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fairfowl · 3 years ago

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Lie There and Breathe pt 3: His Friend

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here)

Tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia

At first the light was unbearable.

The clone immediately tried to squeeze his right eye tightly shut but the act of tensing his face sent spikes of pain that nearly toppled him over onto the cot. Everything felt too vulnerable, too exposed, and the black hole of his left eye was pain compounded upon pain. The deep ache that reverberated through his skull was layered by fire that seemed to consume the torn flesh at the surface. His head spun.

Master Mendus’s hands held him firmly upright while the apprentice Dawn used a sharp smelling liquid to wash the coagulated blood and other fluids from his face, starting from his jawline and moving upward to clear his right eye which seemed to be intact, if glued shut.

She cleared the entire uninjured part of his face, but conspicuously left a large portion of the left side of his face untouched.

As she worked all the clone knew was sharp unyielding light, the continued rasping of his brother on the cot nearby, and pain drilling deep into his skull. As his sight cleared a figure coalesced through the brightness, silhouetted against a backdrop of pure white. For a moment the clone thought that he was witnessing Prime reborn.

And then he blinked.

When the clone refocused he saw not the glorious figure of Horde Prime but a skinny long-faced Etherian girl, with a six-pointed rack of antlers and a serious expression.

He saw Dawn.

The clone let out a long breath. Anxiety over his own helplessness had plagued him since he had first awakened and he was relieved to find that he had not been permanently blinded. At least one eye still functioned, although his vision was a bit blurry and the world wavered dizzily before him. There was a bubbling lightness in his chest that the clone could not contain, and he could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

There was light.

He turned away from Dawn, towards the sound of breathing, and was delighted to see his companion sleeping peacefully. His body rested on a simple cot, the head of which was propped up so that he was in a half-sitting position. The Breather looked drawn and tired but not direly ill, bandages wrapped thickly around his chest. There were also wrappings around his right hand, which was laid across the bandages on his chest, and his right leg from the knee down. Other exposed skin was bruised or scraped as though his body had met stone with some force. Beyond that he looked like any of Horde Prime’s Little Brothers

His smile widened.

Here was his companion, mostly whole and recovering. While he himself might be mutilated and weak he was no longer entirely blind and between the two of them it looked as though they both had the capacity to be mobile again. As long as they sustained no further injuries they might stand a chance yet.

He wondered again why the Etherians might be keeping them alive, and suspected that his purpose in the future might be labor. Horde Prime in his infinite wisdom had created the clones in his own image, and they were hardy creatures, capable of feats of strength as well as extreme delicacy. Any conqueror might find them useful, although they would be less effective without the hivemind and the benevolent guidance of Prime.

“Is this your friend?” Dawn asked, drawing his attention back with a snap.

The clone’s smile dropped, and he felt his ears twitch before stilling in pain. All of the functional clones were identical and in the absence of the hivemind he simply could not tell if he had ever met his companion prior to the fall of Prime. A bolt of shame ran through him although he did not understand what he was feeling or why.

“No.” He responded simply, glancing down at the dirt floor.

“It’s just…” She trailed off, turning to rummage through her supplies, readying new bandages with which to dress his wounds. “I saw you reaching for him before you fell.”

The clone could feel his face heat up as he blushed, and he wished more than anything that he could lay back down and curl into a ball until everything went away.

“Iwantedtomakesurehewasokay” He sped through the words nervously, lacing his fingers together for want of anything else to do. The elation within his chest had turned to uncomfortable squirming. Beside him The Breather rasped on, but the sound had ceased to be a comfort. Instead it was a reminder that while the clone had become entirely dependent upon his companion’s presence the other clone had been unconscious the entire time. The Breather did not know him. They were together by mere coincidence and nothing but their similar misfortune held them together.

“He…” The clone started again, resisting the panic that once again rose like a tide within him. “I thought I could keep him safe. I did not want to be alone.”

He glanced back up at Dawn and saw that she had stilled, her back was turned to him and he could see brown strands of hair slipping free from the long brown braid that hung between her shoulder blades. Master Mendus’s hands had tightened on his arms and the clone could feel himself taking quick shallow breaths.

“Good boy.” The wry voice from behind his back said. Master Mendus’s hands gentled and the clone could feel a steady hand begin to rub circles along his back. He closed his eye and concentrated on the sensation. As long as he had something to focus on he could regain control, and Mendus’s hands were warm.

“You wanted to look after him even though you were already in danger yourself.” the Etherian healer continued. “That makes him your friend. He’s lucky to have you”

Although his eye remained closed the clone could feel Dawn’s hands on his face again, tilting his head upwards.

“I’m gonna wash out your wounds now.” She said. “It will hurt but I need you to hold still.”

He braced himself, tensing up despite the pain, but let her work. The apprentice sprayed another cool liquid onto his wounded face, this one was scentless but it still stung the cuts. The disconcerting sensation of liquid running deep into pits in his flesh and along the swollen borders distracted him from everything else. He wondered if there was even an eye in that socket, the clone could not tell.

The Etherian girl worked meticulously, gently wiping clean the canyon carved through flesh.

"Someone stitched him up." Dawn said, her low voice steady as she worked, clearing away the sticky mess to reveal the damage done. "It looks like they did a rush job but it's not infected."

The clone could feel Mendus shift as though he were craning around to look. The healer sighed as he saw the clone's face, and the clone felt a twist of nervousness. The clone tried not to react, he kept his head lifted with his eyes closed, obedient and still.

"This is good work, we might be able to save that eye." Master Mendus hummed, massaging the clone's shoulders again as he thought. "You can see where the tissue pulled away from the bone on his cheek and brow, but you're right, it doesn't look infected. The swelling is from the trauma."

Dawn said nothing, but began to spread something onto the battered flesh. It felt like a paste and smelled herbal.

"There were places where the tissue was too pulverized to stitch." The healer continued. The affect of his voice had changed as though he was speaking to the clone as well as his apprentice. The clone did not know how to respond, but leaned back into the Etherian's hands. Sitting up was beginning to make him feel dizzy and drained.

"We're going to have to do the best we can with that, but it will likely leave an impressive scar." Dawn’s hands left his face, and the clone nodded. Relief was tempered by trepidation.

He was happy to hear that his injury was not infected—although he knew that Horde Prime in his cleverness had created his clones to be resistant to most infections—and that he had not lost his left eye, for the clone truly could not differentiate between the sensations coming from that side of his face. Now that his bandages had been removed it mostly felt like a painful mush.

But he feared to think of what he must look like now. The confirmation that he would be scarred was not a surprise, but the clone still worried. Disfigurement had meant death under Horde Prime, decommissioning so as not to disturb the perfection of the Horde. Now he would never again match his brothers, his appearance would be aberrant and disgusting to all who saw him.

It did not seem that the Etherians valued perfection as much as Prime had. If they did he would not have survived for as long as he had, but he worried how the disfigurement would effect their treatment of him now.

He wondered what his brothers would think.

He turned his thoughts to The Breather. Would he be disgusted by him? Would he reject a brother who was so maimed?

"We might need to even out the ear a little," Dawn continued, oblivious to the clone's fears as she continued to tend to his wounds. "It's a little jagged and I think the tissue is starting to lose circulation here."

She ran a gloved finger over a stinging line about halfway up his ear, and the clone was startled to realize that that line was where his ear stopped. He fought a gag as his stomach turned. Some of his reaction must have shown on his face as Dawn drew away.

“It shouldn’t really affect your hearing.” Her gentle voice softened further. The clone opened his eye to watch her as she rummaged around on the tray that held an array of tools, jars, and bottles. Eventually she pulled up a few more gauze pads and some tape.

They were almost finished for now then.

Thank Prime.

The clone allowed himself to drift as she wrapped him back up, bandaging his ear separately so that it was no longer pinned to the side of his head. The bandages around his face were also less bulky, and covered less of the uninjured portions of his face. His right eye peeked out from the bright white cloth, and everything felt a little bit lighter. Less wet, less mushy.

By the time they'd taped the bandages in place, laid him back against his cot—which had been propped up like The Breather's was—and forced a few sips of water into him from a ceramic cup, the clone was exhausted.

It was at that point when the clone finally saw Master Mendus.

The Master Healer of Mystacor was a short, sturdily built creature, with pointed horns on his head, and cloven hooves that peeked unshoed from below the hems of his linen trousers. He wore white robes, had a kind face, and had a large scar across his chin that split his lips diagonally.

The clone felt his gaze drawn to the healer and his apprentice while they cleaned up and bustled around the tent. All but two cots were occupied and the tent was large, the clone estimated that there were at least thirty people lying injured there. Slightly less than half of them were fellow clones. As he watched more people wearing teal colored robes that matched Dawn’s moved a limp Etherian to a gurney, and rolled him out of the tent.

He looked away.

The clone focused again on The Breather. Although his brother appeared to be relatively healthy, he had not been awake since the clone had regained consciousness. There was no visible head injury, but the raspy breathing and the bandages around his chest were concerning. Feeling grim, the clone wondered if his new friend was slowly asphyxiating beside him. Dawn and Master Mendus had not seemed concerned but they were busy, and they had been focusing on him. He felt a stab of guilt, he should have asked them to look at The Breather.

He was fine.

They were both fine.

He lay back, against the cot and stared at the canvas ceiling. Once again the clone focused on the Breather’s constant wheezing. Bit by bit he put himself back together, breathing in time with his companion as he pushed his fears to some forgotten corner of the back of his head. Some worries had been laid to rest by learning of his condition and by speaking to two of his captors, but more had cropped up in their place, while others still lingered.

He feared what was to become of them. He feared the sight of his own face. Now he even feared the waking of his companion, the clone did not know how he would react if he was rejected by the one who had been his lifeline.

But he put those fears away, and held onto the sound of his friend’s breaths, and to his desire to keep them both alive.

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Thank you for reading this! I’m excited to finally have dialogue and to properly introduce Mendus and Dawn. This is still a story about the clone and The Breather but the two healers were necessary and they’ll continue to help our guys get their bearings

sooo, what was Dawn doing to his face?

well

Dawn removed the bandages with saline to keep them from sticking, washed the uninjured parts of the clone's face with rubbing alcohol (except for the eyelid, that's a nono), and then got the rest with saline to avoid further damaging the tissue. She then covered the wounds in an oil based ointment similar to bacitracin (I refuse to believe that Etheria doesn't have antibiotics).

Taking off the bandages allowed her to examine and clean the wound, and for the time being that will be pretty much all they can do. If the wound stays wet for too long the skin will start to degrade and the wounds won't heal, so all that blood and drainage from before was Not Good.

They're starting simple and probably won't need to get too complicated for the moment. Which is good because I'm trying to imply that resources are tight and they have neither enough medical professionals nor supplies to properly care for every patient.

basically what I’m saying is that all things considered Chamomile is in good shape, he doesn't need anything fancy yet although I tried to imply that he might need at least one more surgery down the line.

#spacebats #horde clone oc #horde clones #spop #she-ra #she ra and the princesses of power #the horde #hordak #mystacore #eye trauma #Lie There and Breathe #Chamomile the Clone #Calamine the Clone #horde prime #original #i contributed #my fic

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artistic-writer · 4 years ago

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The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 14 :: Rated E

Title: The Contract

Rating: E

Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal. Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12] - [13]

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: Here lies the final chapter of this fic that has taken me far too long to write. I am sorry, but you know, 2020. Thank you to all my lovely beta bitches; @hollyethecurious my person, my heart, my bestie. I you person. @shardminds my fellow angel <3 @courtorderedcake @zaharadessert @thisonesatellite for lurking and encouraging and ALL THE LOVELY LADIES IN THE DISCORD <3

Artwork by me, @artistic-writer

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics. Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg. Just so you know. There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O. If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @shireness-says @wingedlioness @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @shardminds @donteattheappleshook @thisonesatellite @carpedzem @lfh1226-linda @strawberryfieldsbricksonwalls @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @elizabeethan @reggieshamster @shardminds @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @swanslieutenant @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @tiganasummertree @fuckurghh

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The car journey home was a blur. The entire way Emma whispered sweet nothings into his ear as her scent surrounded them, suffocating him and making it almost impossible to keep his eyes on the road. Killian had been so engrossed in beating Graham, making sure he knew that he was nothing to them and would never hurt Emma again, that he had failed to notice the change in Emma as she watched them battle. It wasn’t until he was with her in the car, sealed in with her heady musk, that he realised that the primal Omega spirit inside of her had come alive, baited by the sight of blood and the smell of him, that he realised her intentions.

Emma was leaning over to him having ducked under the body strap of her seat belt, and was rubbing her eager hands over his thigh, gently scraping her nails over the material of his pants and making him shiver. Killian sucked in a quick breath but it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen left in the car to oxymoronically put out the fire in his lungs, but he was quickly distracted from the pain in his chest when Emma softly, but forcefully, pushed on the growing bulge between his legs, a wry smile on her lips that he only managed to see for a second before his eyes fluttered closed.

He felt Emma’s hand on the steering wheel next to his, helping to keep the car on course whilst her other one massaged his cock, making him hard in seconds. Blood surged around his body, making him lightheaded and he eased his foot off the accelerator pedal, unable to even comprehend his own name, let alone tell how fast he was driving. He heard Emma laugh, her breath hot and wet against its shell as she purred into his ear, her fingers clutching the girth of his erection through his pants, her touch like a both a gift and a curse for his cock which strained painfully to be free.

“I want this,” she whispered darkly. Her fingers grabbed at the zipper of his fly, slowly and deliberately sliding it down, the sound of each tooth coming apart from its twin deafening him.

“Fuck, Emma,” Killian panted, lifting his hips off the seat in an attempt to relieve his aching cock.

“Omega,” she purred sweetly, sliding her hand into his pants through the now open zipper and past his underwear. She traced a single finger over his balls, loving the way they shrunk under her touch and the skin pulling tight around them. She continued her assault, dragging her finger over the skin covering the bulb of his knot and grinned wickedly when she felt his cock twitch and his chest expand with another huge breath. “Use my title,” she cooed, mirroring his earlier command.

Killian was so aroused by her words that he almost didn’t see the light they were approaching turn red, slamming his foot on the brake and the car skidding to a stop just over the line. He heaved a breath, his knuckles aching from how hard he was gripping the wheel, the strain of his erection only momentarily soothed from her assault by the fact her hand shot out to brace herself against the dashboard.

“You need to stop,” Killian ground out, trying to blink his vision clear.

“Why?” Emma whimpered innocently, cuddling back into him and resuming her caresses.

Killian looked over at her and gave her a dark stare, a warning glance that just made her grin even more slyly. “Because you and I both know I can’t fuck you in this car, and the apartment is another five minutes away.”

“Who says you can’t fuck me in this car?” Emma pouted, batting her eyelashes at him as her fingers twirled around in what chest hair she could see poking from the top of his shirt.

Killian took a moment to lick his lips and could swear he could already taste her arousal on his tongue between the tang of blood and his own excess saliva. He looked at her, long and hard, the sheen of sweat on her skin catching his attention in the street light, displaying her own arousal as if she was in heat, something Killian knew to be impossible. Or maybe it wasn’t? She was a new Omega after all, recently come of age and still not entirely in control of her hormones. She was a slave to her own desire and what she wanted the most was currently trying to force its way out of its sheath into the cool air of the night from her sultry look alone.

“Omega,” Killian soothed reasonably but with a black lustre to his tone that had her audibly shuddering in the seat next to him. “We both know there isn’t enough room for me to fully enjoy you here.”

“Oh?” Emma questioned softly, her mind racing with all of the possibilities of what ‘fully enjoying her’ meant.

Pulling one of his hands from the steering wheel, Killian stroked over the shape of her skull, bunching her hair into a loose ponytail and giving it a gentle tug. Emma wrenched her head sideways, gasping with need, every cell in her body crying out for more than just a promise of his touch. Killian’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, watching her still wide pupils dilate even more as he leaned over to inhale the scent of her skin, exaggerating his action as he skimmed the tip of his nose up the side of her cheek, deliberately ghosting a sigh against her scent gland that pulsed and coaxed him closer with a wave of scent.

“I said not here,” he growled with finality.

Before Emma could explain how his words had affected her, a wave of slick had expelled itself from her body and she clenched her knees together in an attempt to relieve some of the ache that had settled there. Killian watched the light turn green and let her go like nothing had transpired between them, fixing his eyes on the road once more and setting off towards the apartment. Emma fell back into her seat, her head spinning from his dominance.

“Hurry,” she pleaded, the pleasurable pain on her scalp from his rough handling sending a jolt of arousal to her clit. “Please, Alpha, hurry.”

If he was honest, Killian had sped all the way back to the apartment, not caring one iota for the safety of other drivers. Emma was his, officially now, and the thought of having her, marking her, was making him almost rut-like aroused. He wanted to give her everything, more than just sex, and even that had his already hard cock twitching in the confines of his pants all the way through the apartment complex. When they reached the elevator that would take them up to the right floor, Emma giggling like a giddy teenager as her hand clutched his, the only part she could in public, she busied herself with gently stroking his index finger as if it were his cock, the hard glance he gave her only encouraging her further.

"Are you okay?" She purred innocently, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. "You seem distracted, Alpha."

Killian chose to ignore her taunt, head tilted back and eyes fixed on the numbers above the elevator door as they illuminated with its impending arrival. When the translucent 'G' lit up, the chime of a bell and the grinding of the opening doors accompanying it, Killian gave her hand a squeeze, a gentle and yet forceful pressure that had her mouth turning dry and the ache between her thighs throbbing once more. He stepped inside, giving her arm a tug, the doors sliding shut with only inches to spare between the metal and Emma's hair, before throwing her against the back wall of the elevator with a possessive growl.

Emma hit the hard surface with such force the elevator wobbled from side to side, scraping the walls around it with a grinding sound as it began to move. Her eyes lit up with anticipation as Killian stalked his way to her, closing the gap in less than a second and pinning her to the wall with his weight. His hands were on her face, a gentle but forceful grip of her jaw that had slick soaking her underwear yet again, the widening of Killian's pupils in response sending a shiver up her spine.

"I could take you right here," he growled, his nose brushing her cheek as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, inhaling the scent of her. "But I won't." One of his hands snaked between their bodies, pushing its way into her pants and a single finger slipping through her folds. Killian's eyes fluttered closed when Emma whimpered, a needy plea that sent a rush of blood to his cock, something he knew she could feel as she attempted to move her hips against his.

"Please," Emma begged, her limbs weighty and numb from his most minute of touches, her mind racing when he dipped his head and ran his tongue along her collarbone.

Her skin was different somehow, the taste of her sizzling on his tongue, and he grew even harder than he already was at the smell of her scent gland. She wasn’t in heat, he knew that, but there were so many different senses firing the synapses in his brain all at once that the beast within was roaring, clawing at his insides in an attempt to take her where she stood, but by some miracle, despite the huge, watery doe eyes she was giving him that were anything but innocent, Killian managed to remain externally composed, and simply ran his tongue over her gland in an attempt to quell the fires within with a grin.

"Please, what?" Killian commanded wickedly, pausing his ministrations over her scent gland. He could practically feel the throb of it, hear the blood rushing around her body from how he was touching her, the primal beast within him begging for what was to come.

"Please, Alpha," Emma breathed.

Killian growled, a low rumble emanating from his chest, the surge of adrenaline from the fight still coursing through his veins. Beating Graham was more than just satisfactory. Killian felt like he had liberated Emma into a life of more love and admiration than she could ever conceive, and there would not be a single day he wouldn't show her that.

The chime of the elevator had him tearing his body from hers just in time for the doors to pull open and reveal one of the neighbours. Emma innocently gave him a courteous nod, but the man, also an Alpha, couldn't stop his gaze when the flushed, heavenly smelling Omega in front of him whimpered with desire. A warning snarl rumbled from Killian as he stepped through the doorway, the much smaller Alpha shrinking away and retreating along the hall, disappearing through a stairwell door instead, something that had Emma giggling in excitement and clutching Killian’s hand even tighter as he pulled her behind him down the hall.

“Quickly, Omega,” Killian snarled, feeling the buzz of anticipation on his skin as he passed each and every door of his neighbours, all Alpha is nature. “Your scent only serves to entice more Alpha in your direction.”

Emma fell into step behind him and felt the hairs on his forearm prickling to attention under her fingers when her hand slipped around his wrist and pulled him to a stop.

“So?” She challenged, just shy of their front door. “I am yours.”

Killian stepped into her space and she took a step back, the cold panel of the front door shocking her and making a gasp escape her lips. He was so close he could feel her suck the breath from between them and his eyes fell to the softness of her lips, slightly parted in silent invitation of his kiss. Emma heaved a breath and Killian could feel her breasts touching his chest, hot and nipples hard, poking his skin like there was no material between them. He licked his lips, imagining them under his tongue, imagining them and so much more as his eyes shifted to the throb of her scent gland, innocently tempting him to mark her where they stood.

“Not yet,” Killian whispered huskily, his senses on high alert. He heard a door open behind them and smelled the unmistakable musk of an Alpha in rut, coaxed out of his hiding hole by the waft of an unclaimed Omega and the possibility of sating his urges. Killian’s keys were in the front door before she had time to object or even look behind him at the grunting Alpha, Emma was being pushed inside with little resistance, the door quickly locked behind them.

“Alpha?” Emma’s voice was soft and enticed Killian to look at her, feasting on her beauty like a man starved. She had taken a step back from the door, shedding her clothes without preamble, tossing them aside garment after garment until she was gloriously naked in front of him. “What you did to Graham,” she began, swaying her hips as she walked towards him.

“Don’t say his name,” Killian growled.

“How you hurt him,” she continued, ignoring his possessiveness before reaching out and taking his hand. "It got me all worked up."

Killian grinned wickedly, drinking in the sight of her with a predatory state that was further darkened when she slipped his hand between her parted thighs and slowly dragged his fingertip through the slick there. She was so wet it also coated the outside of her lips and a mournful sigh slipped from her mouth when she pressed Killian's finger against her slippery clit.

"If I'd known it would have this sort of effect on you, I'd have beat his arse long before now," Killian growled, letting her ride his fingers.

"Is this...is this…" Emma couldn't find the words she needed, rendered speechless when Killian took over the torture between her legs. His thumb stroked her clit whilst his fingertips teased her opening, the muscles contracting in an attempt to pull his finger inside, desperate to relieve the ache there.

"This is being Omega, aye," Killian finished for her. "This is how your body reacts to your Alpha," he purred, quickening his pace between her legs, the sensitive nub throbbing with every rough swipe of his thumb. Emma's hand clutched his wrist but he did not let up, stroking her in just the right way to coax a very quick, easy orgasm from her that had her gasping for breath and her knees buckling. Killian held her up, driving two stiff fingers inside of her core until slick coated his palm, his other hand stopping her from toppling with a firm grip on her lower back. "This is how your body reacts to me," he growled.

Emma felt like her insides were going to erupt from every orifice, her entire body tingling from head to toe. The orgasm had been small, ebbing away inside of her, muscles gently throbbing against Killian's fingers, but it wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed the burn and stretch of his knot, the full feeling only he could give her and the welcomed pain of their frenzied love making. When her eyes finally fluttered open, her irises a mess of arousal tinted emerald and gold flecks illuminated by her recent release, there was a ferality about her that had Killian pausing momentarily with a sly, knowing smirk.

"There you are, Omega," he praised huskily but before he had any time for any more quips, Emma was pushing against his chest, hard, and he fell backwards against the front door.

Killian barely registered the shooting pain up his spine before Emma was on him, tongue running along the seam of his lips and into his mouth for a ravenous kiss. He strained his neck to push back against her, fingernails clawing at where her clothes once were and leaving welts in their wake. Her kiss was hot and needy and everything he would expect from an Omega in heat but with the clarity and determination of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. The thin barrier of clothing between them was too much. Emma needed his skin on hers and a ripple of lust travelled over her entire body when Killian’s hands framed her face in his hold.

“So wanton,” he teased, licking her lips. Not impressed with him breaking their kiss, Emma nipped at his bottom lip a little too hard, causing him to hiss in pain and tug it from her teeth when he wrenched his head backwards. Killian touched his lip and inspected his fingertips for blood, finding none but raising an eyebrow at her with a sinful smirk. “And so naughty,” he droned darkly.

Emma looked up at him through her lashes, leaning her entire weight against him. “Your naughty Omega,” she purred. She dragged her fingertips through the underside of his jaw, her nails catching on the scruff there and her eyes focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Killian surged forward and almost knocked her off her feet with his kiss, fusing his lips to hers and wrapping her up in his embrace. Emma leapt into his arms in response, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and slipping down until the hardness of him was deliciously rubbing her clit. Killian’s hands were on her arse, kneading the fleshy globes as a way to rid himself of the frustration of desire she was causing by grinding against him, but it was futile, and the only relief he felt was when he sat her on the back of his couch and popped open his pants.

Emma giggled excitedly, raking her nails down the front of his shirt, quickly yanking the material up and helping him rid himself of it. Killian growled, the rumble vibrating through her fingertips when Emma clawed through the newly exposed chest hair before her, a hum of appreciation escaping her lips as the soft, raven coloured hair caressed her skin. Killian's muscles twitched, as did his cock, full of blood and yearning to be free and inside of the Omega so intent on suffocating him in her scent.

"What is it?" Emma noticed his hesitation, even in the split second it took Killian to furrow his brow.

"Nothing," Killian lied, letting her balance on the couch whilst he rid himself of the last remains of his clothing. He kicked them away, lest he trip over them later, and took one of her hands to move it to his cock, letting the cool tips of her fingers brush over the velvety soft shaft ever so gently. It felt like a torture but from Heaven itself, and even though he was controlling the pace, the mere thought of marking Emma has his forever would see him spilling himself in no time if he didn’t make a drastic rectification of the topic.

“Don’t lie to me,” Emma cooed, slipping her fingers between his legs where her gentle touch sent all the hairs on his thighs prickling to attention. She stroked at the skin there, inexplicably smooth compared to the rest of his body, and loved the way his cock bobbed in response and his eyes fluttered closed.

Killian gave her a half drunk stare and smirked. “I would never,” he pledged with a hand over his heart.

“Good,” Emma purred, parting her legs a little wider.

Killian watched her slip a finger through her folds before lifting the digit to her lips, slick hanging from it in an elongated droplet of viscous arousal, before she licked it with a content groan, her tongue caressing the slippery tip like it was his cock. A tiny bit fell to her chin and he was on her in a shot, cockhead bumping the inside of her slick covered thigh as his tongue darted out to lap it up, the taste of her on his tongue minute but setting his already heightened senses into overdrive.

“There is more where that came from,” Emma whispered huskily into his ear whilst he busied himself with dry humping her thigh, the slick there more than adequate to avoid the burn of friction for both of them, the tease of entering her a blinding torture Emma always welcomed with him. She cast her eyes down and he followed her gaze, dropping to his knees with her gentle pressure on his broad shoulders until he was eye level with her sex and the scent of her womanly arousal was even more a cross to bear. “Taste me, Alpha. Take what is yours.”

Killian licked his lips and hooked his arms around her upper legs, holding her steady before diving into the apex of her thighs with a feral growl. His taste buds came alive when her essence coated his tongue, sweet, juicy slick pouring from her sex in reposnse to his tongue diving into her core. He held her steady when she rocked backwards, angling her hips so she could soothe the throbbing pain in her clit by brushing it against his nose tip, an action that caused him to retreat from his salvation with a wry smirk.

“Easy, love,” he soothed darkly, skimming his hands over her behind and dragging his fingernails over her skin down to her knees. “We have all the time in the world,” he muttered against her inner thigh as he planted a kiss there.

“I want you now,” Emma sulked and attempted to drag him closer by hooking her heel into his shoulder. Killian looked up at her pouting lips with a fond smile, knowing that he would never tire of anything she did, now or ever.

“And you’ll have me,” Killian assured her, kissing one knee and then the other before spreading her leg even wider for his greedy tongue. “But not before I have you,” he droned seductively, diving back into her sex like a man starved, his hot, stiff tongue diving into her slick laden warmth once more, his eyes only leaving hers when her taste overwhelmed his senses and he had to close his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Emma panted in repsonse. One of her hands fisted his hair, grabbing at the darkened locks to hold him in place, having utter faith that he would hold her steady, even when her legs began to shake.

Killian only took her gasps as something to chase, like a dog after a hare, eager to hear her empty her lungs of every last breath she had, suffocating herself in desire, ready to die a thousand deaths if his tongue was how she was to go. Her bones dissolved inside of her limbs, a sudden weightlessness overtaking her and her core clenching at nothing in desperation to feel something. In honesty, she would never feel complete until his knot was filling her up, but for now the mastery of his tongue would have to do, and by the way he was giving every part of her sex his absolute fullest attentions, she was in no doubt of just how much of a master he really was.

Killian hummed in content, stopping for a moment to just take a breath before returning to the ecstasy between her thighs with a new goal in mind. The sharp intake of Emma’s breath told him he had hit the mark, his lips applying just the right amount of pressure as they closed around her clit to steal her words and render her a complete, babbling mess. He loved it. He loved the way her body reacted to him, and when it did, the way she was constantly surprised, like she was learning everything again, like she was experiencing colours or sounds for the first time, only for him to cruelly rip them away with the talents of his tongue, or his cock, and leave her quivering and unable to form anything but a smile. He loved her smile and he loved the way she smiled for him. He just loved her.

She was the finest thing he had ever tasted and he could tell just how close she was simply by the way her slick awoke every single one of his taste buds from their slumber. He didn’t even need to double his efforts, relishing in how easy it was to bring her to another orgasm that would only serve to intensify the sweetness of her slick, on which he could languishly feast on for as long as Emma’s body produced it. Everytime she came it was different and Killian savoured every last drop of her ever hungry for more, he pulled her clit between his teeth, grazing the nub with a featherlight touch that had her careening off the edge she had been balancing on.

“Ki...Killian! Oh my God, Alpha, I’m coming!” Emma screamed incoherently, her entire body quaking as euphoria ripped through her for a second time.

Killian grinned against the wetness of her, broad strokes of his tongue slurping her slick into his mouth where he swallowed it with a greedy groan. His fingernails dug into the flesh of her thighs, holding her sex against his mouth as she tried to writhe away from him, the sensitivity on her clit almost too much to bear. Emma sucked in awkward breaths, her gasps turning to laughter as she smiled much wider than she ever had before, her skin alive, every inch crying out for more of the touch Killian was so carefully denying her as she came down from the high of her orgasm.

“There’s a good girl,” Killian soothed, steadying his licks and pressing kisses to her lips until Emma’s fingers released the clump of hair she was gripping onto for dear life, stroking his soft, dark locks instead.

The praise sent a ripple of warmth spreading through her body and when Killian rose to his feet, cock hard and proud against his deliciously thatched abdomen, Emma grabbed his hips and pulled him to her until he was nestled between her still parted thighs. Killian put up little resistance, only stopping when his erection slipped between her sodden folds and her lips met his in a fiery kiss.

Emma's body reacted instantly, her stomach falling away into the nowhere of desire, her hands clutching his face to hers. Her fingernails clawed at his scruffy cheeks and the sound it made was amplified in her ears, barely audible above the sound of her own blood in her veins, but still so loud she didn't hear the growl that rumbled deep in Killian's chest. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, skimming along the seam of her smile until access was granted, the taste of herself in his mouth sending another, new wave of slick to expel itself between her still trembling thighs.

With a cant of his hips, Killian was sliding his erection through the wetness of her folds, the head of his cock grazing her clit and making her gasp. He gobbled up her sigh, grabbing her hips and repeating his thrust just to hear the sounds she made, breath stole from her lungs with such an intimate gesture, silent and yet saying everything that Killian wanted to convey. He would go to the ends of time if it meant he could hear her mumble profanities and, most of all, his name and title, and so when it came to marking her as his forever, Killian was going to make sure she was thoroughly exhausted with pleasure.

Just how Killian could know her so well, despite hardly knowing her at all, had all become clear. An Alpha would go to Hell and back for an Omega, would even die in some cases, and Emma couldn't even imagine the turmoil Killian had felt inside thinking she was a married Beta and so confusingly addictive. Now her true nature had been revealed, and Alpha law had seen to her sorry excuse of a now ex husband, there was nothing standing in their way of eternity together. Their love was hard, and it had come fast.

"I love you," Emma breathed against his lips, a sheen of sweat sticking their foreheads together. Her breath, still ragged from two orgasms, fogged across his mouth and Emma felt his tongue touch her lips when it darted out in search of her sweet slick that now lingered on both of them.

"And I you," Killian rasped, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'll always love you."

Emma had no words in reply, simply smiling as wide as the muscles of her face would allow.

“There’s that smile,” Killian said in awe. He traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertip, brushing his thumb over the plumpness of her lips before hooking a bent finger under her chin and tilting her head up until their eyes met once more. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he purred sweetly. “I am the luckiest Alpha in the world.”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “I’m the lucky one. You found me and saved me.” She watched the quirk of his mouth as his lips curved into a knowing smile, a slight blush colouring his cheeks just visible as he bowed his head. Her palm on his cheek brought him back to her and he lifted his head, grey blue hues meeting hers once more, a sly grin on her face.

“What?” He asked shyly.

“You’re so soft, Alpha,” Emma teased.

“Oh, soft am I?” Killian growled, the coarseness returning back to his voice and the dark veil of craving flooding back into his eyes.

Two firm hands slapped her thighs, pinning himself between them, before snaking his hands beneath her buttocks and hoisting her into his arms. Emma weighed next to nothing and without prompting, her legs wrapped around his waist, his still hard cock rubbing her deliciously and earning him another soft whimper. Emma clung onto his neck, loving the strength rippling under her fingers, her vision a haze as they moved through the room. Killian was sure footed in the way he moved, his destination marked out in his mind and a smirk on his face. Emma’s skin came to life under his hold, the fine, dandy hairs reaching out as her skin tightened under his digits, her anticipation silent but evident and finally quelled when Killian reached the floor to ceiling windows of his apartment and slammed her body into the cold, hard, pane.

Emma shrieked, scrambling to settle her aching skin against the glass, confident Killian would hold her aloft, and he did, until he used her slightly sweat soaked skin to his advantage and let her slide down the pane to where she was quickly impaled on his waiting erection. He buried himself to the knot bulb, toes curling against the floor in his effort, making sure Emma could feel every inch of him inside of her. The silent gasp she emitted told him that she was nowhere near sated, her inner muscles clenching and pulling at his length in an attempt to coax out his knot, something Killian staved off with a clenched jaw.

The chill on her back did nothing to quench the fire inside of her, Emma’s body instinctively reacting to his aggression, slick coating his knot bulb that threatened to slip inside of her. Emma was so wet and couldn’t feel any of her limbs. The only part of her body she could feel was her clit and it was painfully throbbing against his pubic bone as Killian held her against the glass, her only reprieve from the precipice of her impending orgasm was when he added another forceful thrust to his assault. She thought she was dying, held in the void before another orgasm by the way Killian knew her and her body so well, each cant of his hips and drag of his cock an agony she would gladly endure for the rest of her life if he promised never to stop.

The pleasurable pain of his fingernails digging into the flesh of her behind jolted her senses and Emma knew Killian could somehow sense her impending release before she could. He had tripled his efforts, changing the angle of his thrusts so that his cock rubbed her spongy core just right, the steady rhythm of before now gone and a more powerful force overtaking him. Emma cried out with each inflicting ram of his hips, her hand fisting a clump of his hair telling him she was almost there, her orgasm just out of reach, but Killian knew just how to settle her whines and pleas. He reached under her to where they were joined and stretched the apex of her already parted thighs even wider, one last pound from his entire length and just the promise of his knot bulb sending her careening into the abyss.

Emma wasn’t sure how, but her orgasm tore through her with such force she was temporarily frozen, her limbs stiffening when Killian continued to coax more slick from her by massaging her core with his determined thrusts, only slowing his assault when Emma reached the heights of her numbing pleasure and released the hold she had on his hair. Killian lifted his head, intoxicated by the now overly sweet scent of her gland, primed with temptation and dizzy from the way she sighed his title with what little air she had left in her lungs, and kissed the underside of her jaw with a tenderness he didn’t even know he could possess whilst being so close to his own release.

“Please,” Emma whined and he almost lost himself then and there.

“Please, what?” He ground out, pushing his cock inside of her impossibly deeper, his face pressed against her cheek as he inhaled the scent of her.

“Please, Alpha,” Emma begged. “I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Killian pulled his hips back and then thrust forward with such force that all of the air left Emma’s lungs and the pane of glass she was pinned against audibly shook. He did it again and all of her insides began to tingle again, not the slightest bit recovered from her latest climax, her toes curling and her fingernails scoring lines into his back with such force, Killian could feel the rush of warmth to the lines as his skin broke and blood welled from the scratches. It spurred him on, his ferality within breaking the surface of his resolve, his head bowing and teeth scraping over the now engorged scent gland at the juncture of her neck. It called to him, Emma’s blood singing in her veins, drawing him closer still with its rhythmic thumping and making the points of his canines sharpen in anticipation of marking her.

“You smell so good, Omega,” Killian rasped, letting the point of his tooth nick her skin. “But I want more.”

“More?” Emma asked breathlessly, her core throbbing with need.

Killian pulled his cock out of her to the head and snapped his hips forward again, making her cry out and dig her heels even harder into his spine.

“The more you come, Omega,” Killian purred, licking the sweetness of her blood from her collarbone. “The better you taste.”

Emma whimpered, the darkness in his voice sending a shiver up her spine. “I can’t,” she pleaded, every single cell in her body crying out for his torture to end whilst simultaneously needing it to last forever.

“Come now, love,” Killian cooed, pausing his thrusts and brushing the sweat soaked hair from her flushed face, stroking the apple of her cheek until her eyes fluttered open to meet his. “You’ve got one more in you,” he praised with a dirty smirk. “I know you have.”

A glimmer of a smile graced Emma’s lips and melted his heart.

“See? You know it too,” he teased. Another press of his knot bulb against her sex had her gasping and her gland releasing another whiff of her heavenly scent. “And you want it, love, you can’t deny it.”

“Not here,” Emma whispered, framing his face with her shaking hands.

Their eyes locked and he saw all the last traces of the longing and hopelessness her life had been about until now disappear, and the bright spark of hope and happiness filled the space that had formed. He had done that, or at least he felt like he deserved the credit for it, helping the woman he had met become the Omega Emma was now, held aloft by the sheer will of lust alone, enticing his Alpha urges to the crest of his being. Killian might have signed Graham Humbert's contract to earn enough to live, but in finding Emma and her true nature, he had found a way to survive.

"Alright, love," Killian nodded and with a grunt of exertion he was wrapping her tightly in his arms, face buried into the swell of her gland, and making his way through the empty doorway of his bedroom.

The freshly washed bed clothes were harsh and starchy against Emma's back as Killian laid her down, letting his cock slip from her core much to both their dissatisfaction. It wasn't long before Killian was silently rearranging her until she was underneath the duvet and finding his spot right behind her, his rock hard cock still ready for its task, nudging between the crease of her buttocks as he nestled in even closer and rested his chin on her shoulder. Emma's hum of satisfaction told him he had done right, but what sort of Alpha would he be if he didn't know what truly made his Omega happy? Or how, after multiple orgasms, what could finally send her into bliss once more and finally get his knot she so eagerly desired.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked softly, the arm slung over her midriff snaking its way to her chest where he wasted no time cupping a perky breast and pulling her back flush against his chest.

"I am," Emma replied, silky smooth chest and body hair caressing her skin. “But I’m still in need of my Alpha.” She wiggled her body, arse grinding against his length, and he growled in response.

“Naughty, naughty,” he purred into the back of her ear. A hand on the jut of her hip stilled her movements whilst his knee nudged between her clenched thighs. “And what do naughty Omegas get?” He skimmed his hand from her hip down over the shape of her stomach, over her mound and between her legs, fingers slipping through the wetness of her slick that had prepared her body for what was to come. His question was met with nothing but a breathy moan and Killian wasted no time in seeking his answer, pulling back his hips and aiming his cock through her legs until he was settled between her sodden folds. “I said,” he repeated darkly. “What do naughty Omegas get, love?”

Emma sighed something incoherent that made him grin wickedly. She reached behind her and fisted his hair, the pleasurable pain prickling over his scalp just making him cant his hips more aggressively. Emma let out a squeak when the head of his cock bumped her clit and a jolt of euphoria shot through her, pooling in her lower stomach and signalling yet another impending climax, something that had Killian’s knot poking out of its sheath before he had even entered her.

“Omega,” he warned with the same blackened tone that had her coming earlier.

“The knot,” Emma sighed, grinding her soaking wet opening over the ridges of his cock, hoping beyond hope that even just the tip of him would slip inside and stretch her wide with deliciousness. “Naughty Omegas get the knot.”

Killian pressed his lips to her scent gland and his teeth ached in anticipation. “Aye, love, they do,” he hummed through his kiss.

A quick move of his hips had the angle changing so that the tip of his cock was finally slipping inside of her, slowly at first to allow her to adjust to his size, but then with a force that had stars pricking behind her eyelids and all of the air leaving her lungs once more. Killian was relentless in pursuit of her orgasm, and he knew, as he was pushing his way into her encapsulating warmth slowly, and agonizingly, that this would be her last. Marking an Omega was always easier as they came undone, the quakes and trembling of climax enough to mask the bite mark on their gland that would undoubtedly leave a scar. But it wouldn't just be a scar. Emma’s mark would tie her to him forever, a reminder that she was more precious than anything she could ever comprehend, and there wouldn’t be a single day of his life Killian wouldn’t be reminded of that by his bite mark on her skin.

With a gentle push, Killian rolled them over until Emma was laying flat on her belly and his weight was pressing her into the mattress. He pushed himself up, his muscles rippling across his back, elbows threatening to buckle when the new angle buried his cock even deeper inside of her. Emma sucked in a breath and he smirked, pushing his hips against her buttocks even harder, his knot bulb parting her cheeks when Emma pushed back against him until he could feel her slick coating his balls.

“Oh, she’s wet,” Killian purred with menacing desire. He lowered his head, brow sweat from his exertion dripping onto Emma’s back, and pressed his lips to her spine, loving the way the tiny hairs covering her skin stretched upwards for his attention. “You’re so wet, Omega. So ready for your Alpha’s knot.”

“And your mark,” Emma sighed, the word changed by a particularly forceful jab of his cock.

Killian stopped his thrusts, sucking in a breath. He’d dreamed of the words Emma had just uttered since the day he had first laid eyes on her. It seemed even his subconscious had known her true nature. Reluctantly he pulled out and sat back on his heels, encouraging Emma to roll over onto her back by gently caressing the delicate bone of her ankle.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked breathlessly as she rolled over. “Did I do something?”

“What? No,” Killian assured her quickly with a smile. He looked down at his cock, heavy and throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk. “Does it look like you did anything wrong, love?”

A pink glow bloomed over her cheeks and she shifted her eyes. “Something I said then?”

Killian licked his lips and shook his head in assurance, falling forward and crawling up over her body. Emma welcomed his bulk, her legs falling open to accommodate him and her entire body shivering from the kisses he left over her stomach, breasts and, finally, over the scent gland on her neck.

“I assure you, my love,” he said, nuzzling the divine smelling gland. “There isn’t a single thing you could ever say to offend me in any way?” He peppered more kisses to her skin, his tongue finally licking over the sensitive, heady scented bump just above her collarbone. “Alright?”

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and she could feel the length of him pressed to her entrance, her body begging for him to cant his hips and fill her up once more. “So, what is it? Why do you shy away from marking whenever I bring it up?”

“I don’t,” Killian whispered into the underside of her jaw as he continued his ministrations.

“You do,” Emma told him firmly but without a hint of malice. She planted her hands on his face, dragging his head up until his darkened grey eyes met hers. “Are you being soft again?”

One eyebrow jumped up on his forehead and his lips pulled into a wry grin. “You love that, don’t you?” Killian teased, nuzzling her nose before pressing his lips to hers. “Look, love, I just…”

“You won’t hurt me, Killian,” Emma interrupted him, stroking the faint line of a scar on his cheek. “You could never.”

He lifted his head again, eyes searching hers for the answer to a question he wasn’t even sure how to ask, a question he already, in fact, knew the answer to. Emma wanted him to mark her, claim her as his for as long as they both lived, but he had never actually done it before. In fact, Killian had spent most of his life actively avoiding the subject, but here, pinned beneath him, was one of the most beautiful, precious and sometimes intimidating Omegas he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Plenty of Omegas had sought him out of the years, but none like Emma. None compared to her enchanting good looks, her sharp wit, or her winsome smile that had beguiled him the very second he had laid eyes on her in person. He wasn’t willing to jeopardize any of those things with the process of marking unless Emma was absolutely sure it was what she wanted too.

“Killian,” she prompted, shaking him from his reverie. “I want this.”

“I’m afraid,” he confessed, the words catching in his throat. “Marking is romanticized by people who’ve no knowledge of how it happens, or what happens, when, in reality, it’s quite different. I’ve never done this before. What if...what if I can’t control my nature and I hurt you? Gods, Emma, I could never forgive myself.”

“Hey,” Emma soothed, calming his rant with a palm pressed to his stubbly cheek. He swallowed hard and let her lift his bowed head until their eyes met again. “I know marking will hurt. I’m not a fool, Killian, it leaves a scar,” Emma said firmly, but her smile faded. “If you don’t want this, I’ll understand. It’s a lot to ask-”

His lips on hers cut off her words and her last connection to reality. Soft, plump, kiss bruised lips on hers made every worry fade away instantly, quickly morphing it into desire that pooled between her legs once more. Killian nudged his cock into her entrance as he kissed her, his tongue mirroring the actions of his hips, a dirty smirk spreading over his parted lips when Emma dug her fingernails into his bicep in anticipation. She was still so wet, ready and aching for the stretch of his knot, her legs unable to spread apart any wider in a silent invitation of his length. One of Killian’s hands found her breast, softly kneading the delicate peak of her nipple with the pad of his thumb until her back arched off the bed into his touch and she whimpered into his mouth. His tongue licked at the roof of her mouth because he could swear he could taste her slick there from their kiss, and his hand continued its journey down to her hip before clutching the flesh and pinning her firmly to the bed.

“I’ll be as soft as I can,” he promised against her lips, angling his hips so that his cock was inching back inside of her.

Emma gasped aloud. “You still want to mark me as your Omega?” She ground out through her pleasure.

“Love, I beat up a Humbert for the right to claim you,” Killian reminded her with a sly grin. When he was fully sheathed inside of her once again, he held fast, letting her body relax around him, the throb of blood in the walls of her core massaging his length.

“Mmmm, don’t remind me,” Emma purred coyly, grabbing his face for another fierce kiss that tested his resolve.

Killian had meant to go slow at this point; to really make sure Emma could feel every single inch of his length and his girth in the hopes she would realise just how important she was to him, and how much he loved, and would always, love her, but the instant her lips were on his the tables were turning and Emma was clenching her core muscles in a measly attempt to pull him deeper, when in reality, all it did was serve to antagonize the feral baser beast within him. The gentle hand on her hip, meant to steady her, changed, fingernails digging into her delicate flesh and scraping ruby lines across the pale surface.

“I absolutely want to claim you, Omega,” Killian growled, breaking their kiss to watch her features as he tortured her with his cock again. He pulled out, hand slipping between them to guide himself inside of her, fingers wrapped around the bulb of his knot to stop it from slipping inside her. “But first, something to relax you, my love.”

“Alright,” Emma agreed in his accent, biting her bottom lip. “You’re knot, maybe? To ease the pain?”

“As the lady wishes,” Killian purred in agreement.

Emma relaxed under his weight, the glide of his cock, coated in slick, a torturous heat that pooled in her stomach and between her thighs. Excessive slick covered her inner thighs and the bed, the languid pumps of his cock causing it to gush out of her in time with her breathy moans, hindered in their expulsion by the grip he had on her waist and his weight pushing her into the mattress. Emma could feel him everywhere, greedy kisses gobbling up her moans and roaming hands skimming over every inch of her skin leaving fire in their wake. The scent gland on her collarbone was itching, swollen and throbbing, trying to temp the Alpha into biting down, her body desperate for Killian to do so and end her agony.

“Please, Alpha,” Emma whined. “Your knot. I need it.” She raked her nails over any part of him she could reach, her vision blurry from his Alpha musk that surrounded her senses and rendered her unable to form any thought other than those of her primal Omega nature. The desire was threatening to devour her whole, and only Killian could take it away.

“Oh, you’re going to get it, Omega,” Killian growled sultrily.

His hand found his cock, his knot almost out of its sheath, and a quick tug had it completely exposed, Emma’s slick coating the straining bulb and sending a shiver up his spine. He just wanted to be inside of her entirely, the feeling of loss far too great having seen her come three times already, but not once on his knot. He wanted the tight contractions of her core around him, his body called for it, and as he slanted his lips over hers and peppered hot, open mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, he could sense her body wanted it too. Emma’s thighs began to quake and the tell tale hitch of breath told him she was close, his efforts doubling in an instant and pressing his searing hot knot to her opening in a temptation she could only beg for.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Mark me, Alpha. Make you yours.”

The sound Killian made was animalistic, the deep, reverberating rumble filling the entire room, but it wasn't enough to drown out Emma’s cries of ecstasy when, with sharpened canines and a feral snarl, Killian sank his teeth into the soft swelling of her scent gland and her whole world turned a blinding white. Her shriek was different to what Killian had ever heard, the sound of her shuddering moan something he would never forget as long as he lived. Killian pinched his eyes closed, willing the feeling to never end, and with a final, forceful thrust of his hips, his knot was pushing past the slippery opening of Emma’s sex and he was home.

Emma went stiff in his arms and the taste of blood filled his mouth, the coppery tang enhanced by the surge of scent from her gland. The beast awoke, finally freed as he’d knotted her, and in a last ditch effort to stay as soft as his Omega liked, Killian skimmed his hand up her forearm and pinned it above her head, sucking on her gland and pushing his hips even harder into her, toes scrambling against the soft sheets beneath his feet, all to make sure that there wasn’t a chance of his knot slipping out as he trembled in pleasure and followed her into euphoria. Emma’s cry was followed by a content giggle, the flesh of her cheeks warming Killian’s forehead as he released his white knuckle grip on her hip and hand, relaxing in the afterglow of their orgasms as the intense tightness that had tipped them over the edge, ebbed away.

It took everything Killian had not to collapse on top of her, instead sinking down onto his elbows and framing her with his bulk, his chest hair sticking to the sweat that shimmered across her body. His head was spinning, the intensity of her scent almost too much. It was different now. It had become indubitably sweeter somehow, the essence of her very being and everything about it reeked of a claimed Omega, but was still indescribably still Emma. With his head on her bosom, Killian inhaled her scent like it was the air he needed to breathe, the sound of her thundering heartbeat the only thing he could hear as Emma cradled his head and stroked his hair.

“My soft Alpha,” Emma soothed, his welcome weight making her smile.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Killian said softly between kisses. With every one he felt the flutter of her muscles around his knot which just prompted him to pepper her skin with more. “You’re glowing, my love.”

“You did that,” Emma said matter of factly.

Killian pushed himself up until he was towering over her again, careful not to tug at where they were joined. “I did?” He teased playfully.

“Don’t play dumb, Alpha,” Emma chided gently.

“Mmm, I like hearing that,” Killian purred, pressing his lips to her scent gland.

“That you’re dumb?” Emma chuckled.

“No, Omega.” Killian growled seductively, staring into the green abyss of her blissful post coital stare. “That you’re mine.”

#cs fic #cs au #the contract #A/B/O #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse fic #cs fanfic #alpha!killian #omega!emma #ch 14

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theimpossiblescheme · 4 years ago

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The Rebirth of Lupin III

(I was rewatching Part 4, and this plot bunny took me hostage after watching Episode 14, “The End of Lupin III”. After what was probably Lupin’s most harrowing near-death fakeout yet, I couldn’t help but wonder about the aftermath, and before I knew it I’d written this. I hope everyone enjoys it!)

It wouldn’t have been the first time Lupin the Third “died.” Hell, given his track record, it probably wouldn’t be the last either. But damn if he hadn’t put on one hell of a show. Old Pops had been wrapped around his little finger the entire time—the discarded meals, the weakened voice, the repeated talk about the end being near… that final scene with the shared cigarette… the genuine sorrow in Zenigata’s voice, even moreso than all the other times… it was his finest performance yet.

It might also have been his stupidest.

Turned out skipping meals for multiple months, only eating what he absolutely had to in order to finish the painting on the cell floor… that kind of stunt tended to really negatively impact your health. Go figure. The amount of times he’d blacked out midway through mixing his makeshift paints, or he’d felt the acid from his own empty stomach rising into his throat as he worked… he’d honestly lost count. Walking made him dizzy, and that last cigarette tasted like nothing so much as burning tar on his lips, even as he forced himself to finish it. That final scene, hearing his ears ring as Pops spoke and feeling his hands shake under his blanket, really did feel like one. Empty stage as Lupin collapses before he can even unveil his master plan. Before he can live up to Pops’ faith in him. Lights out. Curtain.

It had been an honest to God miracle he’d made it farther than that. Standing to gloat over his victory as Zenigata finally opened the cell made his legs teeter dangerously, and his throat still felt raw, but if he was going to live to see the finale, by God he was going to make it an unforgettable one. He’d managed to walk away smiling as Pops could do nothing but laugh in hysterical disbelief, and Lupin felt a bit of that hysteria bubbling up in his own lungs, too. He’d actually pulled it off… damn, somebody up there must really like him.

Somebody out on the bay liked him, too, apparently. As soon as Rebecca and Robson’s motorboat sped into view, Lupin wasted no time leaping into the water after it. Finally, another familiar face—even if his limbs felt like they might snap at any moment, he was still going to make it out to them. To know that Rebecca had made it out alive, that she hadn’t given up on him even after so long. When she hauled him up into the boat, his head lolled onto her shoulder against her neck, and he noticed her perfume had changed. Some new label must have sent her fresh samples… she smelled nice, like a fruity cocktail on a summer day…

Rebecca brushed a lock of hair out of his face, and he suddenly became very aware of how long he’d let it get. “You look terrible,” she said with a very faint smile.

Lupin managed a wheezing chuckle in response. “Yeah, probably.”

And then he blacked out again.

When he came to, he was in an actual bed. With sheets and a pillow. What a difference it made on his neck—sleeping on concrete had done him no favors. On the endtable beside him was a bowl of stew, still hot, and a cup of what smelled like lemon tea. Not his favorite, but beggars and choosers and all that, and Robson really didn’t have to go to the trouble. Besides, after so long actively avoiding any food provided him, it smelled goddamn delicious. Even with his arms and legs still feeling like matchsticks, Lupin still managed to sit up and help himself. The stew was gone in nothing flat, and the tea was half-finished and cooling by the time Lupin felt strong enough to stand up. The Rosselini’s guest rooms were comparatively plain next to the rest of the house, but they could still stand up respectably with any of Fujiko’s favorite upscale hotels.

(Where the hell was Fujiko… or Jigen or Goemon for that matter… best not to think of that right now. He’d only just woken up, after all. There was still time… there was nothing but time now.)

And of course, the décor was hardly the highlight. Propping himself against the wall, he turned the latch on the window and opened it, letting the morning breeze waft in and the sun warm his face for the second time in God knew how many days.

San Marino was still beautiful. A jewel too big to pocket, but not too small to admire. Lupin stood for a long moment drinking in the view before turning to the guest bathroom.

The sight that greeted him there was less than beautiful. He still had the damn beard and long tangled hair, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His cheeks had hollowed out into nothing, and his skin had gone so grey and cold from darkness and malnutrition it may as well not be there at all. A skull framed with dark hair stared back at him from the mirror, and it took all of Lupin’s self-control not to hurl the half-digested stew and tea into the sink. Of all the times he had to actually almost die, it had to be when he didn’t even look like himself. A disguise would be one thing—his true face and body would still be underneath—but this…

This wouldn’t do.

Luckily, a razor and shaving cream had been left on the counter for him. Lupin immediately snatched them up and began to fill the sink with hot water, actually tapping his foot impatiently as it didn’t fill fast enough. He needed to see his face again, needed to know that it was still him under all this. When the sink was full, he wet the razor and hurriedly slathered the shaving cream across his chin and cheeks, even carelessly getting some into his hair. This would be fine. He’d be fine. Good as new, even.

If only his hands would stop freaking shaking…

He lifted the razor to the underside of his chin and instantly felt his hand slip. A few seconds of panic preceded the bolt of pain as he felt blood drip into his fingers. Damn it all… dammit dammit dammit, why’d he have to let it go this far?

“Lupin?”

The voice didn’t come from the door, but instead the window. Lupin barely even processed that before wheeling around, knees weak and face burning with embarrassment. He couldn’t let anybody see him like this, not even—

“Goemon!”

His samurai still had one leg out the window as he climbed through, but he froze in place upon seeing Lupin framed in the bathroom door. A hundred different emotions warred in his eyes, and Lupin wanted so badly to run over and hug him before Goemon’s face settled into its usual stoicism. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?”

“Ah… not exactly,” Lupin said sheepishly, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and internally cursing the cold sweat that had gathered in his hair. “I’m not really sure how long I’ve been here. Rebecca and her butler came to get me after I got away from Pops.” Another poor excuse for a chuckle wheezed out of him. “Lemme tell you… they don’t half kid around locking somebody up here if they want ‘em locked up… it’s a lot worse if you don’t have the key.”

“I can see that.” Goemon finally drew closer, studying Lupin intently. “You don’t look like you had an easy time of it.”

“Honestly, does anybody have an easy time in prison? That’s why I try to stay out of it, y’know.” But it was hard to keep even a weak smile in place, looking at Goemon now… God, he really could have died. He could have never seen him again, or any of his gang. Faking a grand exit for the benefit of Interpol, knowing he could return when the coast was clear, was so much different. And Goemon looked so healthy next to him—he’d even put on a bit of weight for once, which told Lupin that Jigen must have found him a nice Japanese place outside San Marino. Hell, compared to Lupin’s sorry state, he looked downright beautiful. It felt like it had been years… Lupin could stand there staring at him for even longer than that. How must Jigen and Fujiko look at this exact moment? Were they worried about him? Were they okay? All at once, he wished they were all here, together, and that he didn’t look like the freaking Crypt Keeper when he went to greet them.

Goemon reached up and touched Lupin’s cheek with his fingertips, and Lupin tried very hard not to lean into the touch as he had with Rebecca. “I’m not sure if the beard suits you, though. Or the long hair. You look a bit like something else crawled onto your head and died.”

That got a stronger, if extremely wry, smile out of him. Nice to know both their senses of humor were intact. “Yeah, not a fan myself… I don’t suppose you could…?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not using my sword to give you a shave, Lupin.”

“No, not with Zantetsuken, dummy—just use the razor.” There was the arch, fussy side of Goemon… he had to admit, he’d missed that, too. Nodding as if he’d understood all along, Goemon picked up the razor and washed away the blood before cupping a hand around the back of Lupin’s neck and letting him lean back as he worked. His hands were much steadier, almost gentle in their grip, and he was always a few degrees warmer than Lupin himself. Endless physical exercise would do that, Lupin supposed—ironic, considering how much time he spent under freezing cold waterfalls and out in the snow. Fujiko’s hands were always just on the comfortable side of cold, but she avoided that kind of exertion if she possibly could.

“Where are the other two?” Lupin asked, trying to move his jaw as little as possible so he wouldn’t obstruct Goemon’s work. “Are they--?”

“They’re both fine. Fujiko had rented out a beach house on the Italian mainland to wait for you, and Jigen had been spending time at one of the casinos. When I called to let them know you’d escaped, they told me they were on their day—they should be here this evening.”

Thank God… “So you finally figured out that phone I gave you, huh?”

“I’m not actually from the Sengoku Period, Lupin—I know what a cell phone is and how to use it.” He paused to wash off the razor again, and a very light pink stained his cheeks. “Fujiko also helped a great deal. Especially our first night in San Marino.”

“Oh, I’ll bet.” For once, Lupin hadn’t meant it with any lewd intent, but it didn’t stop Goemon from yanking his head back a trifle harshly as he found a new angle with the razor. “They’ve gotta be pretty pissed, too… that I took so long. I know I would be.”

“They’re upset, certainly. But no more than usual for you.” It wasn’t said with any real malice, just as a blunt statement of the truth, but it still stung. Did it make it any better or worse that for once—out of all the times he’d faked his death—he actually feared it might be for real? Instead of just an act he’d strung them along on for the sake of the greater plan?

Probably worse. At least all those other times, the plan was to come back.

“I’ll do better next time.” And he really did mean it. Although he’d probably stave off the “next time” for as long as he could—one impregnable prison cell full of rotten uneaten food was enough. “And I’m definitely not gonna let it go this far. Believe it or not, the beard isn’t even the worst of it. With my hands the way they are, I’d hate to think what’ll happen when I need to pee.”

“As long as Jigen doesn’t have to hold you up.” There was no smile on Goemon’s face, but there was one in his voice. “And I know for a fact he’ll hold you to that promise.”

Lupin couldn’t help but grimace. As much as he’d love to see his gunman again… “Yeah, not looking forward to that conversation. Not just ‘cause I’m gonna bruise like a banana if he punches me.”

“I’ll do my best to separate you.” There was the smile—it softened up the prematurely harsh lines of Goemon’s face as it always did, and Lupin had to remember to keep his head still and resist the temptation to kiss his cheeks until his lips went numb. Rinsing off the razor again, Goemon tilted Lupin’s head slightly to his right. “I might be at this for a while—please promise me you’ll never grow a beard again.”

“You got it, man. And I got all the time in the world.”

#lupin iii #my fanfic #I can't believe this is my first non-prompted piece for this fandom... I don't hate it honestly. XD #But yeah that episode is both really good and a little wild because he's apparently back to 'normal' in the end #(after an apparent time skip but still) and I'm just sitting there like... *dude you almost died.*#I know it takes a lot to knock you out of the running but *come on.*#So that was where this came from (and his relationship with Goemon doesn't get enough love so that's why he's here too. <3).

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retiredteabag · 4 years ago

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Tea

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Genre: (mainly) fluff

Word count: ...

Synopsis: As a member of the League people would expect your daily life to be busy and dangerous, and while it could be on occasion, that was not the case now. Most days you just enjoy your tea, and that’s okay.

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The cold passed, as it were, reluctantly, but it passed, and for the first time, in a long time, you went to bed early.

You silently listened to the sound of bubbling, indicating that the water was boiling. You smelt the familiar aroma of singed hair. Your cheap, old and somewhat broken boiler let off that kind of smell, it was… worrying at first but you paid no mind to it now. You hobbled over to your cheap, old, and somewhat broken refrigerator and grabbed the almost empty 2% milk, and set it on your cheap, old and somewhat broken kitchen counter and began to wonder just where You had left the container of honey.

You poured the water into your one, and let it be said, only, plain, white, coffee mug. You don’t drink coffee -didn’t like it- not the smell, the taste, especially not that it could keep you up all night, not even if it was all creamer and sugar.

Though, you did like tea. All your teammates had become accustomed to watching you come to meetings and gatherings with a mug of the stuff. At the hideout, you had several of your favorite teabags and a half gallon of milk. You often had to ward off Compress from drinking all of your good stuff because he also had a inclination towards tea.

By now the bag had steeped long enough, but you left it in. Usually after getting your tea, You would look at your cheap, old, and somewhat broken clock, realize that its only nine, think to yourself that going to bed early wound be unproductive, Shigaraki would scold you for doing nothing with your day and you would groan. You would proceed to find something, anything to do, and occupy yourself with for the next few or so hours. Today, however, was not a usual day.

Fact: You are quite good at making tea. Perhaps it’s the one singular thing that you can’t get totally wrong, maybe that’s why you get so peeved when Dabi or Toga don’t make it for you just right, maybe that’s why you don’t even drink anyone else’s tea. Why you no longer ask them to make it for you. Because at this point in your life, it’s the only thing your allowed to be stingy about. Either way, you have discovered that when you make your tea you ought drink it quickly for fear of it getting cold. So, when you make tea, you have always made it with the intention of the temperature of the liquid to slightly burn, its rather uncomfortable, and that’s why you like it.

You know before it happens, you can hear his footsteps. Running a hand through your hair you bend forward and crack your back.

Dabi walks through the door with no knocking or greeting, “God this place is a dump, maybe try cleaning every so often.” The very first thing out of his mouth.

You roll your eyes and groan. Moment of peace totally ruined.

Ignoring his rude comment you speak, “If your going to send me back to the hideout you better think again, I’m not leaving now, it’s nearly my bedtime.”

His face breaks into a wry smile, “your bedtime?”

With no change in emotion you look up at him, “Yes, and I would most certainly not like to go down to the base to be scolded by ol’ crusty about not putting in enough effort. And for what? We’re not even doing missions now. What would I participate for? The league is practically on hiatus at this point.”

Grabbing a chair you sit, lifting your legs so that one crosses over the other, taking a long sip of your tea you inwardly groan. It’s not hot anymore.

“Well for starters doll, ol’ crusty didn’t send me, second, we’re not on hiatus, we’re just...laying low as it were.” Dabi’s squinting and in the dull light of your apartment you can see him lean back on your counter.

“Why did you come then?” You ask, just then you’ve both silently agreed to not talk about the leagues inactivity, dropping the topic completely. It’s the cool thing about being around someone for so long, you can read them so well.

“Bored.” He simply states.

“Well your wasting my time, and you’ve ruined my tea.” You look down, your hands are starting to grow cold once again, now that your drink is merely warm you have lost a significant amount interest in finishing it.

Having dealt with your pickiness before, having seen you drink your tea every day, he knows how you like it. You know he knows and yet he still can never make it right.

Dabi rolls his eyes into his skull and softly grunts as he lifts himself off your counter, he waltzes over to you and pulls the mug from your grasp. He makes direct eye contact as he tactfully dips one singular finger into your drink. You hold his gaze, not moving an inch. He ignites his finger and before he even places the drink on the counter you know it’s near boiling, the scalding liquid steams and hits your face and you almost, almost grin.

By the time you go to grab the mug and melt in the heat, Dabi is already in your living room (not like it’s far...maybe two steps? Three?) he’s grabbing things and shuffling through your stuff. You pay no mind, who cares if he goes through it? Theres nothing there anyway.

Fifteen minutes go by and you’ve finished your tea, washed the mug and places it in the sink, Dabi is sitting on the musty old couch and holds an unimpressed look on his face. You sit in the space beside him. Grabbing your blanket and curling up.

“Nothings on right now. Your place sucks y/n.”

You mumble a quiet, “mhmm” and lay down into a more comfortable position but just then he gets up.

It’s a little annoying to be honest because Dabi is so naturally warm it’s kinda nice to have him close, but as soon as he’s gone the light flicks off too, then, he’s back and sighing deeply, he pulls you slightly on top of him and pushes his legs in your way. You kick him, obviously. And he flicks your arm. You both eventually just lay there, no words being shared.

Tomorrow is a whole new day, you and the rest of the league will most likely repeat this day’s expectancies, and yeah… tomorrow’s a looming new day but you don’t have to worry about that, not just yet at least. For now, you can just enjoy the fleeting comfort of your warm teammate. Yeah, you do that, for now.

The cold passed, as it were, reluctantly, but it passed, and for the first time, in a long time, you went to bed early…

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Unedited

Hey guys, sorry I was gone for a hot second, classes are a tad bit stressful lately. Dabi has been really high on my favorites list these days and I just felt like I needed to write for him, gimme your thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #bnha dabi #dabi imagine #mha dabi #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #baku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #dabi fanfic #dabi fluff #leauge of villians #bnha angst #dabi angst #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years ago

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Here we are, I apologize for the delay you guys but I can guarantee you it is so worth the wait! A humongous shout out to my incredible co-author @imlostinsantacarla for writing this with me, I had an amazing time and this is arguably one of the best written posts I’ve done so far. SO without further ado, I give you

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [3/4]

CONTENT WARNING: Offensive Language, Blood, Child Birthing Process, Intense Environment! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Marko

The soft silver moonlight slithered through the cracks and crevices overhead in the hotel, illuminating your form in a tender glow. You laid casually atop the dusty old couch worn from years of perpetual abuse, staring up into the cave’s ceiling at the little slivers of sky you could see between them, fingers fondling the soft blanket wrapped around you. Nerves caused your heart to stutter as another set of cramps waded through your body, making you feel nauseated. However, you put on a valiant front, hardly batting an eyelash as your boyfriend Marko sat beside you, eyes fixated on your form in an adoring fashion, though there was worry mixed within his countenance, a deep groove carved between his brows. Granted when you had initially announced your pregnancy you could have gone about it differently, however you were met with a joyous response from your adoring vampire. Originally David had suggested they turn you whilst pregnant to prevent any foreseeable complications, but there arose a new set of issues. Your infant would be a hybrid of vampire and human, something none of you even knew was possible. The potential need for a live body could mean that turning yourself before the birth could kill him or her in the process. Even if the birth could result in your death, unfortunately, all you could do was patiently wait, as going to a hospital was surely out of the question. Nevertheless, patience was a virtue- one Marko had yet to achieve.

The months of waiting grew heavier on him as time ticked by, whilst the haunting lack of knowledge grew more frustrating with any passing discomfort he witnessed. His inability to help you outside of a shoulder to cry on when your cramps became too unbearable to sleep through made him feel helpless, a sensation that not only was he unfamiliar with; it was one he absolutely loathed. The boys did their utmost best to be accommodating to the situation, and one certainly had to give them credit for the amount of effort they had gone through. Dwayne had gone to the library for a few books for yourself and Marko, including one or two children’s books for the baby. Paul had spent his free nights shoplifting for supplies you’d need. No one could dismantle and sneak out an entire crib like Paul could. The guy had created a craft in the endeavor. David, with the help of Dwayne, had scoped through the caves and old hotel rooms still salvageable and managed to reinforce one of the rooms closest to their own cave. You eagerly draped the walls in colorful fabrics, finding an old dresser for your child’s clothes with a surface now cluttered with stuffed animals. Toys were crammed into a wooden chest, a massive rug laid across the old wooden flooring to deter any stray splinters from harming you. Watching Paul and Marko stubbornly argue over the crib instructions was certainly the highlight of your pregnancy while David was barking at them to move out of the way when he came carrying in the glider chair in one arm and a mass of pillows in the other. Although, you had to draw the line once Marko had smacked Paul with a two by four. Surely, that was uncalled for. But according to Marko, not so! Best friend or not, no one said he had the building skills of a drunk monkey!

Tonight was the night that would mark round about the eighth month of your pregnancy, and, - if it were truly possible -, Marko nearly had a heart attack when your false contractions came into play a few weeks ago. This ignited a vigilant nature within him, motivating him to remain much closer to you than he had previously been, which resulted in a lot of checking up on every unusual sound that you made. It was impossible for it to be helped. Well, that's what he kept telling you anyway.

"You know, I can skip out on the hunt tonight…" Marko trailed off, cool fare fingertips dancing along the soft flesh of your arms, creating goosebumps to rise in their wake. The contrast between body temperatures was ghastly and you shivered, more at the electric shock that raced through you whenever he touched you.

"Babe, you skipped out on the hunt last night, and the night before, and even the night before that. Marko, you must be starving!" You sighed irately, tipping your head back in frustration before turning it in his direction. Ever since the news of your pregnancy, Marko's primal instincts to protect you and your child had grown in vast numbers. It was pleasant to begin with, almost endearing… Though, as months sped by it had grown a hindrance because the young man was hardly even caring for himself now, and he hardly ever left your side. Honest to God, it was smothering, leaving you almost agitated at the sight of him. He was aware of this, yet still could not resist the urge within him that called for him to aid you in whatever way he could. There was an ample amount of anxiety over future happenstances such as your water breaking, uncontrollable cramps, the ACTUAL birthing of the child! You were understanding of his concern, but there was only so much that could be done. After all, you wanted your baby just as badly as he did. But he couldn’t allow his health to decline due to his own worry, you needed him. And frankly, your sense of unease was bordering onto the bandwagon of fear when you saw Marko’s ribs sticking tightly against his translucent flesh, a plethora of dark circles sinking his blue eyes into his skull. He wasn’t eating, he hardly slept, and soon he wouldn’t be able to control his frenzies.

"I don't know, baby girl," Marko began hesitantly, his round eyes widening as they peered into your own thoughtfully. Worry had never been a good look on Marko, and now, you longed for the days where reading him had been more difficult. His anxiety was like a fungi, infecting your very aura at the same time. "I don't wanna leave in case something happens you know? I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kinda thirsty but that stuff can wai-" You interrupted him with your fingertips gently silencing his lips, your eyes having shut as you breathed deeply to calm your nerves. This boy was driving you nuts.

"Marko, I know how worried you are. I am too. But babe, I can tell that it's getting harder for you to be around me because you haven't fed. I really don’t want to start smelling like a fillet mignon to you, and if you’ve been looking at me like some mouth watering steak, we run the risk of the baby becoming appealing as well, I know you don’t want to risk that." You quipped with a quirked brow, lips tucked up into a wry smile as you stared straight at him. Your case was a good one, there was no doubt about it. There could be a very good chance that Marko, albeit not on purpose, could harm you or the baby if he smelled the scent of blood or even heard a too hasty of a heartbeat. And if there were to be an accident such as that, Marko would be plagued by an immense amount of guilt for all eternity. “Besides, it’s only the seven and a half or eight month point right now. I’m not having the baby for at least six more weeks. Right now, I need you to be at your best. Please babe.”

"But-" Marko began to protest.

"She's right, Marko." David piped up lazily from across the room, his eyes never leaving the book that he had been reading. He turned the page briskly before continuing, "You need to feed. It's the basic terms of vampire-hood. If you don't, you die! Now, what good would that do anyone then?" He inquired sardonically, a trace of a smirk in the air.

"Yeah, bud! David and Y/n are right! Just go on one feed with us." Paul grinned from ear to ear at his bestest pal in the whole world, despite the horrifying fact that said best friend had hit him in the head with a two by four. Excitement had been rushing through Paul's entire being during this whole process. He was going to be an uncle man, how could he not be excited?! It had been such a bummer since Star left with Laddie, it’d be cool having some new tiny mind he could influence. Not that he'd even get as far to really influence the child without getting a brisk smack to the back of the head by David before you and Marko could even lift your fingers. No, he would not be teaching your child about the world of “Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” at five years old!

"I mean-"

"With the way you're going, you're gonna be a shriveled prune." Dwayne muttered out of thin air as he slowly rolled past Marko and yourself on his skateboard. The hulking raven haired vampire came to a standstill as he stepped slowly off of his board. Dwayne was also right. Marko wasn't looking his brightest. Feeding was a nightly routine for a vampire in order to ensure they took in the right nutrients their dead bodies could not produce for themselves. Especially since they weren't capable of absorbing those nutrients through human food any more. Marko had to feed, there was no whisking his way around it, no matter how many excuses he could come up with.

The trio of boys stared at the curly haired blonde, your eyes also capturing his form. There was a stretch of intense silence that flooded through the hotel as Marko thought over his options, pushing a mesh of frizzed blonde hair away from his face. He didn't want to risk going out and a possible complication occurring with the baby or yourself. But he also didn't have a strong desire to cause a catastrophic accident whilst going into a frenzy when your heart rate started skyrocketing due to cramps or whatever. Already his mouth was watering profusely as he stared down at his worn hands beginning to wither from lack of nourishment, the consistent thudding of your heart and the delectable rush of your blood in your veins made it practically impossible for the man to focus for much longer.

"Man, just go! I'll stay with her." Paul finally interjected, slightly irritated that his buddy was being such a pansy about the entire situation. "If anything happens I'll scream at the top of my lungs or something, man. I got this! Scouts honor!" Paul added sarcastically, flattening a palm over his heart as he raised his free one up by his head. The entire thing looked comical, it made the others laugh.

"Yeah, sure, let me get the flowers early for the funeral," Dwayne muttered, settling himself on another dusty old couch with a soft sigh.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dick breath?" Paul roared, brows pulled together in anger, punching Dwayne’s shoulder..

“Can you even give scouts honor if you were never in it?” you asked with a laugh to your tone, raising a brow at the blonde trying to rapid punch the utterly indifferent vampire planted in place.

"Dwayne has a good point, Paul." David sneered at his comrade, blue eyes lit up like torches watching Dwayne yank Paul into a headlock on it’s way to a noogie. "You remember the last time we-"

"Ow! Okay, I didn't know she wasn't allowed to drink alcohol! But she never drank any so I don't get why you guys keep bringing this shit up!" Paul muttered, managing to wiggle himself out of Dwayne’s iron grip. With stubborn stomps he huffed, flopping onto the edge of the fountain in the middle of the room, his chin resting on his hands. He stared at you and Marko for a moment before continuing. "Man, I swear I won't pull another stunt like that again! I can take care of her! Dwayne told me the gist of what she can and can't have. I can do this, buddy." it was practically the most pitiful thing you had ever seen, it even tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You looked to Marko for confirmation and from the twinkle in his eyes, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. 'Let's just let him do this so he can stop pouting like a brat.'

"Alright, alright!" Marko stated, gloved hands raising up in the air in defeat. "You can watch out for her, but if ANYTHING happens, man, you've gotta go and find me. No fucking around and no fucking weed either!" Marko was firm as he spoke, eyes boring seriously into Paul's.

The sun broke out onto Paul's face, his pearly whites glinting from the fires scattered around the hotel. You could tell in that moment that Marko had made Paul's entire century. "Fuck yeah! Scouts honor, dude. Just like I said before!" the blonde rocker was practically bouncing in his seat like he needed a piss. He hardly looked like a badass biker vampire that went out murdering people left, right, and center every night. He looked more like a baby rabbit.

“I fucking mean it man,�� Marko firmly repeated. “No weed, no booze, no being a dumbass.” Although he was being firm there was a slight twitch to his mouth. Being stern with Paul was often impossible but you had to admit, Marko was doing a grand job without the two by four!

Paul threw his hands up in the air in such a rushing motion that you were surprised they hadn't flung out of their sockets. “God damn, trust me man. I’m not gonna let anything happen! You guys need to gimme more credit here, who’s the one that stole a fucking crib for you assholes?”

With a tenacious huff, you wedged your hands behind your back feeling that the full weight of your belly was determined to keep you jammed between cushions, but nevertheless, you managed to heave yourself up and off of the dusty old couch with an audible grunt. The four boys' heads turned to watch you, instinctively with brows furrowed. They thought they'd insisted that if you needed to be moved, they would help you rather than let you strain yourself any more than you had to. But you were impossibly stubborn! You had insisted on multiple occasions that it was necessary for you to move, even exercise to keep you and the baby healthy. None of them were willing to humor you but you’d found that tuning out their protests was the best course of action in most occasions. And by impulsive habit, Marko dove over to offer you assistance, though you only responded by swatting his hands away from you. You were fine!

“I’m fine Marko, don’t worry I can get up on my own. Anyway, Paul’s right,” you agreed, looking over at your friend who beamed with delight at your praise, arms crossed over his chest with a nodding head of total satisfaction as if you had just given a mighty speech. “He’s not gonna let anything happen. Besides, what could really go wrong in just a few hours?”

"Babe, don't say shit like that, you could jinx it!" Marko cried incredulously, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Babe get a grip. There's no such thing as “jinxing” things." His worrying was really starting to bug you. And what did you do in turn? You did and said the exact opposite of him, a way to subconsciously counteract the apprehension that oozed out of him like a foul smell. Carefully you took his hands into yours and placed them on your taut belly. “See? Feel for yourself.”

For the past several months Marko had attested to being able to hear your unborn spawn within your stomach. Not necessarily thoughts, but emotions. Cluttered, wild, uncertain emotions that would come in jumbled waves. There was a weary contentment within you, sleeping soundly in a cradle of water kept safe within. Finally his muscles began to relax, tension beading out into limp arms as Marko pulled you in for a firm hug, holding you against him.

“You promise me.. If anything happens, you scream for me immediately. No toughing it out because you’re worried about me eating.” He mumbled sweetly into your hair, taking in a slow inhale of your heavenly scent. It was the one thing that could soothe his soul instantaneously, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Marko-”

“Please, Y/n.”

His plea made your heart ache with slight agony. It was a desperate rasp, his arms almost trembling. There was a rush of relief filling him when you wrapped your own arms around him with a tender smile. “Okay. Alright, I promise, if anything happens I’ll call for you,” you hummed in tender response. For a moment you had to take a moment to pause, feeling a low and deep, sharp pain stretching from your abdomen to your back. Instead of making a fuss you tried to ease your breathing before Marko could notice. You weren't prepared to allow a few false contractions to get the better of you and stop him from getting his fill of the blood he so desperately needed at this point. And you also weren't going to play into any of Marko's anxieties either. You could do that when he returned from his hunt. Gently you lifted his chin. His cold lips felt cracked against your own, cementing how desperately he needed to feed. Even his kisses grew hungry, and you had to pull away from him before this grew into a horror show. “Go, you goof.”

It had taken some further convincing for him to leave, by the time he finally left with David and Dwayne it almost felt otherworldly in that cave. The lack of presence was almost spooky, though thankfully Paul was nice enough to loan you his walkman to curb the initial silence. Playing his Def Leppard tape you sat back into the couch, breathing through the occasional cramps that would continue to sneak up on you in a pulsing fashion. Hysteria was always your favorite album, as the dulcet tones of the rock ballad began to lull you into a half sleep state. But the continuous bombardment of contractions had begun to grow concerning. They weren’t slowing down, nor consistent in their spaces between as they should be. Cautiously you sat up, counting out the seconds between the first and the next. One minute, two minute, three… and again. For a full minute your muscles spasmed and ached, almost drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. Again you counted. One minute, two, th- no! Now it came again at a two minute interval. In a haste you peeled the headphones from your ears, grasping your stomach as you leaned forward suddenly. Your legs buckled, every time you tried to stand the pain just dragged you back down. “Fuck.. oh go- Paul!”

The blonde vampire was so lost in his own world he was nearly jolted out of his seat by your panicked cries. “What, what’s up you- JESUS!”

Without missing a beat, Paul slipped on the floor beneath his feet, barely having the reflexes to catch himself before his face could meet the ground with a harsh smack. The floor was soaked! Seriously, who spilled water everywhere? “Damn man, what happened here? Why is it all-” again, his words were paused, almost as if they'd been caught in his throat whilst he looked over your doubled over form clutching your profound belly. “Oh- oh shit! Oh fuck no way! Shit, holy fuck shit are you-?? Is it?!”

“Yes! ” You cried out incredulously, cutting off his panicked questioning in a hasty fashion. A sudden cry escaped your lips whilst you gasped in desperation, your spine going erect as you flattened your palms out behind you to stabilize yourself. "Oh god!"

"Oh shit man, I better get Mark-" Paul began, face having dropped to terror.

"No! I swear to go- ow! Paul, if you even dare- I swear I will stake you myself! Ow!"

“What, are you crazy?!” He demanded, jutting his arms in your direction. “You swore you’d call him, dude! This is big, man, he’ll kill me if anything happens to you! Oh fuck but he’ll kill me if I leave you alone- Fuck!” Paul swiftly kicked over one of the tables, running his hands through his mess of hair. The thing looked more like a lions' mane in all honesty. “Bed! We gotta get you to your bed, like now!”

"And how are we gonna do that, asshole?"

Paul's face soured immediately at your insult and with a swift motion, he swung you up into his arms bridal style, paying little mind to your plethora of protests. “Shut up already. I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health! But you gotta be in bed! I may be a dumbass but I at least know that much!” He muttered, carefully tightening his grip as you attempted to wiggle out from it. He rapidly stepped over tunnels and rocks whilst he swung his way into the cavernous nursery where your bed was nestled into a corner, his calloused fingers on one hand releasing your legs as he pushed the black curtains that draped heavily over the frame. And with that, he placed you gingerly down on the bed, staring at you with a perplexed expression with a hint of something else. Was- no, that couldn't be embarrassment.

"What're you staring at," you questioned, a nervous twinge to your voice. You rolled on your side to relieve some of the pulsating throbs that ran rampant through your muscles.”

"Uh- well- shit! I mean, we need to take off your pants, man. What if you start pushing and the baby suffocate or something?"

“I can’t even start pushing until I know how dilated I am,” your voice was quivering, clutching your stomach. “If I were to push too early it could kill us both.”

"Oh fuck! Where's Marko when you need him?!"

The dreaded predicament was growing increasingly deadly the more your body warned of its approaching birth, and soon you were left with a terrifying decision. Wiping away the thick layer of sweat misting your flushed cheeks, you managed to breathe out a hesitant response. “Paul.. You have to go get him.”

"I’m sorry, WHAT?!" Paul’s voice echoed in the caves at a high pitched octave. “No! No freaking way, I am not leaving you here, you’re having a fucking baby! What if something happens to you? Fuck Marko being haunted, there’s no way I would be able to live with myself!” Paul ranted on, throwing his arms in the air whilst he paced around the sides of your bed in an antsy motion.

Sobs made your chest spasm uncontrollably, rolling over again onto your back. No position provided relief anymore, the contractions following still at an even two minutes each. “It could be hours before I’m actually ready to give birth! We have to know h-how far I am a-and the only way to do that…”

“...Yes? What way, c’mon maybe I can do that!” Paul stopped dead in his tracks to face you, serene as he had ever been in his entire life.

“You’d have to stick your fingers in me,” you groaned with imminent embarrassment, receiving an equal look of humiliation and horror from Paul’s pale face. He looked down, then at the cave’s entrance. Guilt plagued him, this kind of decision had never been put in front of him before. He knew his options were slim, but he also knew where they hunted, if he could catch Marko’s scent outside he could easily find him. But again, he looked at you writhing in pure agony on top of your bed in tears. A knot tore at his own gut like someone was trying to rip them right out of him, his throat aching when he swallowed, a dryness had developed from nerves. “You sure you can handle it until I get back. You fucking swear you’ll be okay? Just for a few minutes.”

You could only nod in response as the pain was so debilitating it rendered you utterly speechless!

“Please, just go get him.” You managed to squeak out intensely. The expression of pain mixed with fear that captured your beautiful features truly did break his heart.

Paul sighed deeply in defeat, his fingers gently pushing your hair from your face. “Stay tough kiddo, I’ll be fast as fucking lightning.” You hadn’t even seen him leave, a huge gust of wind caused the bed to shudder, leaving you utterly and completely alone.

Kicking away your soggy jeans, you promptly pulled yourself to the top of the bed with your back pressed against the headboard. With every passing contraction you fought to breath evenly through it, fingers tightly clutching the sheets beneath you. “Fuck...god Paul hurry please!”

Paul flew as speedily as he could carry himself through the air, his nocturnal eyes aflame, rapidly scanning the ground for any sight of his buddies. The fresh scent of blood wafted through the cool night's air which coaxed him closer to the boardwalk, perhaps a mile or two north. The fucking sand dunes, of course! Sure enough, amongst a towering, crackling bonfire stacked high with the charred remains of surfboards that belonged to screaming Santa Carlites currently being devoured, there he spotted the trio of vampires tearing and ripping into the flesh and bones of unfortunate victims. Their blood spraying in odd directions, splattering across their clothes and hair. "Marko!” Paul yelled far louder than he needed to, panic evident on his countenance whilst he clumsily crash landed into the wind whipped rouge sands below. The display caught the attention of his brothers immediately as they finished off their prey in a geyser of crimson fluids, leaving the ground stained.

Marko dropped the lifeless shriveled up human carcass he had been cradling savagely in his arms to the ground with little interest for it any longer. His previous frail lineament now long gone, replaced with a healthy complexion. Although Marko felt he was back to his full capacity, he couldn't help the immediate apprehension and terror that sparked within his chest as it panged in his gut nauseously. "Paul?! Dude what the fuck are you doing here, where’s Y/N?? What's wrong?" He asked, panic straining his voice.

"Dude! Fucking hurry up! I think Y/n's in labor, man!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Marko demanded, grabbing Paul by his jacket. “You fucking left her?!”

“Marko, man, listen! One minute she was okay, the next she's screaming bloody murder and the fucking floors drenched!" Paul panted, doubled over as he'd flown here with all his might. "Before you ask, she's on her bed, okay? I took her there myself, even with her kicking and screaming. Dude I swear I didn’t just ditch! I swear, man I didn't wanna leave her but she said she needed someone to stick their fingers inside her or fucking whatever cuz if she pushes the baby will die, I dunno man but I'm not itching to do that ever!"

Marko said nothing, primal instincts kicking in full throttle as he sailed through the air and headed straight for the cave. His mind wandered to perilous details in furious cluttered thought, things that already created all the more apprehension to to twist in his gut, turning them round and round. His thoughts immediately went to the fact that you were alone in the hotel, in the purest of all agonies, having to go at this on your lonesome. The closer he sailed over the coastline the more he could hear. Your voice was just in the distance carried on the winds in gut wrenching cries that tore him apart. His next thoughts dwindled on your safety as well as the babies. He was very aware that there was no doctor involved in the mix, which meant no hospital and certainly no pain killers. He was terrified as his mind blasted through the worst of the worst. Didn't women used to die of childbirth back in the day? Was there a possibility that you could die?

Marko hadn't even noticed that the others boys had been hot on his heels, prepared to offer aid wherever they could.

"Marko, man! Slow down!" David called, struggling to keep up with the pace in which his pal was flying. The little bugger had gotten a head start, fueled by his pessimistic contemplation. But Marko didn't halt or slow down for that matter. There was no time for any of that! He had to get to the hotel and into your room as swiftly as possible, he wouldn’t dare slow down! What the hell was David even talking about anyway? Slow down?! Slowing down would do nothing but increase the chances of something else going wrong. He knew that the moment you'd spoken the words of, "what could go wrong in a couple of hours", that you had completely and utterly jinxed the entire night!

His body dove and swerved through the hotel passing caves and holes, nearly crashing as he sped to a desperate stop inside the nursery. Your screams were crystal clear, as though they were right there, yet the sound rattled his ribs until he thought he would pass out. Still hidden away behind pitch black curtains, he could almost see your pitiful form writhing in limitlessly excruciating anguish. Rapidly his steps carried him to your bedside where you were still smothered in fresh blood, wrenching away the curtains. The sight was a visage of carnage torn straight from hell itself! Yet you only saw your dearest prince, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes left distorted by cruel tears. His coarse hand clutched yours immediately, providing the first rare moment of sanctity you had felt. The sudden motion and contact from him startled you tremendously, causing you to shriek when another contraction sent you into a panic. "Hey, it's me, baby girl. It's just me." He cooed comforting down at you, his free hand smoothing your damp hair from your sweat slick face. He probably looked like hell, still covered head to toe in his latest victims blood. That probably wasn't the most hygienic state for him to be in during the birthing of his child. But he had to work with what he had. There wasn't exactly running fresh water in the hotel anyway. It was almost unbearable for him to watch you, the color drained from your cheeks, grasping his hand until he swore he heard bones begin to crack.

“Marko.. I-I can’t push yet.. I d-don’t know how far I am,” You choked out, pressing the back of your head into the mattress when pulsating rivers of agony wove through you in cruel waves. The pain was now a disarray of spontaneous choreography, a violent tempo swelling and spreading throughout your entire body, leaving your brain foggy and black spots waltzing at the corners of your vision.

Before Marko was able to utter a word, the three boys bounded into the room, breathless and covered in a film of dampness, no doubt most likely from the crashing waves of the sea that battered along the cliffs' edge. The intrusion was noisy and agitating, leading to Marko's eyes becoming beacons of flourishing orange and his head whipped towards the guys. "Will you guys get lost? I'm not about to have you guys stand there like the Triplets of Fucking Bullshit while I try to figure out how dilated Y/n is!" he practically roared, the cave was shuddering for a moment as specs of dust flitted sporadically to the ground.

“Marko, baby, please calm down," you begged him, placing a hand on his forearm. The sight of him still smeared in blood was one thing, but such rage even at his brothers almost frightened you, his head practically whipping around to face you with fangs bared and piercing white hot eyes tearing into your own. It felt like he had stared straight through into your soul which was certainly not what you needed currently. The petrified expression left plastered across your palored cheeks made Marko feel incredibly remorseful, running his fingers through his hair. He was running on little sleep and barely had enough to satiate his lingering appetite, leaving him still quite exhausted.

"It's fine. We'll clear out. C'mon boys." David stated, Dwayne having already left. He stared pointedly at Paul though, who was staring at you in fright. He felt as though he should be there, however, with David staring at him so intently, he glanced over your way. You could only give him a weakened smile, your gaze assuring him you were safe now. Paul hung his head low and squeezed past the spiked blonde boy briskly. And David followed suit, not sparing another glance your way. It seemed cold but truthfully, David wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation. Heightened emotions made him uncomfortable. David was better away from this specific spotlight, and currently his friend was in a frenzy he wasn’t willing to have escalated in such a delicate moment. He'd deal with the aftermath once the storm had passed. Marko could deal with the storm singlehandedly if that's what he so desperately desired. I mean, David hadn't knocked you up, so why get his feathers ruffled when he wasn't wanted there anyway?

“You… owe th-them an... a-apology,” you managed to pant out, wearily smacking his arm when a moment of relief between contractions allowed your voice to return.

Marko huffed, shimmying off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair as he climbed on top of the bed with you, shutting the curtains. “I’ll make it up to them later babe, now’s not the fucking time.” Marko grumbled indignantly, his vampiric features morphing back to his human ones.

It was incredibly important for Marko to ensure that you were dilated 10 centimeters. This was not just for the babies sake but also for your own. If you pushed too soon it could prove fatal for you and your child. There was an instinct in you that told you to push, though Marko insisted adamantly that you hold off on pushing for the meantime. Stress riddled Marko to the core as he knelt down in front of you on the bed, his fingers comfortingly stroking your inner thighs prior to pulling back and nearing your entrance. To begin with he slipped in a finger, pushing softly as the books had told him until he reached the surface of the cervix which if he hadn't been reading the books that Dwayne had given him, he would have thought it didn't exist. Instead, he was met with a rubbery balloon-like texture which he knew was the bag of waters that held your baby. He slowly retracted his finger and added a few more, until he was certain that you were way past the 5cm mark. "Ow! B-babe! Tbh-that hurts!" You complained loudly, back arching off the mattress as you flinched, brows knitted together in contorted pain.

"Really?" Marko snapped, eyes meeting yours whilst his fingers froze within you. "You've had much worse in there and a few fingers hurt? Sheesh!" He stated slowly, his expression flattening momentarily. And suddenly, as if by magic, the tension that had been suffocating the pair of you lifted somewhat, causing the pair of you to chortle for a moment before you winced, a grimace clouding your expression.

"Shut up you complete asshole, h-how about I sh-shove a watermelon up you butt, s-s-see how you like it,” you breathlessly laugh, leaning your head back against your pillow. “So, c-can I p-push now, or not?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that you're 10 centimeters now, babe."

Some form of twisted relief washed over your soul in that moment as you let the instinct to push was over you. There was a slow, long drag pulling through your back. It was like a tiger had dug it’s hooked claws into you and was pulling them down through your flesh. The endeavor was tiring, grueling in fact, leaving you dizzy and exhausted. But yet there was a set determination that took over you whilst you pushed desperately. Your toes tightly curled in place, grunts and panting replaced by blood curdling screams that sent chills down any who heard it. Tears made it impossible to see, the salty concoction of tears and sweat staining your face. Everything burned, you were fearful you may pass out. Though as soon as you pushed you found yourself holding your breath, to which Marko had to coach you through how to breathe. A deep breathe in and another deep breathe out. In through the nose out through the mouth. Well, more like, in through the mouth and back out again. He also had to remind you when to rest,especially when he took note of exhaustion blanketing across you.

“Marko- I can’t! No, no! Fuck I can’t it hurts so fucking bad,” you cried out until your throat was raw, having to be snatched by him before you launched up, pinned precisely in place by his steel grip. “No, god, I can’t do this! Please, I-I can’t I can’t it h-hurts!”

"Come on, baby girl you can’t stop now! You have to hold still, it’s gonna be okay, you've got this." Marko encouraged ceaselessly, offering his pale hand to you to hold. Using his other he cemented you in place, knowing one wrong move could kill the baby. Your strength caught him by surprise when you snatched his hand tightly, grateful he couldn’t feel the crushing grasp of your fingers as his dead bones began to crack. Fortunately for him, years of rigor mortis and rot had decayed most of his nervous system by now. He held your head back on his chest, continuing to coax you with tender words. “Almost there baby, almost I know it hurts, I know, I’m so sorry baby." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath fanning across your hot flushed skin. You swallowed thickly, almost as though you were in a trance as you continued your strained pushes. A pinkish liquid spilled out and onto the sheets in a cruel, seeping motion. Marko noted it’s scent carried a heavy copper tone and glanced down as the pale salmon tint deepened into a dark crimson hue. Your screams had nearly numbed his ears by now, although it was not a sound he desired to grow accustomed to.

Marko softly unwound his arms around you, though he kept his left hand in your ironclad grip. He needed to ensure that blood was the baby’s head crowning and not some horrendous miscarriage. He wouldn’t dare mention the alternative to his mate mid-birth, pushing away the blankets covering your legs and to his amazement there was your baby's head crowning momentarily before slipping back inside. From what he'd read, this was a completely normal process, your pushing, in conjunction with your contractions would continue to shift the baby down the birthing canal and out of you. Your heels dug into the mattress with your back arching upward as your mouth was aghast in treacherous suffering, a hideous cry drawing tears from your eyes. The room began to sway, the pace of your heart was that of wild horses unleashed on an open plain. Heat grasped you from every angle, it was getting harder to breathe the more you fought through it. Fear grabbed hold of your lungs, squeezing violently, picking up your heart rate until Marko could hear it thundering beneath your rib cage like a frightened animal wanting to be let loose of its cage. Your rapid labored breaths carried a concerning pace that had him beside you once again.

“Marko.. T-the room..,” you tried to whimper out between screams, head swaying to the side staring at the pitch black curtains that somehow seemed to be seeping into your surroundings. You could feel the drag pulling down your back into your birth canal, you were so close but the sheer exhaustion tempted you to faint at any moment. “I..I can’t..” you gasped out under your breath so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined the words.

"Just one more push, babe," Marko pleaded, brushing his hand over your damp forehead. In a sweet, yet ardent motion your hair was pushed back from your face. You clung to his hand, pressing your forehead against his frigid palm savoring the relieving rush of cold. The sight of his wide eyes connecting with yours forced a momentary breath of air, those perfect blue pools gave you something to focus on. The blackness was scattered, a last scream forcing it's way out of your throat as you gave one final push, the dragging motion within you halting. Light faded in and out of your vision, rapid black splotches flickering around the room, the pain becoming dull and pulsating. You hardly even noticed the muffled, shrill cries emitting from your newborn, or the fact that Marko had already had her wrapped in a towel once he'd cut the umbilical cord. Your chest shuddered when you breathed, the small pink infant squirming beneath white fabric making whimpering grunts. Small fingers stretched out, clutching at Marko’s shirt.

“Marko.. Wh-what are they,” you groaned our, flickering lashes barely keeping you conscious.

Marko hesitated to glance between misted eyes, choking out a stunned laugh. “A girl…”

The blood stained her red skin, and before he could wipe away the sticky red substance off her fingers she suckled at the red liquid, eyes bright white just as his were when his fangs were bared. She had yet to form her own, and when there was none left on her hand they had faded back into little grey, uncolored orbs. The lack of food had become noticable, and she let out a fussy whine, kicking her feet against the blanket in a fit. So that's what she needed to feed on. Marko gently bounced her in his arms, nuzzling his forehead against hers until her tantrum was subdued. “Shhh shhh, it’s okay baby girl.. Plenty of time for that later... Daddy will bring you a big ol bag of blood when mommy feels better, I promise.”

You blinked away tears as she was delicately passed into your arms, weighing no more than eight or nine pounds just as weary as you were. “Wilhelmina...,” you choked out, brushing your fingers across her plump cheek.

“Billie huh?” Marko asked, laying on his side beside you with his bent arm elevating his head, his fingers reached out to brush against the blonde dusting of hair on the head of his daughter, a grin plastered on his face, an exhausted twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I like that... Wilhelmina it is.."

He now felt like finally, in these eight months of your pregnancy, that he could catch some shut eye. Time had become distorted, he had no idea whether it was daytime or night time any more, the two may as well have been blurred together. In your safe haven of thick black flowing curtains, Marko placed Billie delicately into your heavy arms, slumber already having wrapped you tightly in its deep and vast embrace. He curled his fingers around the dark fabric, pulling it skeptically out of the way. The room was swallowed in darkness, however, his nocturnal eyes easily scoped out the shut door at the other end of the room. He thought for a minute, capturing his bottom lip in between his teeth. He chewed on it for a moment before pulling himself up and off the bed. Truthfully now that his territorial rage had fizzled out he knew he owed the guys for how much of an ass he'd been when confronted with your unexpected labor.

With tentative steps, so as not to disturb you, Marko flitted towards the shut door, no light seeping underneath the crack of the door. He twisted the knob carefully, a low squeak creeping into the air as he opened the door. He stepped out into the passageway leading to the main cave and began a somewhat hurried stroll. Honestly he was ecstatic to tell the boys. To show them his daughter was something he was practically bouncing on the spot for he couldn't wait!

Marko, briefly unaware with his contemplation cluttering his mind, did not fully register the danger as he stepped forward into a stream of sunlight just up ahead cutting clearly through the decrepit roof of the hotel. It wasn't until the searing sizzle of his flesh did he register that he was caught aflame from the sun's rays. With a shriek he recoiled, battering at exposed flesh to kill the flames. He smoldered for a moment, back pressed to the wall as he peered into the vacant lobby of the ancient hotel. He sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Dammit! Well... I guess they'll just have to meet Billie tonight then," he concluded with finality, not giving it much thought before he turned and made his way back to your room with heavy eyelids, finally content. As he padded softly into the room, shutting the door behind him, Marko couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. It was an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders now that he'd be able to go out to feed without fearing something could happen to you. That was more than enough to cure him of any and all anxiety that had previously immobilized him.

As he settled himself underneath the covers, he brought you closer, baby Billie placed tenderly between you both and he grinned half halfheartedly, a dopey, wide grin that pulled on his heavy eyelids. "I'm kinda glad you jinxed it, babe." he breathed into the air before he allowed the weight of sleep to shut his eyes and encapsulate him in its lulling motion.

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alphawave-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Clapback

Fuse/Caustic (GasGrenade? Fitznox? Dunno, I’ll use them both) SFW fanfic

Read it here or find on AO3 via this link.

Synopsis: Caustic decides to confront Fuse on a certain incident that occurred live on intergalactic waves involving Fuse's hand and his posterior.

—

Caustic is certainly not the guy to get his ass slapped. Caustic is certainly not the type of person to let people close enough to even slap his ass in the first place, but the games forces him to take a closer proximity to people. Relationships are confusing, messy diagrams of webs and chains and links, just as human bodies are, and it reminds Caustic why he never went into Genetics. Or, for that matter, why there are few who would dare approach him.

But Fuse is a special type of individual with all of the worst traits of the dumbest legends. He has the loud mouth of Mirage, the act-first-think-later attitude of Octane, and—on the rare occasion he gets serious—the wry snark of that pestiferous Crypto. It's no secret that Salvo is full of savages, which makes him a surprisingly capable teammate, so of course the producers of the Apex Games decide that for his very first game, he should be in a team with Caustic and Bloodhound. Of course he talks a big talk, but otherwise he has shown himself to be a capable individual on the battlefield. Unlike Crypto or Natalie or the countless other scientists he knew in the past, Caustic doesn't expect Fuse to be the kind to stab him in the back.

And then Fuse slaps Caustic's ass. Live. For all to see.

And with that, his carefully tailored public reputation, the persona of Caustic, it has all crumbled down to a few key words. Caustic: the man who's ass got slapped on intergalactic waves, and appeared to like it.

"Mate, it's just a cheeky thing the mates do to each other on Salvo. You're telling me you guys don't slap each other's ass after a game of footy or somethin'?"

"This is not Salvo," Caustic reminds Fuse for what must be the hundredth time. Internally, he has to remember to check up what 'footy' is. Probably Salvonian slang for something gruesome.

"Yeah, nah, I get that, doc, you don't have to remind me," Fuse sighs. "Look, even I admit I was tryna rile up the crowd, but I didn't mean to get you stuck in all this sh—mess."

At least the man has some common sense not to use such vulgar language around him. Quite frankly he finds such crude words indicative of low intelligence. "It does not matter what the crowd thinks," Caustic says, even though he knows that's a bit of a lie. "What matters is that you have put me in an uncompromising position."

"Well, I haven't got you to an uncompromising position yet," Fuse smirks.

Caustic glares at him. "I expect you to rectify this immediately."

"OK, OK, sheesh. Look, I'll let ya in on somethin', if you wanna let the whole thing slip away, you just gotta let it die first. Fighting fire with fire may work on the field, but it ain't gonna stop people from coming up with ideas. Trust me, the amount of people who thought I was shacking up with Mags—er, Maggie—of all people…" Fuse shivers. When Caustic doesn't look convinced, he adds, "I've got an interview coming up tomorrow. If it pops up, I'll just say it's a Salvo thing. If it doesn't, I ain't gonna say squat."

Caustic doesn't know if Fuse is more wily than he gives himself credit for, or if he is just as idiotically open as Caustic assumes him to be, but his first instinct is to trust Fuse will keep his word. It's a strange instinct for Caustic to have.

"Fine. But I expect you to not mock me anymore in the future."

"No prob, doc. Although if you don't mind an old fella saying something?"

Caustic just knows he's going to regret this.

"You do got a nice ass. Real girth to that thing," Fuse wolf whistles appreciatively as he not so surreptitiously glances at Caustic's behind. "Ditch the apron, and I bet that beauty could be an ordnance on its own."

"Fuse," Caustic growls.

"That's the name, don't wear it out," Fuse smirks.

With a surprising amount of speed, Caustic takes Fuse into a hold and shoved him to the wall. His voice is low, his hold absolute. Months and years in the Apex games have taught him many, many ways to kill and just as many to subdue.

"Oy, easy on the vest."

"What's your game?" Caustic hisses.

"Nngh. Let go of me!"

"Or what?"

Fuse tries to turn his head, his laidback expression transformed into something darker. Caustic does not disbelieve Fuse's claims of being a mercenary on the last, but he found his boast of being one of Salvo's best a stretch. But he's

"You wanna try me, Doc Nox?" Fuse grunts.

"How did you…?"

That second of surprise is all it takes for Fuse to slip out of Caustic's grasp and reverse the situation, pushing Caustic into the wall. It is now that Caustic sees he has miscalculated. He was too tight, put too much strength and effort to shove Fuse into the wall. The correct grip is a little bit lower, utilising not just hands but knees. Fuse's hold might seem more laidback compared to Caustic's attempt, but there is no doubt that Fuse has done this plenty more times before in the past. Despite his bigger size, Caustic doesn't imagine he will slip out quite so easily unless Fuse allows him to.

So there are hidden depths to this man after all. A fascinating test subject for the future, to be sure.

"Don't think I didn't do my research before comin' here. I gave it all up to be here, and I don't go all in without knowing the stakes. Had a client of mine try ask me to track you down. Said that ain't my style, but I remembered. And when you stay a merc at my age," he taps his skull with his metal hand, "you tend to remember things."

Caustic grunts. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"We all know being in the Apex games protects you, and you know what? It's the same for me, mate. You play up the cameras, kill and get killed over and over again for entertainment, and if they like you, you get to live another day. And I also know once people know who the mysterious doc Caustic is, they ain't gonna risk letting you kick about and murk up the Apex bloody games."

"Then blackmail me. Kill me," Caustic hisses.

"Believe me, if I were hired to, I will. But since I'm not…" Fuse lets go of Caustic. He takes a step back, his light fingers drifting away from Caustic’s clothed limbs. The move is casual but done deliberately. A lot of what Fuse does and says, Caustic realises, is deliberate. Whether it's the result he wants is a secondary concern.

Caustic turns to Fuse and stares. "I do not know if you're idiotic or moronic to let me go without some form of payment."

Fuse sighs. "Doc, this ain't the games and this ain't Salvo. You said that, right? Ain't gonna spill your secret because I feel petty or nothing. We both want to be here, and we'll do our bloody hardest to stay here. You wanna take it out on me, take it out on the ring." His lips curl into a smirk. "I'm also more than happy to take it out in the bedroom, if that's your thing."

Caustic bristles. He's no imbecile, he knows when he is being propositioned, but he is not playing that game. Not with a man he barely knows. "You still want something from me. Tell me now."

"Well, if you really want to buy my silence," Fuse allows a small smile, "how about a drink sometime? You, me, couple bottles of beer, bit of classical music. Get to know each other better."

There is a lot to decipher with that sentence. A lot. But of all the the things Caustic can possibly address, "Classical music?"

"You know, Acca Dacca, INXS, Tame Impala. The real classics, not like that stuffy ones, ey?"

Caustic stifles a groan. "When you say classical music, I was expecting Mozart. Beethoven."

"Would you accept if I did that kinda classical music?" Fuse crosses his arms and leans just a bit too close to Caustic.

"Typical Salvonian," Caustic mutters under his breath. Always so forward. Always think they can take whatever they want.

"Ain't an answer, mate," Fuse says.

It's data. Possibly useful data from a new test subject. That's what he's going to tell himself. "One drink, at a venue of my choice. I can and will leave at any time I choose."

"Deal. Tomorrow at 8 alright?"

"Fine."

"Cool. Then I'll see ya later, darl." Before Caustic can react, Fuse gives another firm slap to Caustic's ass and quickly walks away without another word, disappearing down the hallway.

As Caustic watches Fuse walk away, hand on his ass and equations ringing through his head, he begins to suspect that he might have bit off more than he can chew. He takes out his notepad, which he uses to write notes on the go, and flips over to the latest page.

8pm 12th February. Meet up with subject Walter 'Fuse' Fitzroy for alcoholic beverages and music. Objective: obtain data on subject. Ascertain weaknesses and strengths. Assess whether to team up with for future battles.

Note to self: bring padded pants and lotion.

#Apex Legends #apex caustic #apex fuse #walter fitzroy #GasGrenade #Fitznox #It's small and it's silly but it was fun exploring Fuse's personality #I literally based him on this guy I know at work #Ben if you're reading this (I know you're not but still) I apologise in advance

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years ago

Text

HB4-41/Whumptober day 26

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Content warning: migraine aftermath, emesis mention, attempted murder, victim-blaming, talk of death, past noncon of a minor (not discussed in any detail), death threats, suicidal actions (not for the reason you think), blood mention

@eatyourdamnpears, darlin... enjoy.

The first thing Gavin was aware of was light filtering into the room through the curtains. The second was the soft touch of Isaac’s fingers carding through his hair. Gavin sighed and rolled towards his warmth before he remembered moving caused him agony – and relief struck him when his head only throbbed a little bit.

He blinked his eyes open. Isaac was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, gently smoothing Gavin’s hair.

“Ugh,” Gavin mumbled.

“Morning,” Isaac murmured, and bent to gently kiss Gavin’s forehead. “Feeling better?”

Gavin experimentally lifted his head. The room still seemed to push against Gavin, his brain still pressing against the insides of his skull, but his stomach was settled, and his sight was clear. His mouth tasted foul. He was desperately thirsty.

“Um, yeah,” he croaked. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Isaac’s mouth twisted in a sad smile. “I just wanted to check on you before I head out.”

Gavin shifted in the bed and slowly, painfully pushed himself upright. “Why? Where you going?” He rubbed sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s about eight,” Isaac murmured. “AM. You slept through the night. Finn said you needed it.”

“Ugh. I’m… I’m sorry about yesterday.” Gavin flushed. Isaac had stayed by his side for hours, changing the trashcan after Gavin vomited up the tea and water he’d slowly been sipping. Isaac had kept the compresses cool and gently massaged the back of Gavin’s neck, when Gavin was aware enough to respond. And…

And Isaac wanted to stay with him for a lifetime.

Gavin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He never thought… never imagined… that Isaac might want him that way, too.

“Hey, it’s…” Isaac’s hand curved along Gavin’s jaw. “It’s okay. I was, um, happy to… to do it. For you.” Isaac wet his lips and glanced at the floor. “I’m headed into Burmingham. They’ve got some migraine pills, something with Tylenol and aspirin and caffeine, I think. If you have another migraine before the ri— before the stronger stuff gets in, this will hold it off. And we’re low on food. We need a few things.”

“Oh,” Gavin said flatly. “Um… I w-wish I could, um, come with you, but… I just… don’t feel right, still.”

“…and you’re supposed to be dead,” Isaac said gently.

Gavin’s eyes slid shut. “Right. That, too.” His hand crept out across the sheets and settled on Isaac’s knee. “Be safe.”

“Always try to be,” Isaac said with a wry smile. “Sometimes shit finds me, you know?”

Gavin bit his lip. “I know. But… please… please try.”

Please come back to me. I worry every time you leave.

“Yeah, Gavin. I… I will.” Isaac leaned in and softly kissed the scars on Gavin’s nose, cheek, and eye. “Vera and Tori are coming, too. Gray’s headed into Crayton today. They got a call about a refugee. And Finn and Ellis are gonna be out, too. They wanted to walk south, see if any of the properties that way are occupied.”

“Will… is that safe? With… with the baby?” Gavin glanced up at Isaac.

A slow smile spread across Isaac’s face. “Yeah. Ellis will be fine. They’d punch you for being concerned.”

Gavin huffed out a weak laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “So… Sam and Edrissa? They’ll be home?”

“Yeah,” Isaac said. His hand found Gavin’s and gave a quick squeeze. “I’ve gotta go. Vera and Tori are waiting for me. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good,” Gavin said, and pushed back the covers. “I think I’ll take a shower. And get some water.”

“Just relax today,” Isaac said as he stood. “Finn said the migraines can be caused by stress. Just rest.”

“Yeah,” Gavin groaned as he stretched. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, and paused. He quickly stooped and pressed a kiss to Gavin’s cheek, before he straightened with a smile and hurried from the room.

Gavin watched Isaac go, and stared through the doorway for a long while after he left. He drew a hand through his hair and sighed. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and swayed for a moment, putting out a hand to stabilize himself.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. He had to brush his teeth first. Then water, then food. Then shower. He wandered out of his room to the bathroom.

The walls seemed to wobble slightly around him as he made his way down the hall. He flipped on the bathroom light and flinched at the flash of white light that burst inside his head. He peeled his eyes open and stepped up to the sink.

He kept his eyes down from the mirror. Even though it had been weeks, he just… couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror. He didn’t know what he would see, and it didn’t matter if he didn’t look. He wet his toothbrush, smeared on a bit of toothpaste, and brushed his teeth. It felt good to scrub away the taste in his mouth. When he was done, he bent to take a swallow of water, then another, then another. His throat ached with thirst. He wiped his mouth and wandered into the kitchen.

He pulled a cup down from the cabinet and filled it in the sink. He took a drink, then another, then another. Soon, the cup was empty. He filled it again, and drained it. He looked into the sink and wondered if he could find the tea Edrissa made for him – for Ellis – yesterday.

“Gavin?”

He jumped and whirled around. Edrissa stood in the doorway to the living room, her hands behind her back, looking steadily at Gavin.

Gavin swallowed thickly. “Um… h-hi, Edrissa.”

Edrissa shifted her weight. “Um, hi. Can I… can I ask a favor?”

Gavin gulped and stared at her, bewildered. “Um… yeah?”

Edrissa gave a curt nod and walked through the kitchen and out into the laundry room. She pushed the door open to the outside and disappeared into the yard. Gavin blinked once, and hurried to follow her.

She was halfway across the yard. The sun was already high in the sky, burning away the mist from the night before. Gavin’s stomach bucked as the ground dipped under him. He stumbled after her as she headed towards the barn.

She pushed back the door and glanced behind her to make sure Gavin was still there. He followed her in and stopped just inside the doorway.

“Edrissa, um, h-hey. What… what do you need? Where’s Sam?”

“They’re still sleeping,” she said airily. “And, um, I needed… I couldn’t reach something. There’s a basket on that shelf that I wanted to get.” She pointed at a row of shelves along the wall. There was a woven basket on the top shelf, far out of her reach.

Gavin gave her a hesitant smile. “Oh. I…” A trickle of warmth moved through his chest, surprise and relief and gratitude that Edrissa – Edrissa, of all people – would want his help with something. He turned and walked to the shelf. He had to stretch up on his toes to reach it. His hands closed on the rough wicker rim of it and he turned around to hand it to her.

She was already at his side. She grabbed his arm, twisted, and flipped him over her leg. The basket flew from his hand.

He landed hard on his back. It knocked the wind out of him and he gasped, mouth gaping, his chest aching for air.

Edrissa was on top of him in an instant, straddling his hips. Before he could draw air to ask what the hell she was doing, she had a knife to his throat, pressing up under his chin.

He froze. She stared down at him, her eyes blazing with rage and hate.

He finally dragged in a breath. “Edrissa,” he whispered. “What… what are you—”

“Shut up,” she hissed. Her hand fumbled in his hair and she clumsily jerked his head back. “You, you might have the, the others fooled, but not me.”

A chill moved down Gavin’s spine. His heart pounded in his chest. “Edrissa… I… I don’t know what you’re—”

“Syndicate shit,” she spat. “You, you betrayed them all down south, didn’t you? You… you handed them over to your, your mom, didn’t you?” Her voice rose to a furious, ragged shout.

“No,” Gavin whispered. He winced as the knife’s jagged edge bit into his skin. Tears formed in his eyes. His hands jerked upwards to grab the knife, grab her. He shuddered as a wave of poisonous rage punched through him, filling him up, making him want to throw her off of him and pin her down, hold the knife to her throat, make her feel afraid.

No. He pushed down the rage, the vicious desire to make her hurt and bleed and beg him for mercy. He forced his hands down and pressed them flat against the floor. That’s not who I am anymore.

“I know what you are,” Edrissa snarled. “I know. I know you’re an evil syndicate shit and you can’t change. You can’t stop hurting people. Can’t stop killing.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in—”

Edrissa yanked at his hair. “Shut up,” she whimpered, her voice tight with tears. “Shut, shut up. You— I can’t believe Isaac can’t see it. He… he should hate you. They all should.”

Gavin’s eyes fluttered closed. “I know,” he whispered.

Edrissa paused. Gavin opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, holding perfectly still. Two tears ran into his hair. The knife trembled against his throat.

“You… you shouldn’t have come back alive,” she hissed.

“I know,” he said weakly.

Edrissa’s face twisted with hate. She pressed the knife harder against his throat. He flinched and forced his hands down harder against the floor. “There’s… there’s nothing good inside you. There’s nothing but evil. You c-can’t change, you can’t be… be redeemed. Syndicate bastards don’t change.”

Gavin pushed out a shuddering breath. “No,” he whispered. “That’s… that’s not true.”

“Yes it is!” she shrieked at him. “You’re all bad, every single one. You all hurt and rape and… and kill…” She gasped and hitched a shaking sob. “You don’t know how to be anything else. And I… I know it.” A tear trailed down her cheek and fell onto his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin breathed. “I’m sorry that happened to you. But it… it wasn’t—”

“I said shut up!” she sobbed, her face contorted with rage. “I’m… I’m going to kill you, Gavin Stormbeck. I’ve been training for weeks. I know how to kill you.”

Gavin’s stomach lurched. Terror caught in his throat. He could do it, he could tear the knife from her grasp and hold it to her throat. He could cut her, tear into her, lay open her flesh until her screams tapered into dying gasps. He’d done it before. He could make her pay, make her suffer.

No. I’m different. For Isaac. For the others.

For me.

“P-please don’t,” he whispered.

Edrissa blinked. Her hand tightened in Gavin’s hair and she jammed the knife harder against his throat. The serrated edge caught the skin there, but it was dull, not quite breaking through. He hissed in a breath and trembled under her hands.

“Are you… are you going to stop me, syndicate shit?” she whispered, sounding full of rage. Sounding hopeful.

Gavin weakly shook his head, the pain still pounding weakly behind his left eye. “No,” he murmured.

Edrissa’s breath froze in her chest. “Well you… well you should. I… I’m going to kill you, Gavin Stormbeck.” She whimpered, and her hand tightened around the knife.

“My name is Gavin Uriah,” Gavin whispered.

For a moment, neither moved. Gavin lay still, muscles locked, under Edrissa. She trembled as he held Gavin down, the knife still poised at his throat.

“Y-you should stop me,” she whispered. “You should try to, to hurt me. I’m a plaything, right? I deserve to be hurt.” Her lip curled. Her voice lashed him, bitter and poisonous.

“You’re not,” Gavin said evenly, and shook his head. “I’m sorry you ever were. It’s not right. You didn’t deserve it. No one does.”

Edrissa sobbed, helpless. “But I do now, right? I deserve it. For, for saying I’m going to kill you. I should be punished for it. I should… I should die.” Her eyes blazed as she leaned over Gavin, tears running down her cheeks.

“No,” Gavin whispered. “You don’t deserve that.”

Edrissa’s chest heaved with shuddering breaths as her hand tightened in Gavin’s hair. Then, her pain dropped away. Her eyes went dead. She leaned back and held the knife to her own throat. It was a steak knife, heavy and dull, the worn wooden handle held tight in her grip.

“Stop me, Stormbeck,” she said flatly. “This is how you stop me. If you don’t do it, I’m going to kill you.”

Gavin bit his lip and shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I won’t. My name is Uriah.”

Edrissa snarled and grabbed at Gavin’s wrist. She jerked his hand up off the floor and forced it around the handle of the knife. She wrapped her hand around his and forced the blade against her throat. “Do it,” she hissed. “Syndicate shit.”

Gavin met her eyes. He ached at the depth of hate there, of pain. Of loss. Two years of her life, her childhood, her innocence, her brother. All dead, killed by syndicate hands. Taken and broken, just like Gavin had done with so many lives.

She could be just another life to end. Gavin could press the knife in, rip it through her throat, bleed her out over his hands, watch her die on the floor here. He could tell the others it was self-defense. It would be.

Gavin set his jaw. “No,” he said, fiercely. Evenly.

Edrissa’s eyes went wide. Her hand slipped from around his. He pulled the knife away from her throat.

She buried her face in her hands and wailed.

Gavin tossed the knife away. It skittered into the corner and hit the wall with a light thump. He shifted, rolling slightly to the side, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to ease her off of him. She slumped to her knees and sobbed into her hands, her voice echoing through the barn, her sorrow, her pain, all tearing free at once. Gavin pushed himself backwards on his hands until he was out of her reach. He wrapped his arms around his knees and shivered, his eyes still fixed on her as she fell apart.

“Why won’t you do it?” she sobbed, not looking at him.

“Because… because I don’t want to,” he said, doing his best to make his voice gentle, panting with relief.

“But you’re… you’re a Stormbeck,” she wailed. “You’re one of them. You can’t… why won’t you hurt me? It’s what you… what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Gavin said, his voice tight with tears. “That’s not what I am at all. I’m… I’m not a Stormbeck. I’m Gavin Uriah. I’m not… like that anymore.”

“But why?” she whimpered. She shivered and squeezed her arms around her waist.

Gavin swiped the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, finally.

Edrissa rocked herself, her eyes unfocused and faraway. “You k-killed my brother,” she whispered.

Gavin opened his mouth to defend himself, to tell her it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his family.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter to her. It didn’t matter at all.

“I… I was happy,” she whispered. “With my… my parents. I was happy. With Micah. I had… I had a boyfriend.”

Gavin’s eyes slid shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I… h-had a cat,” she whimpered. Her voice broke. “I had… a, a life.”

Gavin kept silent. The weight of her sorrow crushed him, pounded in his head. He rubbed at the scratch the knife had left on the soft skin of his throat.

A sob rippled over her shoulders. “I… I just want to stop hurting.” She bit down on her hand and wailed her grief.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Edrissa sobbed, incoherent words falling from her lips. The sound of her cries shook the air inside the barn. Gavin winced as it pressed against the inside of his skull. He buried his face in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

She could kill him like this, if she wanted to. He couldn’t make himself open his eyes. He sat there with her in the cool air of the barn, feeling the ache in his chest. Savoring the air in his lungs. Savoring his life.

Her sobs faded to hitched whimpers. Her whimpers faded to slow, shivering breaths. She raised her eyes and looked at Gavin. For once, for the first time, her eyes weren’t dark with hate and mistrust. She stared at him with fragile, questioning vulnerability. Her gaze landed on his throat, on the scratch there.

Her eyes went wide with horror. She cringed into herself and dragged in a shuddering gasp.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “N-no, I…”

Gavin swallowed hard. “What?”

“Isaac,” she whimpered. “Isaac’s going to kill me.”

Gavin’s brow furrowed. “What… Edrissa, why?”

She raised a shaking hand to her neck. “I… He… he’s going to, to know that I… and then he…” She pressed her hand to her mouth and sobbed helplessly, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. “He… he’s going to… he almost did, be, before…”

“No,” Gavin croaked, rubbing harder at the scratch. The skin didn’t even feel broken. “No, he’s not.”

“He will,” Edrissa whispered into her hand. “When he comes back. I… both the cars are gone, I can’t… can’t run…”

“He’s not going to kill you, Edrissa,” Gavin said softly. “Because he’s not like that.”

“Y-yes he is,” she said through her teeth, her eyes desperate. “He… he’s a killer.”

Gavin’s throat bobbed. His lips trembled, and he pressed them together. “Well… yeah. He is. But he won’t kill you. You’re in the family. And he won’t know, because—”

“He will—”

“—I’m not going to tell him.”

Edrissa caught her breath and raised her eyes, fogged with terror, to Gavin’s. “What?” she whispered.

Gavin chewed his lip. “I’m not going to tell him. He doesn’t need to know. Nothing happened, right?”

Edrissa stared at Gavin, trembling, her mouth slightly open. “I… what?”

Gavin shrugged jerkily. “Nothing happened. We talked. We figured some shit out. Right? Nothing bad happened.”

Edrissa’s hand drifted to her neck. “But you—”

“That could have happened so many different ways,” Gavin said, his voice tight. “Shaving accident. Picked up the cat and he didn’t like it. Walked into a door.” His lips pulled into a half-smile. “Or I don’t have to say anything.”

“H-he’ll ask—”

“So what if he does? Edrissa…” She went still at her name. He shook his head. “I’m not… g-going to let… anything bad, um, happen. To you.”

Her lips twisted in an echo of bitterness.

Gavin hung his head. “Okay… yeah. Bad choice of words. All I’m saying is…” He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not going to tell Isaac what happened. And even if he knew, he wouldn’t kill you. I mean…” Gavin laughed, dryly. “After everything I’ve done to him…”

“But it’s different,” she mumbled. “Because you’re…”

“Yeah,” Gavin said with a heavy breath. “Because we.”

They were both silent for a long time. Finally, Gavin stirred. “Um… do you want some… some breakfast? Or tea? Or… I can make eggs benedict—”

“No thank you,” Edrissa said quietly, her eyes cast down to the floor.

Gavin’s shoulders slumped. “Right. Um, well… I’m… kind of hungry. I want to go make something. Will you… are you… okay?”

She wiped her nose and glanced up at him. “Yeah.”

Gavin held still. “Okay. Can you… not try to kill me again?”

Edrissa barked out a painful-sounding laugh. “Yeah.”

Gavin bit his lip. “…promise?”

She tossed her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Gavin breathed. “Can I… g-get the steak knife, then?”

She glanced into the corner where Gavin tossed it. “Yeah. I’ll, um… I’ll come inside in a while. I just want to be alone right, um, right now.”

“Okay.” Gavin got to his feet and fell a step back from her. “Um… I… I h-heard you made some, um, really good tea for Ellis. Can I, um, have some?”

She tipped her head back and raised an eyebrow. “I know it was for you. I’m not an idiot.”

Gavin blanched. “Oh. Right. Um…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, thanks for not, um, poisoning it or something.”

Edrissa looked at him impassively for a moment. “Yeah,” she finally whispered.

“Okay, well… I guess I’ll… go.” He turned and shuffled towards the barn door. On his way out, he stooped and picked up the knife.

“Thank you,” Edrissa called out behind him, tears tight in her voice.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Thank you, too.”

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

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98prilla · 5 years ago

Text

Reparations

A follow up to Shifted, which can be read Here! I got inspired to keep the story going, so here we are!

On AO3 Here

The other light sides and Thomas meet with Virgil to discuss what happened, and Remus takes the opportunity to catch his brother alone, and teach him a lesson.

“You know you don’t have to go.” Deceit says, watching him chewing at his lip nervously.

“I know. But I wanna. I’m ready to talk to them… talk about it.” He replies, startling at a knock on the door.

“Clearly. Very much over it.” Dee mutters, and he shoots him a glare before opening the door to a smiling Patton.

“Hey kiddo. You ready to go?” He nods, and Patton glances past him, to Dee.

“You know you’re invited too, Deceit.” Dee nods minutely.

“I know. Fortunately for you, I have other business to attend to.” With a flourish and a puff of black smoke, Dee vanishes. He rolls his eyes.

“He’s such a drama queen." He mutters fondly, his smile slipping away as he takes Patton's proffered hand, apprehension filling him as they sink out, to the living room.

Whatever conversation that had been happening ceases the moment they rise up, and he winces, already reaching to flip his hood up, to hide from their stares.

“Anxiety,” he looks up, surprised at the obvious relief he can hear in Logan's voice. He's surprised to see that soft concern crinkling the corners of Logan's eyes as well, before his gaze darts away, “it is good to see you again.” Well. Anyone saying that is a surprise.

“sure.” he replies, appreciating that Patton hasn’t released his hand.

“How are you feeling? Ok, that's a stupid question,” Thomas half smiles at the raised eyebrow and judgmental look he stares him down with, but continues unfazed, “I get not great, but… I was worried, y'know? Even after Pat checked up on you.”

“Why? It’s not like you’ve ever wanted me around, anyways.” He says it without any trace of bitterness, doesn't mean it as an insult, but the others wince anyways. He's just stating a fact.

“Look, I appreciate the concern and all, but I don’t… I don’t want you to just care out of guilt or pity or… or whatever this is. I don’t need you to care.” He mumbles, pulling his hand away from Patton's to shove it deep in his pocket.

“Anxiety, that’s not what this is. We want to get to know you. We want to work with you. I… I want you to feel comfortable, with us. To talk to us. Talk to me.” He's surprised at the almost pleading tone of Thomas's voice. He meets Thomas's eyes. “talk to me, please?” Thomas asks again, eyes soft and warm and kind and… and genuine, and he feels himself caving.

He knows this is a terrible idea. Anything he says can be used against him, will reveal cracks in his armor, will tell them all they need to know to tear him apart, destroy him forever.

“where’s princey?” he asks, voice low.

“We decided not to include him in this gathering. We assumed you would not feel safe in his presence nor feel comfortable talking with us were he here. And, most likely, his commentary would be less than constructive, if not completely detrimental.” Logan answers carefully, simply. He lets out a long, low breath, staring hard at the floor. No one interrupts his silence, no one pushes him to say anything, and that, more than anything, is what makes up his mind.

“ok.” With that, a weight eases off his chest and his shoulders slump as he collapses onto the couch.

“Ok! Cool, great, yeah. So. Um… Logan?” Thomas asks, clearly surprised to have gotten his cooperation. A small wry smile flits across his lips.

“How is your shoulder?” once again, he is surprised that that is the first question Logan asks. He shrugs in response.

��Alright. Better. Mostly just a little sore, every once in a while, if I move it wrong.”

“Good. I was assured it had been treated correctly. Still, I just wanted to make sure.” He nods, though he doesn’t understand why Logan's worried.

“Anxiety, kiddo… why didn’t you change back after Roman attacked you?”

Wow. Coming out hot, with the questions, from Patton of all people. He can feel his heart start to race, because with this answer they could do everything he'd feared, everything the nightmares had shown him.

“I hate shape shifting. I hate it. It’s terrifying, it’s…” he trails off, hands fisting in his pockets, hunching in on himself as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“You were startled and afraid. You were too discombobulated to remember you could shift back?” Logan supplies, and hesitantly he shakes his head. He wishes it was that simple, wishes that was all.

Roman isn’t here. Roman won’t know. They won’t let Roman hurt him.

“Anxiety? What is it?” Thomas, cautious and concerned and he snaps.

“I can’t, ok?! I can’t shape shift on my own! I can’t change back, I can’t sink out, and I don’t have any influence or power! Get it?!” he takes a deep breath, shaking, before folding his arms tight and continuing, “I couldn’t… i couldn’t change back. Roman… roman was going to take me and I would never have been able to get away and I would have been trapped forever, kept like some pet, until that’s all I was to you, and it would have left Thomas without anyone to protect him, and I can’t, couldn’t, do anything…” He's shaking, and he buries his face in his hands. “I hate small… all of it, but especially small…” he whispers, fear washing through him.

“Anxiety. I am so sorry.” He feels the couch dip as Thomas sits down. He jumps at a hand on his shoulder, head jerking up to meet Thomas's gaze.

“I would never allow that to happen to you. If I’d known I would never have changed you in the first place.” He nods smally, looking away.

“We haven’t treated you fairly. I haven’t. I haven’t given you a chance, and that’s not fair. I want to do better, anxiety. It shows how terribly I’ve been doing that you are surprised I wouldn’t want you hurt.” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can say anything, past the lump in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes.

“I just want to help. That’s… that’s all I’ve ever tried to do. No one listened. So I got louder, so I’d be heard, and then I was, but everyone… all of you hated me. I thought I could do it, I thought it didn’t matter, didn’t hurt, I could take it, but it does and I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore. I don't want to be here, be me, anymore.” He near whispers, hunching in tighter on himself, feeling the tears squeeze out from the corner of his eyes against his will at the sharp silence that follows his admission.

“you don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to scream to be heard, anxiety. We are going to listen. We are going to hear your concerns and have a conversation about them, and address them if there is something Thomas needs to do differently. Does that sound fair?” Logan asks intensely, sitting down on his other side, carefully resting a hand on his leg. That itself spoke volumes, usually Logan was more averse to touch than even he himself was.

“yeah… I… it does… i'll… i'll try.”

“We will too, kiddo. Old habits can be hard to break. We won’t always be perfect, but you shouldn’t be afraid to tell us so. And we'll be understanding, too, if you stumble a little.” Patton adds, kneeling before him and meeting his eyes, taking both his hands. “we're here for ya, kiddo. I promise.”

He breaks. The tears flow silently down his face, shaking him to his core. This is what he’d always wanted, what he thought he’d never have, to be listened to, to be wanted by Thomas, to not be hated by them all.

Then Patton is hugging him, and as he buries his head against Patton's shoulder, he feels two other sets of arms pull him close, holding him tight, showing him what their words alone would never convince him of. He was wanted.

……….

He walks through the imagination aimlessly, merely walking to burn off the energy he feels growing, that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He knows right now everyone else is at a meeting with Thomas about Anxiety, with Anxiety, and he huffs.

Did he go too far? Maybe. Yes, he was willing to concede, grudgingly, that he had. But he’d had good intentions! Why didn’t the others see that?

And now they were having a meeting, one he had been explicitly, politely, if firmly, been disinvited to, because he would scare Anxiety. That was rich, the emo nightmare was always scaring them, why not give him a taste of his own medicine?

But… recalling the look on Anxiety's face as he clung to the bannister, his usual snarkyness dispelled, did send a shiver of guilt through his chest.

“if you wanted me dead, you should have just asked. I’d have done it myself.” He winces, rubbing his arms. He’d said it so matter of factly, so… defeated. As if he’d contemplated doing exactly that many times.

Of course, Deceit showed up, and you can’t trust a single word that snake says, but the fury in his eyes and the pain in his voice seemed so… genuine.

But if Anxiety really felt that way, why not say something? Why keep trying to crush Thomas’s dreams, why keep fighting logic at every turn, why not accept Patton's olive branch of friendship? It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about Anxiety makes sense and it drives him crazy.

Besides, it’s not like he meant to hurt him. Throw him around a little, scare him, teach him a lesson, sure. He probably wouldn’t even have kept him all that long, just enough that he would stop popping up where he wasn’t wanted.

He's on the ground. When did he get here? Why… the world is spinning, out of focus, and he’s seeing double. There’s a pounding in his head, ringing his ears. He groans, nearly sick from the vertigo, closing his eyes and trying to steady himself. A lightning bolt of pain explodes against the back of his skull and he's unconscious.

“Remus, what are you doing?” he hears a voice hiss.

“What does it look like I’m doing, double D?” A chipper voice, Remus.

“Dragging your unconscious twin through the kitchen?”

“Well if you knew the answer, why ask the question?” an aggravated sigh.

“Because what are you dragging Roman through the goddamn kitchen for?” is the hissing response.

“Because I need a quick favor from you, my favorite fiend!” He groans, trying to roll over, trying to push himself up, his muscles barely twitching in response.

“He will not be happy about this, Remus.” He has missed whatever Remus said, but Deceit's hesitance makes his heart race.

“Pleaaase Dee? Just a little bite?” He does not like that sentence. He struggles harder to move, to clear his fuzzy head. “Hurry, he's waking up!” Deceit sighs.

“Fine. But I’m warning you, when this blows up, it’s on your head." Deceit relents, just as he manages to peel his eyes open.

He yelps, forcing his limbs into motion, scrambling backwards at the sight of a king cobra, hood flared and fangs showing, looming over him.

He flinches as the cobra strikes, letting out a soft whimper as fangs pierce his neck. Instantly, the world spins and his eyes drift shut, limbs heavy, weighing him down. His mind drifts, unfocused, as whatever venom takes effect, leaving him weak and helpless. He feels sharp nails on his chin.

“Sleep well, sweet prince. You’re gonna need it. When you wake up, we’re going to have some fun!” he can sense the twisted smile on Remus's face as he throws his head back. He lolls limply against the floor, shuddering with the last of his awareness, resigned to his fate.

……

He's tired. Emotionally and physically, he's drained and tired but… but it's a good kind of tired.

Despite the tears streaking his face, despite his puffy eyes and red nose and shaking hands, he is happy.

He feels lighter than he ever has in his life, the usual pit of nauseous fear that sat in his stomach was gone, his shoulders uncurled, his breath coming easy and light. He's… smiling.

He doesn’t think he’s ever smiled in front of the others, not a real smile. Not the one that actually lights up his face, that reaches his eyes, that spreads into a lopsided grin. Patton nearly exploded when he saw it, nearly lifting him off the ground with the strength of his hug. That in turn made him laugh, a full, strong, deep chested laugh that left him breathless and aching and grinning. Patton had squealed, and Logan was smiling himself as he readjusted his glasses, Patton's infectious joy bubbling over and filling the room.

Now, his head is resting against Patton's chest, his eyes closed as he feels Patton petting his hair. Logan’s arm is wrapped around him, pressed close against him, occasionally running his thumb over his shoulder.

He's never been this comfortable in his life. For once, the voice in his head telling him that everything will go wrong is silent. He is so blissed out and tired and happy.

“Hey, kiddo?” Patton asks.

“Uh hmm?” he replies, not bothering to open his eyes, not even chancing ruining this.

“you were really brave today. I know it’s not easy sharing things about yourself with us. But you did anyway, even though it was scary. I just want you to know how much it means to me, that you did.” He smiles softly, nuzzling closer to Patton.

“Truly, Anxiety. Thank you, for trusting us. It could not have been easy, given previous experiences.”

“yeah, but… but I think it was worth it. I… feel better. Than like, I have, ever.” He mumbles into Patton's shirt. He feels Patton press a soft kiss to his head, warm and gentle. “I might fall asleep. ‘s that ok?” he asks, slurring a bit, sleep already tugging at his mind. It’s rare he gets a full night of rest, rarer to feel soothed and relaxed to this extent, especially recently, and his overworked body is trying to take full advantage.

“It is more than acceptable, Anxiety. Pleasant dreams.” He feels Logan kiss his head as well, the action nearly sending him into more tears, because Logan is the most hesitant with physical affection, and he feels warmth bloom in his chest.

“Virgil. Jus call ‘m Virgil, Lo.” He mumbles, drifting off into a deep, contented sleep.

Logan is still for a long moment, staring at Virgil, frozen in place. Patton isn’t even sure if he's breathing.

“Logan, kiddo, you okay?” he asks, which seems to snap Logan out of his stupor. Logan inhales deeply, eyes flicking up to meet Patton's.

“did he… Patton, did he just say what I think he did?” Logan asks, looking more uncertain than Patton has ever seen him.

“yeah. He did, Lo. He told me, too. After… well, after Roman.” Patton answers gently.

“…why?” Patton melts at the soft confusion, the gentle awe that Logan is looking at Virgil with, his emotions not hidden behind his usually unreadable mask.

“Because he trusts you. He trusts us.” Logan inhales sharply, nodding once, steadying himself.

“What are we going to do about Roman? We cannot allow him to break this… fragile trust… that we have built.” Patton frowns.

“We'll talk to him. Get through to him. For now, let’s just let him rest. Poor baby barely sleeps at all on his own.” Patton coos, smiling at Logan, who hesitantly offers a small smile back, holding the youngest side a little tighter as he watches Virgil sleep.

…..

He wakes slowly. His head is absolutely pounding, and he feels heavy and sluggish. He groans, rolling over and using an immense amount of effort to lift his eyelids. He manages, and pushes himself to his feel, bracing himself against the bars of the cage.

Wait. Bars? Cage? What… ok. Breathe. Focus. What does be remember?

Imagination. Definitely not pouting. Then… pain? Remus. His heart picks up its pace just a bit. Yes, he’s in Remus's room. Fine. He'll just…

Well shit. He can’t sink out. He can't do anything. He can feel his abilities, see them, but when he tries to reach, they only stretch farther away. He growls in frustration, reaching harder with all his might.

He yelps as the rebound of his reach sends his head pulsing again, stumbling back and clutching at his forehead.

“Well, well, look who's awake! It’s my least favorite sibling!” He winces at Remus's high pitched trill.

“I’m your only sibling.” He bites out.

“Bzzzt Wrong!” Remus trills back, making a game show incorrect noise. “Anxiety is my best bro, and I hate hate hate when he gets hurt. Guess what, Roro? You hurt him.” Remus's voice darkens suddenly, and Roman finally looks up at that, instinctively trying to summon his sword, stumbling back and falling over as he looks up. And up. And up.

Remus is huge. Or, more accurately, he is tiny. Remus has put him in some kind of hamster cage, and his neon green eyes are glaring at him through the bars. His heart is pounding now, but he refuses to show his fear.

“Remus. Let. Me. Out.” He hisses, regretting it as a sharp toothed grin spreads across Remus's face, eyes gleaming.

“Oh, now that's a fun idea, isn't it? How about this, hmm, I put you on the floor, and give you ten seconds to run?” He hates it, the fear in his throat, he knows he won’t get far like this, but it’s his only shot, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, shivering as Remus's grin only grows and he claps his hands together, filled with glee.

Despite himself, he squirms as Remus picks him up, dangling by the back of his shirt. His feet kick empty air. He screams as the hand lets go, and he's falling, tumbling towards the floor, plummeting to death-

His air is cut off as he jerks to a stop, a mere inch from the ground, his shirt jerking back against his throat as his momentum is halted, his stomach doing flips as he tries not to hurl. He is dropped to the ground, legs folding under him as he gasps in gulps of air, Remus's cackling echoing through his ears.

“Not funny, Remus.” He hisses, shakily getting to his feet, dusting himself off to hide the angry tears that are leaking from his eyes.

“Wasn’t it, though? I mean your scream! It sounded like an eviscerated rat!” Remus wipes away tears of mirth from his eyes, tilting his head unnaturally far to the left, smile more eerie than ever.

“Now run.” It’s a threat, loud and clear, and he doesn’t hesitate. He books it towards the door, diving under a shelf for cover, hoping Remus won’t be able to reach him down there.

It’s dirty and dusty and he’s covered in grime in an instant. Has Remus ever swept down here!?

“Zero! Ready or not, here I come!” he huddles back against the wall, pressing himself back as small as possible, breath rapid and shallow as he tries to make as little noise as possible. He swears his heart is pounding so hard they can hear it from the commons.

Sink out, sink out, sink out, sink out!

He yelps, something sticky and a bit slimy wrapping around his torso. He struggles as it retracts, taking him with it. He flails, trying to dig his fingers into the floor, feeling his nails tear as they are dragged across the hardwood.

He yelps as he's tossed in the air, before being caught again, tentacles whipping past him and flipping him upside down, juggling him, until he's nauseous and doesn’t know which way is even up or down anymore.

After what feels like forever, he comes to a jerky stop, feeling like his limbs are being torn off. A tentacle has each of his arms and each of his legs, and he realizes he's being squeezed by an octopus, a hazardous neon in color. He lets out a cry as his limbs are pulled harder, feeling like they may pop out of his sockets at any moment, his nerves and tendons burning as his eyes water.

“stop. Please, please, stop.” His voice is pleading, begging, and he hates it, but he can’t get past the fear in his chest, because Remus is anything but predictable and he has no clue how long this will go on.

“Did you stop? When Anxiety was screaming, pleading, crying. Well? Did you?” Remus demands, his tentacle wrapping tight around his body, squeezing him tight enough he feels his ribs creak.

“No! I didn’t… I didn’t… I’m sorry…” he cries out, barely able to get a breath in his lungs. Tears are streaming down his face now, fear, fear, fear, pounding in his throat.

“Good for you. I’m not.” Remus hisses. He's lifted higher, and when he looks down, he screams, fighting again, struggling, because Remus has opened his clacking, cavernous beak, and he is slowly being lowered towards that gnashing maw, and he can’t escape, can’t get away, he is tucking his legs up, small as possible, that bottomless pit all he can see, and gods, he’s doomed-"

“REMUS! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!” the voice is loud, startling, tempest tongue making it echo even louder through the room.

“Aw, come on, I wasn’t actually gonna eat ‘em-" Remus whines.

“REMUS!” Anxiety screeches again, voice a bit higher, a bit more panicked.

“Fiiine. Take him.” He’s too petrified to even scream as he's thrown through the air. He lands harshly, jostling every inch of his bruised and battered body. He curls up as he feels a shadow over him, curling tight, tears leaking from his eyes.

Now he's in for it. He's at the mercy of Anxiety, who hates him, who can tear him down so easily with just the right words, and he shakes.

“Princey?” He feels Anxiety's hands gently cupping around him as he's lifted higher. He cracks his eyes open to see Anxiety peering at him, worry and concern filling his dark eyes, without a hint of malice. Anxiety lets out a relieved breath at that, eyes shifting, turning hard as he eyes Remus.

“Undo it. Whatever you did.”

“Can't! That was Dee's work. Should wear off in another hour.” Remus says sulkily. Anxiety frowns, attention shifting back to him.

“Ok. Um. So. I'm gonna take you back to your room, ok? The effects of the venom'll wear off faster there. You should be able to change yourself back, then. Is… is that ok?” He's surprised at the care in Anxiety's voice, how he's being handled so gently, spoken to so softly. He doesn’t get it. He deserves this. He earned this. Anxiety should be happy, seeing him small and helpless.

He just nods, realizing Anxiety is still waiting for a reply, and he feels the emo let out a long breath.

“ok. Imma cover you with my other hand, so you don’t accidentally fall, ok? As soon as we get there, I'll set you down.” He nods again, curling up and closing his eyes. He’s too exhausted to care.

“I’ll be having words with you and Dee later.” Anxiety hisses at Remus, and then they've sunk out.

…..

“Have a good time?” Deceit asks as he enters through the door, into the kitchen. He pushes his hair back, smiling up at Dee through his bangs.

“actually… yeah. Yeah, I did.” He replies, glancing at Deceit sitting at the table, his book set aside as he looks him over carefully.

“What? Why're you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing. You just… look happy, Shadow. Happier than you’ve been in a long time.” Virgil squints, biting his lip.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.

“It’s not my fault-"

“well that's reassuring.” Deceit continues unphased.

“but you should definitely check on Remus. He has a… surprise… for you.” His eyes widen and he takes off down the hall, slamming Remus's door open just in time to see him lowering a tiny Roman into his beak.

“REMUS! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?” He screeches, panic making his heart rate skyrocket, because Roman is so small, he did not expect this to be his “surprise”, what the fuck, and holy shit, how long has Remus been toying with him?!

“Aw, come on. I wasn’t actually gonna eat ‘em.” Remus protests, and he blanches.

“REMUS!” He screeches, because he hadn’t even had the time to process that’s what Remus had been threatening to do to his miniscule twin.

“Fiiine, take him.” He lunges as Remus carelessly chucks him through the air, barely managing to catch Roman in the palm of his hand. He sees the momentary relief on Roman fade as he curls into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut as tears track down the tiny side’s face. He looks broken and terrified, and he can feel Roman’s tremors against his hand. Oh god, was he hurt? Was he dying? Had his landing been too hard and his bones had broken?

“Princey?” He asks softly, trying not to be too loud, knowing how big and loud and scary everything in existence must seem right now. Roman’s eyes peek open and meet his for a moment, showing nothing but defeat and a muted terror that makes him inhale sharply.

“Undo it. Whatever you did.” He mentally curses as Remus tells him Dee was in on this, carefully explaining every movement he is going to make to Roman before sinking out, promising to come back for Remus and Dee later.

They appear directly in Roman’s grand room. A four poster bed is against one wall, red velvet drapes drawn back, a desk is against large windows looking out onto a peaceful forest scene, ideas and posters and paintings and drawings hung all around the room, murals painted on every surface of knights slaying dragons, rescuing princes from castles, majestic gryphons and stunning unicorns. He’s never actually been in here, before, and it takes his breath away.

He draws, doodles, but nothing he’s ever made compares to this in pure beauty. He lets out a low whistle, looking up at the glass domed ceiling, afternoon sun streaming through colored stained glass, a rainbow dancing across the floor.

“this is... this is amazing, Roman.” That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but he’s too awestruck by it all to come up with anything better.

“... you don’t have to make fun of it.” His brow furrows at the quiet reply, looking down at the prince sitting on his palm, staring absently off into the distance.

“I’m not? Um. Where should I put you?” Roman shrugs, swiping at the tear tracks down his cheeks.

“The bed, I guess. I’ll just curl up on one of the pillows, till this wears off.” He cups a hand around Roman to brace him, quickly pulling it away as Roman flinches.

“Sorry. Didn’t think. I won’t do that, if you want. I just don’t want you to fall.” Roman doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t move his hand back, instead walking even slower and more carefully across the carpet to the bed. He gently lowers his hand, allowing Roman to climb off onto the silkiness of one of his pillows. Roman pulls the corner of the pillow case over to use as a blanket, curling up under it, eyes closed. He lets out a sigh of relief, running his hand through his hair as he makes to leave.

“wait.” He turns back to Roman, whose eyes are hesitant, shame staining his cheeks red as he breaks eye contact. “I... it’s dumb.” Roman rolls over, and Virgil stops, stepping closer to the bed.

“It’s not dumb, Roman. What is it?” Roman seems to have more courage, now that he isn’t looking at him.

“will you stay with me? Just... just until I can change back. You don’t have to, it’s fine.” Roman mumbles into the pillow, and he chooses to ignore the sniffling emanating from the prince.

“yeah. No problem, Princey.” He pulls over a chair from the desk, settling into it, slipping on his headphones, keeping the volume low enough he can hear Roman if he speaks, turning on some soothing ambient sounds and closing his eyes, practicing his breathing exercises and meditation, trying to clear his mind of the utter hopeless pain on Roman’s face.

He doesn’t know when he dozed off. He wakes slowly, stretching his arms above his head, slipping his headphones off as he settles them around his shoulders, fishing his phone out and turning off the audio playing ocean noises. He jumps at the small noise of blankets shifting, turning his head to see Roman, full sized once more, looking at him closely.

“Princey?” He asks, carefully, noting how Roman’s knees are pulled to his chest, his chin tucked against them, everything about him stiff and stressed and tense.

“why’d you help me? Why’d you… why’d you care?” Roman’s voice is shattered to pieces, rough and raw, and he winces.

“Because it wasn’t right. I… I get that they were mad at you. They’re always protective of me, and I should have seen something like this coming, knowing the two of them, but toying with someone like that? Isn’t right. It wasn’t when you did it to me, and it wasn’t when Remus did it to you, and it doesn’t matter how much I like or don’t like you, I wasn’t going to just let that continue.” His voice is firm and when he looks over, he sees silent tears running down Roman’s face. He frowns, and shifts onto the bed, kneeling in front of Roman.

“what is it?” he asks gently. Roman buries his head in his arms.

“I was so terrible to you. I scared you out of your mind. I hurt you, Anxiety, like, physically hurt you, and I wasn’t even sorry about it! I deserve this, deserve what Remus did, deserve what Deceit did, I’d deserve it if you joined in the fun right now and decided to throw me around a little! Hell, I’d let you, after everything I did, I owe you that much.” He gaped at Roman’s outburst, not even knowing how to begin processing everything he’d just said, except for one thing.

“No. Roman, no.” Impulsively, he reaches for Roman’s hands, holding them firmly in his, Roman’s shocked eyes shooting up to meet his serious dark ones. “You hurt me. I won’t lie, I won’t make you feel better about it, it’s just a fact. You hurt me. I couldn’t sleep, I had nightmares for a week, Dee and Remus couldn’t leave me alone for more than a few minutes or I would start spiraling.” He takes a deep breath, the memories of fear still fresh. “But this isn’t how things get better. Taking it out on each other, going back and forth terrorizing each other, that isn’t how we fix things. I should know, I’ve been trying to scare you into listening to me for years, and it hasn’t worked, it just escalated things to the point where they became physical. What they did was out of line. Just like what you did was out of line. That doesn’t make either of those things right. Ok?” Roman looks hesitant, but he lets out a long breath, a small smile breaking through the misery on his face.

“ok. I… I am sorry. I’m so… stupid, sometimes.” He lets out a small snort.

“yeah. But so am I. We’re both too stubborn for own good. I think that’s why we’re always trying to strangle each other.” He answers, scooting to sit next to Roman, back resting against the wall. That gets a tired chuckle out of him, which sounds like music to his ears.

“… thank you. For not letting Remus eat me.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think he would’ve actually ate you, if that makes you feel better. And they are so in for it later.” A long silence, but a comfortable one, filled with quiet thoughts.

“I think Deceit bit me.” The silence is shattered by his startled laughter, the change of topic so sudden it’s hilarious, and soon he is doubled over laughing, laughing harder at Roman’s confusion, until he starts laughing too. When they finally get ahold of their giggles, can look at each other without setting off a new round of hysterics, they’re both smiling, both lighter.

“Anxiety… can we start over?” He rolls his eyes at the quiet question, but it’s filled with honest sincerity, warmth and a soft hope. And he finds he’d like that too, to start fresh, to wipe everything way, all the words thrown back and forth, all the insults tossed both ways, Roman may have been the one to cross the line, but they’d both been toeing it for years.

“Yeah.” He holds out his hand for a handshake, meeting Roman’s eyes with a bit of fear, a bit of hope, a bit of hesitance, but his voice is filled with confidence as Roman takes his proffered hand. “I’m Virgil Anxiety Sanders. Nice to meet you.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic everyone #sympathetic dark sides #familial dark sides #hurt/comfort #kinda angsty #Angst with a happy ending #roman angst

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ninzied · 4 years ago

Text

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

for @heartonfirewrites.

Not that she’s thought about it. Well—not that she’s thought about it…often. But of all the places Karen ever imagined seeing Frank again, the restaurant pantry of an Italian mobster had somehow never made the list.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s perfectly normal to be meeting this way after so many months of radio silence. He’s leaning against a shelf full of vegetables, summer squash and bright green zucchini, and it’s such a strange sight that Karen’s first instinct is to stifle an incredulous laugh.

She has so many questions for him—least of which being, What the hell are you doing here, Frank?—but asking him implies some act of caring on her part, and she’s done doing that, where Frank is concerned.

“Heard you might be in the area tonight,” he tells her, swaying away from some plump strings of garlic and taking a cautious step closer to her.

Heard from who, Frank? she almost throws her hands up in the air at him, but he doesn’t deserve any kind of emotion from her. He doesn’t even have the right to make her exasperated anymore.

“You know what, Frank—” Karen stops, shakes her head. It’s not worth getting into with him. Of course he would only show up when he thought she was in some kind of trouble. “Matt’s already got it covered.”

Frank’s gazing at her, his expression impenetrable. He opens his mouth, and she realizes then that she just doesn’t want to know.

“Before you say anything else,” she says, “I’m going to walk away. Okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turns to the door. Stainless steel, with a lever handle that she discovers has no visible lock on this side, after she pulls and it refuses to budge.

Brow furrowed, she gives it another tug, and then once more for good measure.

Well, shit.

She presses her ear to the door, straining to hear some sign of Matt. Everything’s muffled, and there’s a low drone of the pantry’s cooling system, but she finally gets snatches of breaking glass, and the unmistakable sound of bodies being tossed around.

“Looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while,” she tells him stiffly, fighting the urge to cross her arms when Frank comes over to examine the door.

Not that she means to, but he’s standing so close, and his eyes aren’t on her for the moment, which is making it harder for her to look away.

He smells good.

He smells really good.

He looks good, too—black sweater and jeans, clean-shaven, hair closely trimmed. She hadn’t seen a single bruise on his face, when he was looking at her head-on, and there’s a little jump in her chest at the thought that she’s only ever seen this version of Frank in photographs.

Karen bites her lip, still trying to make sense of the situation. He’s not even remotely dressed for combat. No skull, no vest. No immediate weapon that she can see, though he must have one within easy reach.

He looks like a guy who could be on his way to a coffee shop, a cramped little bookstore or a late-night movie theater. These are things that Karen can suddenly picture him doing, living some kind of normal life instead of lurking around while she investigates a drug cartel.

“Built-in fail-safe,” says Frank, stepping back to lean into another shelf. “To keep people like you from snooping around.” There’s a hint of something like amusement in his voice. “It’s a two-man job to get anything in and out of here.” His finger twitches against a wax ball of soft cheese, rolling it sideways, and he nudges it back in place. “Food and otherwise.”

Karen frowns then. “You were already in here.”

He looks over at her, waiting.

“You were locked in,” she says slowly. “And you watched me close the door behind me.”

He isn’t out there, joining in on the fight. He hadn’t even come here looking for one.

Frank gives her a slow, slightly abashed sort of nod. “Think Murdock’s got it covered,” he says finally. His mouth crooks up in the barest hint of a grin. “He’ll let you out, at least.”

He really isn’t here for the mob, Karen thinks, and the realization lands, soft and unbearably light in her stomach.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” She crosses her arms this time, hugging her elbows and hoping she doesn’t look as vulnerable as she’s feeling right now. “And don’t give me some line about keeping me safe, I think I can fend for myself.” She glances around them. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me about these cabbages.”

He raises an eyebrow, ducking his head with a wry kind of smile.

“Not the cabbages,” he says, and he looks so intent that Karen almost forgets she hadn’t meant to smile back at him.

“Wait, you’re serious,” she says as he walks over to her other side, putting his hand on a rack of large, crusty breads.

He picks up a loaf and offers it to her, waiting while she looks it carefully over. It’s heavier than she’d expected, as she turns it around in her palms, and then she sees it—a thin line sliced into one end of the bread, which breaks cleanly off with a small but satisfying crunch. She peers inside, and the bread’s doughy midsection has been all but scooped out, replaced by tiny bags of white powder.

She searches the shelves more closely this time. They’re lined with loaves of varying sizes, stacked up ceiling-high and each of them undoubtedly stuffed to the brim with heroin. She pulls out her phone.

Frank clears his throat. “This what you need to put ‘em away?”

Karen looks at him. “It’s a start,” she says. She doesn’t hold back on her smile this time.

This is how Matt eventually finds them, gazing at each other over some loaves of bread.

“You guys good?” he asks them. He’s propped expectantly against the doorway, with the air of someone who’s been standing there for a lot longer than he’s letting on. Karen pictures him beating a bunch of mobsters unconscious, and then patiently waiting it out on the other side of the door for them.

“Yeah,” says Karen, as Frank tucks the last of the bread back in place. “Yeah. We are.”

He shoots her a look, brief but warm.

Karen squeezes Matt’s arm as he pushes the door back wider for them. “Thanks for having my back,” she tells him, and means it, in more ways than one.

Frank moves past him next, and they nod to one another.

“Solid work, Red,” says Frank in a tone that’s downright cordial.

Matt snorts out a little laugh, shaking his head as he follows them out of the restaurant.

Frank turns to Karen, once they’re outside. Matt’s already loping his way up the brick wall of the building, leaving them alone once more.

“Give you a ride home?” Frank asks, voice soft. Hesitant. Hopeful.

“Sure,” she says, and it’s a start.

A really, really good start.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork

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theskyeandsea · 4 years ago

Text

Alone, Again || Solo

Timing: Backdated to Sunday, October 4th

Location: Nic & Skylar’s Home

Description: Skylar and her father talk, face to face.

Skylar ran a hand through the short, tangled waves of her hair as she stared at the calm pool of water before her, her skin folded in her lap. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she stared down at the mottled patterns of her fur. Did he look like this? Did Ben… did her father, did he have a pelt like hers? The memory of his chest forced its way to the forefront of her memories, and she tried to blink them away. But, she could still see the white pieces of shattered bone protruded from the mass of gore, could still see the shredded remains of his lungs. Skylar pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, wishing she could just rub the images away. She didn’t want to see that, she didn’t want to think about that.

But, she needed to know.

“Ben?” She spoke, face still pressed into her hands. “…Dad?”

Her voice echoed through the pool room, reverberating off the cool tiles. And, for a moment, Skylar thought that she was alone, that she had imagined it all. Drawing her gaze to the pool, she stared at the bright surface.

A single rippled moved from the center of the pool, spreading outwards. Skylar watched, her forehead creasing together as she watched the ripple make its way to the edges of the water, sending water lapping out of the pool. Before she could react, Ben emerged from the center of the ripple, his soaked hair plastered against his forehead as always.

“You…” He breathed, staring at her with inscrutable, unreadable blue eyes. Eyes that looked just like hers. “You’re not her.”

Skylar shook her head. “No. I’m not.” She said before adding, “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing. Maybe it was because she wasn’t who he wanted to see? Or because she wasn’t what he thought she should be? If he was… if he was her father, like she suspected he was, wouldn’t he be ashamed of her? She was a selkie who couldn’t swim, who had never known what she was, who couldn’t even defend herself. She was just… nothing.

“It’s—” The man cut himself off, staring at her with those same confused, startled eyes. Dark blue, as blue as the sea. Just like hers. “Who are you?”

“I’m Skylar. That’s, that’s what they called me. The family who raised me.” She said, the words ringing hollow in her ears.

“Skylar.” He repeated, as though he was testing the name in his mouth. “Sky…lar. You look,” Ben let out a slightly barking laugh, shaking his head for a moment. “You look just like her. Eliza. Your… your mother.”

Her stomach lurched at his words, at the confirmation of her suspicions. Her mother. He knew her mother, which made him… “You’re my father, aren’t you?”

The man stared at her for a long moment before wading through the water. Though the sheen of water barely rippled around him, she could hear the sounds of water sloshing, hear it parting around his body as he hefted himself out of the pool to sit next to her. He wiped his face as he sat next to her, flicking away droplets of water from his skin. The man—Ben, she reminded herself—stared at the pool for a moment before turning to look at her intently.

“I guess I am.” He said, voice a gravelly whisper. His eyes flicked from his face down to the pelt that rested in her lap. Ben stared at the dappled grey fur for a long moment and Skylar could see something almost like longing in his eyes. Shifting a bit, she held the skin out to him. She wasn’t sure what he would do with it, or even why she was offering it to him. But, it felt like the right thing to do.

The man’s fingers reached out and rested against the pelt, stroking the fur. A slight chill ran down her spine, goosebumps rising on her skin. “You look just like she does. Did. I don’t,” The man shook his head, raising his free hand to press against the bruises on his head, “I don’t remember.” He mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Skylar said. Swallowing, she tried to conjure up all the questions that had followed her through the years. Why had he left? Well, the answer was obvious, it was as plain as the mottled purples on his head, as the yawning cavern of his chest. Had they wanted to leave her? Less clear, but still, she had an idea. Had they known who would take her? Had he ever even wanted her?

“Skylar.” Ben repeated, the name sounding strange in his rough tone. “Skylar.” He shook his head, a wry smile spreading across his face. For a moment, Skylar could see a flash of herself. They had the same lopsided smile, the same crease in their cheeks, she realized. “It’s a good name for you. Were the people who raised you, were they good to you?”

Her voice caught in the back of her throat and Skylar stared hard at the center of the pool, “They did… what they thought was best.” She said quietly.

“I thought they loved me. And I loved them. But love,” Skylar’s fingers fidgeted with the warm fur on her lap, playing with the short, sleek hair, “Love doesn’t mean as much as I thought it did.”

The man’s eyebrows knitted together, his forehead creasing as he stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”

Letting out a sigh, Skylar squinted at the pool, not meeting his gaze. “Love should be… unconditional. It should be something that you feel and you can’t resist, you can’t help it. But, my mo—” Skylar paused before shaking her head, “The woman who raised me, she didn’t think that way. Love always came with a price. You had to be what she wanted, who she wanted, in order for her to pay attention to you. And living like that… it’s not easy.” She said with a slightly wan smile before looking over at the man. “But, I know that she cared for me, in her own way. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it now.”

Ben looked over at her, expression unreadable. For a long moment, the two of them sat in silence. The only sound was the quiet lapping of water against the side of the pool, a soft, rhythmic noise. It was soothing, Skylar reflected, in its own way. Almost like the ocean.

“I’m sorry.” Ben said, clearing his throat before continuing. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. For you. For our clan. For Eliza.” He sniffed and shook his head. “You don’t even know who she is.”

“My mother?” Skylar asked. “Was she… is she like us?”

He nodded, a pensive look on his face. “Mmmm. She is. Never seen a woman more at home in the sea than her. She would go for weeks, months even, where she wouldn’t leave the sea. It called to her, even out of her true form. And the sea, it loved her just the same.” He cleared his throat and Skylar realized his eyes were wet with tears, “I… need to find her. If you can see me, maybe she can too.” He said and rose to his feet.

Panic washed over Skylar and she hastily forced herself to stand as well. “You’re—you’re leaving? Why? I-I don’t know, I don’t know anything about you. Or about what, what I am. Please, please, can’t you stay?” She begged as she felt her own eyes begin to feel with tears. “I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how to be okay with what I am.”

Ben blinked, startled. “How to be okay—but you are.” He said with a confused expression on his face. “You are everything I hoped my child would be. I’ve seen you, watched you over these… past strange weeks. You are soft and kind, in a world where so few are. That’s all I ever wanted my daughter to be. I wanted you to know a life better than ours. Better than the one I lost.” He pressed his hand to his bloody chest. The scar on the back of her leg twinged, a sharp reminder that she could have been just like him. She could have been killed just as he had, with a shotgun blast to the chest. Or a knife across her throat. Or, Skylar swallowed, remembering the way the barrel of the gun had felt against her skull, a bullet through her brain.

She could have been like him. She could still be like him. Just by virtue of being what she was. By being a selkie.

Skylar felt a rush of cold wash over her face as Ben reached out, his fingers tilting her head up to look at him. He looked at her earnestly, blue eyes filled with remorse. “I never wanted to leave you.”

“But, I never wanted to be like you.” She whispered. “I don’t want to be like you.” What didn’t she want to be, though? A selkie? Dead? Or both? She didn’t know.

Hurt filled Ben’s eyes, but his hands remained gentle against her skin. “I wish you could. One day, maybe. One day.” He said before letting out a sigh, his shoulder relaxing. Ben stared out into the distance, as though he could see something beyond the walls of the pool room. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you.”

“I know.” It’s not the life I wanted either, Skylar thought. Dead fathers, absent mothers, families that could never love her the way she wanted. Friends who were in constant danger, pursued by people who only wanted to hurt and kill them. She never wanted to live in a world like this, with hunters and zombies and witches and ghosts and violence and pain and death. With wolves in sheep’s clothing and sheep dressed like wolves. She’d never wanted to be a part of this.

Ben tore his eyes from the corner of the pool room before he looked at her once more. “This place, this town… It isn’t where I’m meant to be. But maybe I was meant to meet you.” He cast her that same slightly off-center smile, the tips of his sharp teeth peeking out from under his lips. “I’m sorry, Skylar, that I couldn’t be there for you the way I should have. Just know that I love you. No matter what. No matter who you think you are.” He said before wrapping her in a hug.

Skylar stood stock still for a moment, paralyzed by his embrace. But, the moment passed and she hugged him back, clinging tightly to him.

The moment passed almost as quickly as it began and Skylar felt his form begin to waver under her arms. Panic washed over her and she tried to hold him tighter, as though her embrace would keep him grounded.

“No, no, shh shh shhhh.” He whispered, voice faint in her ear. “I need to go. Let me go. Let me go, Skylar.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head, trying to cling to him. “No. No, please, don’t leave. Please, I can’t be alone again.”

“But you’re not—” Before he could finish his sentence, Skylar felt his solid form evaporate from between her grasp. A choking gasp escaped her lips as she found herself grasping at nothing.

Alone.

Skylar fell to her knees, tears flowing freely down her face. The sound of water quietly lapping against the side of the pool were not enough to cover the sounds of her sobs. Her fingers reached out for her pelt, clinging to it tightly as she continued to cry.

Alone, again.

#p: aa #solo #wickedswriting

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flyingkiki · 4 years ago

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Curiosity, Chapter 8

Well, this got interesting. *looks around nervously*

“Mary Johnson, 46, born in Steel City, her family moved to Gotham when she was seven. Her father, Chester Johnson, was a real estate agent who was reassigned to Gotham. He died of cancer when she was 12. Her mother, Francine, eventually remarried a couple of years later to a guy name Carl Tomson. The three of them lived a pretty straightforward life. Mary has been in Gotham ever since, never moved once. She’s a veterinarian, owns a local practice in downtown Gotham and has zero bad reviews on Yelp. She likes animals, enjoys spending her weekends at the park, catching the latest movies at the cinema, and bowling,” Tim paused as he looked at the Batcomputer. Throwing both Raven and Bruce a wry grin he shrugged. “I pulled the last bit out of her Tinder profile.”

Raven crossed her arms and cocked her head to the right, and gave Tim an amused look. Bruce made a dismissive sound at the back of his throat. Switching her gaze to the smiling middle aged woman with ash-blonde hair, green eyes and horn-rimmed glasses, Raven found it hard to believe that this woman was a die-hard follower of the Church of Trigon. She looked more like a mother from a Sunday school.

“Apparently, aside from her interests in animal care and parks, Mary seemed to have a keen interest in the occult. In her junior year of college, she heard of a cult that was gaining popularity among the underground scene in Gotham. Long story short, Mary met Brother Blood, joined the church, and helped him grow the church, and prepared whatever it took to summon Trigon onto earth,”

Raven frowned and stared at the pictures of police reports that appeared on the Batcomputer. “How come she was never caught? We never saw her when the Titans took down Brother Blood,”

Tim’s brows furrowed a bit and his blue eyes swept over the huge screen in front of them. “She somehow escaped capture when the Titans took down the church. When all records were in custody, there was no record of a Mary Johnson anywhere in the church,” Tim replied. He pressed a few more keys on the computer. “Just a Lilith Morningstar.”

“Of course,” Raven pushed herself away from the railing she was leaning against with a loud huff of annoyance. Folding her arms across her chest, she walked up to the computer and looked at the grainy image of a middle aged woman dressed in a black robe looking at something off camera. Leave it to the fanatics to take on aliases related to Satan. “Wife of Lucifer,”

“She used Lilith as her alias all throughout her time with the Church of Trigon,” Bruce said. “Explains why there is no trace of her.”

Tim nodded. Typing on the computer, he pulled up pictures of Mary – Lilith – from different locations throughout Gotham and with varying timestamps throughout the span of 20 years. “I’ve run a face recognition scan through the city’s CCTV network. She’s been frequenting a couple of old bookstores and underground locations that are more popular among occultists,” explained Tim.

Raven stared at the multiple reports and images blown up on screen. She turned to Tim with a surprised look on her face. She knew that Tim was an excellent detective, but she did not know that he was that good. Didn’t he say earlier that he was up at three in the morning? “You pulled up all of this information at three in the morning? How are you even awake?”

Tim waved his coffee mug at her and grinned as he heard Raven snort softly at him. “Sleep is for the weak,”

Bruce frowned, ignoring the banter and keeping his eyes focused on the screen. “Do we know why she is trying to recreate Trigon’s summoning?”

“From what we gathered she wants to finish what Brother Blood has started,” said Raven. “The church promises that Trigon will purge the world and offer them sanctuary. His followers will live in his cleansed world with everlasting life.” She frowned and folded her arms tighter over her chest. “Or so the promise goes,”

“This is the warehouse district Frank mentioned,” said Tim as he pulled up an image of an old rundown warehouse. “I’ve been tracking movements within the district and within the last 48 hours, there’s been only one person who entered one of these warehouses,”

They watched as hooded person appeared of screen and walked up to one of the old warehouses. The figure opened one of the old rusty doors and slipped through them. “Whoever that was stayed there for a 68 minutes before leaving again but this time they got a companion heading out,” Tim sped up the video and they watched as two figures stepped out of the warehouse and walked off screen. Tim paused the video and looked over his shoulder at Raven and Bruce. “That’s one empty church, if you ask me,”

Bruce frowned and stared at the screen. “Pull up the underground layout of the district. Check if there are any underground structures or tunnels under that warehouse,”

Tim hummed and typed in a few commands. “Way ahead of you, B. Oracle and I pulled up the plans up underneath the warehouse. There’s a tunnel system that’s about a 600 meters deep and leads to a bigger hall with a couple of rooms,”

Raven frowned and stared at the blueprint. A chill ran down her spine and her fingers dug into her arms. She suppressed whatever memories that bubbled dangerously under her steely resolve. “Probably one of the older church halls from Brother Blood’s time,” she said.

Switching to the blueprint of the main warehouse, Tim pulled up details of each point of entry. “There’s a couple of windows at the east and west wing of the warehouse, if we enter from the forest side tonight. There are beams and parts of the roof that caved in, that provide good enough coverage for us,” Tim began to play through the structural details of the warehouse. “Entrance to the underground hall is somewhere to the northwest of the warehouse, we’ll have to find it – it should be likely hidden in the flooring or through a door in the back wall,”

Tim continued to pull up a few more plans and live footage of the warehouse. “I’ve programmed the system to send out an alarm for any movement in the area. Oracle is doing another structural scan so we have a better idea of the underground layout.”

Bruce nodded, satisfied with the details presented. “We’ll head out tonight during patrol,” He offered Raven and Tim a brief look. “Good job you two,”

Raven titled her head at Bruce, lips quirking slightly. “Tim was the one who barely slept,”

Tim chuckled and waved his hand absently. “Who needs sleep?”

“Someone who is going head on with a group of people who have a knack at summoning inter-dimensional demons,” Raven rolled her eyes and sent him an amused smile.

“Concerned?” Tim grinned swiveled his chair in her direction. He threw her an amused grin.

Raven made a dismissive sound and turned on her heels. She ignored the brush of his emotions against her. Sending Bruce a quick glance, she stuffed her hands into her (Tim’s) hoodie. “I’m going to do some reading and meditate. I’ll see you later tonight?”

Bruce nodded. He checked his watch and pushed himself away from the railing he was leaning against. “Right. Tim and I have a board meeting. We’ll be back before dinner and we can discuss plans before we leave for the warehouse.” Turning to Tim he eyed him expectantly. “Better get ready, we leave in 10,”

“Board meeting before we take down a church that summons inter-dimensional demons. Bruce Wayne keeps a very interesting social calendar,” Raven sent Bruce an amused smile as she passed him on her way out of the cave.

Not waiting for a reply, she slipped out of the cave and silently walked through the hidden pathway that connected the cave to the manor. Emerging through one of the hidden doors in one of the many sitting rooms in the manor (why Bruce had so many was beyond her), Raven towards the library. After the morning briefing, she didn’t feel particularly hungry for breakfast anymore. She hoped Alfred would understand.

Picking up some of the books she and Tim had been reading over the last few days, she slipped into the deeper corners of the library away from their usual reading space and settled into one of the reading corners at the back of the library. She needed some secluded alone time for herself. Settling into the plush reading chair, Raven pulled her feet under her and comfortably leaned back. Exhaling softly, she tried to release the tension that had settled around her shoulders.

Cracking open the book she had been reading, Raven tried to focus on the text in front of her. However, after rereading the same paragraph five times and still not understanding a single word from the passage, she closed it with a frustrated sigh and closed her eyes. Her head thrummed softly, a whisper of a headache crawling under her skull.

Raven was fairly certain that they’d be able to see this little ragtag church of her father’s at work tonight. From what they gathered so far, they stood a fairly good chance to put an end to this circus by tonight. A few words from the text swam in front of her eyes, sacrifice, death, gem, and she knew that there was absolutely no need for her to read anything more about the Church of Trigon – she already knew everything there was.

Folding her legs into a lotus position and placing the book into her lap, Raven’s fingers curled absently into the old tome. The edged of the book bit into her fingers, grounding her. Her mind reeled briefly as hot, stifling fire consumed her thoughts. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the chanting, Scath, Scath, Scath, and a distant strangled cry. She felt the sickeningly familiar text of Scath dance across her skin and singe her flesh. The curved script pressed into her arms and legs, and slowly burned her torso. Her lungs burned from the heat of fire all but consuming her –

“We need the gem.”

Raven inhaled sharply, allowing cool air to fill her parched lungs, and she quickly opened her eyes, eyeing her surroundings wildly for a brief second. She pushed the tome out of her lap involuntarily and sunk heavily into the plush cushions to calm herself down. A wave of irritation hit her as she thought of how easily the church got under her skin. She should have a better handle over the situation.

Closing her eyes and seeing the fire burn at the back of her eyelids, Raven sore she was going to burn the church to the ground tonight.

Getting into a comfortable lotus position, Raven exhaled softly and slipped into her meditative trance. This should help her ground herself and prepare her for later tonight.

She’ll be fucking damned before Lilith would get the best of her.

“Raven?”

Purple eyes snapped open sharply and quickly focused on Tim as he stood at a safe distance away from her. Feeling like the last dredges of Nevermore slip away from her consciousness, Raven blinked at Tim, who looked like he came fresh from work as he was still dressed in a business suit. How long had she been meditating?

“Alfred says you haven’t had breakfast or lunch,” Tim crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her curiously. “It’s past three in the afternoon,”

“Oh,” Raven breathed softly and unfolded her legs under her. Her leg muscles tingled from being kept in the same position for so long. “I didn’t notice the time,”

Tim tilted his head and watched Raven arrange some of the books in front of her on the table. “Alfred wasn’t sure if he could interrupt you for lunch,”

“Hmm,” Raven hummed softly. She threw him an amused look. “And you could?”

Tim chuckled softly and uncrossed his arms, visibly relaxing. “Well, I can dodge whatever attack you might throw at me a lot faster than Alf,”

Raven eyed Tim in his suit skeptically. It was ridiculous had good he looked in a suit – how come he did not walk around in a suit more often like Bruce did? Seriously. Bruce Wayne’s adult children could fit into a Men’s Health magazine easily – they probably did at one point. “I’m not sure you can in that suit,” she teased.

Tim snorted ungracefully, putting his public image as CEO of Wayne Enterprises to shame. He watched her stand up from the couch and pick up a book from the floor. “You’d be surprised what I can do in this suit,” he said playfully and threw her a grin. Raven released a small bark of laughter and Tim blinked as his brain finally caught up with him. “Okay, that sounded wrong.”

Raven hummed softly, trying to hide her smile as she gathered the books she had been trying to read earlier. Moving around the table with the books in hand, she joined Tim by the end of the bookcase aisle. “I’m a bit hungry. Do you think Alfred would mind if we get something to eat now before dinner?” she asked.

They began walking through the old bookshelves filled with old books. “He asked me to get you to eat something. I want you to eat something,” Tim told her. He shot her a concerned look when she did not respond. “Is everything okay?”

Raven stopped and looked at him curiously. “Everything is okay.”

Tim crossed his arms and stood in front of her, looking down at her with a calculating eye. “You missed breakfast and lunch. You at the very least would have had some tea. You’d rather not make Alfred worry by missing his meals. You walked off right after our morning briefing. And you ignored the messages I sent you today,” He raised an eyebrow at her and titled his head just a fraction of an inch. “Shall I continue?”

“Stalker much?” Raven pressed the books against her chest and raised her eyebrow in challenge.

Tim shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m a keen observer.”

Raven rolled her eyes playfully at him. When she saw that Tim’s gaze was unrelenting and he was expecting an answer from her, she sighed softly. “Look, it’s nothing. This whole case has been getting under my skin and it’s just frustrating me,” she replied. She looked away from Tim and purposefully stared at some of the old books a couple of rows down as she felt her skin crawl unconsciously. “I thought I was done dealing with my father and his henchmen. The idea of someone else trying to do what Brother Blood did just throws me off. I told you last night, it just gives me bad memories,”

Tim’s drawn eyebrows relaxed and he looked at her with concern. “Hey,” he said and gently placed his right hand on her tense shoulder. “We’ll get this done tonight, no more Church of Trigon and no more crazy followers trying to summon inter-dimensional demons. We’ll get this done for your mother, I promise,”

Raven looked up at Tim and felt his warm emotions brush against her. She sighed softly and relaxed her shoulders. He was right, they would get everything in order tonight and this would be all over. She threw him a small smile. “Thanks,”

“Excellent,” Tim beamed and he took a small step towards her. “I for one want this over and done with so I can take you out on a date after this. You’ll go on a date with me, right?”

Tim knew that whatever was going on between him and Raven was still pretty new. And while he knew that Dick was going to beat his ass for starting a relationship with one of his teammates (because getting this close to each other was definitely not part of the mission plans), Tim absolutely knew that he wanted to spend more time with Raven, even if it meant if he had to spend time in Jump once in a while. He could at least take her one date in Gotham before she had to go back to Jump – and then they’d have to figure something out from there. Would she even –

“You think way too loudly, Tim,” Raven raised an amused eyebrow at him. The corner of her lips raised lightly in amusement.

“Oh,” Tim released a breathy chuckle, embarrassed. Of course, Raven was an empath. He chuckled sheepishly and absently ran a hand through his long hair.

“I’m a boring date,” Raven said, tilting her head just a little bit at him. She felt the familiar press of his emotions against her and she silently sought more of it.

Catching her teasing tone and easily feeling the atmosphere shift around them, Tim laughed softly and crowded her personal space. Dropping his gaze to her lips, he ducked his head just a little bit to level her gaze and he watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and her breath caught in her throat. Gently cupping her jaw, he drew her closer and he smiled.

“You’re anything but boring, Raven,” Tim whispered softly to her.

Raven felt that familiar, satisfying purr of emotions inside of her as Tim’s warm emotions practically wrapped themselves around her. Her eyelids dropped softly and she watched as Tim hovered so close to her. “Oh?”

As Tim crowded her space, Raven felt herself get drugged by the delicious press of their emotions. The familiar smell of sandalwood overwhelmed her senses and Raven felt the all too familiar press of lips against her own. Humming softly in satisfaction, she gently leaned into the kiss, silently asking for more.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Raven wasn’t sure how she’d ever be able to explain to Dick, her team leader who had 100% faith in her that she would not fuck this mission up, that she had somehow completed the mission he had asked her to work on and come back with a potential relationship with his brother. She wasn’t sure if she was overachieving or asking for trouble. She faintly wondered what Batman would think.

But that, like her earlier worries over Lilith and her father’s church, did not seem to matter right now as Tim continued to kiss her. Raven felt the gentle swipe of his thumb against her cheek as he titled her chin to get better access. The kiss was gentle and needy, nothing like this morning’s hot and frenzied kisses. Theses kisses warmed her body and had her seeking for more.

Tim gently pulled back and inhaled softly, relishing her tantalizing scent of lavender. Staying within her personal space, he stroked her cheek once more and smiled as he watched her hooded eyes look up at him. “So?” he whispered gently. “Is that a yes?”

Raven blinked through the haze and gave Tim a confused look, which he thought looked cute. “Hmm?”

Tim chuckled and offered her a smile. “A date. Tomorrow?” Grinning triumphantly, he tucked a few stray strands of purple hair behind her ear and pulled away fully. “I take that as a yes?”

Taking in the twinkle in his blue eyes, Raven teasingly quirked the corner of her lips up at Tim. “Careful, you’re getting cocky,” she teased and slipped out of his arms. Side stepping him, she threw a small smile at him over her shoulder. “Will you wear a suit again?”

Tim’s eyes widened in amusement as he watched her walk towards their reading table and drop off the books she was carrying. Tim was sure he was imagining the light sway of her hips as she walked towards the table. He grinned brightly at her as they resumed walking out of the library. Giving her a sly grin, he leaned into her just as they were about to exit the library. “So you like the suit?” his voice held a playful tone in it.

Raven snorted and nudged him away with her shoulder. “It looks nice,”

Tim threw her another teasing grin. “You said I looked nice, I’ll remember this,” he said with a lilt in his voice.

Raven rolled her eyes at Tim in mock annoyance but secretly enjoyed the attention. “I said the suit looks nice,” she replied as they entered the kitchen. “Don’t put words into my mouth,”

“That’s what she said,” Tim grinned.

Raven narrowed her eyes at Tim in warning as they caught sight of Alfred standing dutifully over two steaming mugs and a plate of, in Raven’s opinion, the most beautiful sandwiches she had ever seen. Cyborg would be jealous. Stopping by the kitchen island, she offered Alfred a small smile.

“Miss Raven, you missed breakfast and lunch. I am glad that Master Tim was able to convince you to finally have something to eat,” Alfred sent her a stern look as he watched the two settle by the kitchen island.

Raven offered Alfred an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Alfred. I must have lost track of time,”

Alfred looked unimpressed, obviously having heard the same excuse throughout his lifetime at the Wane Manor. “I’ve prepared some light sandwiches for you, these should tide you over until dinner before you all head out. This family has a tendency to forget the essentials of partaking in meals on time before breaking up deadly crime rings,” blinking at the pair once, Alfred continued. “I expect you all for dinner later before you decide to put an end to a church that summons inter-dimensional demons. It’s a terrible idea to go out on missions on an empty stomach,”

Not waiting for their reply, Alfred stepped away from the kitchen island. After brushing off some imaginary lint from his right sleeve of his suit, he straightened and cast them a long look. “Now if you will excuse me, I will tend to our garden before starting dinner,”

Raven watched Alfred step out of the kitchen before staring at Tim with a surprised look. She watched Tim take one of the beautiful cucumber sandwiches. “Is he always like that?” she asked while watching him take a bit out of a sandwich. “That’s mine,”

“Since I was a teenager,” Tim shrugged and gave her an amused smile, completely ignoring her and picked another small sandwich. “He’s made it a mission to get Bruce and everyone else to eat on time,”

Raven plucked one of the cucumber sandwiches from the tray and took a bite. Her stomach churned painfully after finally getting something into it. She forgot how hungry she really was.

“Where’s Bruce?” she asked Tim, giving him a curious glance. She took a sip of Alfred’s special English tea which Raven had come to enjoy over the past few weeks. She faintly wondered if Alfred would be kind enough to share the recipe with her.

Tim nursed his cup of coffee and picked up another small sandwich from the platter. “Wrapping things up at the office. Our board meeting lasted a bit longer than we planned, I left as soon as I could,” he answered.

“The Wayne’s certainly keep a very interesting social calendar,” commented Raven.

Tim snorted and threw her a wry grin. “You should see us during budget season,”

Raven looked at Tim in amusement before finishing up her sandwich. “I can’t imagine what it’s like juggling crime fighting and managing a multi-million-dollar business,” she said.

Tim hummed loudly into his coffee mug as he finished the last of his coffee. Placing the mug on the kitchen island, he shrugged absently. Balancing his day job and their nightly activities was pretty tiring, especially when reporting to the office after a particularly bloody night out. After years of working with Bruce, both as Red Robin and as Senior Management at WE, Tim had gotten a handle of managing the demands of both jobs. Though, he’d love to get a day (or maybe a week) off. Perhaps Raven would be interested in going on vacation with him? Europe, maybe? He mentally shook his head; he was getting way ahead of himself.

“Scheduling can get a bit messy,” joked Tim. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the curious Raven. “Bruce was able to do it for years. When I joined, I guess I just got engrossed into everything and I haven’t slept since,”

Raven raised an eyebrow at him. “That can’t be healthy,”

Tim laughed and nudged his empty coffee mug away with his fingers. It slid across granite countertop. “Tell that to my obsessive work ethic,”

Pushing her chair back and standing up, Raven eyed him curiously. “Well then, I guess your obsessive work ethic won’t mind we go through tonight’s plans one more time?” she asked.

Chuckling, Tim followed her suit and they made their way out of the kitchen. “I was hoping you’d say that,”

Throwing a teasing look over her shoulder as they approached the old grandfather clock in the living room, one of the many hidden entrances to the cave, Raven’s purple eyes danced. “You sure?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. She felt the curious press of Tim’s emotions against her. “And it’s not me hoping your obsessive work ethic won’t mind a day off tomorrow for a date?”

Reaching over her shoulder to type in the code into the hidden panel of the grandfather clock, Tim threw her a wide smile. He got a soft whiff of her lavender shampoo, and Tim was sure that he could get used to the warm scent around him. “So that’s a yes to tomorrow?”

The door to the cave opened with a soft swish. The noise barely covered Raven’s chuckle. “Let’s put an end to my father’s church, and then we can talk about tomorrow,”

“Gladly,”

The evening was muggy and warm as Raven stood hidden in the shadows of one of the warehouses. As a soft breeze hit her, she could smell the impending rain. She just hoped it wouldn’t rain while they were taking down Lilith and the church, it was always such a bother to fight in the rain. Purple eyes scanned their marked warehouse in front of her, trying to catch any movement. Batman and Red Robin were on their way with the Batmobile and Tim’s motorcycle.

Raven watched the trees by the forest rustle as another silent breeze swept past. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she considered how things may turn out tonight.

“We need the gem.”

Raven released a shuddering breath as the whispers of her dreams brushed against her mind. She had bad feeling about tonight.

She felt Batman and Red Robin approach her position and she looked over her shoulder to see both men jump onto the roof silently from out of nowhere. It always amazed her how for humans, Batman and his team moved with such graceful stealth.

“Anything?” Batman asked when they joined her at the edge of the roof.

“I don’t sense anyone inside right now,” Raven answered, her purple eyes glowing faintly as she stared at the old warehouse in front of them.

“Entrance is northwest of the warehouse. We can go in now,” Red Robin tapped a few buttons on his computer on his arm. Closing the program, he dropped his arm and looked at his companions. “Shall we?”

Raven nodded and they sprang into action, silently taking off from their hiding place on the rooftop and jumping onto the roof of the old warehouse they’ve been staking out. Flying over to the forest side of the warehouse, Raven spotted the windows Tim briefed them on and slipped through the broken window. Batman and Red Robin easily followed her.

From their vantage point on the second floor landing, the warehouse was bare save for some old wooden crates lined up in the far corner. It was dark, except for the yellow light of the lamppost that streamed through the broken windows. Raven scanned the empty warehouse warily, drawing her body into her cloak involuntarily as the silence settled around her uneasily. It smelled musty and the whole warehouse creaked softly in the soft summer evening wind.

She eyed the rusty warehouse doors up ahead of her. She faintly wondered if her mother passed through these doors years ago?

“Here,”

Tim’s voice was soft in the night and Raven turned around, surprised that Batman and Red Robin had slipped down the landing and were crowded over a trap door hidden behind a few crates.

Flying down the landing silently, Raven joined the two men. Red Robin pulled open the trap door and the smell of incense overwhelmed her senses. The uneasy feeling in her stomach churned angrily. Quickly exchanging looks with Batman and Red Robin, she nodded and instantly released her soul self, wrapping the three of them in the dark matter. This would allow some form of protection over them while they slipped through the cavern.

Quietly walking down the stairs of the trap door, Raven kept her eyes trained in front of her. The cavern was empty and sparsely lit by torches that licked the stone walls. She could hear nothing except her own breathing. How could the GCP have missed this place when they first took down Brother Blood?

After a few more minutes of walking and taking turns through the cavern, they eventually found a door up ahead. Light streamed through the cracks of the door. As they approached, Raven quickly cast a glance over her shoulder and caught Batman and Red Robin’s eyes. Nodding silently, she turned back to the door and briefly touched the basic steel door. No one seemed to be behind it.

Gingerly touching the door, Raven took a surprised step back as it slid open with a soft hiss under her fingers. The heady smell of incense assaulted her senses once more as they stepped into the large, warmly lit hall.

The hall was built like a church, several pews lined up and facing a white, marble altar. They tentatively entered the hall, their bodies tense and alert for any movements. Torches lined the stone walls that emanated an ominous glow over the church. Dark wooden beams ran over the walls and arched under the ceiling. Dark red markings ran along the cobblestone floor that lead towards the altar. Above the altar, the mark of Scath was etched into the wall. It glowed darkly down on them as they cautiously approached the large altar.

“Well, shit,” Red Robin breathed next to her.

Raven felt her insides freeze and she drew herself deeper into her cloak as her emotions bubbled under her skin. There, in the middle of the white marble altar, stood a little white picture frame and a bronze dagger next to it.

Staring up at them from the picture frame was a picture of Raven.

#TimRae #TimRae Fanfiction #Tim Drake #Raven

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elisende · 4 years ago

Text

Whisper My Name

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale

Rated: E

Words: 2311

Twenty years after sharing a forbidden ritual, Langoth meets the bear of an elf he's been longing for ever since. Will he bend to his own desires, or is his past too much to overcome?

Langoth wasn’t one to dwell on the past.

For many reasons, but most of all--he told himself--because it didn’t serve the needs of the present.

And so when he saw the bear transform into the powerful druid, ritual tattoos twining his weathered cheeks, the same who had claimed him, over twenty summers ago, at a long forgotten ritual, Langoth was unprepared for the flood of memories, most of them sensory.

The druid even carried the same runed club he’d used on Langoth. His hands clenched at the recognition.

He heard the druid master Halsin’s words distantly, felt the curious stare of his companions as the silence grew. Words, it seemed, were required.

“The tadpole?” Shadowheart prompted in a pointed whisper.

Somehow, the worm writhing behind his eyeball seemed to diminish in importance. It might have had something to do with the druid’s challenging gaze, or perhaps the suggestion of a smile on his lips.

Or maybe how he’d whispered into Langoth’s ear as he’d penetrated him with his member, thick as an oaken branch, whispering sweet, meaningless words--how for years after, in the night’s depths, he would imagine that encounter and again and again, but this time, it would be Langoth’s name on the druid’s lips….

Astarion tutted, rolled his bloodred eyes, and resumed the conversation on Langoth’s behalf. Yes, they were looking for a healer. Could Halsin possibly trouble himself to assist with their mind devouring tadpole issue…?

When Halsin spoke, it was to Langoth that he responded, his face grim. Was there worry in his eyes? Worry for him?

He could barely feel his feet as they ascended the dungeon stairs to vanquish the last remaining goblin leader--Dror Ragzlin, and his weary bones told him it would be their hardest fight yet. He glanced over at Halsin, back in his wild shape.

The druid had recognized him, hadn’t he? Suddenly he was unsure.

“Someone’s in lo-ove,” Astarion teased in a singsong voice, just below the threshold of the others’ hearing. He bared his fangs in a simulacrum of a smile. “Should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Langoth said, keeping his eyes forward, bow drawn. He’d never wished more for a goblin sneak attack, but unfortunately, they’d cleared all of the temple except for Ragzlin’s chambers at its heart.

“Oh, I think you do. If we manage to survive this next little scrap with the goblins, you’re going to spill everything, aren’t you, darling? And what exactly was that little exchange with the Priest of Pain about, hmm?”

Normally, Astarion’s menacing flirtations amused him, but not today. Not for this. He lunged at the vampire spawn, hunting dagger to his throat.

“Leave it,” he said, as softly as he could, pinning him with his fiercest stare. Astarion only laughed, damn him. Ahead, Shadowheart had stopped; they’d reached Ragzlin.

He’d never been so ready for a fight; usually, they filled him with dread. That he might experience the helpless feeling of lying prone and powerless before his enemies, or feel the pains of death wrack his body, organs shutting down, the light of the world dimming. The bloodied edge of a raised maul, poised to brain him.

He had come closer to death more times since the Nautiloid abduction than ever before in his life. The experiences--whether he was fighting giant, venomous spiders, screeching intellect devourers, or most horrifically of all, the deadly harpies--had terrorized even his dreams. They reminded him of the time before. His first and most traumatic brush with death, and at the hands of his own brothers.

And yet, rather than study the layout of the hall, pacing the dim corners and finding the best advantage its terrain had to offer as they always did, he pushed past Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, and the bear that was the Druid Halsin, kicking down the door and launching an arrow right at Ragzlin’s head.

It only served to enrage the fiend.

But then the bear bounded in roaring before him, shielding him from the worst of the retaliation. Langoth felt every blow as though it were his own flesh being pierced, burned, mauled.

It was a brutal fight, and he had no shame in admitting they would have lost it without the druid. Especially as he’d rushed in so thoughtlessly. He had paid the price; his bow arm was barely still attached to his body, a mangled pulp of gore and broken bones.

“What in the hells, Langoth,” Gale said, groaning as Shadowheart hefted him off the stone ground, and not for the first time that day. “I know you’re not exactly a Bezantur scholar, but a frontal assault on a hobgoblin and twelve of his minions? What possessed you?”

He felt a stab of remorse as Gale began hacking up blood. How needlessly, recklessly stupid he’d been. Never apologize, the ghost of his brother reminded him, silencing his apology to the mage before it began.

Nearby, Halsin transformed out of his wild shape and Astarion chuckled knowingly. “Oh, I think I can guess what possessed him.”

“Are you alright?” Halsin murmured, only to him. Before Langoth could answer, the druid muttered some healing words over his maimed arm. He winced and hissed as the magic knitted his muscle, skin, and bones back together. When he tested the flex of his hand, it wasn’t even stiff, much less sore. He glanced up at the druid, and electricity seemed to snap as their eyes connected.

“Er, I could use some healing too,” Gale said. His tone was wry but the effect was spoiled as he began choking on his own aspirated blood. Halsin abruptly turned and it was like basking on a rock when the sun had suddenly vanished behind a cloud.

Once he’d seen to Gale and mended Wyll’s cracked skull, Halsin addressed the whole party, though once again he looked directly at Langoth.

“Return to the grove, I’ll make my own way there.”

He nodded, feeling Astarion’s eyes on him, sensing him smirk. “And our... problem?” he asked.

“Once I’ve seen to some matters, then we can discuss your problem,” Halsin promised. He left without another word, changing his form to that of a mouse to slip past the drunken goblins still cavorting outside the shattered sanctum.

“Onward,” Langoth said, and the word sounded harsh even in his own ears.

He felt poised as though on some precipice, staring down into the dark, unknown shadows that lay beneath. And the ground beneath his feet had just given way.

He delayed their return to the grove as long as possible, even tried to find Lae’zel’s cursed Creche. If he had hoped Astarion would forget his obvious connection with the druid, he was disappointed. The hectoring grew so obnoxious that he finally commanded the elf to stay at their camp, and there he remained, in a sulk.

The air was sweet around the grove: vetiver, blackcurrants, and sun-warmed cedar. He’d recognized the smell as being somehow familiar when they’d first arrived, weeks ago. Comforting, even safe. Now the connection with the druid seemed so obvious. It had been in his skin, his hair, his mouth--every part of him that Langoth had smelled and tasted.

Through the blood-spattered gate, Halsin was waiting for them--for him.

Even as he spoke to them of the grove’s fate, the elf seemed to be watching him for some sign of--what? Recognition? Remorse? Or did he fear Langoth would give away their secret?

He seemed about to turn away from them but stopped himself. “Before you speak to Zevlor,” he said slowly, “May I--have a word?”

What could he do but agree?

He felt his companions’ eyes on them as they slipped behind a toppled statue at the far end of the grove. This, Langoth decided, was his chance.

He had already decided that if Halsin had recognized him--for it had been a long time ago, and he didn’t doubt the druid had more than his share of enthusiastic partners--he would be cool, reserved. Distant. He could ill afford any distraction and his feelings about Halsin were too complex. The way the endless field of stars in the night sky were complex, or the depthless mysteries of the sea. The unseen roots of an ancient arakhor tree, spanning continents.

But all of it fell away when, as soon as they were out of sight, Halsin took Langoth’s face in his hands and spoke the words, “I have thought of that night every solitary day of the past twenty years.” And Langoth’s resolve crumbled to sand.

He looked up into the druid’s hazel eyes; he felt he could read him so easily, see the weariness, sadness, and abject loneliness of Halsin’s soul, even alongside his strength, that steely will that would not bend or sunder to any assault. Before, he’d seen the scars on his body, as the dawn brightened the forest, telling of innumerable battles fought and won. More battles than Langoth had years.

His proud words caught in his throat and he found himself instead kissing Halsin, with a passion, a need, that frightened him. It was just like that night. He was losing himself, body and soul.

“Here?” he asked--no, begged, the word half-breath.

He could see Halsin prevaricate, certainly about to command patience, they had waited this long. But instead, he said, “You’ll need to be quiet. Can you?”

Langoth remembered their night together, how he had broken the ritual, cried out, even begged. Hot blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded.

“Bite my arm, if you need to,” Halsin said, his sonorous voice suddenly hoarse. There was no time to undress; how long could their “conversation” reasonably last before his companions grew impatient, or curious? Before a tiefling or druid chanced over to this little alcove?

All thought melted away as the druid stood behind him and brushed aside his long hair to trail kisses down his exposed neck. He gasped to feel his hot breath on his neck once again, and memories of the past threatened to collapse in on the present. Halsin’s rough fingers found the front of his jerkin, loosened the laces to stroke his chest beneath.

“Quickly,” he reminded Halsin. The druid didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift, decisive motion, he pulled down Langoth’s breeches, then pushed aside his own tunic. He felt Halsin’s erection pressing against his bare flesh and moaned into the other man’s open palm, already cupping his mouth in anticipation. Was it possible that he was even bigger than he’d remembered?

Halsin paused for a moment, breath still hot on his neck, then Langoth felt the viscous touch of oil smear his skin. He’d poured a flask of it on his cock, thank the gods for that. Now his attention was back on Langoth, and his fingers slipped between his cheeks, finding his ass and slipping inside easily with the oil.

A fire that had been kindling within him exploded into full, roaring burn and he moaned again into Halsin’s hand, too loudly this time.

“Shhh,” the druid said. He shifted closer to offer his meaty, gauntleted arm to bite. Langoth sighed against it instead, and Halsin kissed his neck again, with the utmost tenderness, before sliding his cock deep inside him.

Now he did bite, hard, making the druid suck in his breath. The sensation was too much for Langoth, far too much, and yet exactly what he had longed for, like a cup filled exactly to its brim. The druid pulled him tighter with his strong arm wrapped around Langoth’s face even as his hips found a rhythm, a tempo to which Langoth’s desire also beat.

The druid’s breath was ragged, gasping. Heat coursed down his body, up again, like some kind of healing magic, bringing life back into his limbs where fear and death had too often resided, these past weeks. And before. The time before, when he had nearly--

Another thrust, too deep, and he cried out instead of biting. Halsin hushed him again, reminding him, with his powerful embrace, that he was safe.

“Whisper my name,” Langoth murmured. “Please.”

Halsin bent lower, so his lips, impossibly soft, brushed his ear, and whispered, “Langoth” as he thrust again and again, relentless. His lips found Langoth’s neck once more, his hectic breath and soft groans telling him how close he was to coming. The sun emerged from the clouds and warmed the rocks where they were braced. In that moment of perfect ecstasy, sun beating down on them, they both climaxed as one, Langoth’s bite on the druid’s arm drawing blood.

They rested there some moments before Halsin withdrew, taking Langoth in his arms and kissing him deeply again. “I have missed your taste,” the druid sighed.

Langoth rested his head on his strong shoulder, the demons at bay for a time, feeling only the perfect peace of Halsin’s embrace, his own satisfaction, the tranquility of the grove.

“We should go,” he finally said. “What will we--?” “Once I settle things here, I am coming with you,” Halsin said, and his voice brooked no argument. More softly, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Langoth. I swear.” He took him again into his arms and held him.

They stayed as long as they dared, then Halsin dusted him off--another memory resurfaced, how before he had brushed the dirt from his face, when they had finished. As tenderly as a mother, he set Langoth’s jerkin straight, relacing the top and brushing something invisible from his shoulder. All the while, Langoth looked up at him in a kind of wonderment.

It was only later, in camp, with the preparations for the night’s celebration underway, that he recalled something his eldest brother had told him many years ago. No one can really protect anyone else in this world. Don’t trust anyone who says they can, brother.

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #bg3 halsin #astarion #shadowheart #baldur's gate gale #langoth

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Happiness Is Just Around the Corner

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist for her birthday! This was...not the fic I thought I’d be writing, but this is where this subplot needed to start >:3c

There is an improbable amount of fireworks on the lawn.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure none of it’s legal,” Kiki assures him, taking a long drag of her Sam’s Summer. “Shiira took his ducklings up to New Hampshire yesterday, and they came back with two coolers worth of...something.”

Zen coughs on the dregs of his Magic Hat. “What? Should we even--?”

Kiki’s flat stare is more effective than a hand over his mouth. “You really think we’ll get in trouble.”

His gut instinct is yes, because there’s not a day in his life where his brother hasn’t caught him with his pants down just to prove a point. It would be just like him to send a cruiser around so that he could experience the heart-stopping terror of being on the other side of a two-way mirror. Sure, Haruka would be down at the station before he could even ask for a phone call, and all of this would slide off his permanent record like water off a duck’s back, but still-- trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. He takes a deep breath, thinks. It’s quiet here on campus. They’re rowdy, sure, but it’s just the frat there, not some rager with Omega Delta Nu. The campus cops are probably bored out of their skulls, but they’re not going to nail the honor’s frat for a light show.

“No,” he admits, begrudgingly. “Not unless they light something on fire.”

Her mouth twitches, following the spark in her eyes. “Well, there’s a non-zero chance of that.”

Ugh, of course Kiki would be excited by the prospect. “Well, as long as we don’t get--” Obi crosses the lawn, aviators looming over a wide smile, and hovers just at Shiira’s shoulder, perusing the goods. “UH.”

“Fuck.” Kiki hops off the porch, straight down into the landscaping. “I’ll handle this.”

Zen settles back against the porch swing and sighs, taking another swig of Magic Hat. “Yeah, please do.”

Kiki’s already halfway across the lawn by the time he’s finished talking, so quick that when Obi picks up a particularly patriotic package of pyrotechnics, she’s there to snatch it out of his hands. Even from here, Zen can see the jut of his pout, hear the faint whine of Ms Kiki on the air.

Mitsuhide’s lighting up the grill, surrounded by a crowd convinced cooking works by consensus. He takes a handkerchief out of his back pocket-- stars and stripes, stuffed there early this morning as Obi solemnly announced, you are America’s hat today, big guy-- and wipes the sweat beading on his forehead. Zen can’t tell whether it’s from the heat or from the effort needed to withstand six guys offering advice on proper grilling technique.

A cool breeze tumbles through the porch, carrying the muted voices of a dozen conversations. Zen closes his eyes, letting the smell of smoke and the heat of the day wash over him, the swing rocking gently on its chains.

It’s nice, having all this. People he can anticipate. People he can depend on. Friends. The real kind, not just kids whose parents went to the same prep school as his.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A year ago that would have sent him scrambling-- last minute tickets and crumpled up itineraries paired with the crushing guilt of never being enough. But now--

Now he knows this is where he wants to be. And there’s only one person to thank for that.

“Hey.” His eyes slit open, and there she is, brilliant smile and bright hair, peeping around the post. “Enjoying yourself?”

Zen drops his legs from the rail to make room. “I am now.”

Shirayuki’s mouth slants, playfully wry, and his heart strains against his sternum like a dog testing its leash. “It looked like you were before too.”

“Well, sure.” He wishes he had Obi’s obnoxious aviators right now, if only so she couldn’t see the eager way he watches her as she comes up, tucking herself neatly onto the opposite end of the swing. “But even more now that you’re around.”

Freckles disappear behind a bloom of pink, settling in on either cheek. “Ah, w-well,” she stammers, staring at her bare toes. “It’s good to know you don’t regret staying here.”

“Instead of being with my family?” He laughs, incredulous, draping his arm over the back of the swing. His fingers just barely brush the freckles on her shoulder. “More like I’m thankful for the excuse.”

Her smile dims. “Oh, um, right. You and Izana...”

She hesitates. There’s a wealth of ways she could end that thought, but instead she says, “It must be nice. I mean, the place your family has, not...”

The fraught relationship you have with your brother. She doesn’t have to say it for him to know exactly what she means.

“It’s all right, I guess,” he allows, wishing she’d sit closer, that she’d give him a good reason to put his arm around her for real, and not just let him awkwardly hang here. “I mean, it’s just a house. The beach is nice though. Private, of course.”

That doesn’t stop his mother from inviting the paparazzi if she thinks it will make a good photo op. Last year he’d made the cover of the Inquirer, face scrunched and unattractive as Izana has splashed sea water in his face, with the words Final Frolic for World’s Most Eligible Bachelor? There had been a two-page spread inside, dedicated entirely to the relationship rumors Izana had accrued since Valentine’s Day.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that this year. No paparazzo was going to stake out a college frat to take pictures of an illegal fireworks show. Now Haki could deal with having her picture slapped across the tabloids because mother thought candid shots made for better family photos.

“Ah, right...” Her laugh stutters out, awkward and endearing. “That sounds...good?”

Shirayuki’s still next to him, the heat from her skin humid against his fingertips, but she’s never felt so far. He grunts, frustrated, shifting closer.

“There’s an old carousel on the island too,” he offers, haltingly. He’s not sure why the impulse takes him to tell her; why he thinks she, specifically, might like it, save that when he looks at her it’s the same as when he saw those hand-carved horses the first time, well-loved and shining beneath antique lights.

“Oh!” She blinks. “My grandparents took me to one of those, once! Back when we visited...”

Her mouth works silently for a moment before pulling tight, the bittersweet twist making her smile more grimace than grin.

“Well, you’d love this one,” he assures her, sweat pricking at his palms. “It’s the oldest in the US. But it’s still really nice! I’ll take you next--”

His words slam to a stop, running headlong into the barrier of his teeth. She’s staring at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted, and-- and what can he say? I’ll take you next year, when my brother suddenly approves of you.

Yeah, he knows better than to hold his breath for that.

“I’m glad, anyway.” She folds her legs up on the swing, one arm hooked around her knees, and tilts her head back. “It’s nice for all of us to be here, together.”

Her eyes are closed, face serene in the evening light, like she could just sit here forever, breathing into the twilight. His heart flutters just looking at her, at the way she relaxes next to him, content with the slow rock he eases them into. No one can just be the way Shirayuki can.

“It is,” he agrees softly, because anything but a whisper might break this moment, might let the rest of the world in. “It’s going to be weird when you...”

He tries to stop himself, but her eyes fly open before he can. Of course, the one moment he’s gotten her to himself, and he’s gone and ruined it by bringing that up.

“I just mean...” He laughs, tipping his head back on scroll of wood behind his head. “It’s going to be strange when you and Obi are gone next year.”

A month from now, really. It looms over him, a ticking clock that chimes every evening, telling him he’s wasted another day if it wasn’t with her.

“Oh!” Her head snaps upright, cheeks flushed. “I-- I guess. I didn’t really think...” She bites her lip; he wants to kiss it. “Mitsuhide won’t be here either!”

He blinks. It’s true, but he’s never actually thought about that. Mitsuhide has always been in the house, it seems, never the president but a calming influence just to the side of him, and now--

Well, it’ll just be him and Kiki next year. And the rest of the frat, of course, plus all the new pledges.

Still, the future is distinctly more lonely than he’d like.

“He’ll be close, though,” he says, if only to hear the words out loud. “Harvard is a bit of a drive from here, but now that him and Kiki are, you know...”

Banging. That’s what he means to say at least, what he would say if he didn’t, last minute, remember who he was talking to. The last thing he needs is to get a scolding about taking feelings seriously and supporting their friends. Especially when he’d rather be talking about another relationship entirely.

“...Together,” he settles on, and she hums, approving.

“I’m glad that happened.” She rests her chin on her knees, surveying the lawn. Kiki’s abandoned the fireworks committee, instead shooing away the flock of fraters that have congregated around the grill. “They’re good for each other.”

“Made for each other,” he agrees, tickling her shoulder with his thumb. She squirms, a giggle bubbling out from her lips. “Just like...”

Us. He wants to say it, so bad it’s almost an ache, but-- it’s not fair. Not when they’re not really anything, when they can’t be anything, because--

I don’t know if being with me like…like that will be…good for you. I don’t think either of us are ready for that sort of…of attention.

-- Because everything about his life makes things complicated.

“I’m...happy for them,” he says, because he is, because there’s no two people in the world who deserve every bit of goodness they can wring from life more than they do. Even if that leaves him on the outside, again.

“Me too.” Shirayuki smiles, soft and fond, and it’s impossible to believe it’s barely been ten months since he met her, that she isn’t someone he’s known his whole life, not when she just slips seamlessly into every part.

Her hand reaches out, taking his, cool in the evening breeze. “I’ll miss you too.”

His breath catches in his chest, painful. Maybe she feels so familiar because he’s been waiting for her his whole life, too.

“I-I mean, all of you, of course,” she stammers, pink flooding her cheeks, and oh, he wishes he could just lean over now and kiss her, like he was some normal boy with a normal crush and normal expectations of privacy. “I’m excited to go, but...it won’t be the same without everyone.”

Good. He smothers a grin. This whole trip is a great opportunity for her, he knows that-- how could he not, when Izana keeps reminding him about the connections she’ll make-- but--

Two years seems excessive. After a year, she’ll realize that too. And then she can come back for senior year, live in the frat, graduate, spend the summer with him in the Vineyard, and--

“We should do something together,” she says, fingers knotted around his, shoulders rounded shyly.

“Yes!” he blurts out, squeezing way too hard. “Definitely”

“All of us!”

“Ah...” That wasn’t what he thought she was going for. “I mean...”

“One last big adventure.” Her lips spread giddily. “Just the five of us. For now, of course,” she adds, “we’ll be coming back.”

“Oh, ah...” He blinks, staring down at where her hands are tangled with his. She has little over a month left here, and what he really wants is to be doing this, this whole...being together thing, but--

But it’s not like this is going anywhere either. Two years is a long time, but they’ll be sitting here just like this when she gets back. Well-- with more kissing, he hopes.

He can wait. He’s not the only one who will miss her. “Yeah, that sounds...nice.”

His eyes flick up, catching her just as she sinks teeth into the soft pillow of her lip, leaving a dent that begs to be soothed. Zen swallows, hard.

Well, a friendly getaway will have its opportunities for some, ah, private time too. He just has to create them.

“I was thinking,” he starts, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair, trying to be, you know, casual. “What if we--?”

“Hey.” Kiki perches herself across from them with a deftness that says she’s been hanging out with Obi too much. “Burgers are off the grill.”

“Great,” Zen grits out with a glare. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Kiki hums, brow raising dubiously. “What are you two up to out here?”

“Nothing.” He glowers at her, wishing she would just take a hint. “Just talking.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitches. “I see.”

“We were just talking about taking a trip!” Shirayuki blurts out excitedly, red-faced and glowing. “All of us! One last adventure before me and Obi go to Lyrias.”

Kiki blinks at that, cocking her head. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” A giggle burst nervously from her as she smooths the hem of her shorts over her thighs. “We hadn’t really gotten that far.”

All right, it’s time to drag this conversation back on track. Zen clears his throat. “Kiki, doesn’t your dad have that house in the Berkshires? We could go for a weekend, maybe take in the--”

“Why? We’re already in western Mass. What will a forty minute drive get us?” She wrinkles her nose. “It isn’t even peak foliage season.”

Privacy, he wants to say, but he knows how poorly that idea would fly with her. For someone who always seems to find time to be alone with her boytoy, Kiki’s awfully invested in seeing that he never has any with his girl...thing.

“Hm, I wasn’t really think a trip-trip either,” Shirayuki admits, crushing his dreams of a nice afternoon alone in a hammock, just the two of them and their bathing suits. “But something like an, ah...activity. Like an amusement park.” She perks. “Do you have something like that out here?”

“Six Flags!” he blurts out before he can even consider what he’s saying. “It’s only a half hour away, and the coasters are supposed to be some of the best. I mean, if you, ah, like that sort of thing.”

Which he doesn’t, but there’s really no need to mention that. Not when she lights up like she does, hands clapping together over her heart.

“That sounds perfect! I’ve never been to one of those.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “Opa always got vertigo on the Turkish Twist.”

He may not know what that thing is, but it sounds gut-wrenching enough to keep in head in the trash for a good ten minutes. Zen plasters a smile on his face, steadfastly ignoring the arch look Kiki gives him-- god, that’s the last thing he needs, Kiki deciding it would be funny to tell the story of when they rode the Tower of Terror in middle school-- and says, “I’ll go on any ride you want.”

Kiki makes an unearthly noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke, and he braces for it, for the you know, Zen can tell you the location of every trashcan in Hollywood Studios--

“When were you thinking?” she says instead, mouth just barely twitching at the corner. “It’s going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki’s eyes round, matching the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t have to be right now. Maybe in another...week? Or so?”

Kiki whips out her phone, flicking through with one finger. “How about...the seventeenth?”

“Ah...” Shirayuki squints, eyes rolling upward like her brain is an open book she can skim for answers. “Y-yes. I think that’s all right.”

Zen stares. “Did you just...pick a random date?”

“No.” Kiki clicks her screen off, slipping it back into her pocket. “This weekend will still have traffic from the fourth. Next week we’re supposed to submit our paperwork to the student affairs office for this semester, and I know you haven’t started. I don’t want to go during a weekend rush, and Thursday is far into the week where if we have any last second problems with student affairs, we won’t have to reschedule.” She holds out a hand, ta-da. “The seventeenth.”

It’s not fair how she can just...do all that. “W-well, all right. But we still have to make sure that Obi and Mitsuhide--��

“Hey, Obi,” Kiki calls out, catching his attention as he cuts across the lawn toward them. “What are you doing on July seventeenth?”

In full sunlight, in the view of every member of the frat, Obi stumbles over absolutely nothing. “W-what?”

“July seventeenth.” she repeats archly as he slinks up beside her, arms resting on the rail. “Are you doing anything.”

When he thinks of Obi at rest, he thinks of languid limbs, of a frustratingly canted smile and glittering eyes, but--

He’s not any of that now. His troublesome mouth lays in a tense line, the corners of his eyes creased and wary. “Why?”

“We want to go somewhere, all five of us,” Shirayuki informs him giddily, mouth stretching from ear to hear. “And Zen suggested Six Flags--”

“Oh no.” He holds up his hands, shaking his head. “No way. Hard pass. I don’t do amusement parks.”

Kiki arches a brow, unimpressed. “Is that so.”

“Yeah.” He tosses his head, mouth straining towards casual derision and falling short. “Not my scene.”

“Oh really.” The mild look Kiki levels at him had leveled lesser men, but Obi only flinches. “Too cool for them, huh?”

His shoulders twitch. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Ohh,” Zen grins, enjoying the way Obi squirms like a cat with his head caught in a fence. “So you mean that’s not really the reason? You have some other secret, terrible Bugs Bunny trauma in your past, maybe?”

“Well, I have to tell you,” Obi says loftily, “I’ve never really cared for Yosemite Sam.”

Shirayuki frowns. “We really don’t have to--”

“I think we all know this is just to obscure your Lola Bunny fetish,” Kiki deadpans.

“Excuse me?” Obi presses a hand to his chest, aghast. “Space Jam is a formative experience. To say any of us don’t owe Lola Bunny--”

“Hey.” Mitsuhide hops up the steps, wiping the sweat pouring down his neck. Zen valiantly doesn’t notice how Kiki stares. “The burgers have been done for a bit. What’s keeping all of you?”

“Obi is allergic to fun,” Kiki informs him, earning a shocked gasp from Obi.

“That’s not it!” he protests. “You just want to go to Six Flags--”

“Oh, Six Flags!” Mitsuhide’s mouth break into a guileless grin. “I love amusement parks.”

Obi stares, jaw slack. “Big Guy, don’t do this to me...”

Zen grins. “I dunno, Obi. Looks like you’re outvoted.”

Shirayuki shifts beside him, wringing her hands. “Oh no, I don’t think-- if Obi doesn’t want to go, we can just pick--”

“Nah.” Obi waves her off, one hand clasping at his shoulder. “You guys can do what you want. I’ll just sit this one out.”

“Obi--”

“I better check in on Shiira,” he says, stilted. “Don’t want them blowing up the front forty by accident.”

Shirayuki half stands, but it’s too late, he’s already sauntering away, laughing at he calls out to the brothers on the lawn.

“Don’t worry, Shirayuki.” Mitsuhide assures her with a clap on her shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“I...” Zen watches the way her mouth sets, too knowing, a grim white line cutting through the flush of her face. “I don’t know about that.”

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #slightly obiyuki #slightly zenyuki #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #modern au #college au #this was honestly supposed to cover both convincing obi #and their trip to the amusement part #but that was a little too ambitious #especially right after bingo #so instead here is the set up #for a minor subplot to come

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