#look at his arms i am frothing at the mouth rolling on the floor screeching

[wildsaltair]

I’m suing him for irreparable mental damage, from which I will never recover

[angelic-kisses13]

Claiming- Part I

Authors Note: Here is Part I I hope you enjoy! 

Warning: Violence, gore, swearing, Vampire Charles Brandon, mentions the word Rape (Not described) 

“Master, the treaty has been fractured. Two bound of blood plotted against the all-knowing, thus leading to a betrayal of the Children of the Night. Inevitable despair of two warring Kingdoms will befall both heads of houses. “

“How do we halt this coming demise, Mother Seeress?” 

“The Treaty dictates an eye for an eye.”

Another war was close to brewing and Charles was close to just sending his men out and taking care of the neanderthals across the river. The memory of his best Generals head rolling across his throne room was forever ingrained. The trail of blood forever staining the stone. He remembered the rage and remorse that colored his person as he noticed the missing fangs. He had been dishonored by the beheading but the knowledge that someone had dared desecrate his culture and lineage would forever strike fear in his people. He would never forget the scent of the vile human carcass that dared trespass on his land. Since he was king, however, he couldn’t do as he wished, without causing massive disruption to his kingdom and the other neighboring ones. 

Charles forced his tightly wound body back against the carriage wall, he was on his way to the disgrace of a kingdom now, the King claimed to have a peace offering for him. A sacrifice for the vampires so that they would hopefully look past their transgressions. 

Charles was surprised at himself for the amount of rage he held for the whole notion, he was never one for sacrifices but he had to uphold the ancient traditions. It would make matters worse and as much as a war sounded fun and a great time killer, he wasn’t willing to put his people through that. He had seen enough bloodshed to last millennia. 

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the carriage stopping and his footmen opening the door for him. He sighed but pulled his robes around his body carefully, arranging them neatly. He climbed down the carriage steps, dusk had fallen and he relaxed under the twilight. 

A scuffle to his left drew his attention and he watched as a young woman was dragged across the courtyard, insults flying from her lips faster than he could process. A smirk fell across his lips as she turned and spat at the guard who had the gall to slap her ass in a warning. She was a plump thing, where there should have been harsh angles on her body, were instead rounded curves that screamed for him to run his fingers over. He had always had a soft spot for women who had more meat on their bones. The fact is that he had more to hold onto, more to drink from and more space to paint his mark across, making their skin his canvas. 

“I REFUSE TO BE USED THIS WAY! I AM NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL YOU CAN DO WITH AS YOU WISH!” Her words made his eyebrows raise in surprise, now this was going to be interesting. The guards all laughed in delight, 

“You’re the only criminal that no-one has claimed. The King, for whatever reason, paid your bail, therefore, you are owned by the King and he can do with you as he wishes.” Just as he was about to follow after the young woman, a stable boy came running up, he bowed before Charles, his little body shaking at the sight of him. 

“Y-your Majesty, the K-King awaits yo-your arrival.” Charles hummed as he put the young woman out of mind and followed the boy into the palace. The boy left him standing in front of the throne room doors, where two guards stood on watch. He watched out of the corner of his eye, as one of the guards turned his head and glared at him with disdain. 

A smirk fell on his features as he swiftly pinned the guard to the wall and bared his fangs, a glint entering his eyes as he sealed the man’s fate. He drank for a few moments before pulling away and dropping the man to the ground. He smoothed his cloaks out before entering the Throne Room. He was instantly assaulted by the familiar stench, his eyes narrowing on the three occupants of the room. He sniffed a couple of times, trying to ascertain the culprit. His senses zeroed in on the Prince. Satisfied he was the vile carcass, he then spots the trophies around the young man’s neck.  

“His Majesty” stood at the top of the stairs in front of his throne overlooking his kingdom from the stain glass windows, the prince lounging behind him, drink in one hand, the fangs of his General lay nestled against his greasy portly neck. His scrawny half-Witt of an advisor stood off to the King’s left. They were whispering, but Charles could hear every word. 

“King Charles’ sacrifice refuses to come out, the stupid girl is going to put us all in jeopardy with her tantrums.” 

The King sighed as he reached out and patted the Advisors shoulder, 

“Try and convince her one last time, King Charles will be here any second and I don’t want him to have more reasons to go to war.” The advisor bowed before turning around and halting in his tracks, Charles watched in quiet delight as the Advisors knees buckled beneath him. 

Charles grinned, the blood on his fangs glowing in the candle-light as he licked at the drop of blood on the tip of his left fang. He preened as the blood from the advisor’s face drained, an audible swallow was heard before the man kneeled. 

“Your Majesty. It is a humble delight to see you.” King Indulf stiffened before turning to face Charles, a strained smile painting his features. 

“Advisor.” That was the only word needed before the poor man was up on his feet and hurrying, in a dignified manner, back towards the Throne Room’s doors. It was silent as they appraised the other, looking for any tell-tale signs of weaknesses. One could only hope for a quick signal to end the other. 

“Charles, how kind of you to travel and accept our gift of dinner and women. I’m sure the one we have picked out for you will be enough to appease.” His tone was bordering cordial and impertinent. Charles’s jaw tightened, just as he was about to voice his displeasure about the ordeal, the doors were opened and in walked a delicate flower, brown hair done up in the traditional braids and pinned into an intricate bun on the top of her head, her skin was painted flawlessly and her white dress left nothing to the imagination, her skin showing through the sheer fabric. 

She bowed at their feet, before coming and kneeling on the second step, her hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head tilted to the right, baring her neck showcasing her pulse and vein beautifully. She was stunning, but she was meek and unfit to be the sacrifice.

“She is a fine specimen but she is unfit for the role, far too weak, Indulf.” The King spluttered, his face an ugly puce color as he refrained from shouting. 

“We were just supposed to give you a woman to sate your declaration of war, Charles. As you can see, we have lived up to our deal.” Charles snorted, unable to contain his mirth for a moment longer. 

“You stupid excuse of a King. The terms of the sacrifice were agreed upon when the contract was drawn up. Every detail drafted down for future generations. It outlines everything specifically, clearly, you have read it to be able to coach her on how to sit and dress. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? This “sacrifice” is dying. Do you believe that this painted whore would hold the same status as my best General?” His voice became a roar by the end of his rant, his eyes a burning crimson. 

“King Charles, she was the only eligible candidate we had, surely you can overlook the one rule.” 

“Surely, you have noticed your ill-mannered son displaying the fangs of my fallen comrade. The contract is void, prepare for war Indulf, you have insulted me and my people one too many times this evening.” He hissed and turned on his heel, preparing to depart when the throne room doors were thrown open and a woman came in kicking and screaming. Her eyes flashing as her mouth opened in a snarl. She was tossed at King Indulf’s feet. 

Charles had just enough time to move out of the way before she was up and throwing herself towards the Prince. Her screeches and wails filling the hall, 

“I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! I AM NOT YOUR CONSORT! I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT!” The Prince quickly grabbed the little spitfires’ wrists before throwing her down and backhanding her face. She sprawled across the stone floor, a hand reaching up and brushing over her busted lip, coming away red with blood. 

“THAT IS ENOUGH YOU INSOLENT BITCH!” Charles’s eyes flashed when the scent of her blood hit his senses. She was delectable, fiery, and willing to fight to the end. 

Her chest heaved as she watched them, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood up. She grinned at the three men, her teeth painted in her blood. Charles had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape his mouth. He wanted to grab her by her meaty hips and pin her against the floor, his tongue diving into her mouth to lick every last drop of her blood from her teeth and tongue. Charles took a step forward only to be hit by the vile stench of the Prince. She was covered head to toe and it brought the memory of his dead General to mind. 

The enraged King frothed at the mouth, “I paid your bail, you ungrateful heathen, that means I own you, I can do with you what I want when I want. You are to be my son’s consort, a high honor if I do say so. One someone like you shouldn’t get, but your parents were good people and I promised I would look after you.” A manic cackle fell from the woman’s lush lips as she rolled from her side and onto her knees.  

“My parents were traitors that you honored to make yourself look good, they don’t deserve to have me as their daughter. I will never be your sons, I would rather be his sacrifice,” she angrily threw her arm out, finger pointed towards Charles, “than live in this palace and be raped by your precious prince another day.” 

“You think you are worthy enough to be a King’s sacrifice?” Indulf’s body was vibrating with barely contained rage. 

“I’m worthy enough for your son to be sullied over.” A laugh escaped Charles as he kneeled down in front of the woman. 

“My little lamb,” He smoothed his thumb over her bruised cheek before pulling his hand back, her warmth seared his skin, she was perfect. A raging inferno waiting to be tamed. He looked up at the King, a challenging glint to his eye. 

“Sacrifice accepted.” The occupants of the throne room gasped in shock as Charles bent down and swiftly picked up the dirtied and bloodied rag of a woman, before disappearing, a cool breeze rustling through the room in his abrupt departure.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

[unokins]

No Truth Left - part 4

CW: violence, possession, gross monsters

Link to Archive

"I'm sorry- I just-" Chie cut herself off with a click of her teeth and focused again on breathing steadily. In… out. In… out. Breathe. She could feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Just calm dow-

It gurgled again, shifting where it lay on the floor, and Chie felt panic spike through her veins.

Come on, Chie, Maverick pushed. It won’t stay there forever.

“Right,” Chie whispered, clutching the knife with both hands. She inched backwards towards the monster, shoes dragging on the ground. “You’re right. It- It would have killed me, without thinking twice.” 

Or worse.

“Or worse.”

Her bare leg brushed against the thing’s skin. Its slimy mucus clung to her, cold and wet and sticky. Disgust shuddered through her. Slowly, Chie turned, staring above the creature than at it. Purple blood stained the stone wall, streaking down in thin rivulets. 

It hit its head before going down, Chie realized. That must be why it was still out. She got lucky. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chie next to the monster. Knife poised, blade down, she turned her head away, hiding her nose and mouth against the sleeve of her shirt. There was no comforting scent of laundry detergent. Just mud that smeared her face.

You need to look at it. We need a clean hit. 

With whimpering reluctance, Chie opened her eyes and beheld the creature’s full visage. Her breath caught in her throat as the world swayed. 

The first comparison that came to Chie’s mind, which did no justice to what it actually was, was that this thing was a cross between a rotting human corpse and a fish. Its shriveled skin was a sickening grey and clung to the thing’s body as if vacuum-sealed. Its upper arms, shoulders, and legs boasted dense musculature, striations visible under the tight skin, while its white stomach, feet, and hands succumbed to bloat not uncommon with drowned corpses. The skin on its neck was feathered and flabby - gills, Chie realized - and webbing bridged the gap between long, thick fingers and toes. 

Dull blue and green scales clumped over its body, collecting densely at its face. Bulging, watery eyes stared upwards, the dull yellow of the irises thinned to small rings around yawning black pupils. Its large mouth hung slack-jawed, and Chie saw several rows of sharp teeth, orange with the plaque that rotted them. It gurgled again, water frothing from the back of its throat. 

She saw two of them, then three, as her mind reeled to comprehend the monster. “Oh… Oh fuck…” Chie breathed, pressing her hand hard against her forehead. Her breath hitched, and more tears tracked down her face- had she been crying this whole time?

The faster you kill it, the faster you won’t have to look at it anymore. Maverick needled her with impatience.

"Shut up." Shaking her head, Chie forced the world back to clarity. She raised the knife again. The monster’s thick throat lay bare, and she carefully brought the knife down, gauging where she needed to strike. The blade's tip scraped scales covering a prominent Adam’s apple. Chie took a deep breath, and held it as she drove the knife into its neck.

Animalistic and furious, it tried to screech. But the knife blocked any sound beside a weak whistling. Chie pulled the knife out, blood spraying out of the wound-

Again! Stab it again!

-and brought it down again. Maverick's violent screaming overpowered the dying monster’s weak moaning. Its eyes were wide with malice. She stabbed it again. It thrashed, clawing at Chie, ripping feebly at her skirt. She stabbed it again. She stabbed it again. She-

Chie. Chie! That’s enough! It’s practically decapitated.

Chie jolted and froze, knife hanging in the air. The blade trembled in her hands, and the monster’s blood dripped off it, landing on her bare leg with a chill. Her eyes fixed steadily on the wall above the monster, drenched in purple blood. Slowly, her gaze trailed down.

Don’t look at it, Maverick ordered.

Chie’s eyes snapped back up. 

It’s not something you need to see. You’re already… Maverick faltered, then sighed. It’s just not going to be pleasant.

“Do you think any part of this experience was pleasant?” Chie asked weakly. Her legs refused to fully cooperate so she dragged herself from the corpse. Purple blood covered her arms, clothes and legs. She tried wiping it off, but stains remained.

You have a point. Maverick paused, as if trying to give Chie a moment of peace. No sense in prolonging the unpleasantness, then, he continued. It’s time to head deeper into the caves and get our answers.

Chie sheathed the knife, biting back a reply. She stuffed it in the backpack, exchanging it for the flashlight. With a quiet click, light down the back of the cave, and relief washed through her as she saw the ground. It was probably ten, maybe fifteen, feet down, but at least it was there.

“Should we hide the… the monster?” Chie asked, taking the rope from the bag. She moved to tie it around a rock but faltered. 

I doubt you have the guts to move it. Here- wait. Let me.

Chie’s hands moved automatically again, and she watched, mouth agape, as another expert knot tied the rope securely in place. 

Toss it down the hole and get moving. We’ve wasted enough time here.

"A 'please' would be nice," Chie muttered as she did so. With the flashlight in one hand and rope in the other, she began her slow climb down. 

“For someone who remembers almost nothing,” Chie started, pausing to test a foothold, “you sure do know a lot about what’s going on.”

I literally don't. Maverick scoffed.

“You called this place the Devil’s Reef. You knew that thing could smell me, and that there are more of them here.”

There was a thoughtful hum before Maverick responded. Suppose so.

“What else can you remember, then?” Chie asked. She continued down, hissing when a sharp stone scraped her palm.

Careful, Maverick warned. He was silent for a moment, and Chie could almost feel him remembering. I know those monsters are called Deep Ones, and they’ve been around the world - not just the Devil’s Reef- for a long, long time. Effectively immortal-

“But we just-”

Unless they're victims of physical violence. Maverick’s voice grew louder as he tried to talk over her. Chie huffed, annoyed. I think there was an incident back in the twenties or so. The feds got involved. Pissed a lot of people off. Another pause. I don’t remember how I know that, or why.

“Hm.” Chie turned this information over in her head. “Who would get mad over those things dying?”

Their worshippers. 

The purple blood on Chie’s hands gleamed menacingly in the flashlight’s glow. She grimaced. Best to wash that off, first chance she got.

“Okay, so what about us?” 

What about us?

“Well,” Chie started, then paused. Water droplets echoed off the rocks around her, and- was that a groaning she heard? She continued quieter. “How long have you been in my head?” 

I think it’s been around two weeks, Maverick recounted. Yeah, yeah. About two weeks.

Chie shuddered. That was about when her memory problems started. “Have you been doing things to me? Like what you did with my hands and my legs?"

Every now and then. Controlling you takes a LOT of focus, Chie. It wears me out, especially if I take full control. Twitching a muscle, or tying a knot is simpler. 

“So you’ve been using my computer, and arguing with my roommate.”

Sounds about right.

The flippant way Maverick spoke twisted Chie's stomach into a knot. The uncomfortable warmth of anger bloomed in her muscles. So it had been him, not her. The strained relationship with her roommate, the confusion at work, the compounding stress. Had he seen her when she showered? Did he do anything to her while he controlled her?

Chie’s feet hit the ground, breaking her train of thought momentarily. She stepped away from the wall and looked up. Best to leave the rope. If she had to make a fast escape, it could save her life. 

Get moving, Chie.

The corner of Chie's mouth twitched down. This ended now. No matter what had happened to him, this was her body, not his. “Maverick, you're going to stop controlling me.” Chie's voice was steady and firm.

Like hell. If your incompetence gets us in trouble, I’m doing what needs to be done to get us out.

“Oh, so that was the case over the past two weeks, huh?” Chie snapped back, moving down the tunnel. She felt him, almost like seeing someone square their shoulders, and spoke first. "No, it wasn't." 

Maverick seethed.

Her flashlight beam illuminated smooth, black rock. The tunnel had strange striations on it, like it had been carved from giant claws. At least she didn’t see any other Deep Ones. "You could've talked to me on day one. Whether or not you chose this, you still invaded my life, violated my privacy, and kept it secret. So until you prove yourself reliable, I'm calling the shots." The beam wavered slightly as her hand shook. 

Maverick's voice radiated rage. Prove myself reliable?! It felt like an earthquake rumbling in Chie's brain. I AM reliable! If it wasn't for me, you'd be fucking dead!

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't fucking be here!" Chie yelled back. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth as her words echoed against the stone. When nothing happened, she continued in a whisper. "I don't care what happened to you. You want to live? Then you don't control me. I will fight back tooth and nail, Maverick. And that'll get us both killed."

Maverick didn't respond. 

"Did I make myself clear?"

You're too weak to commit to that. 

"Excuse me?!" Chie demanded.

A deep rolling laugh reverberated in Chie's head like far off thunder. You heard me. You couldn't move when that Deep One almost grabbed you. Stop me? At the price of your life? Don't make me laugh.

Just you wait, Chie thought to herself as she continued walking. Annoyance panged when she realized she couldn't leave him behind. "Insufferable prick," she spat.

Whiny bitch, Maverick returned.

Not bothering to respond to that, Chie continued down the tunnels. The more she thought about the fact that this stranger was inside her, seeing what she saw, manipulating her like a puppet, the more violated she felt. 

Where did he get off? Chie thought. First chance that presented itself, she'd toss him from her mind like the trash he was. Acting high and mighty because she was reasonably scared of a literal monster. Asshole!

The tunnel turned slightly, then branched off in two directions. The one to Chie's left tilted upwards slightly. The walls were covered in a tarry slime, clumped together like chewed up bubble gum. The one to Chie's right dipped down at a gentle slope. Standing water sat in pools shaped disturbingly like large footprints. Swinging her flashlight up, Chie illuminated loping carvings and symbols etched into the walls.

Go… left, Maverick said.

>Go Left >Go Right

[wacem]

Alone in the Dark

An Until Dawn fic by Wacem Chapters: 1  2

Read it here or check it out on AO3 where everything is definitely formatted properly, because I suck at Tumblr.

Chapter 2

Chris --- 5:51 AM Tunnel to the Sanatorium

Wood slammed against wood, jolting Chris back to his senses. That was the trap door. Had to be. But surely Sam hadn't doubled back already, so who-- 

A far-too-familiar screech filled the chamber like a physical thing. Chris cried out in abject terror, but his voice was utterly lost in the deafening wall of sound. Every muscle in his body froze solid. His hands balled into fists beneath him, clutching Ashley's hoodie like his life depended on it. His expended lungs gasped a fresh load of air through the fabric of Ash’s clothing and stuck that way, his body too rigid to even breathe. The screech faded away in a chorus of echoes and was replaced by the click click click of claws against stone right above him. The wendigo was back. Returned to the scene of the crime. Why? 

Obviously, to collect the rest of its meal.

Ashley? No. No, no, no. He couldn't let that thing have her. It was bad enough that it had her head. The wendigo could take the rest of her over his cold, dead body. Which, admittedly, looked like an extremely likely outcome. But, for all his heroic intent, he still couldn't get so much as a fingernail to quiver. His body was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. People always talked about Fight and Flight, but nobody ever mentioned their derpy little brother Freeze. Maybe it was because it didn't rhyme, but more likely it was because freezing in the face of danger-- utilized to stunning effect by such apex predators as goats, deer, possums, and now… Chris Hartley-- was usually a great way to get dead. The stranger's voice whispered through his mind. They can’t see you if you’re standing still. 

So maybe he'd accidentally stumbled into the one situation in human history where freezing as a fear response wasn't a death sentence. Yeah, well… I wouldn't recommend testing that out, the stranger sneered.

Fuck you, dude, I'm trying.

There was a soft thud by his head. Something sharp jabbed into his spine and immediately recoiled with a screech that almost sounded surprised. The pressure returned, poking, prodding up his back. Chris’ eyes screwed shut. He badly needed air, but he still couldn’t get himself to breathe. There was a soft ffffwwip sound as claws scraped along the nylon of his coat, followed by a bizarre, wet clicking from the thing’s throat a couple feet over his head. After what felt like ages, the thing’s long fingers tangled through the fuzz of Chris' hood and hoisted him into the air by it, like it was holding a kitten by the scruff. Ashley's hoodie tore out of his grasp, and he'd have rather lost one of his hands. But he had little opportunity to even think about it. His stomach lurched into his throat, replacing the cry of dismay that threatened to rip through the embargo of paralysis; he collided with the floor yet again as he was hurled to one side like an unwanted Raggedy Andy. He shook, rattled, and rolled, end over end, and the stone floor absolutely battered him until he smacked into the wall, and his momentum came to an abrupt halt. He felt something snap, but he wasn't sure what, because his whole body was a distracting injury. He thanked his lucky stars that his vocal cords were still too petrified to give sound to his pained moan. It came out as a sharp hiss instead. 

His glasses were resting skee-jawed on his face, and it took a moment to regain his bearings, but when he did, he hazarded a glance up. From where it lay, the flashlight was facing the wrong direction for him to see anything more than vague shadows, but the creature was definitely distracted by something. A horrible, wet, rending noise filled the small chamber. Slowly, carefully, Chris straightened his glasses, pushed them back up his nose, and propped himself stiffly on one elbow to see better. It was Ashley. The thing was eating her. Or what was left of her. It buried its teeth into her leg and jerked its head back, tearing off her calf muscle and slurping it into its mouth like spaghetti. Chris’ gorge rose into the back of his throat, and it was everything he could do to swallow it down again. But beneath the overwhelming nausea and disgust was an undercurrent of righteous indignation, frothed into a boil by a raw fury that was almost wholly alien to him. His hands clenched into fists. That was Ashley. She might be-- Chris swallowed hard, forcing himself to think it-- dead, but she was still a human being, and she deserved better. She deserved respect. As if it wasn’t enough that this thing had killed her, now it was positively relishing desecrating her body. Something inside Chris snapped. It was too much. 

Well, what exactly do you intend to do about it, tough guy? If you so much as stand up, it'll see you, and you're a goner.

The hand not holding him up drifted carefully through his pockets, looking for anything that might help. The first couple pockets turned out useless-- glasses cleaning cloth (huh… how long had that been there?), pill bottle, pocket knife. He considered the pocket knife for a moment, but his Voice of Better Judgment just scoffed. Then his fingers brushed an unfamiliar object and instinctively wrapped around it. It took him a second to figure out what it was, but when he did, his heart soared with hope. Josh's lighter! He'd forgotten to give it back after defrosting the lodge's lock about a century ago. The wendigo didn't like fire, right?

I seriously doubt a tiny lighter flame is the sort of fire the old guy was talking about. 

No, but those old storage drums over by the ladder were leaking something, weren't they? They had flammable hazmat stickers on them…

Yeah, okay, genius. Incinerate the way back to the lodge. Great idea! And if the crap in there is explosive? The concussive force has exactly nowhere in this tiny chamber to go except through your soft, little body. You really feel like blasting yourself to smithereens? To defend the honor of a corpse?

Honestly? Despite the persistent effort of his obnoxious Voice of Better Judgment to try to talk him out of this, he found that the answer was simply… yeah. He did. Because it wasn't just a corpse. It was all he had left of Ash. And if there was one damn thing he could do right tonight, it was to give the Browns something to bury. As hard as his brother's closed-casket funeral had been when he was a kid, seeing Josh absolutely disintegrate at the twins' funeral, there was zero doubt in his mind… an empty casket was worse. There was no resolution with an empty casket. Visiting an empty grave just left a hollow ache in your heart because you knew they weren't really there. You were only mourning a headstone. A rock. It couldn't hear you. Tears just rolled off of its cold, uncaring surface and sank into the empty soil beneath. He wouldn't let that be all that remained of Ashley. He couldn't. 

Slowly, he drew the lighter from his pocket. His thumb found the sparkwheel, and he silently prayed the damn thing would light on the first try. That was the only chance he was likely to get. Chris licked his lips anxiously. Before his nerve could falter, he flicked the lighter and suppressed an exclamation of relief when it caught.

Snik! 

The creature dropped whatever unrecognizable appendage it had been devouring and, faster than Chris could possibly perceive, whirled towards him and shrieked, blasting the putrid stench of death and blood directly into his face. He couldn't stop the scream of horror that ripped out of his chest. Every muscle in his body threatened to lock up again, but he knew if that happened, he was dead. Before panic could get in the way, he threw the lighter toward the drums. 

The wendigo was on his arm like a pitbull, teeth tunneling through the fabric of his coat, sweater, and shirt like they weren't there and ripping into the meat of his forearm. The weight of the monster flattened him onto his back and jarred his ribs excruciatingly. This time his scream was one of agony. The thing's jagged teeth plunged down to the bone, the power of its jaws threatening to snap his arm in two. He punched frantically at its head with his other hand, yelling and wailing mindlessly, but he might as well have been hitting a bowling ball, for all the good it did. The wendigo just bore down harder, and Chris definitely felt the bones in his arm crunch.

"Aaughaah!!" He started kicking madly, like a trapped animal, utterly mindless of his injured ankle. He was dimly aware that the lighter should have ignited something by now and hadn't. And that snuffed his last, pathetic hope of getting out of this alive; he was fighting the inevitable, now. And with him died the knowledge of where they were. Even Sam, if she survived, couldn't know they'd gone down into this trap door. They'd just… disappear. Exactly like the twins. So the Browns would not only be burying an empty casket, but they'd be doing so not knowing if she was really dead. 

And your parents will be doing the same to you. 

He screamed louder and fought harder, aiming a punch right at the thing's big, gray eyeball. The wendigo released his arm with a huff of displeasure and wrapped its gangly fingers around his throat, lifting him into the air like he weighed nothing. Chris' screams were abruptly cut off in a choked gasp. Both arms came up, but only one hand was actually able to pry at the monster's claw, but he might as well have been prying at granite. His feet ran through the air wildly, looking for purchase on anything. The contact of the thing's claw against the burns on his neck and jaw made him want to scream, but he couldn't. The wendigo drew him close to its face, looking him dead in the eyes. There was a flicker of something in those eyes, and Chris could feel it reflected in his own. Was it… recognition? There was something vaguely familiar about those stretched features. Something behind the cataracts of its eyes that he knew. Then the creature snorted, its face contorting in rage as its mouth stretched open and unleashed a scream that pierced his soul. 

And the moment was over. Whatever recognition he thought he felt was gone, and the monster slammed him hard against the wall behind him. The back of his head collided with stone, and white spots exploded across his dimming vision. His limbs went limp as he struggled to maintain consciousness, but it was difficult. Both the impact and the fact that his chest muscles were madly spasming to try and draw in oxygen made his ribs hurt so much he wanted to cry. Darkness engulfed his vision fully. His face felt tingly, full, and hot. For the first time since Josh's fucked up game, he could barely feel the burns on his jaw. His empty lungs cried out for new air, but his gaping mouth could not oblige. He tried kicking again, more weakly and attempted to wedge the fingers of his good hand between the claw and his throat, but it was no good. He felt the wendigo wrap its other hand over his head like a cowl; its long fingernails dug agonizingly into the soft flesh of his neck. He closed his useless eyes, waiting for the end to come. 

A massive thunderclap filled the chamber. Searing heat licked his face and hands. His back slammed into the wall again. A fidgeting weight smashed against his chest and face and then disappeared. A disorienting feeling of weightlessness swept over him, then a sharp pain lanced up from his ankle, and his legs buckled bonelessly beneath him. Blind agony made him scream when he landed on his ravaged arm. He could feel the air surging through his ragged throat, but he could hear neither the scream nor the ensuing coughing fit. All he could hear was that damned ringing he'd grown to detest. 

Chris rolled miserably onto his back and stayed like that until he felt a little less like puking. Then he opened his eyes and realized his glasses were gone. The cavern was filled with orange light; he guessed Josh's lighter must have found its mark after all. It just took its sweet time getting down to business. 

Not that he could see, but there didn't seem to be any sign of the wendigo. Slowly, agonizingly, he managed to get his feet under him, hugging his mangled arm to his throbbing side. Before endeavoring to straighten upright, he felt around the cavern floor with his good hand until his fingers stumbled across familiar plastic. He slid his glasses back onto his face with the practiced ease of a man who's done it since kindergarten. Miraculously, they weren't broken. Absolutely filthy? Yes. But not broken. He could deal with that. He straightened up as much as his broken body would allow and quickly looked around. His earlier impression held up. The wendigo was gone. Not killed, he noticed with a pang of regret. There was no corpse. But at least the explosion had driven it away. The cavern was rapidly becoming unbearably hot. Embers had caught on Ashley's clothing, igniting little fires. 

"Oh, shit! No, no, no," he felt his mouth saying.  

Chris dropped to his knees by her side and batted at the flames to put them out. It burnt his hand to blisters, but the whole reason he'd done this was to salvage something recognizable of Ashley. He bit his lip to keep in a pained sob he couldn't hear, but the flames spread too quickly across the fabric for one meager hand to keep up. With how fast the fire spread across her, she must have been dragged through whatever was coming out of the barrels. Soon, she was engulfed, and Chris had to back away or get swallowed up with her. 

He sat there for a while, just watching her burn. Her clothes peeled away to nothing, revealing charred and boiling skin beneath. Her delicate fingers curled and blackened with the heat, her nails cracking and falling apart. Everything that made her her was stripped from her, bit by bit, and Chris could only watch, powerless to stop it. He'd failed to protect her, even in death. He'd failed to secure for her the basest modicum of identity and decency. He'd failed, because he was a failure. In everything. Every damn thing he touched turned to ash in his hands. 

"Ash to ashes," he muttered. "Ashley to ashes." The words repeated in his mouth nonsensically for some time before he could hear them. Then, when he could actually hear what he was saying, giggles bubbled up inside of him, completely humorless, frantic. Hysterical. It wasn't long before they decomposed into sobs. She’d looked out for him all night, even when he was too exhausted to look out for himself.  She’d saved his life. More than that, she’d had his back for as long as he’d known her. He told her he had hers. He should have had hers.

But he didn’t.

And now he never would.

[rk800hunter]

Dramatics Final - Connor x Reader (M Rated)

Summary: Jealous/Protective Connor being jealous over reader’s close friend. Events lead one to another.

Pairing: Connor X Reader

A/N: Yikes you guys, this took forever... I'm so sorry... Also life is crap xD so I had to deal with that... I'm so sorry that this took forever to write but you guys pleaded for a finale so I couldn't say no! This is my first time writing smut, and I can tell you that I'm not good x.x Hope you guys enjoy and can look over the mistakes!

Tags: @captain-winter-wolf-aehs, @rosealexandersson , @alientrashbin , @honeybeelily , @dragonempress123 , @randomstuff-idontwannatalkaboutit, @sygin , @dylan-o-yumm @im-a-slut-for-connors-hair-flipp, @elaneth-elf-friend, @chisooyaaa (missing tags here too! Sorry!)

You were propped up against a giant pillow on the hospital bed, pulling a face as you stared at the hospital gunk that meant to be dinner, laying in the tray in front of you. You unappetizingly poked it with a fork, trying to will yourself to eat but your brain and tongue refused to cooperate. Sighing with defeat, you placed down the fork and stared out the window that you were nearby. There were only a few cars that rhythmically flashed in and out of the streetlights, as the busses hummed and sent the last workers the comfort of their home. You could hear the quiet buzz of the night life in the hospital outside your room. It was a pro-android and pro-human hospital that accomandated everyone. Like all hospitals, it was dustless, blinding white and smelt of bleach.

It had been a few days since the incident of the terrorism at the restaurant. After tending to you, Connor had left the ambulance to fulfill his job as detective whilst you were sent to the local hospital. Your mind had been whirring with complicated emotions whilst physically, it felt like you didn't know your body anymore. The doctors had checked you out and reported that they had found several broken ribs and a concussion of sort, leaving you with no choice but to recover at the hospital for a few days until they had allowed your release.

Connor hadn't checked in on you since you were admitted. You suspected that he was busy with Hank with the restaurant investigation but it hurt when the older, gruff lieutenant had walked through the door alone, bearing flowers and the stuffed Sumo doll. If Hank had the time to visit, then where was Conner?

You had timidly asked why Conner hadn't called or visited and all Hank said in a sour tone while he pulled up a chair beside you was "Even Fowler couldn't say anything to me, fucking classified Cyberlife shit or something."

Trying to not look so disappointed, you had nodded and smiled, moving on from the subject. However, Hank wasn't fooled and had smiled sympathetically, patting your hand. "I'm sure he has his reasons, kiddo."

[F/N] had also came to visit, only suffering minor burns from the “accident.” They had wholeheartedly apologized, blaming themselves that you were in this state.

“If I hadn’t came back, this wouldn’t have happened,” their voice had cracked, eyes tearing up. “Seeing you on a hospital bed...”

You had shook your head and pulled them into a hug. “I was the one that had asked you for dinner out, I’m sorry.”

They came to visit you often, rescuing you from the hospital gunk with take-outs and such. They tried their best to keep you smiling, cracking jokes and sharing more stories. You enjoyed their company but your mind was somewhere else. Or...should I say, on someone else. The one that was missing.

Connor.

You felt quite irritated, if not dejected. The longing and aching slowly turned into anger and resentment. He had said all those things to you and yet he hasn't shown himself for a follow up. It felt as if he was playing you. But it was Connor... The sweet, supposedly innocent android that took every joke literally. You didn't think he was capable of doing playing with people's hearts.

An android nurse with dark hair and light blue eyes entered the room, knocking lightly on the door as he did. "Housekeeping," he quipped charmingly. "How are the ribs doing tonight?" He was assigned to be your personal nurse to assist you with your recovery; making sure that you fed, wound was cleaned and that dirty bandages were changed every few hours or so, etc...

You turned to smile at him. "Hey Caleb, they're better."

Caleb glanced at the untouched food that lay on your lap and sighed, picking it up. "You can't always not eat the things we provide, [Y/N]," he chided. "Your bones need it to recover."

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue at him. "Thanks, mom... It's not like you need to eat this stuff."

He laughed and set the tray aside before turning expectantly at you. "I am extremely sure your mother would have forced fed you. Lift up your arms."

You were always so flustered whenever he had to disinfect the wound and change your bandages. Whenever it was time to get them renewed, it meant that you'd have to take off your hospital gown and expose your entire torso to him. Sure, he was a professional nurse, but all androids were free and deviant which meant they were more human than anything. You hated feeling vulnerable, even to a professional. You reluctantly lifted up your arms as he carefully lifted the gown over your head. The bandages were wrapped from around your shoulders, chest and stopped just above your belly. You shivered as the sudden brisk night air crawled over skin. Caleb placed the gown on one of the chairs beside the bed and began rummaging through the medical drawers. He frowned and looked at you apologetically.

"Sorry, [Y/N]," he said with a sheepish grin. "I need to go fetch more bandages from the storeroom."

You pouted at him as he quickly left. You flomped back onto the giant pillows and stared and the polystyrene ceiling, sort of enjoying the feeling of the cold, smooth bed sheets against your hot skin. You pulled the sheets closer to your chest. Ugh. Being injured was such an inconvenience; you could barely move without wincing. At least the bones were mending and the gash was kept disinfected. While your mind drifted off into the void, you heard the door slide open again, sharp footsteps echoing against the tiles. It must be Caleb returning with your bandages.

"That was quick," you quipped.

You turned your head to your nurse only to find that it wasn't Caleb. Her back was turned so you couldn't tell who it was. She was wearing a hospital gown, skin sickly yellow and had long, messy curled hair. The woman was twitching weirdly, causing nausea to rise from your stomach.

"Uhm... Hello?" you greeted warily, propping yourself up with your elbows but keeping the blankets up to cover yourself.

"No witnesses..." she whispered.

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

The unknown woman turned slowly. Her eyes were clouded, white and wild. They were very unfocused as they darted left and right. Her mouth was slightly parted open and you could see a bit of froth edge from the corner of her lips. She suddenly pointed at you. You realised that hand was holding a scalpel.

"No witnesses!" she hissed, her twitching becoming more violent.

You had to quickly rack your brains. You won't about to die half naked. She had to be one of the patients from the rehab ward that took in red ice users. Only red ice would be able to explain her symptoms and psychotic outbreak. Whilst holding the blankets to your chest with one hand, you held up the other as if to reassure her.

"Hey, it's okay," you breathed slowly. "Like you said, no witnesses. It's just us two."

The woman took a shaky step towards the bed, scalpel still gripped in the air. "They know!" she screeched "You know!"

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice soothed and steady, as if confronting a wild animal. You just had to keep her calm until Caleb returns.

You shook your head. "No, I don't. I don't know anything. No one knows anything."

Suddenly, the door slid violently open causing her to jolt and scream as she rushed towards you. She was right on top of you when a hand grips the woman's wrist, stopping the scalpel from right above. She was violently dragged away from you and pinned against the wall as her arm twisted painfully behind her. The scalpel dropped onto the floor, echoing sharply on the tiles.

With crisp brown hair, Cyberlife uniform, and a composed form (even when restraining the struggling and screaming attacker), it was the one and only RK800 series Connor. You stared at him, your blood pumping with adrenaline. He doesn't look at you, instead focusing on the hysteric patient. One hand was holding the twisted arm to her back and another held a gun to her head.

Connor gritted his teeth as his eyes narrowed harshly. "It would seem that you have been indulging yourself in too much...fun," he growled. "You should've picked another room."

Was he going to shoot this poor lady? She was in rehab for a reason; it meant that she needed help. "Connor!" you called out to him in desperation. "You can't shoot her."

He doesn't even turn his head to acknowledge you. He huffed in frustration and you can visibly see his jaw tighten. "Call your nurse, [Y/N]."

You quickly jabbed the emergency button by the headboard. In panic and concern, Caleb had rushed into your room with his hands full with rolls of bandages. He opened his mouth in question but immediate stalled in shock after seeing Connor and the patient by the wall. He quickly set the bandages on the drawer and protectively stepped in the space between you and Connor. Connor's lips thinned as he studied Caleb. The woman had stopped struggling, quietly crying to herself. He pulled her away from the wall and threw her into Caleb who stumbled as he caught her by the arms. The detective straightened up and adjusted his tie as he glared at the nurse.

"Take her back to her ward," Connor ordered sharply. "If this happens again...I will not hesitate to shut this hospital down."

Caleb nodded silently and guided the disturbed patient out but not before glancing at you apologetically. As the door clicked shut, Connor turned to you, sighing in relief.

He walked closer to your bed and reached out to brush softly against your cheek. "You're safe now, [Y/N]."

His eyes were full of concern, warmth with a tinge of a plea. You searched them with your own, filled with shock from the incident but also how he had coincidentally arrived just in time. You suddenly felt anger as it shot through your chest to your head. Feeling your face grow hot with fury, you slapped his hand away.

"Where the hell have you been?!" you scowled bitterly. "It's been a week and oh wow, suddenly you think it's okay to just show up unannounced?!"

Conner tilted his head in puzzlement. "Are you angry that I just saved you?"

On good days, you'd think that his head tilt habit was adorable and quirky, but today was not that day. It made you even more irritated and the fire you could feel in your veins were probably more than enough to burn acres of forests.

Rolling your eyes, you threw your hands in the air. "I had it all under control," you scoffed. "I didn't need you to come and screw everything up. I'm not a goddamn damsel in distress, for crap sake. And plus, who are you to send me to a hospital and not even check on me for days, or even let me know if you were okay and-"

Conner cleared his throat loudly, interrupting your passionate rant. "[Y/N]..."

You noticed that he was avoiding eye contact, averting his eyes to anywhere but you. His cheeks were rising with red as he shifted uncomfortably and stiffly on the spot.

"What?" you spat.

The Android briefly glanced at you, scanning for a second before he blinked away again. He cleared his throat again and hesitatingly gestured in your direction.

"Y-you..." he stuttered. "You might want to cover yourself before reprimanding me."

You froze in realization. No. Way. These things only happened in drama series or movies. Your pulse quickened and the rising heat on your cheeks increased by 30 degrees. You looked down and he was indeed correct. With your wild gesturing all over the place, the blankets had fallen onto your lap, leaving your chest bare and open for everyone to see. Or in this case, for Connor to study and admire. You had forgotten that your hospital gown was removed for fresh new bandages. You let out a small, embarrassed yelp before you scrambled to cover yourself with the blankets, burying your hot face in it. Oh my God. Nooooooooo.... You whined in your head, mentally beating yourself up. You heard Connor let out a soft chuckle, making you feel even more awkward.

Scrunching up your face in the sheets, you muffledly barked. "Shut up and go away..."

Before Connor had a chance to say anything, Caleb had returned from his expedition, not looking too pleased. He stood by the open door and crossed his arms, glaring at the detective.

"I have rectified the situation," Caleb informed, offering a forced smile. "You are required to kindly remove yourself from the room so I may tend to my patient."

Connor's face visibly soured and his nose twitched into a subtle snarl. It was that software error again. The one that made him do strange things and scare [Y/N]'s friends away. He tried to self-diagnose quickly but the "feeling" is already overwhelming him. He really didn't like the idea of someone else touching you. Okay sure, he was your nurse and had taken care of you whilst he was gone but... It was still someone else. But now that he was back, Caleb isn't needed anymore.

You watched Connor warily as he took a slow step towards the nurse. It looked like he was going to assert his dominance again.

The Android detective towered Caleb who stood his ground but a little shakingly. Connor's voice lowered dangerously.

"Thank you, sir, but I will take it from here," he growled softly.

Caleb tried to stand taller, about to argue back. "Mr C-"

"Caleb, it's okay," you firmly interrupted, desperately not wanting a fist fight in your hospital room. "He will know what to do."

You gave your nurse a remorseful look before he nodded respectfully and left the room, clicking the door closed behind him. You buried your face into the blankets again, unable to look at Connor. After awhile, you heard him shuffle around the room and felt the edge of the bed sink as he sat down. You lifted your head slowly as you felt his hand along with a type of fabric gently press against your exposed back.

Connor was smiling at you gently. "It would seem like I am always patching you up."

You blew air through your nose in disbelief, turning away from him. "You did kick out the nurse."

You shuddered slightly as you felt Connor work his way achingly slowly with the bandage from your back to your chest. His hands were brushing ever so softly against you. He was sitting so closely, that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek and neck. You could see his pulse by the nape of his neck, quickening slightly. His brown eyes were looking down, but you could see that they were unfocused and filled with a certain something. You could see his pores and the small imperfections that Cyberlife gave their androids to make them more convincingly human. His front curl hung loosely by his forehead. Goosebumps were rising, giving away the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You felt yourself lean closer to him, closing the proximity between you. Your face was just inches away form his. Much to your delight, he responded by mirroring your movement as your thighs pressed against his. His LED flashed yellow. You could hear his breathing become heavier, his chest rising and falling in slight uncertainty, matching your own. Your eyes were filled with longing as you tried to search his downcasted ones.

You gasped as you felt his thumb brush against your nipple, sending a sensitive jolt through your body to your loins. Connor's jaw tightened as he swallowed uncomfortably, body almost desperately looking for more contact as he leant in further. He was still holding the bandage, wrapped from your back but he was hesitant to cover your chest. He couldn't avert his eyes from the beautiful sight in front of him. Humans were amazing, and this specific human in front of him was beyond anyone else in the world. You were beautiful, breathtaking and it drove him mad.

His eyes traveled from your chest, to your collarbones. He thought they were delicate and angled and molded perfectly to your form. He returned his eyes to your breasts, allowing his thumb to brush against the sensitive spot again, clearly enjoying the whimper that escaped your throat. Dropping the bandage, he cupped one of your mounds, softly squeezing and weighing it in his hand. It was so soft, smooth and just...so satisfying to hold.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with that plea and passion he had held the other night. You returned his look with your own, trying to communicate that you needed him. Without a warning, he clumsily smashed his mouth into yours. He couldn't take it any longer. He needed to make you his.

You moaned into his mouth as you feel his grip on your one breast tighten. Your loins were tightening and you could feel it wetten itself with desire as his tongue pried your mouth open, fighting and curling against your own. His lips were so incredibly real. Kissing him felt like eating a peach that riped perfectly at that moment. Soft and sweet. Connor moved himself until he was nearly on top of you but not quite, not breaking the heated tongue wrestle. You whimpered slightly as he shifted to suckle on your lower lip. The air was filled with breathy moans and lots of shifting in the sheets.

You brushed your hands through his locks, pulling his head to the side, exposing his neck. You were about to attack but Connor stopped you, gently grabbing your chin and forcing you to look into his lust, clouded eyes.

"No," he breathed. "You don't do anything."

You gaped at him in confusion. "Wha-"

Your moaned loudly and your hands fell to grip the sheets as he unsuspectingly reached and rubbed his fingers against your sex through the gown. It reminded you how the hospital gowns were so easily accessible from the down under. You were essentially wearing a crappy dress. The detective tutted, shaking his head and smirked.

"Be a good girl," he purred as he gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head. "You don't want them to hear you, do you?"

You bit down hard on your lower lip, pleading with your eyes. You shook your head obediently. Connor nuzzled against your nose, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, taking in your scent. You smelt amazing... He didn't know what it was but your natural smell stirred a beast inside of him as he savored it.

"Wait wait, Connor," you panted, suddenly regaining a bit of your senses. "We are in a hospital. What if Caleb comes in? "

The detective gave you a coy smile and leaned in right next to your ear to nibble at you ear lobe. "Well then, he is more than welcome to watch," he whispered, sending shivers through your whole body. You closed your eyes and bathed in his scent and presence. He trailed kisses down your jawline, stopping to bite at your neck. You took this opportunity to softly knead his crotch with your thigh. Oh surprise, surprise, Cyberlife didn't miss out a single part in their androids; there was definitely something there... And it was big... He gave a breathy groan, eyes flashing passionately but angrily at you. He growled loudly causing your heart to accelerate.

Connor let go of your wrists and threw aside his jacket. You just laid there in awe, afraid to move or disobey. You were his now, under his influence and command. You may not be used to being submissive and obedient... But it seemed that Connor was in a dangerous mindset at the moment. You were slightly afraid but mostly turned on.

He suddenly laid beside you, causing you to look at him in puzzlement. Propping himself on one elbow, he gently cupped your face with the other hand. He stared deeply at you, searching for you.

"Unbutton me," he ordered firmly. You swore it sounded more like he was begging.

Without hesitating, you hoisted yourself until you were straddingly him. You pressed your sex against his trapped crotch, causing him to buck up into you. Immediately working on his buttons, you let the cloth fall open, unraveling his perfect body. You loved it when it was pristine white and vulnerable but this was fine. He was slowly trailing both hands down your body, tracing every curve and shape but carefully avoiding your wound. He let his hands rest on your hips whilst yours fell to tracing his chest. He pushed up against you and you gasped. The goddamn hospital gown was open from underneath, leaving you to feel every pressure through your underwear.

Connor grinned cockily. He bit his lower lip and raised an eyebrow. You stared at him in disbelief. This android...enjoyed torturing you. Get a load of that.

To punish him for taking you as an easy being, you swiftly unbuckled his belt and pulled both his pants and undergarments down, his cock springing free. Good lord, it was a sight. Throbbing and bouncing in the air, your eyes widened at the sight of a trophy. Seriously, Cyberlife, so much detail? Your loins pulsed and pleaded at you, wanting to ride it. He was about to protest but it was replaced with a stuttering moan as you stuffed your mouth with his member. You grinned with your mouth full. Serves him right...

You dragged your tongue all over his cock, wettening it with your saliva. Taking in all his essence, you bobbed your head slowly, torturing him. He was completely in your control. His body was both limp and stiff as you worked your magic around his trophy. You gently grazed your teeth against it, causing him to suddenly raise his hips into your mouth. He whimpered your name as you moaned, allowing him to feel the vibrations in your throat.

It was as if at that moment Conner realised that the tide has turned and he had to turn it back. He was under your control and he had to take control back, to let you know who the alpha male was. He pulled you up and out of his cock, as you let your mouth pop away. The Android gripped your wrists and twisted you firmly until he was on top of you. You yelped out in surprise, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. Luckily, Connor knew the best way to wrestle without hurting your injuries. He reached under and ripped away your underwear with ease. Your head was spinning and you couldn't control your hastened breathing. You felt hot and your sex was just burning with so much desire. You pleaded him.

"Connor, please," desperation leaked from your mouth.

Connor licked his lips, looking down at you as if predator looking at prey. His eyes were full of hunger. "Just because you asked so nicely."

He guided his cock into you, pushing in slowly. It was bliss. You nearly cried out in pain and pleasure as he penetrated you. He doesn't even let you adjust, pulling it out and pushing it in again. He grunted, eyes hooded and mouth agape. It was great that Cyberlife had a euphoria response in androids. It was even more amplified as a deviant.

He picked up speed, and you felt his throbbing member inside of you. You were so tight around him, slipping and sliding as he pounded into you. You whimpered out his name, begging him to go deeper and faster.

Suddenly, there was blinding white and then you spilled all over him. It was the limit for a Connor too.

"[Y/N]!" he cried out, allowing his systems to overheat as he came. It was absolutely intoxicating.

He collapsed on top of you, trying not to crush you with his weight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you pressed your forehead against his. Conner nuzzled against your cheek, inhaling you all over again as if he was scared you would disappear.

"I need you, [Y/N]."

"And I'm here to stay. I'm yours."

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Isaac and the Angel - Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Isaac is used to the angel disappearing indefinitely without notice. He learned early on that he has no claim to Israfil’s time or the ways he chooses to spend it. Where he goes or when he’ll be back isn’t Isaac’s business—and it’s not like he loses sleep over what Isaac does when he’s away from the apartment.

Isaac begins to gather the breakfast dishes, hoping that having a task to complete will put his mind at ease. He always gets anxious when Israfil is away—there’s really no avoiding it. But at least he has the small comfort of knowing that Israfil is off doing whatever he wants. And it feels petty to deny him his freedom just because it makes Isaac nervous.  

But something about this feels different. For some reason, Isaac can’t shake the feeling that his angel has been taken. He mentioned a cousin—perhaps the other angels finally managed to snatch him up and put him in… angel jail.

No, that’s ridiculous. Angels don’t have jail. Probably.

Besides, from what he’s seen it looks like angels have a flair for the dramatics (he can see where the Catholics get it from). It seems out of character for them to just… whisk Israfil away without sending, like, a lightning bolt or something to zap him out of reality. So maybe they haven’t gotten to him after all.

It occurs to him, as he submerges the dishes in warm, soapy water, that he could’ve been taken by the other side. Isaac has never really thought to ask about Hell or demons or anything like that. But the Devil used to be an angel, didn’t he? Maybe that’s what Israfil meant when he said his cousin was calling.

But maybe that’s a stupid idea too.

He sighs, staring listlessly down at the water. He watches the bubbles swirl and froth in the sink basin like puffy clouds floating lazily through a clear sky. It dawns on him how positively exhausted he is. His body aches and his head feels like a sack of rocks held up only by the force of a very sore but ever persistent spine. Maybe Israfil was right. Maybe he should’ve slept properly. But every time he closes his eyes he’s struck with the memory of two blazing creatures screeching and hissing in a language both more beautiful and more terrifying than any human language he’s ever heard.

Isaac shudders, sinking his arms deep into the water to retrieve a bowl. He rinses the soap off, drying it with a towel. He hopes Israfil is okay. He doesn’t know what he’d do if—

His phone rings suddenly and he practically jumps ten feet in the air. Somehow he manages not to let the bowl slip from his grasp and he sets it carefully on the counter before all but running to snatch his phone off the coffee table. “Hello?” he says, accepting the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hey,” Vivian’s voice responds. “Are you okay? You sound really stressed out.”

Isaac exhales slowly, relaxing a little. “I’m always stressed out.”

“I know, but like… more than usual.”

“It’s fine. I’m just giving myself an anxiety attack for no reason.” He tucks the phone snugly between his ear and shoulder, drying his hands off on his pants. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just gonna ask if you’re doing anything today,” she says. “Maybe we could grab lunch or wander around downtown or something.”

Isaac hesitates. He doesn’t have any plans, but he doesn’t know if he has the energy to go do something today. After all, he’s still recovering from the craziness of the past few days. Who knows what could happen to him if he goes out again today?

Then again, he can’t just become a hermit and ignore his friends just because he’s a little bit traumatized.

Or maybe that’s the perfect reason to become a hermit and ignore his friends.

“Hel-lo?” Vivian says pointedly, breaking through Isaac’s reverie. “Are you still there?”

“Still here, sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “Just thinking. Listen, do you think you could come over? I don’t know if I’m really in the mood to go out today.”

“Is everything okay?” Vivian asks again, this time sounding truly concerned. “Did something happen with the angel?”

“There’s always something happening with the angel,” he mutters. “It’s a lot to get into over the phone.”

“Oh boy,” she says under her breath. “Okay, give me a little bit to shower and grab a coffee and stuff and I’ll text you when I’m on my way?”

Isaac nods. “Sounds good. See you in a bit.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

____

“…and then he just disappeared,” Isaac finishes, cupping his hands around the steaming hot chocolate Vivian had picked up for him on her way over. “And that was… I don’t know, maybe a couple hours ago.”

Vivian stares at him, her mouth hanging slightly agape. After a few moments of silence she snaps her mouth shut and feigns a pout, grumbling, “God, why does all the interesting stuff happen to you?”

“I think this is the only interesting thing that’s ever happened to me.” He takes a sip of the drink. Feels the liquid slide down his throat. “Fuck, I feel like I’ve gotten ten times as crazy in the past couple months. And this week has just been—I mean, every day it’s something new, you know? And who knows what fresh hell he’s going to drop into my lap when he gets back.”

“He could come back with good news,” she suggests, but Isaac can tell she doesn’t even believe her own optimism. “Like, maybe he’ll come back and tell you he’s… un-fallen and he can finally go back to Heaven and everything will go back to normal.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vivian slumps over the arm of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe,” she begins, “he’ll come back having killed all the bad angels and now no one will ever bother you again and you can live happily ever after with your angel roommate.”

He frowns. “I don’t know. They seem pretty hard to kill.”

“Well, that’s why it’s taking him so long.” She sits up, grinning at Isaac. “He has to have a long, drawn out battle with every single angel that’s out to get you. Like how in Naruto they’ll spend three episodes fighting the same group of teenagers.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Could be days before he’s done.”

“I don’t think this is anything like Naruto.”

“You’re right,” she agrees. “This is way more like Neon Genesis Evangelion.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, giving Vivian a soft kick from across the couch. “That’s not funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny.” She taps her fingernails against her coffee cup. “So…” she says tentatively, “when they fought… what was it like?”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly very dry. “I couldn’t see most of it,” he says, lowering his voice. “It hurt to look at them for too long, but—it’s hard to describe.” He takes another drink, trying to think of a way to put what he saw into words without conjuring the memory again. “It was kind of like… in science documentaries when they show two stars colliding. Only way more terrifying and, um, alarmingly close.”

“Wicked,” Vivian says softly. “That sounds like something out of a movie.”

His jaw twitches uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, movies are fun to watch. Not so much fun to… live in, I guess.”

“I’ve never seen a movie.”

Isaac yelps in surprise and Vivian starts, turning sharply towards the third speaker. Israfil stands in the kitchen, looking vaguely confused but otherwise normal. “Holy shit,” she says, clutching dramatically at her heart with one hand. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

Israfil tilts his head slightly to the side. “Sorry.”

“Where have you been?” Isaac asks a little too harshly. “You just disappeared!”

“I was summoned,” he says simply. “I have a job now. And a house, apparently.”

Isaac misses the good old days where he could understand what was going on at any given moment. “A house?”

“Can we see it?” Vivian chimes in.

“It’s in Hell, so probably not.” Then, he adds quietly, “I haven’t even seen it yet, come to think of it.”

“You have a house in Hell?”

“Did you… just get back from Hell?” Vivian asks, eyeing Israfil suspiciously.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“So,” Vivian says slowly, “you got summoned to Hell, were given a house and a job in Hell—and knowing you, your boss will be, like, the fucking Devil himself or something—and somehow thought the most interesting part of that story was the fact that you got a job and a house?”

Israfil shrugs, coming out of the kitchen and taking a seat on the floor by the window. “Isaac seems pretty interested in the house.”

Isaac shakes his head in disbelief. “I just cannot imagine him owning property.”

“And—I’m sorry, did you say you’ve never seen a movie?” Vivian asks abruptly.

“I’m beginning to wish I had stayed in Hell,” Israfil mutters. “You know Satan was nicer to me than you two.”

“Oh my God, Hell is real,” Isaac mumbles, sinking back against the couch cushions. “It really just hit me that Hell is actually real.” His fingers begin to tremble slightly.

“It wasn’t as scary as you’d expect,” he offers helpfully. “Granted, I didn’t see any of the, er… torture stuff. But the part I was in was very stylish and businesslike.”

Isaac gives Vivian a panicked look, feeling deeply distressed by the realization that he could, quite possibly, end up in Hell. Beyond the basic aspects of his identity and background that are generally equated with sin, he hasn’t exactly maintained a good Christian lifestyle over the years. He hasn’t even maintained a good Jewish lifestyle. Things aren’t looking too good for his immortal soul right now. “You know all the fucked up stuff I did in college,” he whispers frantically to her. “There is no way I’m getting let into Heaven.”

“You’re not going to Hell,” Israfil says calmly.

“What about me, am I going to Hell?” Vivian asks.

“Probably not.” His eyes are fixed on Isaac. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re not going to Hell, and even if you were it wouldn’t be for a long time. Just because Hell and Heaven are real doesn’t mean humans are right about who gets to go where.” He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Even the ones who have a whole religion to support their theories.”

“Do you know for sure that we’re not going to Hell, or are you just saying that so Isaac doesn’t blow a blood vessel?”

“Just let him lie to me,” Isaac mumbles, holding his head in his hands. “I’d rather not know the truth.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Israfil says. “Besides, omission is my preferred method of deception.”

“I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you think it is,” Vivian says quietly, leaning towards the angel as if sharing a secret.

“I wasn’t trying to be reassuring. I was just stating a fact.”

“So are you going to go live in Hell now?” Isaac asks bitterly. Perhaps he’s just in a foul mood today, or perhaps he’s irritable as a result of how truly and profoundly anxious he has been for the past twenty-four hours, but either way he does not possess the willpower to be nice right now.

Israfil gives him a funny look that he can’t at all read. “Should I?” he asks softly.

Isaac shrugs. “It’s not like I have any control over you or your choices.”

“I know that. But I still value your opinions.”

He feels his face grow warm and he scowls, his gaze shifting away from the angel. He doesn’t know what to say to that. It doesn’t feel true, but it seems like Israfil wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t at least think it was true.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Israfil continues. “At least not until everything’s settled down. But I know it must be… inconvenient having me in your home.” He bites the edge of his lip. “I could go. If you told me you wanted me to.”

This is not a conversation Isaac wants to have in front of Vivian. He worries that any answer he gives will be too indicative of how… attached he is to the angel. “If you weren’t planning to go, I’m not going to make you go,” he says, trying to sound ambivalent. “I was just asking.”

“I see.” He clears his throat quietly, sharing a look with Vivian that makes Isaac want to scream. “I think,” he says slowly, “I’m going to go out for a walk. Maybe see if there’s anything interesting in that lake.” He gets up from his place on the floor, smoothing his hands over his velvet pants. “Won’t be long.” And then he vanishes again, leaving Isaac and Vivian alone once more.

“It seems like he’s gotten weirder since I last saw him,” Vivian remarks after a moment of silence. “What was up with his Clif Bar shirt?”

Isaac shakes his head. “I literally have no idea.”

[fletcher-fr]

The Brand Saga - Void and Water

Aansaiyasi-- “Calm as still water.” The slender skydancer was indeed as calm and still as the glassy pool before her. Her eyes stayed downturned, transfixed by the water, as Water acolytes poured in for the Saturnalia. Wavecrest, for the Fletching Clan, was unlike any other holiday, just as its priest was unlike any other priest. Instead of the usual festivities, games, and markets, under Yasi’s direction, Wavecrest had become a time for peaceful contemplation. Never was the Fletching Clan so beautiful, yet so still. Glass bubbles and scrying mirrors hung from the domed ceiling refracted the light of the stained glass wall behind Yasi, scattering prisms all over the surface of her pool. There is peace, she had taught pilgrims of times past, in any thing you might set your senses upon. Now, she set herself upon the beauty of the rainbows playing in her unwavering sight. The dragons filing in were humming--a hymn she knew well. It was a melody that had originally been used by ancient Guardians to find one another while exploring the darkness of the Leviathan Trench. Now, it was a call for the Tidelord; Come home. Yasi hummed, a little, but did not let her focus break. Serenity of mind is not an emptiness, but a quiet concentration. The pilgrims to the Temple of the Eleven settled around the pool, and their trance-like humming eventually tapered off. They watched eagerly was the water priestess lifted her head with a serene smile, surveying each of them in turn. There were no opening rites to the Saturnalia; no texts to read and no ceremonies to be held. Only Aansaiyasi’s wisdom, spoken so soft and musically that all of the Tidelord’s followers leaned in, hanging upon her every gentle word. In truth, Aansaiyasi had not always been a priestess, nor had she been raised in a temple. Quite the opposite, in fact. The now-dazzling skydancer was born into a heavily stratified kingdom, at the bottom of the social ladder. As a hatchling, she had watched her father’s gruesome execution; punishment for his relationship with her untouchable mother. That same mother had fallen ill not long after, and Yasi had only lived by the sacrifice of her two elder brothers. “Don’t think about it,” Mahorai had told her, covering her eyes with a wing, while Ahanrial wrapped their mother’s body in a burial shroud. “Doesn’t the rain sound beautiful?” It was this moment that stayed with Yasi as she fled her home, the screams of her brothers echoing in her ears as the guards pinned them to the ground. The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful. Her philosophy had drawn crowds in her wanderings thereafter--train your mind to focus, truly, and your pain will be forgotten. She had helped many suffering Water dragons learn control over their minds even before coming to the Fletching Clan. Now, surrounded by jewels and finery, she was no different. Still as water. Steady as the tides. Calm as the sea on the horizon. And Yasi was just as calm as ever, when Ghadrael came for her.

“I’ve decided what to take from you, little water priestess. Will you pray to the Tidelord to save you?” Yasi did not answer. She sat cross-legged before her personal altar--a hollowed-out stick of bamboo, clacking softly against weathered stones as a stream of water tipped it first one way, then the other, dividing itself into two pools. “I know you are not deaf. You listened and spoke with your precious followers this morning.” Clack… Clack… Clack… “Do you want to know what I’m going to take? I’m going to take your body. I wonder if your soul will go with it. Does that not frighten you?” Clack… Clack… Clack. A sharp claw appeared in Yasi’s vision. It held up the bamboo rod, spilling all the water to one side. It bubbled up over the stones and began to pool onto the floor. “Answer me, little priestess. You have nothing to say before you disappear? The Tidelord, I am sure, will not miss you.” Yasi did look up, now. The dragon before her was strange. His form fluctuated in the moonlight, like smoke made solid. He laughed. “Are you afraid now, silly priestess?” “No.” The smoke seemed to writhe at that. “Do you not wonder who I am? How I do what I do?” “No.” The room was filled with a very quiet screeching, and the smoke plumed and curled and frothed. “Am I nothing to you? Very well then. I will show you what it feels to be nothing.” Yasi hummed in response. Then, in an instance, she found herself tumbling. If she was honest, this was the one moment when she felt fear. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she trashed out for something to hold onto. For an eternal moment, she was spinning wildly through what she supposed to be time or space or reality; scenes of all proportions flashed incomprehensibly around her. Sounds battered her ears and crawled under her skin. Her mouth was filled with all the words she had ever said, or ever would say, and she could not understand any of them. It felt as though a million million different sensations were jostling in her mind all at once, each begging to be felt. She was unravelling. Then, suddenly, all was silent again. She had not moved. Still, she sat cross-legged. But the Fletching Palace was gone. Instead, she sat beneath a sky of pure white. The horizon was unbroken in every direction, and beneath her... a dizzying sea of stars. Nebulae cartwheeled through space, planets whirling wildly around suns of all colors. It stretched out below her infinitely, yet somehow was completely flat. And then it all began to move. Like it was dragging her down. Yasi got to her feet, watching the masses of stars and blackness slithered up around her ankles. She tried to pull free, and couldn’t. Another blip of fear crossed her, but she took in a deep, quiet breath, and focused on one pinwheel of a galaxy. How beautiful, she thought. Like flecks of bronze. As she sunk to her waist, she only focused more intently on the galaxy; every star, every planet. She tried to count each one but lost track. She watched it move one way, and then another, while blackness sucked at her clothes and pulled, pulled her down. Her ears were filled with laughter like none she had ever heard. The darkness sprouted eyes, a thousand thousand eyes, all bronze and glittering and wide and staring as whatever it was caught her hair and her head snapped back. The white sky was gone now. Then, she was sailing through the air. Hitting the ground was not as painful as she had expected (really, she ought to have been dashed to pieces), but it was all her training to keep from crying out. She sat up, slowly, and turned to look at the eyes all around her. If I am to die, she instructed herself, How lovely to see such beautiful eyes before I do. As she thought it, she realized that her mouth was moving, forming the words in her head aloud. The eyes all blinked in surprise. A bellow of cacophonous screeching nearly knocked her on her back again. The eyes looked at her expectantly. Like they were waiting for a response. Yasi blinked back. It’s alive, she thought, and as she did it seemed like an incredibly obvious conclusion. “I don’t speak eldritch horror,” she said gently, righting herself into a cross-legged position again. There was a brief pause. Some rumbling. And then the darkness began to recede. The eyes rolled up and closed as all the color was sucked from the plane around her, shrinking back into a single point. Yasi watched it curiously as it seemed to flash through a variety of odd shapes, each time collapsing again into a tiny pool of universe before her. Then, a man rose up from it--blurry at first, as though taking a moment to chisel himself into the right shape. Wisps of stardust clung to him, cascading down his back and from his fingers. He was covered head to toe in constellations. He looked at her. His eyes were starry amber.

He opened his mouth. A few odd sounds came from his throat before he shook his head and went quiet for a moment. “Kaja qa tenil nan jai?” Yasi shook her head. “Nor do I speak... that. Sornen?” She made a vague attempt to revert to her draconic form, but couldn’t. She had figured as much, but unclasped an earring to hold it out to him. A tiny spiral was coiled around its edge. He stared at the earring for a moment. Then, “This? This tongue?” His accent was the oddest she had ever heard, but it was Sornen. Yasi nodded. “Who are you?” she asked, replacing her earring. His face split into a wide grin--wider than any natural smile. When he talked, Yasi noticed that it was black behind his teeth--not that his tongue was black. Like there was nothing there. “You--a dragon? Yes. For who I am, you would say, ‘god.’ Or, a god.” Yasi cocked her head. “Of what?” He threw his arm out in a gesture around them. “Void.” Yasi hummed. “You wanted me to be part of that void? Why did you decide not?” It was at this point that he finally mimicked her, sitting on the now-white “floor,” still staring at her as though she were the alien and not he. “I… I’m unsure how you came here. You’re the first. To come here. Aside from me.” “How did you get here, then?” He made a face--as he did, the constellations across his skin stuttered and shifted color. He scooped up a handful of the stardust wreathing him and clapped it between his hands. When he drew his fingers apart, the figure of what was obviously another god in miniature swirled between his palms. “Him,” said the god of Void. Yasi leaned back on her palms. “Tell me what happened.” He squinted at her, as though he was considering swallowing her in blackness again, but then the figure crumbled in his fingers before resurrecting itself in the shape of another miniature galaxy. Beside it, the god of Void himself--but younger somehow, more naive. Yasi would have wondered how she could tell such detail from simple stardust figures, but then again, no part of this strange world between worlds had been very logical so far. As she watched, the miniature god of Void’s mouth opened nearly to the size of his whole body, jaw unhinging impossibly, as he swallowed the stars and planets and nebulae like they were nothing. The scene repeated, over and over--the god galloping through universes like a hatchling on unsteady legs, happy just to be alive. Eating worlds upon worlds. Yasi could almost hear the screams of those devoured as though they were here with them. Then, the other god appeared again. As Void was about to gobble up yet another cluster of planets, he was seized by the other god. Yasi felt a shock of confusion and panic as though it was her, captured by an unfathomable creature. “Ahamkara,” the god of Void said, watching the figures wrestling. Yasi put up her hand. “What is your name?” He paused to look at her. Something behind his eyes seemed to dull. “I have none.” Yasi hummed, watching the ripples of starstuff billowing around his head like hair made of clouds. “Nebulos, I think, would suit you. Do you like it?” He stared at her, then back at the scene he had constructed. He shrugged, and Ahamkara had finished throttling the miniature Nebulos. Finally, in a flash, the scene turned to mimic the one around them. “A prison,” said Yasi. “He put you here.” Nebulos nodded. “For how long?” With a wave of his hand, Nebulos dissipated the images he had built. He mimicked her again, leaning back on his hands. “Sornieth… To you, a hundred hundred years. Or a thousand thousand. Impossible to say.” He tipped his head back, looking up at the vast blank sky above them. “And no other creature here with you?” Nebulos shrugged. “You must be very lonely.” His eyes turned down to her. He laughed, showing shining silver fangs. Those are new, thought Yasi. He really is lonely. He waved his hand again, and above them appeared a crumbling mass of towers that reminded Yasi of home. With another gesture, the towers became a whole jungle, swelling with vines but eerily silent. Again, and it turned to a volcano erupting violet lava. Yasi didn’t flinch as the lava came to land on them--it disappeared to stardust as it did. “I have all of this. The things I swallowed.” It was Yasi’s turn to shrug. “That is no replacement for life.” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward her. “You speak truly. Millenia without a real world to eat. Millenia of hunger. Millenia without the breeze of air on my skin.” He was twisting stardust into shapes to illustrate his words again--spinning planets, grass blown by a warm wind. “No water--” A jug spilling sand appeared, “No light--” A blazing sun swirled into existence, “Not even the sound of music, the touch of another living being…” There were a few tuneless notes of music made of screams, and he reached out his hand to touch Yasi--but before he could, he recoiled suddenly, staring at his own hand. There was a short silence as all of the stardust fell and scattered, glittering, around them, before Yasi grabbed his hand back. She could feel his pulse in his wrist. Nebulos was frozen as the pulse sped up and the coils of stars that made his hair glowed like candle-flame, before suddenly he burst into another fit of laughter. New eyes peeked out at her from his forehead, and his mouth split two ways, like a cross. “You see what I do,” he said, and his voice felt like it came from inside Yasi’s own head. “Do you truly wish to touch one such as I? I feast. I am Void. I am God.” Yasi nodded. Hummed. Rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand. “And you are lonely.” The monstrous creature before her throbbed. Yasi smiled. “If there is no-one else here, then you needn’t pretend that you aren’t.” Nebulos tossed his head, looking away from her as the eyes disappeared and he shrank back into his “humanoid” appearance. “I once ate an entire universe in the blink of an eye,” he said haughtily, not looking at her. “There were unfathomable screams that day. There were other gods in my stomach afterward. I’ve eaten stranger. I eat languages. I eat knowledge and art and names. I have a hundred thousand forms. I ate one of my own forms, once. I swallow seas of stars and entire civilizations by the millions, but I’m… always hungry. I have never been sated, and now never will be, alone here, alone in this prison, alone for millennia… I…” He shrank with each word, folding in on himself like he might be crying, but did not know how. Yasi tugged on his hand--he yelped in surprise--and pulled him into an embrace. The galaxies of his hair smelled like magic. His skin was dancing wildly with constellations and colors, thrumming like any moment he would dissolve back into the fathomless expanse she had seen first. But he was speaking. “Alone... I am--I have been--who are you? Why? Please, whoever you are... please touch me…” There were the tears. Glowing brighter than the rest of him, like rivers of light, as he turned his strange horned head and buried it in Yasi’s shoulder. He was still trying to speak, but the words were garbled with sobs. Yasi smiled into his hair and obliged him, running a hand up and down his starry back. And she hummed a lullaby. When the tears had subsided enough for the god of Void to speak again, Yasi still did not let go of his hand. He was trying to apologize. “You act as though, after millennia, a few minutes of tears and a hand on your back are enough.” He looked at her helplessly. “How do you know these things?” he asked, in a whisper now. “Who are you?” “Aansaiyasi,” said Yasi, standing and tugging him to his feet. “Among all the things you’ve swallowed, is there somewhere more comfortable to lie down?” The god started at her, dumbstruck, for a moment longer, before nodding. He gripped her hand tightly as the ground underneath them shifted, and then the sky. The change went in trickling stripes, like water running over a window, only upside-down. Then they were somewhere completely other. Yasi couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto her face as she looked around; it was like nowhere on Sornieth, nothing she ever could have imagined. Gauzy, phosphorescent plants waved and fluttered beneath towering willow trees with trunks and branches of stained glass. Beneath their toes, the moss glowed in reaction to their steps. The whole world pulsed with blue light. Yasi let Nebulos guide her through the leaves like strings of lanterns and to a small hillock beside a pool of black water. When the water priestess leaned over to look for her reflection, there was none; instead, every bead of dew that dripped from the trees above created dizzying, ever-shifting fractals of color. But Yasi could tell that it was not real. It was only an echo of what it was before it was swallowed by the void. There was no birdsong, no buzzing of insects, no scent of plant life or water. When Yasi went to dip her toe into the black pool, it rippled around her foot, but she couldn’t feel it. She looked at Nebulos, who was staring, unseeing, out at the water. All of the beauty and wonder--it was all hollow. - Yasi found that while she could if she chose, she no longer needed to sleep or eat. But some of the worlds Nebulos showed her had suns like Sornieth’s, and so Yasi assumed that it was a few days that followed, during which time Nebulos let her explore dozens of new places, each more dizzyingly beautiful than the last. But she began to understand why the god had never been sated. As soon as anything entered the void, of course it was no longer real. As many illusions and replications as Nebulos could create, nothing would ever bring back the full of the things he had swallowed. Nebulos began to grow more accustomed to Yasi’s touch. It still made him jump, from time to time, but he relaxed more quickly now, spoke Sornen with greater ease, remembered how to cry and smile alike. The only thing that seemed real in all of this gilded cage was Nebulos himself. His skin was the only warmth she could feel, pulsing under her fingers, and his hair was the only thing she could smell--the soft cassia-smoke scent of magic. And she knew that to him, she was the same. So it never bothered her when his hands lingered on her arms or curled into her clothes, seeking every ounce of sensation he had been starved of for so long. He sometimes brought her odd tokens, but ones she eventually recognized as rarities in his prison; snippets of languages that were still spoken somewhere, dances of long-lost civilizations, clumsily performed as they were by him. One day, as Yasi was leaning against a balcony carved entirely of pearl, looking over the iridescent, bubble-like spires of a centuries-dead civilization, Nebulos approached her with an unwieldy-looking object in his arms. When he spoke, his Sornen was suddenly slippery again. “This is a… a music-making… an instrument. An instrument. I can’t use it well. I’ve tried--many many instruments, but I’m probably best at this one, I think. It’s probably about three... Four thousand years old? Any… In any case, I--there’s a song, from the civilization--the one that made it--and it reminds me of… you…” He trailed off, looking down at the dusty thing. The ribbons of starstuff that made up his hair whipped and snapped like they were caught in a fierce wind. Yasi grinned. “Are you going to play the song for me?” For a long moment, Nebulos looked quite like he was about to say “no,” but then he sucked in a breath and nodded. “It is something I wish to give you.” It was… clunky. The instrument was badly out of tune, and Nebulos was obviously unskilled with it--not to mention the way that his fingers shook so badly he could barely hold it--but the melody he managed to pick out was pretty enough. When he looked up at her as the last notes faded, his expression was so intense that it almost took Yasi by surprise. She offered a soft smile and rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “That is a wonderful gift.” And she meant it. But he stared at her a moment longer, and shook his head. He dropped his gaze to his hands on the instrument again, and then his whole body was shivering like a leaf on the wind. “I forgot,” he said, almost to himself, and then cursed in some long-dead tongue. “What did you forget?” Nebulos hugged the instrument to his chest. “The--the civilization this comes from. The instrument. Their language, it was musical. So it was like a--a poem? Like words.” “So it had a specific meaning? What was it?” His whole form seemed to turn fizzy, and then glassy, like he would have disappeared if he could. There was a faint cracking sound as he clutched the instrument so hard that its brittle wood began to give way under his grip. “Love… a love poem,” he said. Then he looked at her, still vaguely transparent, searching her face for her reaction. Yasi chuckled. “Come back, you,” she said gently, rubbing his arm in soothing circles as he slowly became opaque again. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.” Crack. “Oh, I should say that I don’t mind,” Yasi added, noting how he trembled still. “What does that mean?” Nebulos burst out desperately. “You accept?” Yasi looked at him curiously. “Accept what?” Nebulos dropped the instrument altogether--it disappeared in a wisp of blue smoke before it hit the floor--and ran his hands through his starry hair. “It’s--it’s…” He swore again. “In Sornen--in Sornieth, you have, between two people…?” His language grew more and more garbled, and he gesticulated helplessly to try to illustrate his meaning. Yasi’s smile widened as he did. “You stay with one another, you have a celebration and then you are each other’s… I don’t… I shouldn’t have…” “Marriage?” Yasi suggested. Nebulos flickered briefly as he blew out a breath and nodded. “If you don’t… It’s… We’ve not known one another that long--and maybe you’ll escape, and then you shouldn’t feel tied to me, but I just… I only…” “Of course.” Every part of Nebulos froze in place, including his ever-swirling cloud of hair. He stared at her, and she leaned against the railing overlooking the city, resting her chin in her hand and smiling at him. “Do you know anything else about romantic customs in Sornieth?” she asked him. Still almost completely frozen, Nebulos just looked at her. Yasi shrugged. “Well, in a humanoid form like this one, kissing is a common way to express affection. You know it?” Nebulos, still staring, nodded slowly. Yasi cocked an eyebrow. “You should kiss me.” One more frozen moment went by, and then Nebulos reached out trembling hands to take her shoulders. His expression was an open book--overwhelmed joy, relief, surprise-- as he tugged her to him. When he kissed her, his nose bumped against her cheek, and Yasi laughed into his mouth. She wound her arms around his neck. He was still shaking; it felt like he might crack her spine with how hard he pressed her to him. His lips were hot and clumsy, but the way he laughed too made Yasi’s serene heart skip giddily. - Nebulos was much more talkative after that. His hands always seemed to find Yasi, and she didn’t mind. He shared everything with her. Yasi lost track of time, wandering through hundreds of worlds, hearing of unimaginable histories and cultures. Sometimes, she wondered what had become of the Fletching clan, but her years of training and her new and fascinating life meant that it didn’t plague her. That is until, one day, Nebulos was showing her some of the more abstract and strange things that had found their way to his prison of void. And she recognized these things. They were put on pedestals, like a museum. Nebulos had showed her a spell of invisibility that had gone wrong, the soul of an animal that was both real and not at the same time, and then… a set of inhibitions. “This showed up not long before you, actually,” he said, as Yasi stared at the abstract thing, trapped in an orb like a light sprite might hold. “I don’t know how someone managed to extract them. It seems like they were from a person not dissimilar to you. A religious figure, I think.” Next was a coherency, a wreath of flame which whispered incomprehensibly--but Yasi could have sworn that she heard Sornen. Then, a scroll. It looked almost exactly like a breed change scroll, but black, and an intense negative energy surrounded it. Yasi stared at it. “This is… a dragon whose breed was taken away.” Nebulos nodded. Yasi slowed to a halt, looking down the line of pedestals, realizing the pattern. She turn to look at Nebulos, who slowed, expression turning to concern. “Yasi?” “These are from my clan,” she said. “The priests… Some creature of void has been attacking. Sending things here. That’s what happened to them. To us.” She thought wildly back to her encounter with the creature who had sent her to this realm in the first place. ”I’m going to take your body… I will show you what it feels to be nothing.” “That’s… how I came here. Void magic.” Nebulos’ expression was falling. His hair cascaded slowly down his shoulders, pooling at his feet. “You have to get home,” he said quietly, offering a small smile as he reached for her hand. Yasi looked into his face. Focused on the dark amber of his eyes. She had to, or she would feel his heartbreak. She nodded. “You know how I can return,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Nebulos nodded. “I am sorry.” Yasi stroked his hair. “I would not trade this time with you for anything.” He closed his eyes. Nodded. Tears clung to his eyelashes. “You have nothing left,” he said. “If you are to take something real, it would follow that you can’t stay here anymore.” “I thought that I took you when we exchanged vows.” “Those only bound us to one another. I belong to you, but you do not have me.” Nebulos shook his head. “But you can. Take a part of me,” he said quietly. “If you do, perhaps I could experience something again--anything. Please, Yasi, I--” his voice caught in his throat, and he reached for her with his other hand, too. He took a deep breath. “It would be a wonderful gift.” Yasi stroked his face. “Tell me what to take.” He leaned into her touch. Turned to kiss her palm. “You could take my eyes,” he whispered against her skin. “That I might truly see again.” He looked at her. “Or you could take my claws, that I might truly feel again.” Yasi stepped closer to him to catch his mouth in a kiss. “What if I took your children,” she asked, “That you might truly love again?” A flash of confusion crossed his face before his eyes widened. He clutched her hand to himself and nodded, swallowing. “That… would do.” - The next two nights, Yasi fell asleep to the steady sound of Nebulos’ breathing. He slept, too, though neither of them needed it in this place. Something about the warmth and quietude and rhythm of it soothed the parting that they both knew would come soon. His breath tickled her ears. Whoosh, hiss. Whoosh, hiss. Then, in an instant, the sound changed. Clack. Clack. Clack. Yasi opened her eyes. Her bamboo fountain bubbled next to her, its two pools glittering in the dawn light filtering in through her window. She sat up from the floor, touching a hand to her stomach. - It had only been a week and a half, as it turned out. What had felt like--or actually been--months and years to Yasi and Nebulos, in Sornieth had barely been a handful of days. When Yasi emerged from her chambers, swallowing tears with focus, a great cry went up from the Fletching Clan palace. Her friends ran out to embrace her with fear and relief on their voices. The sunlight feels wonderful. The sound of the ocean is soothing. The bamboo smells so sweet. It was everything Yasi could do to maintain her composure while she explained all she had learned to the Council of Suns. A monster was preying on them, one with the power of Void. It had taken from the priests; Ishkari’s inhibitions. Khorzaad’s breed. Hyaki’s comprehension. Salsadra’s consciousness. Ilsaire’s motion. Ahazraal’s memories. The others, she could not explain. She left the chamber as Whisper was positing that this monster had acquired an accomplice. It all seemed terribly unimportant, now. Somewhere else in the universe was a man made of stars--her husband--with worlds and worlds of only hollow beauty to keep him, now. Aansaiyasi returned to her chambers. She knew that she ought to prepare a nest for her children to be born, but the tears were so close to the surface that she couldn’t bring herself to face the hatchery right now. She tried to sleep, but everything seemed so much louder, after so long in a realm of silence. She grew accustomed to the hypnotic clack of her fountain again, but the sound of the insects she had missed so sorely at first seared into her mind. She laid awake, aching for Nebulos’ touch, and thought that the sound of crickets might just drive her mad. I wish whatever insect it was plaguing me would just disappear, she begged the unfeeling cosmos, as she shifted in bed for what felt like the thousandth time that sleepless night. And it did. Yasi sat bolt upright as the unfamiliar magic fizzled in her arms. She looked down at herself. Could it be? She pressed her hands to her stomach again. Perhaps she now had some of Nebulos’ power… She looked around for something to test it on. “I want my water jug to go to the void,” she said. Without a sound, the jug disappeared. Her heart was pounding. Please… “I want the song that Nebulos gave to me.” The moment the clumsy notes came drifting to her, she stood up on her bed and, shaking, said, “I want my husband.” And there he was. Nebulos looked just as surprised as she did, standing dazedly with the gauzy wing of a cricket still sticking out of his mouth. Yasi laughed. He quickly swallowed it and grabbed her hand, pressing her fingers as though checking that she was real and not a dream. “How did you do that?” he whispered, then closed his eyes and shivered as a breeze of warm bay air came in through the window. Yasi couldn’t help it. She was crying now. “It must be the part of you I took--I must have your powers, at least for a while.” Nebulos opened his eyes again and looked at her, his face breaking into a grin. “I feel everything,” he gasped out, tugging her closer. “I feel it, I feel everything again. But I don’t… I don’t feel hungry, anymore.” Yasi buried her face in his hair. “How? You said you have always been hungry.” He gathered her in his arms, laughing. “I have something now, given to me instead of taken. I think it’s because you’ve given me love. No other creature has.” “Well, I have no intentions of stopping,” said Yasi, before he kissed her.

[hastyslug21]

Demon Boy of Neverland Pt.2 (Humor, Smut)

Description: Peter is going to visit you in your new home, The Cage.

Demon Boy of Neverland: Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"Oh gods!" Y/N grumbled out as she shielded her eyes from the blinding sunlight once more.

A day had passed since Peter Pan had left her trapped, leaving only a cup of water and a bowl of fruit outside of her cage to tide her over through the day.

On her first night in Neverland, Y/N couldn't sleep well; the faraway screeches resounding throughout the jungles surrounding her and the sinister-ness of the night as the full moon glowed brightly in the skies terrified her more than anything she had ever encountered back in the Enchanted Forest.

"Aw, bollocks," Y/N said with a wince as her head and back ached dully.

She looked outside of her cage to see if there were any creeps lurking nearby, and once she found that she was all alone, she started talking to herself.

Of course she wasn't going mad....or anything.

"Damnable Pan. Couldn't have trapped me in a dungeon or a cave. At least there are roofs," she straightened her back with even more audible cracks in her joints. "And proper floors, but noooo. Insufferable swine."

Y/N cracked her neck from side to side as she said," Can't believe I followed that green flat ass of his to Neverland."

At the thought of being trapped against her own will, rage welled up inside of her.

She took it out on her cage and regretted it instantly.

"Blast!," she said, cradling her bruised hand to her bosom.

She next tried kicking at the bars. She tried again and again and again until frustration frothed to the brim like a volcano ready to erupt and wreak havoc to whatever is nearby and so Y/N exploded into a frenzy of kicks and punches against a cage that remained intact despite giving her best blows.

Then, all of a sudden, Y/N froze. She lost all control over her limbs and so she was forced to stare ahead of her, only to see the approach of the demon boy of Neverland.

"Well, well, well. Good morning. Had fun last night? The wailings and screeches of suffering little flamingos and mermaids may put you off at first, but don't worry. Soon, after a century or two in your cage, they'll just be music to your ears, lulling you to sleep and to lovely dreams," Peter greeted Y/N, with a malicious smirk that sent an ice-cold dagger spearing through her heart.

She attempted to make a scowl, but only succeeded in letting in a murderous look glint in her eyes.

Upon seeing her bloodied knuckles and murderous glare, Peter let loose a full blooming of an amused smile upon his damnably radiant face.

"Now, now darling. Look what you've gone and done to your new, shiny cage," Pan gestured towards the blood stains on the cage walls.

He shook his head and exhaled a sigh of disappointment.

"Naughty, little creature. I thought you'd have learned your lesson yesterday and behave, like a good pet ought to. I suppose I shouldn't have expected much."

Peter reached out a hand between the bars of the cage to lightly carress Y/N's jawline; so soft and so sweet were his strokes that Y/N nearly sighed out in pleasure if it weren't for her being paralyzed.

"A wild creature like you needs to be disciplined. Now, how shall I discipline you?," Peter said with a slow drawl that sent a disgustingly hot thrill of excitement throughout Y/N; a thrill that meant how much it sucks to be a hormone-filled adolescent.

Y/N grunted to herself in self-loathing.

'Blast that damnably bone-melting accent to hell and back. Digesting the sight of that damnably green, good-looking demon makes me want to puke. He even dresses up like a Broccoli, a Broccoli that wants to make me it's pet. Oh gods save me from this Broccoli!'

"What was that? I would love to hear for your suggestions on making yourself a good, obedient pet," Pan said, flicking a quick gesture of his hand that allowed Y/N to collapse onto the floor of her cage in relief.

A pause and a moment later, Y/N composed herself as she looked up at Peter's towering figure.

"Muttons are the way of life," Y/N cryptically said with an even more cryptical look in her narrowed eyes, raising a finger to point up at Pan.

"....What?"

"Muttons are the way of life."

"Muttons...are the way ....of life?," Pan carefully repeated, in a flabbergasted tone, with a raised brow and a tilt of the head.

"Yes, demon boy. Now let me out! I, Y/N, am nobody's pet. Let me return to my village of Engleheim. I will never, ever grovel to you for treats or beg for scraps of leftovers from the likes of you," Y/N said, imbuing her last words with as much disgust and slowly crawled backwards away from Peter.

The corner of his lips twitched upwards. He let forth a chuckle that eventually morphed into peals of laughter.

This fit lasted for dozens of seconds, during which time Y/N was crossing her arms, tapping her fingers impatiently and furrowing her brows grumpily.

When his laughing fit ended, Peter inhaled deeply and exhaled out.

"You're much more amusing than I thought you'd be. Oh, well, I'm glad I didn't feed you to the mermaids earlier. I told Felix that I would sacrifice you to them today."

"You bastard!," Y/N yelled angrily, lunging forward to grab ahold of his green garments to forcefully pull him to her, the cage walls acting as a barrier between them.

"Throw me to the mermaids! It's a much more pleasant fate than being trapped here for your pleasure!" Y/N bit out angrily, clenching tightly onto his shirt.

Before Y/N could properly realize it, Pan broke out of her hold, opened the cage and entered. He slammed Y/N down onto the floor of the cage. He pinned both of her wrists down and he straddled her waist, Y/N writhing and squirming beneath him.

Her bosom was heaving with the effort of breaking free. Pan's eyes lingered hotly onto her rising breasts for a time.

Seeing her struggle so futilely yet in such seductive way beneath Peter made him revel in the delicious feeling of making her feel weak.

"Now... being trapped here, beneath me. Is that so bad a fate?" Peter said in a low voice.

His face loomed closer and closer to Y/N's face. Her heart started racing fast; the blood in her veins was rushing hotly and every fiber of her being was fluttering at the closeness of Peter. Heat was starting to throb between her legs.

Peter's red, round lips hovered above Y/N's own plump, pink lips. He hotly pressed his lips onto her own. He grinded his hips onto her own hard so that Y/N gasped, opening her mouth for Peter to plunge in his tongue. His tongue lavished her tongue with lazy sweeps that had Y/N moaning softly.

Y/N tried tugging her wrists free, but Pan broke free of the kiss and grounded harder onto her until she groaned.

"Naughty," Pan whispered into her ear, pinning both of her wrists in one hand.

He moved his other hand and trailed a finger on the side of her breast and over her abdomen until he reached the most heated part of her body that was aching. He cupped her there roughly and she arched her back. He removed his hand and Y/N rolled her hips against the bulge that straddled tightly around her.

Groaning, Peter felt himself hardening and felt heat that instantly made wearing trousers uncomfortable.

"Let's see just how wet you are for me, shall we?," Peter crooned seductively to Y/N, who was writhing restlessly beneath him.

"Oh...please," Y/N moaned aloud.

Peter felt his pupils dilating. He lifted the dirty hem of Y/N's night gown and slowly slid his warm palm up her thigh. In response to that, she spread her legs apart.

Resisting entering her with his hot and throbbing cock, Peter stroked his fingers between the thick, satiny folds of her vulva.

Y/N bucked her hips forward but felt no satisfying thrust.

"Please, in the name of all that is muttony. Please," Y/N breathily moaned.

Unable to resist anymore, Peter removed all of his clothes and revealed the bulge that had Y/N nearly crying for.

He positioned himself between her legs.

"Remove your own clothes, my pet," Peter commanded.

Y/N hastily removed her nightgown but she still had her corset on when Peter ripped off her undergarments and thrusted deep into her with a groan. Y/N felt pain followed by warm pleasure from the hot, throbbing cock moving into her.

Peter held onto both of Y/N's buttocks when he thrusted into her again. Y/N held onto Peter's shoulders tightly as she grounded into him. Unexpectedly, Peter pulled her hair back and pinned her roughly to the floor.

"Bad," Peter hoarsely reprimanded her. He snapped his fingers and her breasts were exposed.

He still held her down by the shoulders when he rode her; he rode into her with painfully hot and satisfying thrusts, with a speed Y/N couldn't match with.

Suddenly he exited her, unfinished.

"I'm-I'm-I'm not finished... Oh, gods," Y/N whimpered out, a glaze of tears in her eyes as she looked up pleadingly at Pan.

"Me neither."

He disappeared and reappeared outside of the cage, fully clothed. Pan locked the cage shut and he snapped his fingers.

Y/N found her wrists tied to one end of the cage. Her body was fully clothed and she was stretched out on the floor in a provocative way and her ankles were tied apart from the other.

"Thank you for your suggestion, mutton pie," Pan said, his red lips curled into a cruel smile. " Leaving you like this would surely teach you a lesson in behaving properly."

"You evil Broccoli," Y/N grounded out bitterly.

Peter was confused for a moment at the word 'Broccoli', but he waved it off as he looked upon her with one last roving glimpse of her body that nearly had him burning to enter her and finish what he started.

"When I come back and I find that you are well behaved, well, maybe then I'll give you your reward, mutton cakes," Pan said, disappearing with a gloating laugh in a cloud of smoke.

Y/N tried rubbing her thighs together to ease her sexual frustration, but to no avail. Her heart swelled within her and her v part was still aching torturously.

Clenching her fists tightly together, she swore aloud: "I will make you pay, demon boy. Just you wait."

TO BE CONTINUUUED

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

A/N: The village of Engleheim is just a village name I made up to suit the story.

P.S: I'm thinking of making this a five or more part story rather than three.

P.P.S: I was not planning on writing smut...at all

P.P.P.S: okay maybe I was but not so soon

P.P.P.P.S: Felix is in the next part.

[multifandom-damnation]

Nothing like a home-cooked meal

It wasn’t every day that Jason was given free reign of the Wayne Manor kitchen.

It also wasn't very often that he managed to be in charge of his family. Damian was dutifully chopping carrots and Tim was mincing meat. Harper and Cullen were peeling potatoes in the sink. Jason himself was stirring a pot full of spices and chicken broth.

Dick was out with Bruce and Alfred, distracting them so they didn’t come home for a few more hours. Jason couldn’t remember what had possessed him to do this, make a meal for Bruce and Alfred. Maybe it was the cooking channel that Roy had been watching recently, or the meals Kori was trying (and failing) to make. Or maybe it was how thin Alfred had gotten recently, or how worn out Bruce was looking. Either way, here he was.

“Jason, my hands smell like meet and I have thyme under my nails,” Tim complained from the other end of the counter. “Can you take this away from me now?”

“Did you add the oil?” Jason asked, adding more salt to the broth.

“The oil?”

“Yes. The oil.”

“Which one? Olive, vegetable, sunflower or canola?”

Jason sighed. “The one in the green bottle.”

“Right, so Olive, vegetable, sunflower or canola?”

“What?” Jason turned around with a scowl, ready to smack Tim on the head with the wooden spoon, but saw that there were indeed four different green canisters full of oil. Alfred’s cursive handwriting decorated little labels stuck to the glass. “Oh, olive oil.” He turned back to his pot and turned down the heat a little before he added chilli flakes.

He heard a snicker from behind him. “What is it bat brat?” he grumbled.

“You look like a housewife Todd.” Damian snorted from behind him, elbow deep in a pile of carrots. “Is that how you dress when you’re in bed with Kori and Harper?”

Jason looked down at himself. He was wearing a floral apron he had found in a drawer. He had a wooden spoon in his hand and had on a too tight shirt on that said: “Kiss my Glock”. Roy must have bought it for him at a sex store on a mission, purposefully a few sizes too small. “Don’t let Alfie see you in that,” Tim said, casting him a sideways glance. “He’ll make you kiss the floor while you scrub it.”

“I think it’s cute.” Harper grinned from her place in the sink. She was bleeding already and Cullen had put coloured bandages on her fingers, leaving him to do most of the peeling. “It brings out your personality.  What do you think Cullen?”

“I think you need to stop being so clumsy and help me peel these potatoes,” Cullen grumbled, brushing hair out of his face. “You can work with electrical wires and fight crime at night, but you can’t use a potato peeler?”

Jason grinned and cracked some pepper in the pot. It was turning a reddish-brown colour and Jason pretended that it didn’t look like blood. “Do you want tofu in yours Dami or just vegetables?”

“Is the tofu already prepared?”

“No, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Nonsense Todd. Vegetables are fine.”

Jason shrugged. He left the pot on to boil and went to help Cullen with the potatoes. “Harper, if you’re not helping your brother go help mine. I think Timbo’s going to faint over there.” Tim was looking a little squeamish, so Harper pushed herself off the bench and bumped him out of the way with her hip. He rushed to wash his hands, using half a bottle of hand wash and turning the tap on full blast. But the hand wash wasn’t neon blue. Jason started to giggle.

“Hey Tim,” He said casually, receiving a weird look from Cullen. “That’s not hand wash.”

“Huh?”

“That’s not hand wash. That’s dish soap.”

Tim gave an ungodly screech as he dashed to turn off the tap as the bubbles overflowed over the lip of the sink. It flowed down the sides of the cupboards and left slippery puddles of foam on the floor. Jason collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles, everyone else following suit. Tim tried to fight the bubbles and push them back down, but they just flew up into his hair and coated his arms.

“Jeze Timmy, when was the last time you got any sleep?” Jason gasped, holding his stomach.

Tim pouted but the look fell short while he was covered in a thick film of froth. “What’s it to you?”

Harper was writhing on the ground, laughing so hard her face was turning red. “I wish I got that on camera!” She wheezed.

Jason’s phone buzzed from its place on the counter, and he reluctantly got up to get it. An image of Dick hanging upside-down by his legs flashed on the screen. “Hey, Dicky-bird,” Jason said when he answered. “Is everything going to plan?”

“You owe me for this Jason.” Was Dick’s hissed remark. “I’ve run away to the bathroom to call you. Dinner better be ready soon because I’m doing everything in my power to keep them away from the food court.”

Jason grinned “You not enjoying family time with your father and grandfather?”

“Are you enjoying spending time with the children?”

Jason looked over his shoulder at the others. Tim was frantically whipping suds off of his clothes only for them to re-appear again, Damian was waving a knife around like he was conducting an orchestra, Harper was on the floor playing with the overflowed bubbles and Cullen was just trying desperately to manage all the food.

“Touché”  

“Yeah, I thought so.” Jason could practically hear Dick’s smirk from the other end “Cass and Steph are on their way. They said something about a cake? I don’t know. Just be ready.”

“Noted. Will do. See you soon Goldie.”

“Bye Babybir- no Bruce you can’t buy that, I don’t care how much you want it or how wealthy you are, we are not buying a solid gold llama statue!” The call ended, leaving Jason to wonder if they were getting a shiny new edition to the Manor.

The doorbell rang just as Cullen was adding the ingredients to a large mixing bowl. Jason took it from him with a thank you. “Go see who’s at the door.” He told him. He mixed everything together with the wooden spoon and then poured it into the pot. He stirred it and then left it to boil again as the door opened.

“We come bearing gifts of CAKE!” Steph shouted as she walked through the door. She was holding a tray with a cake on it, a black cake with a crudely drawn yellow bat on it. Jason rolled his eyes.

Cass came through the door next, smothered in a blanket. “Are you cold Cass?” Jason asked. “You look like a burrito.”

She shook her head. “Not burrito.” She said, “Guess again!”

“I don’t know Cass,” Jason said, leaning on the counter. “A cocoon?” She shook her head. “A chicken wrap?” Another shake. “I give up Cass.”

Cass grinned and raised her arms outstretched at her sides. Steph instantly put the cake down and went behind Cass, putting two fingers up behind her head. Cass had her head tilted down so her hair was hiding her face. Like a cowl. The blanket looked like a cape and Steph’s fingers… bat ears.

“I am vengeance,” Cass said in a deep, gravelly voice. “I am night.”

That brought about a whole new bout of laughter, causing Damian to slip on the soap still coating the kitchen tiles. Tim was the first to regain his breath and he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Did you make or buy the cake?” He asked the girls.

Their grins were proud. “Made,” Cass announced. Worry etched itself on Tim’s face and Steph laughed. “Cass made it.” She clarified. “I decorated.”

A ding from Jason’s phone had everyone shutting up and they all held their breath as they waited to hear what it was.

One message was on the screen, from Dick. “Get ready.”

“Everyone,” Jason declared. He made eye contact with everyone. “Battle stations.”

They scrambled, placing plates on the table, collecting cutlery, lighting candles, preparing dishes. Jason poured the meal into the plates which Cullen diligently took and placed on the dining table. Cass put the cake in the fridge, Steph and Harper were collecting glasses and bread and setting them up. Tim and Damian were arguing about the order of the spoons. Jason was trying to prepare himself for the inevitable.

The family was seated and dressed in proper entire when Bruce walked through the door. He stood stock-still at the front door, causing Dick to bump into him. “What’s this?” Bruce asked. Dick looked around him to where his family was seated. “Dinner.” He said, pushing past him and sitting in his seat. “You said you were hungry, now you can shut up and eat. Save me another headache.”

Bruce gave him an incredulous look. “You knew about this?”

“Of course I did. Would I punish myself like that for nothing? Not sit down. Your children have made you dinner and you both are going to shut up and eat it.”

Bruce and Alfred sat down, giving the meals a suspicious look. Jason felt a pang of dread. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Ah, I recognise this meal.” Alfred smiled. “It was the first meal I taught to Master Jason when he had first come to live with us, I believe.”

“You never taught this meal to us,” Tim said through a mouthful of potato.

“That’s because I taught everyone something different, Master Timothy.”

“Wait, so how did all of you know how to make it?” Bruce asked, lifting his spoon and dribbling the broth back into the bowl.

“They didn’t.” Dick sighed. “Jason did. Jason made it Bruce. For the world’s greatest detective, you’re really an idiot. Jason made it and showed everyone else. Now shut up and eat your son’s food.”

“Jason made this?” Bruce asked, slightly in awe. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape.

“Duh,” Dick muttered.

Bruce smiled. “Then I’m sure it’ll be excellent.”

Everyone was smiling at him. Jason didn’t know what he should be doing, who he should look at so he just watched his spoon on its trail from his bowl to his mouth. He wasn’t used to the expression on their faces, and made him feel… happy.

Jason was happy and his family was proud of him. That’s all he’s ever asked for.

Hi! So, this is a really last minute gift for @identityconstellations because I love her. And even though you killed me, I had to get this out. I love you, Stell. I’m sorry it’s so short, I didn’t do a very good job and it doesn’t have a plot, but it’s done. Sorry beautiful.  Bye!