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badwolfwrites-sometimes · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

Hopefully this time it let’s me post.

He messed up.

Well, not too horribly but enough to make him give up and regret even trying.

Feliciano flopped back on his bed and turned his attention to the ceiling, hoping to forget his mistake. The canvas was still standing there at the very centre of his room. This time an ugly brownish blue running horizontally across it. Feliciano accidentally dipped his new paintbrush into a can containing brown instead of deep blue and realized too late.

He could fix this. He could turn the brown into a large branch, maybe even a boat. Or Loch Ness monster. He could tell everyone he was painting the lake when Nessie appeared before him, curious to see what exactly this man was up to. No one would believe him, naturally, but he could at least entertain the children. Right now, however, painting some more was the last thing he wanted to do.

Feliciano looked at the book sitting peacefully on his nighttable, a lovely bookmark he made sticking slightly out of it, waiting for Feliciano to pull it out and continue reading. Normally, he would be too lazy to finish it, but not today. Not with this book. He was drawn to it. And he obeyed it's wishes.

'The green dress she was wearing started getting teared.

Of course, Otto was the first to notice, likely after her. The question as to why she hadn't changed into a new one was quite obvious to him. She didn't have any other dresses. Elizabeta once told him that she had almost zero belongings when she arrived, only the green dress she wore and a small box. Back when she told him, he didn't have much time to spare, but now he made his decision final.

They needed to go shopping for new dresses.

"Alice! Come quickly!" He called for her as she was cleaning the hallway to the kitchen.

"Yes, Prince Otto? Do you need anything?" She asked cheerfully, earning a bit of a blush from the young prince.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I need you," Otto's brain added forever to this, but he didn't voice it out. It would seem a bit creepy. "I would like for you to accompany me to the town square today. There's some buisness I need to attend to. You don't have to worry about cleaning, Rod won't be in the castle today." He continued.

"Yes! I shall go with you right away, My Prince!" She nodded and excused herself to place her push broom back into the supply closet.

Otto, on the other hand, ran to his room as quickly as possible under the excuse of getting ready. He did not expect that from Alice. He did not expect her to call him her prince at all. Just those two words were enough for his heart to try it's best to leave his body. Just two words were enough for him to question if she might return his feelings. If that was the case, he would be the happiest person to walk this Earth.

His wave of thoughts was interrupted by knocking. Was Alice ready already?

"Come in." He said.

He was met with disappointment for before him was not his beloved Alice, but his mother, the Queen. He bowed like he had been thaught to do, although he would much rather be hugging a certian red headed girl.

"I hear you're going to the town square. With who and for what purpose?" The Queen asked, her voice clearly echoing against the walls of his bedroom.

"I've selected a maid to accompany me. There's something I would like to buy to help me with my studies. If I may, Mother?" He flinched at his own formality. He could barely hide the angry sound of his voice as he called Alice a maid. It wasn't an appropriate word for someone he would make the stars rain for.

"Very well then, you may go. On the condition head maid accompanies you as well. I don't want you getting lost with some random maid." Spinning on her heel, she exited his room.

Otto appreciated his mother's concern. He appreciated the fact she even showed up in his room and had a five minute conversation with him. He loved his mother despite her never actually being around him or his brothers. But in this moment, as her footsteps echoed across the hall, making her way away from his room, he wanted nothing more than to yell at her. He wanted to scream his feelings out. Everything. From Alice, to being a prince, to the empire, to her absence. He wanted to scream it all out at her. But he didn't.

He had to take the head maid as well. Luckily for him, the head maid happened to be Elizabeta. A woman who he had every right to call 'mother' as she had been in his life longer than his own. He had a feeling she knew. He asked her about Alice too many times to count. He could trust her. Right?

Otto wasn't sure what to make of it. And he hadn't really had the opportunity to do so for a rugged dirty green dress was standing at the doorway and the wearer smiled widely at him. He gulped and nearly fainted, but returned the smile nevertheless.

"I see you're ready. I just have to collect some money. Can you please go find Betty? Mother made it clear to me we have to take her as well." He managed to babble out some sentances before turning away to blush madly.

Alice only nodded, putting a finger to her lips to keep the giggle from leaving her mouth. His blushing face and reactions made her day like nothing else. He was cute. And she was crushing hard.

"Right away, My Prince." This time she did giggle. Leaving the doorway quickly to find Betty, a soft pink adorned her cheeks. She was hoping Otto didn't know how much he made her weak in her knees. She hoped that, at the same time, he returned and didn't return her feelings. If he were to return them, that meant separation from each other was unavoidable.

Alice wished for them to stay close forever. Unaware of each other's feelings.'

Feliciano sighed. Hoping that what he was predicting to happen would turn out not to be the case, he flipped the page.

Before they knew it, they were in the carriage making their way to the town. It was a small carriage so while Otto could sit rather comfortably, Elizabeta and Alice sat squished together like sardines in a can. Watching them like that made Otto feel guilty, but he didn't want to raise any questions by offering Alice to sit next to him. Just in case Elizabeta didn't know.

"Prince Otto?" Elizabeta broke the silence.

Otto's eyes shot up straight at her. If she saw right through him-

"May I sit outside? I don't feel very good in small spaces." She continued, breaking his train of thought.

"Ah... Yes, you may. Alonso, stop the carriage!" He turned in direction of the driver, where a small window sat behind an equally small curtain. Alonso obeyed his orders and Elizabeta exited, winking at Otto in the process. That wink was enough for Otto to confirm everything.

As soon as Elizabeta left, Alice breathed out and made herself comfortable, smiling at the prince. He was trying so hard not to stare at her rose lips as they spread across her face, but he failed miserably at it.

"This is my first time leaving the castle grounds since I came here. It's so lovely and green." She started the conversation.

"Really? You haven't been to the town since you arrived? But that was months ago." Otto acted surprised. He knew the exact date Alice arrived at the castle. He also knew every single one of the reasons why she never had time for visiting the town. That's precisely why he invited her.

"Yes. That was nearly a year ago. In a year I couldn't find time to spare to go. I'm really grateful to you for inviting me, Prince Otto." There was that smile again. Otto would travel across the entire world just to see that smile forever.

"If you want to, you can accompany me on these trips every time. It's nice to have a company on these fine days." He returned the smile.

"Really?! You'd take me?!" She almost jumped from overexcitement. To think she could get to see this wonderful view whenever Otto goes to the town was magical to her.

Otto, as it's his nature, blushed as red as the interior of his carriage. The royal color adorning his face perfectly. "Yes. If you really want to go. However, I'd like for you to do something for me in return."

"Anything, My Prince." Those two words again. Otto hoped to not get any redder than he already was.

"I'd like for you to tell me more about Venice."

The silence filled the carriage like air. Alice's smile slowly disappeared as her eyes lowered to stare at her feet. Watching her like that, Otto regretted asking this question. "Hey-"

"It's breathtaking. My Venice." She interrupted. Her honey brown eyes turning back to stare at his sea blue ones, radiating honesty and nostalgia. "There's a strict but kind air to it. We have a large navy and we're really good at trading and visitors offten fear us. When they see us, they picture mean people who are only after money and nothing else. But then they get to know us. Then they find out that we can easily befriend everyone, no matter how poor or how rich they are. They are all welcome in Venice."

She smiled fondly and continued: "People are always smiling and laughing. And family is number one to them. Like it should be. But it's not just their own family that's important to them, it's everyone's family. I remember one time when me and my brother were playing and I fell into the chanal. Neither of us knew how to swim yet so he couldn't get me out. Then an older lady showed up right next to me and carried me out of the water. She drained my as dry as she could and comforted us until we stopped crying. She even gave us some of her sweet bread and took us home. I can never forget her face."

Otto stared at Alice with pure anticipation. He knew she loved her hometown, but hearing her talk about it, he realized just how passionate she was about it.

She continued to talk about it all the way to the town square. Otto only made a few passing comments and continued listening, the two growing closer with every word Alice uttered. However, their small conversation was interrupted by the carriage coming to a stop.

Elizabeta opened the door for them, stepping aside. Otto exited first, but turned back to the door and offered his hand. Alice politely accepted it and, as soon as she was out, her mouth fell open.

The town square resembling her home Venice almost to a point. Naturally, it wasn't the same town, this one being smaller with different achitecture. No, they were two different towns, but the life on the streets, the atmosphere, the small chats, they all reminded Alice of her home.

Otto stared at her, waiting for a reaction of sorts. One that wasn't her mouth almost touching the floor. That's when he noticed Alice's eyes were slowly filling with tears. In a split second, his own expression changed from a soft smile to a disappointing frown.

"Are you alright?" He asked as softly as he could.

Alice smiled and nodded. "I'm alright. It just reminds me of home so much. It's beautiful."

Otto sighed in relief. "Come now. We'll take a tour across the town later. First we need to go to Madame Belez's shop."

Tearing her eyes from the baker and butcher, who were having a sort of conversation while secretly brushing their fingers together as they walked, Alice went with Otto and Elizabeta to a small street.

Some time passed before they made it to Madame Belez's shop. Like any shop it was hidden amongst the buildings with the only indication of it's location being a small wooden sign above the doorframe. The sign itself wasn't very decorated, but the inside screamed early baroque.'

Feliciano paused and laughed. He took Art History back in High School and he knew that, if his teacher had read that, she would flip the tables and burn the book. Nevertheless, he continued.

'"Good day, Madame Belez." Elizabeta opened the door for the prince and greeted.

"Good day to you, Your Highness. What brings you here today?" A middle aged, short woman asked. Brushing away her blonde hair from her face, she stepped foward to greet Otto.

"I have a request for you. I'd like you to sew my friend here-", Otto pointed to Alice, "a new dress. As you can see, her's is getting more and more ragged every day."

Alice looked at Otto in disbelief. A new dress? For her? She can't even pay for it.

"Prince Otto, I can't afford a new dress." She spoke.

Otto turned to her with a smile. "I'll be paying for it."

Now, Alice was purely shocked. A prince paying for maid's clothes? Where in the world was that a normal thing?

"No, Prince. I can't let you do that. That's too much. I'm already more than grateful to have food to survive and a shelter from rain. I can't ask for luxuries like this." Alice said, determination filling the air as she spoke it out.

"Alice, consider this a present. You've been with us for nearly a year, we should celebrate that. Besides, as I said before, you're my friend. I'm more than obliged to buy my friends something nice once in a while." Otto's own determination rivaled that of Alice's.

"Prince-"

"Let me do this, Alice." Although his stance showed no signs of submission, his eyes were begging for Alice to accept.

He took her hands into his own to assure her she had nothing to worry about, assure her money wasn't a problem. "Let me buy you a nice dress. You deserve it." He said.

All it took for Alice was one look. One look into his deep blue eyes, asking for her permission. She wanted to keep saying no, but she couldn't find it in her after looking into Otto's blue eyes. They were swallowing her up like a beast. There was a shark in them and it was devouring her in those few moments of silence. "If you promise me not to do this again. At least not without asking me first. I quite like this dress, you know." She accepted.

Elizabeta, meanwhile, was attempting to hide her chuckles at how obvious these two were, but she shouldn't comment anything if she wanted to keep her position and head.

Madame Belez, on the other hand, was utterly terrified. Not for her own life, but for Alice and Otto. She knew it well how the queen would disapprove. She knew well what happens when someone disobeys her wishes. She knew it all thanks to her dead husband. Nevertheless, Madame Belez put on a polite smile, hoping the best for these two oblivious lovebirds.

"Shall I take your measurements, darling?" She asked and Alice nodded, letting go of Otto's hands despite her heart protesting.

Madame Belez motioned towards a doorframe with pink curtain draped over to symbolise a door. She moved it to the side and let Alice go in first, leaving Otto and Elizabeta waiting.

"Your Highness?" Elizabeta started.

"What is it, Betty?" He asked.

"It's not really my buisness to poke into, but the way you're treating Alice is quite...specific." She explained, a small grin forming on her face. She couldn't resist asking in the end.

"It is what you're thinking of, however I ask you not to talk about it. Especially in front of Alice and my mother. I will tell Alice myself, but who knows what my mother might do. And please stop smirking." He blushed, his eyes firm on the pink curtain door, hoping Alice couldn't hear them.

"Your secret is safe with me. You have good taste, might I add."

"Thank you, Betty. Also, promise to tell me when my behaviour becomes too obvious. So I know to supress it."

"In my opinion, love shouldn't be supressed. That just makes it painful when it should be happy. You love a person because you love their happiness, even when love isn't returned." Elizabeta said, even when she knew she shouldn't voice out her opinions. It wasn't ladylike.

"You've always been different, Betty. Don't ever change. Thank you for the advice." He said and smiled at her. This was a woman who raised him. No one's opinion mattered more to him than her's. And Alice's.

Speaking of Alice, it was right around the time their conversation ended that she stepped out with Madame Belez. Otto had expected a happier reaction, but instead he was met with a frown on Alice's face and a serious expression on Madame Belez's face.

"We have a few dresses ready for her already. Would you like to see them?" Madame Belez asked.

"That was quick. Yes, let's see them." Otto commented.

"Yes, she's the typical young lady size and I always have a few extras just in case. I shall bring them right away." And she left the room once again, this time going to the top floor.

"Are you alright?" Otto asked as Alice got near his side.

Alice looked up from the floor into his blue eyes once again. This time they weren't swallowing her up, but gently grazing her like a loving mother. This time they were breaking her. "Yes, I just got reminded of my family. I'm alright now."

Otto broke their gazing contest to look at Elizabeta, wondering if it was appropriate to comfort her. Elizabeta looked up at where Madame Belez exited and, once convinced she wasn't coming back, nodded at Otto.

Elizabeta's approval led to a shocked look in Alice's hazel eyes. Otto's arms wrapped around her like a tight blanket, her head could fit in his neck like a glass of wine in a hand, their hearts beating closely together like drums calling for war.

"I know you must miss them a lot, so I'll let you in on a secret. There's a ball coming up and I invited the family your brother was staying with. That's also why we're here. You need to pick out a ball dress." Otto whispered loud enough for Alice to hear, but not loud enough for Elizabeta.

Alice couldn't hold it in herself anymore. Tears that hadn't come out in a while began to spill down her cheeks, marking Otto's shoulder. She wasn't even upset because of her family, but because of something Madame Belez said about Otto. Now, however, she was truly crying for her family. Mostly because she could finally see her brother after too long. "Tha...than...thank you...u..." was all she could mutter out.

"I'd do anything for you, Alice." And he meant it. Every word of it.

They broke their hug in the right moment because Madame Belez returned, holding about five dresses in her arms. Two beautiful baby blue gowns, two green summer dresses and a golden one decorated with pink flowers.

They ended up leaving with all five of them. But most importantly, they ended up leaving even happier than before. That was all that mattered anyway.'

#GerIta #aph gerita #APH Germany #Germany x Italy #hetalia GerIta #hws germany #APH Italy #APH Chibitalia #APH Holy Roman Empire #hws italy #hws #APH #aph hungary #hws hungary #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars #drawn together story

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boysdontcryblood · 6 years ago

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Chapter Two

[warnings from the first chapter still apply; reform school setting, authority figures abusing their power, non-corporal punishment]

. + . + . + . + . + . + .

Ali hated this fucking school. It hadn’t even been two weeks, and he was already about ready to climb the damn walls of this freaky place. He hated everything about the reform school; the teachers, the staff, the inedible lunches, the random ass cold spots all over the building, and the constant detention— sorry, remedial study— were only a few of the many things he despised.

The only thing that made the horrible teachers and dehumanizing punishments (almost) worth it was the new friends he had made. It felt like he was naturally drawn to them, and he looked forward to seeing them at lunch and after class every day. Ben with his silent yet rebellious demeanor; Patty with his bright (if rare) smiles that could light up a room; and Foley with his jokes and awesome hugs. They made his life a bit brighter, and he was thankful for them.

As soon as the bell to his last class rang and the teacher dismissed them, Ali ran out of his seat like a rocket whose fuse had just been ignited. He made his way to the courtyard, where Patty and Ben were standing underneath a large tree. Patty’s face brightened when he saw Ali, but the smile faded as a passing teacher glared at him.

“How long have you guys been waiting?” Ali asked. He decided against hugging them, just in case that teacher decided to stick them in remedial study.

“Our class only ended five minutes ago, so not very long,” Ben answered. “Are we ready to go or what?”

“I’ve been ready since this morning.” Ben’s lips tugged upwards a bit into a small smile, and Ali couldn’t help but smile back.

“What about you, Patty?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I hope you guys know, though, that if we get in trouble I will never forgive you.”

“Hey, it’s not like we’re banned from walking around the school. We’re just… not going to be supervised this time. We’ll be fine, honest.”

Patty rolled his eyes but motioned with his hands for them to continue anyway. Ali checked around the courtyard, making sure there were no teachers or staff in sight, before slinking away. Ben and Patty turned to follow him as he left the courtyard. There was a side door across the yard from the main entrance, and Ali had yet to see anybody come or go through that door in the week and a half of his confinement.

This was the one escape that Ali got from the stifling aura of the classrooms or the chilly atmosphere of the dormitories. Little by little, he had been exploring the mansion-like school. It gave him something to do besides sit around in his dorm room all day. Patty and Ben joined him sometimes (Foley declined whenever they asked), and it was great fun to see what they could discover and how many hidden places they could fit into. Several parts of the school, like the entire west wing, had been abandoned due to some unfortunate accident or a health code violation, and these places had fallen into disrepair and decay. These were Ali’s favorite parts to explore, even if things did get a little spooky sometimes. Ali often felt invisible eyes following him as he explored, and he would see something flicker in the corner of his vision but turn around to find empty space. Patty had reported the same feelings, but Ben said he’d never felt anything of the sort. Ali didn’t know if he was lying in order to try and appear cool and collected in front of his friends, or if he genuinely didn’t think anything was wrong.

“Why don’t we ever invite Awsten or Otto along on these, uh... these, uh, excursions?” Ben asked. His voice barely rose above a whisper as they slipped through the door and into an unlit hallway. Ali pulled out his cell phone, which they weren’t technically allowed to have on them, and turned on the flashlight so that they could continue on in the darkness.

“Because they’d get us caught. Besides, they’re in detention anyway.”

“Where were you keeping your phone?” Patty asked.

“I keep it in my interior jacket pocket. Nobody ever looks there.”

Patty’s mouth formed a small ��O’ shape. Nothing else was said as the three of them crept down the hallway. This hallway much resembled the main hallway of the school building, except there were fewer doors and it had obviously been abandoned for years, if not decades. The trio kept walking, passing doorway after doorway until the hallway abruptly turned to the right. After they rounded the turn, the three students came face-to-face with a doorway. There were no other doors down this section of hallway, and the single door was slightly ajar.

Something about this place made the hair on the back of Ali’s neck stand up. A faint but still nerve-wracking feeling settled deep in his stomach, and one glance at Patty told him that his friend felt the same thing. There was something malevolent in that room, and while he didn’t know how he knew that, Ali didn’t want to stick around to find out what that “something” was.

“Come on, let’s go back. I don’t like it here,” Ali said, which was the first time anything even remotely close had come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either. It feels... evil,” said Patty. The two of them started to turn back around, but Ben quickly reached out and grabbed their arms to stop them.

“What, are you guys backing out now? I don’t feel anything; we’re going in, and that’s final.”

“Who made you the leader?”

“I did. Now let’s go.” Ben let go of Patty and Ali and dutifully marched forward. Before Patty or Ali could stop him he threw the door wide open, disturbing several cobwebs and lots of dust as he did. A blast of cold air swept over them, and Ali found himself shivering and rubbing his arms through his jacket sleeves to keep warm.

“Isn’t it fucking August? Why is it so cold?” Ben didn’t seem the least bit worried about the evil that Ali could feel trickling down his spine. Reluctantly, Ali followed his friend through the doorway, and he could hear Patty’s soft footsteps behind him. As soon as they crossed through the doorway the temperature instantly dropped, leaving the boys freezing cold with no source of warmth. The cold had flushed away any remaining curiosity Ali had had about the room, and now all he wanted was to get as far away as possible.

Ben had stopped in the middle of a circular room, with only the one door leading in and out of the room. There were several portraits hanging from the wall, many of which were covered in dust and cobwebs and had translucent black veils laid over them. There was one, however, of the current headmaster, and several portraits had remained uncovered by veils, which probably meant that whoever was portrayed in the paintings were still alive. The paintings seemed to follow Ali with their eyes, watching his every move as he slowly made his way over to where Ben was standing. There were dead things all over the floor, ranging from rats to simple weeds and flowers that had grown through the concrete. Ali had to pick his way over the mass destruction on the floor. There was something lurking in the shadows— or, more accurately, the shadows themselves seemed to be moving, and several times a hand-like mirage tried to reach out and grab at Ali.

The scariest thing about it, though, were the several upside-down crucifixes on the wall.

“This place isn’t so bad,” Ben said. He was being too loud; he was going to either get the three of them caught, or he was going to disturb whatever evil creature lived in the room.

“Nope, fuck this. I’m-” Patty began to say ‘out’, but he cut himself off with a scream as he toppled to the floor.

“Patty!” In an instant Ben was by his side, grabbing onto his arms and trying to help him stand again. For the first few moments, Patty wouldn’t (or maybe couldn’t) get off of the floor, but eventually, the shadows that had wrapped themselves around his ankle dissipated and he was able to stand once more. As soon as his feet had touched the ground he was grabbing Ben’s hand and running for dear life out of the room, with Ali hot on their heels. Ali turned and slammed the door shut with as much force as he could muster, and he only let out the breath he had been holding when he heard the lock click into place.

“We are never coming back here,” Patty said. He was still clinging to Ben, who looked more confused than anything.

“Guys, it was just a normal room. What’s so bad about it?” he asked.

“I can tell you that, young man.” Ali instantly froze as he recognized the voice. Slowly he turned around, only to find Ms. Sharpe, one of the school’s vice principals, standing behind the trio of boys. “It’s off limits to students.”

The evil thing that Ali had sensed in the room had returned, but this time in the form of a short and rather pudgy old spinster lady. The smile on her face told the young freshman that they weren’t getting off the hook without some serious punishment in their future.

Patty was glaring at Ali out of the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t going to be let off the hook by Patty, either, and somehow he felt worse about that than the prospect of remedial study.

At least whatever was inside that room hadn’t followed them out.

Hopefully.

#as it is #stigmata au #cody's turn #boys dont cry blood #chapters

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meteora-writes · 7 years ago

Note

Mpreg request(In a world where it is possible for some men to become pregnant): Nick Clark discovers that he is pregnant with Troy's child, but keeps it a secret. Alycia can tell that something is off, and suspects he is back on drugs. Nick tells her the truth.

Oh, Anon, you have stumbled across a secret weakness of mine. I will so write this. In fact, I think I’m going to make it a multi-chapter story because I need some ABO Trick in my life. So thank you! I’m gonna post the first chapter here then continue it on AO3 after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Subtle Shift

Past Nick Clark x Troy Otto

Warnings: ABO verse, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Angst, Vomiting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started one morning in the line for breakfast. Nick started to feel queasy at the first whiff of eggs and bacon. He abandoned his tray and left before anyone could ask what was wrong. Alicia attributed it to him getting drunk with some of the other members of the militia the night before and didn’t give his behavior a second thought for the rest of the day.

The second time it happened was in the middle of the next afternoon. Alicia had noticed that Nick smelled off. To be fair, he always smelled off, years of doing drugs had fucked up his scent. But there was a subtle shift taking place in his scent.

His scent had gotten better after he detoxed the last time, but he always carried a faint smell of chemicals and bitter smoke along with his natural scent of citrus and damp earth. He used to smell like a lemon orchard after a rain storm. Now he usually smelled like someone had taken napalm to that orchard and burned part of it to the ground. Some days he you could barely smell the chemicals and smokey tang, others it overpowered the natural smell easily.

Today there was something new there though, and Nick looked pale, which was impressive for his skin tone. She briefly wondered if he was going to go into heat. He hadn’t had one in a few years because of what the drugs had done to his system, but she didn’t remember him smelling even close to how he did now.

“Stop staring at me like that, it’s creeping me out.” Nick joked as he moved to stand from his place at the picnic table they shared. “I feel like shit, I’m gonna go back to my place and lay down.” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand before turning and walking away without giving Alicia a chance to speak.

The third time, they were on the porch of Nick’s house. She had brought him breakfast when he hadn’t come to the line and as they sat on the little chairs he had set out, she could definitely smell something new mixing into his scent that she couldn’t name. “Nick, are you doing drugs again?” She asked, giving her brother a flat look, because if he had found drugs and was using again, she was fucking done.

Nick blinked at that, setting his toast down and wiping his mouth before he spoke. “No, I’m definitely not doing drugs again.” he said with a almost wistful sigh.

“Really? Because you look like shit and you smell different.” Alicia said, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing her brother suspiciously. He was still looking pale, he had obviously been throwing up at some point in the morning because the smell clung to him, and he was in the same clothes he wore yesterday.

“What do you mean I smell different?” He asked, sniffing at himself a bit. His eyes going wide. “Fuck.” he mumbled.

“Yeah, what is that? If you’re not using then why do you smell like that? You’re not going into heat are you?” She asked, handing her brother his cup of tea when he paled further and looked like he might be sick.

Nick shook his head, taking a sip of the tea before getting up and leaning against the railing of the porch. “If i tell you, you can’t tell anyone.” He said in all seriousness.

Alicia moved to stand. facing him as she leaned her hip against he rail. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally, hell no.” he admitted, licking his lips. “I’m pregnant.” He admitted, not meeting his sister gaze.

“What? But how? Luciana’s a beta and mom said all the drugs fucked up your reproductive system…” She said, trailing off as she tried to figure out how this could be possible.

A mirthless chuckle left Nick’s lips before he turned to face his sister. “I don’t go into heat anymore, but i can still get knocked up, Licia. The doctors at rehab had run some tests for me when I was there the last time. I just never told mom because I didn’t want her hounding me to get clean so I could have a family some day.” he admitted, looking like he was about to break. His eyes were tearing up and he looked like he might be sick again.

“Nick.. Who’s the other parent?” Alicia asked, eyeing her brother cautiously. She wanted to hug him, but he looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack on top of being sick.

“Troy.” He admitted before turning and running to the other end of the porch to vomit over the railing.

Alicia ran after him, rubbing his back and shushing him as he continued to be sick a few more times. Once he was finished she wrapped an arm around him and led him back to his chair where she handed him her cup of water to rinse his mouth. “Does he know?”

Nick shook his head, swishing his mouth out before spitting out the water over the railing beside him. “You’re the only one I’ve told. It’s only been two weeks, Licia. I only figured it out when I get sick in the breakfast line a few days ago.” he admitted, voice small.

“Well I’m here for you, whatever you need I’ll help you through this. But you know people are going to find out about this eventually. You can hide who the father is from the ranch, but you know Troy will put two and two together eventually.” She said, taking Nick’s hand where it sat on the little table and giving it a squeeze.

Nick looked down at their hands, smiling a bit. “You know, when I realized I was pregnant I was terrified. But now… I’m kind of excited… I mean, I know it’s the end of the world, and things are really bad out there, but this feels like something good, you know?”

Alicia smiled at that, giving Nick’s hand a squeeze before moving to stand and look out at the open field that the little house faced. “You know mom is going to freak out, right?”

Nick snorted at that, moving to stand as well and smiling at his little sister. “Yeah, I don’t know who I’m more worried about knowing, her or Troy.”

“Worried about me knowing what?” Came a voice from their left. Looking over Troy was walking down the dirt road that led to the house from the main part of the ranch. He looked genuinely confused he came to a stop with his arms crossing over his chest.

Nick and Alicia traded looks before Nick turned to walk into his house. “Nothing, Troy. Now isn’t a good time. I’ll see you when my tour starts with the militia later.”

Troy just blinked dumbly as Nick and Alicia disappeared into the house and closed the door behind them. He had come to see if Nick was alright. He could smell that he’d been sick when the wind shifted, but since his sister was with him, he assumed the younger man would be fine despite his instincts telling him to go take care of him, and he left without protest.

#fear the walking dead #troy otto #nick clark #troy otto x nick clark #alpha troy otto #omega nick clark #alicia clark #angst #fluff #mpreg #omfg I loved writing this #my writing #a subtle shift

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fakehappytv-blog · 7 years ago

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Mat Uychich of The Front Bottoms (@matshitposts) interviews Otto Wood of Waterparks (@sixthevilexbassplayer) below the cut...

MAT - So, the first question here issssss what solidified your decision to participate in the Fake Happy Tour and Show?

OTTO - S'good for the band. And it seemed kind of interesting. We weren’t touring at the time, so why not join a bunch of cool people and help the band at the same time?

MAT - Are they any bands that you saw on the roster and thought… “man, we really need to tour with these people”?

OTTO - Mmmmmmmmmm pvris!!

MAT - I don’t blame you at all! Lynn always has so much energy, it’s infectious! What has been the most pleasant surprise of this experience thus far? What are some ill side effects that you weren’t expecting?

OTTO - Lynn is awesome!! Ummmmm I think the most pleasant surprise is that I’ve been making a lot of friends that I never expected to, and the bad stuff is cameras :/ I knew they’d be there but it freaks me out more than I thought it would

MAT - Did you underestimate just how much the cameras would be around? Or is it more of a… you didn’t quite put that much thought into that aspect of it?

OTTO - I guess I just didn’t think about it as much as I should have, and I didn’t realize how much I don’t like them until they were around

MAT - It is a bit jarring. Hopefully as time goes on, they’ll just… fade into the background, and become second nature.

OTTO - I hope so

MAT - You said that you’ve made a lot of friends on this tour - are there any people that you’d like to get to know better?

OTTO - You! And Ryan, Joel, Jake’s sister Josie, Taylor… pretty much everybody! I’d like to get to know everyone

MAT - Me?! Awe, you’re so sweet! I’m sure all of those people, and more, will love you! What do you miss most about home?

OTTO - you're too sweet. Nothing? I live in a crappy apartment, I live for touring. I miss Texas sometimes, the food, mostly, but my actual home? Nothing

MAT - Sounds like you’re really built for the touring lifestyle! What’s your favorite thing to eat back home?

OTTO - Nothing to keep you in place is great for this life, haha. Real Mexican food, tbh

MAT - Maybe we’ll do a South American tour, and you can get some real, real Mexican food! Who are your biggest influences both personally and in your career?

OTTO - That would be awesome. Personally I’m going to be super lame and say Awsten? I look up to him, not that I’d ever tell him that. He’s a lot of things I wish I was. In my career, MCR, because duh, fall out boy, literally any band I used to listen to when I was fifteen and the angstiest teenager. Anyone who started out as a dumb kid and ended up with everything they dreamed of.

MAT - I guess you’re kind of telling him that now, huh? Haha. That makes sense though… you wouldn’t be friends with him if you didn’t like who he is as a person! What would you do if some of those bands showed up on the tour? And also… what would your dream line up be?

OTTO - Oh shit, I forgot about that. Oops, well, I’ll just have to make fun of him extra to get his ego down again. I would… probably try not to freak out. I met Mikey Way, he recorded bass for cluster! I think I almost fainted. Then I met Pete Wentz, kinda, too, and I just nodded a lot. I think my dream lineup would be two hours of my Chem, then fall out boy, panic, brand new, the bands that helped me get through stuff when I was young.

MAT - I think if that were a real tour, a lot of other people would be incredibly excited too. Like… good luck scoring tickets to those shows! Haha. What has been the highlight of your career so far? And what do you think the next step is?

OTTO - I think going on our first headlining tour was the highlight, that was surreal. The next step is probably making more music, letting Awsten be the siren that drags them all to our fanbase, haha.

MAT - I feel you, it’s so crazy when there’s enough people that like your music to warrant a headlining tour. I can’t wait to hear what you guys have in store! Thanks for talking with me. :)

OTTO - Yeah! Thanks, too :)

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qqueenofhades · 8 years ago

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bloodsport [fighting in a love war]

requested by @stardustrebelprincess, who wanted angsty first time smut for Garcy in future canon. to which I say, yes. also, yes.

rated explicit.

available on AO3.

Lucy has heard the rain drumming on the roof all evening. It hasn’t stopped since they got back – barely – from November 1884. The Berlin Conference, where the voracious European powers decided how to split up and colonize Africa, the kind of historical event that is already evil enough that Rittenhouse can hardly do much worse. Not, of course, that they have not tried. The delegates of fourteen countries, including the United States, attended the conference, and the American contingent included both Rittenhouse operatives, on one hand, and Flynn, Lucy, and Wyatt on the other. (Rufus, faced with the fact that he, a black man, cannot walk into a room of rich white racist imperialists, had to pose as Wyatt’s valet.) It also included historical Rittenhouse member, Sir Henry Morton Stanley, the explorer of “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” fame. Or should they say, late historical Rittenhouse member, who never actually got to be a Sir. He was supposed to be knighted in 1899, and die a comfortable death in London in 1904, but during the escape, Flynn, well. Flynn may have shot him in the head.

Lucy rubs her fingers over her eyes. She doesn’t think Stanley had anything major left to do that would significantly alter history, and he was a notorious and flagrant jackass, so it is not as if his early demise is undeserved. Still, though, this isn’t the first of the important people Flynn has taken out. He is the reason they were able to disrupt Rittenhouse’s plans – barely – for changing the outcome of the conference (again, hard to be more evil, but they were trying). He had all the intelligence on how to get them in and who was in the organization. It seems a little ungrateful of Lucy to go telling him off for one extra death now.

(Especially when he wasn’t the only one. Especially when she grabbed a carriage pistol from one of the hansoms outside Otto von Bismarck’s mansion on Wilhelmstrasse, as bullets were flying in all directions, and took down the Rittenhouse operative on the balcony with a shot she will never make again in her life. Is Flynn’s transgression somehow worse, just because history remembered his victim’s name? Especially when Stanley was, as noted, a dick?)

Lucy clenches her fists, still feeling the kick of the antique pistol, the acrid smell of gunsmoke. Can feel Wyatt dragging her away with one hand, firing with the other, as Flynn did the same, as they barely made it back to the jerry-rigged Lifeboat and 2017. They aren’t entirely sure they did stop Rittenhouse, Flynn and Wyatt had a shouting match as soon as they landed, and Rufus is justifiably salty over the whole thing. Lucy is still sitting in her damp, bedraggled dress from 1884, listening to the rain and her racing thoughts, feeling heartsick and tired and angry, and she doesn’t even know at what, aside from everything. She has given too much of her life to this, and she isn’t getting anything back. Not that that is why she signed up for it, or why she has continued. But it still feels like darting around, frantically dousing embers, while the brush fire rages on, uncontained. Only growing stronger, and stronger.

After a moment, Lucy gets up, a lock of hair slipping loose from its elegant chignon and into her eyes. She could go find Wyatt and Rufus, suggest a drink, some kind of de-stress before whatever other ridiculous assignment hits them in the face. And she still might. But not right now. Instead, she heads down the hall and out into the warehouse where they’ve built a makeshift base of operations. She’ll find him in here. He usually is.

Garcia Flynn is still in his 1884 clothes as well, shirtsleeves rolled up and cravat loosened, sitting at the workbench and tinkering with some delicate bit of telemetry from the Lifeboat’s systems. He has been trying to stabilize its rather tenuous modifications for four people, since he’s familiar with the Mothership, which can hold half a dozen, and even if he wasn’t, he would be nowhere near Time Team Happy Hour anyway. He hates them just a bit less than he hates Rittenhouse and the idea of spending the rest of his life in jail, which is why he’s agreed to help them, but he’s made absolutely no attempt to be their friend. The mission today was their new dynamic in a nutshell. They need Flynn, they need his knowledge, they need his skills, they need him on their side, but they can barely control his collateral damage and his loose-cannon nature. Good luck trying to tell him that, though.

Lucy halts by the Lifeboat, not even sure what she’s going to say or why she’s bothered to come here, as conversations with Flynn are generally about as pleasant as an acid bath. He doesn’t look up, dark head still bent over his work, as he carefully rewires something and tests the reboot. Then he says, “Come out, Lucy. I know you’re there.”

“I – ” She bites her lip, feeling like a guilty schoolchild. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Flynn snorts at what is, if not quite a lie, a fairly flimsy dodge – if she didn’t want to disturb him, why come out here at all? “Let me guess,” he says, plugging in another component and then pulling it out again at once with a curse. “You’ve come to yell at me about Stanley.”

“I. . . no.” Even if she was, it’s not like it would do any good. Stanley is dead, as is Cornwallis, and as history hasn’t gone off the tracks, it makes her wonder just how exactly to the letter they need to save it. That, however, is a dangerous line of thought. “No, I just wanted to. . . thank you. We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere close to pulling that off without you, so. . . thanks.”

A faint smile curls the hard lines of his mouth. It isn’t anywhere close to friendly. “You think I need your approval? Your pat on the back, for something I’ve done all this time? Now that I’m doing it with you three around, I get a gold star?”

Lucy is taken aback. She wasn’t trying to patronize him, she was genuinely trying to reach him (for something like the two dozenth time, to no avail – she shouldn’t be surprised that she yet again ran into a brick wall). “Flynn, I – ”

“Or no, you thought I might want to talk about it?” He turns the circuit board and takes out a pair of needle-nose plyers, testing the connections. “Feel guilty, maybe? Why would I? I’m not guilty. I’m angry. I killed another Rittenhouse member. I did the same godforsaken thing I’ve done this whole time, and for what? I’m not any close to having my girls back. I’m not any closer to being able to stop this. All I’ve done is trade in the Mothership, which at least had some space, which was mine, for this broken piece of shit with you three sanctimonious assholes in my face. Do you want comfort, Lucy? Need someone to hold your hand? Want to talk through how things were hard today? Go find your little soldier boy, or Rufus. I’m not interested.”

Lucy flinches. This might be her own fault as much as anything, expecting Flynn to provide any measure of solace at all, but while her frayed nerves and weary heart can’t handle another fight with him just now, she also has enough pride that she isn’t going to turn tail and scuttle, isn’t going to let him see that he hurt her. She’s told him several times by now that she didn’t know about Agent Christopher and the SWAT team following him to their meeting, that she didn’t mean it, she didn’t. She thinks he knows by now that this is the truth. He just doesn’t care.

“Fine,” she says, more or less evenly. “You’re not interested.”

At that, he finally looks up at her, eyes glittering beneath the shadow of his brows. Like the sparkle of a treasure hoard, enticing her to come look for it, but go very wary of waking the dragon. Sets aside the circuit board and spreads his hands on his knees, the sharp pleats of his pinstriped trousers. “But you’re still standing here.”

Lucy swallows involuntarily. She wishes he would blink, when he stares at her like that. The way she can almost feel the air tightening and twisting around them, visceral as a blow to the chest. “There – will be food. If you’re hungry. Later.”

“How magnanimous.” His accent thickens on the word, gives it a slight, mocking lilt. “Den mother of the Cub Scouts, is that you?”

“I’m nobody’s den mother,” Lucy snaps. “I was just letting you know.”

“Feeding the team?” Flynn abruptly gets to his feet, which is quite an imposing thing for him to do. “Because that’s what you have to do? Don’t pretend that you still care about me, Lucy! If you managed to arrest the rest of Rittenhouse, if Emma had never gotten her hands on the Mothership – you’d have just let me rot in jail, wouldn’t you? You didn’t bother getting me out until it was useful for you! Forgive me if I’m not feeling so eager to press flesh with my overseers and my – ”

“Your overseers?” Lucy chokes. She is a foot shorter and probably seventy pounds lighter than him, but she still takes a step forward, bristling. “We’ve tried all this time to be partners. To give you a real shot. We want to work together, we want to – ”

“Yes,” Flynn sneers. “Wyatt really wants to be my best friend.”

“Both of you act like children around each other!” Lucy’s frustration is close to breaking point. “And I would have tried, I would have tried to get you out, but if I hadn’t, would I have been obligated? You spent months trying to kill Wyatt and Rufus and tear apart our team, all of history, everything in your way. If you wanted me to join you and thought we were meant to be together – to do great things together,” she corrects herself at once, cheeks burning – “you had an awfully strange way of showing it. You knew that what you were doing was wrong and you didn’t like it, but you still didn’t stop. What would it have taken to make you stop? Anything?”

“I would have stopped when I got them back!” Flynn whirls around and hurls a toolbox at the wall, a terrifying explosion that makes Lucy cringe, even though it isn’t directed at her. “That was all I wanted, all I ever asked for! Now I can’t, I won’t! I was so close, so close, and you – and they – took it from me! I trusted you! I trusted you with my child! Do you think this is a fair exchange? Do you?”

He braces his hands against the wall, looking as if he’s about to put a hole through it, breathing like a tempest, until he turns and sees her shrinking against the strut of the Lifeboat. Something about her fear seems to get to him, and he drops his gaze, shamefaced and silent. He looks up at the ceiling, clearly distressed over upsetting her and losing control so badly, but still too stubborn to openly apologize. At last he says, “Please go, Lucy.”

She is certainly more than tempted to. Wants to get out of here before the dragon spreads its wings and soars, having already thrashed about in a fiery fit. She wants to mention that she still doesn’t have Amy back. Wants to remind him that her own mother is part of this, that her whole life is a lie, that he isn’t the only one who’s suffered and sacrificed and bled for this. Any of it.

Instead, she says, “I killed the man on the balcony.”

“You what?”

“The man on the balcony, the one firing down at us.” Lucy throws her shoulders back and meets Flynn’s gaze evenly. “I grabbed a pistol and shot him.”

Something in his eyes flickers. “I thought that was Wyatt.”

“It wasn’t.” Lucy feels oddly, steely calm.

“I didn’t think you were – ” A killer hangs in the air between them, audibly unspoken. Instead, his mouth twists bitterly. “Like me.”

“Maybe you don’t know nearly as much about me as you think. Even though you read the journal, even though you think you do.” Lucy takes a step. “Did you know I killed Jesse James? I did. The men were arguing about whether or not they should. I did.”

It’s Flynn’s turn to flinch. He rucks a hand over his face, through his hair, turning on his heel and gripping the back of his chair. At last he says quietly, “You shouldn’t have, Lucy.”

“What? Because you’re the only one allowed to kill? You and Wyatt?”

“No, because you – ” It’s clear at once that Flynn has gotten himself into far more delicate footing than he at all intended. “Because you shouldn’t have to. Isn’t that what you got me out of jail for? To do your dirty work? To kill so you wouldn’t have to have it on your hands, even though you know there is sometimes no other choice? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Once more, Lucy chokes. “And what,” she asks, “do you know, exactly, about what I want?”

Flynn gives her one of those looks that says he might have more than an idea, but if she doesn’t have the gumption to prove it, well, she can just go on pretending she doesn’t.

Lucy’s blood turns suddenly too hot, her head too light, her stomach rioting with butterflies. She is too aware of the way his still-damp shirt is sticking to him, sleeves rolled up and neck open, the air he is consuming, the heat and danger of his presence. In the course of their fight, they’ve somehow steadily closed the space between them, and he is standing just across from her, staring down his long nose at her, near enough to touch if she reaches out. She is not sure, however, that she wants to, for any number of reasons. First because she’s still angry at him, and second because if she sets a spark to the air between them, everything is going to explode. In one way, or another. Neither of which she can control. Neither of which is at all a wise idea.

(Oh yes, her head whispers. Lucy Good Girl Preston, always does the wise thing. Closest she ever came to transgression was when she decided to quit school in her sophomore year of college and join that band with Jake. After which she crashed her car and nearly died, someone pulled her out of the water, and she didn’t think about it again, not when the universe had so clearly punished her for even considering it.)

Flynn continues to stare at her with those smoking eyes, unblinking and unmoving. His tongue darts out to touch his lips, seemingly unconsciously. Lucy’s hand raises, almost of its own volition. Not quite sure if she is trying to hit him, or get him to back off, or to just generally give him what he deserves for being such a pain in the ass, she plants it, palm first, fingers outstretched, on his chest, and pushes.

Flynn doesn’t even rock back on his heels. She might have tried to dislodge a boulder, and she can feel the heat of him burning through the thin cloth. He raises a dark eyebrow at her. Now he’s sardonically amused, which is even more obnoxious than his anger. “Oh,” he says. “Try again. You’ll really get somewhere this time.”

Lucy looks up at him, then does so. With both hands, and hard enough that he, still occupied in jabbing her, actually is forced to take a few steps backward. The look of surprise on his face is enjoyable enough, and she doesn’t feel like stopping. She curls a fist and punches him, this time in the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt him, as if she could, but hard enough to get her point across. He’s not the only one who can hold grudges.

Flynn utters a surprised whoof, even as the look on his face is close to the one he wore in Harry Houdini’s tent, when his eyes could be replaced by actual heart-shaped cutouts of red construction paper without much measurable difference observed. He clearly likes this just fine, more than fine, if Lucy wants to play rough, if she’s feeling feisty, if she has finally been roused to bridle, to give as good as she’s been getting. “Oh?” he drawls, accent again turned stronger, slow and insolent. “You want to hit me, Lucy?”

She doesn’t know. She thinks she might. Just because he’s a perfect embodiment of her frustration and her anger and everything she feels as strongly as he does, about how this isn’t working, isn’t working, is taking too long, going in circles over and over to the same pointless result, about why do they have to play by the rules when it means they get fucked. She takes a swing at him with the other hand, connecting solidly with his solar plexus, and he doesn’t even try to avoid the blow. “You’re punching wrong,” he informs her, breathless but not rattled. “Don’t use the knuckles of your fingers, you’ll break them. Too weak. Use the first two knuckles of your fist, direct your force into them. Fold your thumb over your fingers, not in in them. Focus. Use your hips, not your shoulder. Throw your weight into it. Like – oof – like that.”

Lucy aims another blow at him, this one of which he knocks aside with a contemptuous flick. “Pressure points,” he goes on, taking hold of her arm. “I jab my thumb into your elbow, like that, your arm bends. Easier for you when you’re fighting someone bigger than you, it takes strength to try to wrestle them by the shoulder. Just jab, like that. Then you twist the arm, duck under, you can pin it. Don’t go for the balls unless you think you can hit them, most men are on the lookout for that. Don’t claw the eyes, poke them. Stiff finger. Heel of your hand is the strongest if you can’t get up enough space to punch.”

Lucy takes his advice, hooking her thumb into the crook of his elbow, jerking it bent, and twisting his arm behind his back, as she feels him vibrate with laughter. “Good,” he says, somewhat muffled. “I’d also suggest grabbing someone by the head and smashing your knee into their face, but you’re not that coordinated. I don’t think you could pull it off. Especially in skirts.”

“Oh?” Lucy breathes. He’s on his knees in front of her (and still almost as tall as she is) and she’s standing behind him, so it doesn’t take much for her to lean forward and whisper in his ear. “Do you want to say that again?”

He twists his head, faster than she’s prepared for, so their noses are almost brushing. His gaze can only be described as happily. “You can’t pull it off, Lucy.”

With that, fast as a snake, he extricates himself and stands up, making it clear that she still has a long way to go if she actually wants to match him. “Headlock, I’m not sure,” he goes on, with the air of a connoisseur at a wine tasting. “Perhaps if you jumped on their back from behind, legs around their waist, take them down, but it’s still risky. You have to know how to take a fall, make your target absorb it, not you. And also definitely not something for skirts.”

“Oh?” Lucy says again. Flicks her gaze up to him, this time with the stated challenge that he’s probably the one too scared to take it up. “Then we could get rid of those, couldn’t we?”

With that, before he has time to say anything, she pulls off her dress, not bothering to unbutton it as she’s not going to wear the damn thing again anyway (probably, at least – they can’t afford to just run through costumes with every mission, they’re on a limited supply without Mason Industries’ fashion warehouse). But she will worry about mending it later. Instead, when she’s in her blouse and leggings, which she has taken to wearing underneath, she steps out of the crumpled skirt and stares him down. “How about now?”

His eyes flick goadingly to her. “You still can’t take me by surprise.”

This is one of the more erroneous statements Garcia Flynn has uttered in a life recently full of them, but Lucy decides not to disabuse him just yet. Instead, she crosses the floor toward him at a casual pace, as if strolling on the sidewalk. Then she grabs him by the cravat, jerks his head down, and – it’s not a kiss, it misses by several inches, their mouths only catching in passing. But it does the job. He freezes dead to the spot, Lucy gets her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and manages to work up just enough torque to throw them. They hit the deck, or rather Flynn does, taking the fall for her just as instructed (see, she’s a fast learner). They end up face to face, Flynn flat on his back and completely stunned and Lucy straddling him, still locked to him like a barnacle, hair now fully loose and hanging in her face, heart hammering so visibly that she’s sure he can see it, unable to catch her breath. She gulps, tries to get hold of herself, tells herself to let go, now. Now.

Instead, she shifts up on him, too pleased with herself for proving him so spectacularly wrong, even as she can feel him wedged between her legs in a way that makes it uncomfortably clear to both of them that he has absolutely no problem with their current orientation. The opposite of a problem, really, unless you count the fact that he’s been so steadfastly professing to hate her guts. His throat moves as he swallows, eyelashes fluttering, as his hand rises of its own volition to cup the back of her neck. He opens his mouth to say something.

No good whatsoever can come of letting Garcia Flynn say something, ever. Especially not now. Lucy’s free hand fists in the cloth of his shirt, twisting. Their noses are still brushing, his knees hiked up and hers to either side of his hips, as she lands fully atop him. In for a penny, in for a pound. She turns her head, and kisses him. This time, properly.

Flynn makes a sound through his nose as if he has just touched a live electrical wire. His hand hesitates for a split second, then crushes her head down, mouth bearing into hers with almost bruising force, as they roll over and over, entangled. Lucy gets a better grip on him, grabbing him by the ears, as he pulls her bottom lip between his teeth, bites, drags his open mouth against hers, something between a kiss and a devouring. She can barely stand the heat and force of it, the pent-up strength and frustration and sheer, snarling need, and yet, she’s no shrinking violet. She clutches at him, shoving back, as they roll once more and she gets back on top. They keep kissing until they are utterly out of breath, mouths wet and raw and swollen, hair mussed from grabbing, fingers clenched, as she sprawls on his chest and can sense both of their hearts going like trip-hammers. That felt even better than hitting him.

Flynn shifts underneath her, arching his hips into her, and both of them moan. Lucy’s fist clenched in his shirt opens, but just far enough to start pulling at the buttons of his shirt, which is half-undone anyway. He returns the favor with her blouse, practically tearing the thin silk-rayon as he shucks it off her shoulders, fingers curling under the lacy cup of her bra, but not quite going further. Their eyes meet for half a beat, as she can tell that if she stops him, he won’t touch her. It’s clear enough he’s wanted this for a while, and has just as firmly ignored it, but he’s never going to force it. It’s up to her. Push his hand away, shrug her blouse back on, and they can still pull apart and go to sleep, albeit extremely frustrated.

Lucy Good Girl Preston.

Instead, Lucy reaches up, covers his hand with hers, and guides it down.

Flynn’s breath stutters in his throat, as does hers, as his callused fingers skim over the smooth skin of her breast. He catches briefly at her nipple with thumb and forefinger, circles under, then reaches around to her back and undoes the bra clasp with a deft flick, as Lucy shrugs it off her arms and has a moment to pray devoutly that neither Wyatt nor Rufus are going to run in and see what all the ruckus was about. This is just as patently a mistake as it was five minutes ago. But as both of Flynn’s hands come up to her chest, grasping hold, cupping and caressing, Lucy is barely able to care.

He touches her for a moment or two, and then his grasp shifts, pulling her back down for another hungry kiss as she reaches between them to pull the cravat loose and do away with the rest of his shirt. The warehouse floor is cold and not particularly comfortable, and they roll to their knees and then to their feet, but only get as far as the workbench, as Flynn sweeps aside everything he was working on earlier (managing to avoid breaking it, but barely). He lifts Lucy onto it, and stands between her legs, still having to bend slightly to kiss her. They do so with complete, voracious thoroughness, until he gets a hand free, curls around her rib, strokes down her side and takes hold of her hip. She whimpers into his mouth, lifting her leg to link around his back, urging him closer. His fingers swoop across her stomach – and then, when she breathes half a desperate, “Please” – lower.

Lucy grips hold of his shoulders as he slips a hand beneath the waistband of her leggings, gasping as he roughs the pad of his thumb over her clit, knuckling into the wetness of her folds. She scoots forward on the table and trying to thrust against his hand, as he holds her by the hip with the other and ghosts a rather self-satisfied-sounding chuckle against her lips. He’s clearly taking pleasure in torturing her, flicking and teasing, never as deeply as she needs. Her belly is twisted in knots, feverish and fluttering, starving for release, and the only way she can foresee getting it involves him, one way or another. Especially when they are already, rather obviously, in flagrante delicto.

Lucy whines, grinding on his hand, as he slips a finger into her, then a second one. This kind of heavy petting is fine and good, but she hasn’t actually gotten properly laid in too long a time to remember, and she is out of patience. She jerks on him, reaching between them with the intention of unbuckling his belt, but he lets go of her hip and catches her wrists with his free hand, maneuvering her out from between them. He finishes what he is doing inside her, with a few slick, slow strokes that make her see stars while simultaneously leaving her more frustrated and short of breath than ever, and only then withdraws his hand. Undoes his belt himself, and his eyes once more flick to hers. If she’s willing, that look says, she can have everything she wants. But if she doesn’t, she’d better tell him now, while there is any faint, forlorn hope of either of them restraining themselves.

Lucy wants. Wants a lot, and has no idea how to reconcile any of it, and is, quite frankly, sick of thinking. She does that far too much, too long, and to far too little result, and his mouth is on hers again, and she grinds up against him and gulps and needs more, needs more. Reaches down and gets hold of him, hot and stiff against her fingers, feeling the brief glitch in his entire body as she finally has him literally in the palm of her hand, where some might argue he has been metaphorically all along. She lifts herself up, arms around his neck, as he tugs her leggings down around her knees, then her ankles. She kicks them off. And after a final split-second hesitation, her panties too.

Flynn’s eyes take in every inch of her, transfixed, worshiping. Then he slides his hands under her thighs and lifts her off the table, as Lucy locks her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. He walks them across the warehouse to the wall, and pins her against it with a thump solid enough to knock her breath out, though she might not have it anyway with how hard he is presently kissing her. Then as Lucy slides against him, wordlessly opening her body to him, he meets her eyes for a split second more, hitches her up, and just barely, just a bit, enters her.

Lucy gulps back a moan, reaching down to guide him, slipping him into her. He is hard and heavy, pushing her apart with unyielding solidness, God it has been a long time, she barely remembers how this feels. After their frenzied kissing and wrestling, he’s being almost restrained, cautious, but restrained is not what she wants. There is still too much poison in her veins and in her mind and in her heart, and she wants the demons exorcised, wants to burn. She grabs hold of him. “Come on, Garcia,” she manages. “That the best you can do?”

He gives her a look that warns her she will very much regret playing with fire, gets a better grip on her thighs, and drives into her all the way, with a thrust she feels to the back of her stomach. He pushes her knees farther apart as he moves between them, lifting her up to meet him, rasping on her until she can barely handle the intensity of the sensation. Fucks her well and thoroughly, setting his teeth in her shoulder, biting at the hollow of her throat, never slowing the fierceness of his strokes. Possesses her, uses her, but at the same time, she’s aware that he is barely a breath from shattering himself. That he’s giving himself to her like this because, quite simply, she already owns him, and that is far more terrifying than either of them would ever remotely admit.

It does not take much longer until both of them are gasping, dragging and jerking and clawing toward the burning brightness of climax, until Lucy’s whole body wrenches and her hips arch and her hands tear at him, until he is the only solid thing in the storm and she moans into Flynn’s mouth. His back buckles and he almost loses his grip on her, as they slide together down the wall to the floor and Lucy once more ends atop him, clutching him as they go over within a few moments of each other, shaking to the core. They lie there unmoving, him still inside her, pulsing and softening, until he slowly slips out. They do not move.

It’s about thirty more seconds, thirty blissful seconds, until Flynn’s brain belatedly reconnects with the rest of his misbehaving anatomy. He tenses all over, then heaves Lucy off, springs to his feet like a startled cat, and fumbles himself back together, jerking his trousers up and diving for his discarded shirt. He doesn’t look at her as he dresses as fast as possible, swiping a hand through his hair and doing absolutely nothing to look casual. “You should go.”

Lucy, torn from the comfortable glow of orgasm to an abrupt reintroduction to the cold warehouse floor, rolls over and gets to her feet, fishing for her clothes, cheeks burning. Even she is well aware that that was not what she came here to do (though, a jeering voice whispers in her head, was it?) and she reconstitutes herself to decency at likewise top speed. The silence has quickly turned hideous, until she blurts, “We’ll just – ”

“It was a mistake.” Flynn’s shoulders remain hunched, as he doesn’t look back at her. “You were emotional.”

Lucy wants to ask if she was emotional, what that made him – it takes two to tango, as the saying goes, and that back there was a thoroughly mutual effort. Her thighs are slick, her heart pounding low in her stomach, the heat of him lingering between her legs, her lips raw with kissing him, her breath short, her knees trembling. The pleasure of release already feels like a distant memory. “Flynn – ”

“Go,” he repeats. “We’ll just forget this happened.”

Lucy digs her fingernails into her palms, unsure if she wants to conclude the evening, which has seen her do a great deal of both, with one more slap or one more kiss. She came here trying to sort out at least some of the tangled skeins of love and hate and unspeakable, inextricable destiny that somehow binds their souls together, and somehow she’s managed to weave it into even more of an impassable Gordian knot. So that when he says that, some reflexive, damaged self-protection instinct – we’ll just forget this happened – they both already know they’re going to do anything but.

That doesn’t mean they’ll try.

That doesn’t mean this can go anywhere good.

Lucy does up the top button on her blouse, the marks of his mouth still vivid on her skin. Turns on her heel, waits for him to say something else, knows he won’t, and leaves.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #garcia flynn human disaster #stardustrebelprincess

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