy works.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Victor says behind Yuuri. Yuuri whirls around and sees the Russian skater, wet hair dripping, wearing a tight-fitting combination of shorts and a well-worn band tee.

“Ugh,” Yurio scowls again. “I don’t want to third wheel for your sickening date.”

“We’re not dating,” Yuuri says.

Yurio rolls his eyes. “Try telling the world that. Your Wikipedia statuses have already been changed.”

Victor doesn’t bat an eye. “Are you coming for the free food, or not?”

Yurio squints at both of them. “Sure,” he says, slamming the door of his room behind him. “But mark my words, Nikiforov--if either of you even touch, I am leaving immediately.”

Victor slaps Yurio on the back. “That’s the spirit, Plisetsky.”

The elevator ride is even more uncomfortable. Thirty stories above ground level, Yuuri has to watch the numbers tick down as Victor’s wet hair drips onto his neck, everyone pressed so close together in the small metal container that Yurio’s elbow is rested in Yuuri’s stomach. From the sheer force of it, the move isn’t a mistake.

Victor whispers, “Where do you have in mind to go?”

“Well, nowhere fancy,” Yuuri says. “But there’s a nice hole-in-the-wall restaurant that gives me a discount just a few stops down the MRT. No one will notice us.”

Victor’s arms encircle his waist, and Victor is leaning on his shoulder, rocking them to the beat of his own music. Yuuri leans in, and the hug is nice. It’s really nice.

“Sounds amazing,” Victor mumbles gutturally in his ear. “Somewhere nice and quiet, where no one can bother us.”

“Exactly,” Yuuri croaks. All the other people in the elevator look more uncomfortable than Yurio, as he’s sure some of them speak English and can hear Victor mercilessly flirting with him.

Yurio has a perpetual stink-eye he’s throwing their way.

The elevator finally arrives on the first floor and the people rush out, presumably trying to get as far away from the lovebirds as possible. Yurio has to walk behind them because he doesn’t know the way to the restaurant or anywhere in Bangkok, actually. Twice during the last week, Yurio has arrived hours late to the ice rink because he got lost on the subway.

As soon as they step out of the Shangri La, a microphone is shoved in Yuuri’s face and a reporter screams, “Can you give us a comment about your relationship?”

Yuuri looks blankly in their eyes. Behind him, Victor says smoothly, “No comment,” and they push through the throng of reporters gathered behind them.

“Do you not want to comment because this is a relationship just for the cameras?”

“Does this mean that Yuuri Katsuki will be competing in the Grand Prix this year?”

“When did you meet?”

“Yuuri, how do you think this will affect your previous relationship with Christophe Giacometti?”

At the mention of Chris, every muscle in Yuuri’s body freezes, and he physically can’t move himself past the invasive microphones.

Victor tugs at his arm, but Yuuri just squeezes his hand and tries to communicate ‘help’ in every nonverbal way he can. The reporters overwhelm them now, and Yuuri is wildly searching with his eyes, but he can find no way out of this.

Victor’s lean body is pressed against his, arm looped under his back, supporting him. His voice rises over the crowd. “If I agree to answer your questions for ten minutes, will you not follow my friends?”

“Deal,” someone shouts, and Yuuri is being pulled away by Yurio, one foot in front of another until he’s somehow walking without thinking, his mind wrapped around the question about Chris.

Next to him, Yurio mutters, “How did I get myself into this? Hey, pig--left or right to the MRT?”

“Right,” Yuuri manages to say. “And Otabek wouldn’t be too proud of you if he heard what you just called me.”

“Well,” says Yurio in a long-suffering tone, “Otabek would be proud of me if he knew I was saving your ass, and besides, he doesn’t know. Keep walking with me.”

Yuuri watches Victor behind him get surrounded by reporters, a false smile on his face, answering questions as they shout them out.

He doesn’t know how far he walks, only that Yurio sets him down on a bench outside the MRT station, people walking by going to lunch, none of them noticing as Yuuri breaks down.

Yurio shifts uncomfortably on the bench, checking his phone. “Victor knows where we are. He’ll meet up with us when we’re done.”

Yuuri nods, wiping tears off his face from under his fogging-up glasses. His head is almost between his knees, his heartbeat loud in the rush of blood under his ears. If Phichit was here, he would know what to do, but Phichit is a phone call away, and he can’t concentrate enough to dial a number.

“Are you okay?” Yurio asks.

Yuuri’s lack of an answer is a good enough response.

Yurio chews on his lips and messes with his IT’S JJ STYLE t-shirt, looking around at the people walking into the MRT station. None of them are looking at either of them, too concerned with their own lives to care about their surroundings. Yurio has only ever been in the center of attention before, has never lived his life without being the subject of interest for his peers. He has never had the freedom he does now, on the side of the road with Yuuri Katsuki.

“It’s okay,” Yurio says, the words of comfort coming awkwardly out of his mouth, reaching to pat Yuuri on the back. “Breathe with me, all right? In and out, in and out.”

He doesn’t know if his babbled words are working, but he can feel Yuuri breathing with him, taking a ragged gasp in and huffing out, until his shuttered breaths turn strong.

Yuuri looks up at him. “Thank you,” he says, smaller than ever before.

Yurio waves it off. “It’s nothing.”

“No,” Yuuri insists, placing a hand on Yurio’s arm. “Thank you. Phichit usually does that, because I’m never without him, but now--”

“Now you actually have more than one friend,” Yurio finishes. He’s sure that’s what Yuuri was about to say.

Yuuri smiles weakly. “Right. Where’s Victor?”

Yurio checks his phone. “He should be here within the next ten minutes.”

Yuuri nods to himself. In this light, he’s still shivering with the aftershocks of the wordless panic attacks, and his glasses are clutched in his hands.

“You know, Victor actually talking to the reporters will perpetrate the idea that you two are dating.”

“I don’t care,” Yuuri shrugs. “What he did was so kind, so considerate--”

Yurio rolls his eyes. There is no way Yuuri isn’t in love with Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri is still talking. “He’s nothing like Chris. I was wrong about him.”

“Chris?” Yurio frowns. “Giacometti? The person you freezed up about back there?”

Yuuri nods.

Yurio snorts. “Of course Victor is nothing like that prick.”

“But they’re friends.”

“Of course they’re friends. Chris wants Victor’s spot on the podium, and he never gets it. Befriending Victor is his way of trying to get a one-up with the competition, and Victor returns his friendship because he thinks it’s funny, and that talent wins over spying, or something.”

Yuuri blinks. So everything he thought about Victor was wrong. Everything he had just assumed about Victor was nothing more than a falsehood perpetuated by the Internet, spying reporters, and Chris himself.

“I’m such an idiot,” Yuuri sighs into his hands.

“Don’t worry,” Yurio says brightly. “I’m also an idiot. Because of Otabek, and everything.”

“Ah, right,” Yuuri says sagely. “Young, unrequited love.”

Yurio looks away. This is why he never talks to people, because they think they’re so much better than him.

“I’ve been there,” Yuuri assures him. “It sucks.”

“But how do you get out of it?” Yurio cries. “I can’t not talk to him, I’ve already friended him on every social media I own, and I’m wearing his boyfriend’s shirt.”

Yuuri smiles wryly and sits back on the bench. “Looks like you have it bad,” he tsks.

Yurio flips him off. “And how do I get out of it, oh wise and old one?”

“You just live with it,” Yuuri says. “You live with it until it becomes normal, and then you live with it until it goes away, like all normal things do. What you don’t do is obsess--don’t look for everything he says that hints to you being together, don’t stalk him on your social media, don’t hang onto every text for proof that he likes you back. Don’t expend the effort if you know you can’t get anything back.”

“Then why does Victor expend the effort for you?”

Yuuri looks back at Yurio. “I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s not like he can’t get me back. I’m not uninterested, it’s just complicated.”

“Well?” Yurio raises an eyebrow, and gestures to where Victor himself is walking up to the MRT. “I think things just got a lot less complicated between you two. You like him, he likes you, and he’s not like your stupid fucking ex. You should bone.”

Yuuri just opens his mouth like a fish as Victor walks up, as poised as he was before the onslaught of reporters.

Victor looks at them and gives them matching thumbs-up. “Well,” he says brightly, “shall we go?”

***

After the excitement of the past hour, actually arriving at Yuuri’s guaitiao place of choice is anticlimactic. The restaurant is a typical casual Thai restaurant, with plastic chairs and tables inside but open to the air, sitting in the relative anonymity of a place without many foreigners.

Still, two Russians do stand out, especially when they don’t know what they want to eat.

“How are the options different?” Yurio demands.

Yuuri sighs and tries to explain. “One has fish balls, the other only has chicken--”

“What about beef? Do they sell beef here?”

“No one wants beef in their soup, Yurio.”

“But it’s not soup if it has fucking bean sprouts and fish balls!”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, waving a hand at Victor to stop interrupting, “it’s not soup. It’s guaitiao. It’s Thai. Please choose whether you want the fish balls or not.”

“Fine.” Yurio crosses his hands over his chest, obscuring IT’S JJ STYLE from view. “I’ll take the fish balls.”

Yuuri grins gratefully at the long-suffering cook and orders their food.

Minutes later, after Yurio bitches about how the chair is cutting into his legs and how the table is too small for his height and how he’s sweating and Victor blinks passively and doesn’t respond, Yurio finally stops talking and suddenly becomes enraptured with his phone.

“How did you do that?” Yuuri whispers to Victor.

“It’s not difficult. He’s a teenager, and I remember being a teenager and all I wanted to do was make sure somebody was listening. I didn’t care about anything changing, or anything being fixed, and I certainly didn’t want adults to talk to me back, but I needed them to know I was there. So I just listened.”

“Yurio actually helped me a lot while you were answering the reporters,” Yuuri says. “He staved off a panic attack.”

“Oh,” Victor says, and looks at where Yurio is pointedly ignoring the two of them. “I always knew he had it in him.”

“Oh, shut it,” Yurio mutters before going back to his phone.

Victor’s grin stretches even wider. “Look at my son, helping others in need--”

“I’m not your son, Nikiforov!”

“Oh, babushka,” Victor says, “you’ll always be my son, no matter how old you get.”

Yurio flips him off and physically turns his body away from the conversation.

Yuuri thinks that this is the most domestic situation he’s ever been in. For a second, it terrifies him, because Victor is only staying three more weeks, and after Opening Night, he’s going back to St. Petersburg to train Yurio for Nationals and beyond. This domesticity, surprising Yuuri with the sheer comfort of it, will not last.

He eats the last fish ball in his guaitiao as if trying to will all his problems away.

“What did the reporters ask?” Yuuri says absentmindedly. The thought still looms in his mind: Victor is a good person, and he’s leaving. No matter what happens, he is going to leave Yuuri behind.

Victor threads his fingers through his hair. “They wanted to know specifics about our fictional relationship. And because you told me you were fine perpetrating this fake relationship, I spilled all the details.” He shines a wicked grin, every inch of his body begging Yuuri to ask for details.

Yuuri finds he can’t resist. “And what particular...secrets did you spill?” He leans in, almost nose to nose with Victor, who won’t stop showing his teeth in his smile, and something about it pulls Yuuri in so close.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Victor whispers.

“I would, in fact,” Yuuri says, and he can see that even Victor is affected by the close contact, the spots turning red high on his pale cheeks, how Victor’s pupils are dilating and his eyelashes, as silver as his hair, are fluttering, almost touching Yuuri’s skin.

“You know, there were questions about how we met, what attracted me to you--” Victor’s hand skirts up Yuuri’s thigh, and it takes everything Yuuri has got to not start, or jump, to not alert Yurio that anything different is happening. Victor’s strong, muscular hands rub circles on his knees, and Yuuri’s legs are almost spread wide enough to touch Victor’s own legs, long and skinny and apparently unaffected.

“But?” Yuuri breathes in a harsh pant.

“But there were other...less savory questions,” Victor confirms. “Questions about your...preferences. About how I enjoyed you in bed.”

“And?” Yuuri’s voice cracks, sweat beading on his lips. He is so close to Victor in every conceivable way, and yet so far.

“Whether I liked to fuck you, or you liked to fuck me,” Victor breathes. “Who was most likely to break the bed.”

“And what did you say?”

Victor’s hands are curling around Yuuri’s bony hips. “Well, I could tell you, or I could show you.”

Yuuri’s hands are cold, digging into Victor’s muscular arms. He looks deep into Victor’s eyes. It’s now or never. “I would like that very much.”

Victor smiles into Yuuri’s ear. “You would?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, more confident this time. “Let’s do this.”

Victor’s hands grip onto Yuuri, and Yuuri knows he will have bruises even before any fucking begins. “Okay. What’s the quickest way back to the hotel?”

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