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nbkuhn · 4 months

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The Siren's Lover, Ch. 4

Chapter 3

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On Saturday, when Matty finished his run, Finch wasn’t by the path or at the bench. Matty almost gave up, assuming Finch had left already, and then he spotted a small figure floating in the waves, not far from the edge of the sand. He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

So far, Finch had always crossed over into Matty's world, and this felt like crossing over into his.

But Matty was desperately curious about Finch's world. He shrugged off his shoes and padded down onto the beach to meet him. The sand was cold under his bare feet, enough to make him jump and wince, but he adjusted by the time he reached the edge of the waves. The water brushing his toes felt good, easing away the aches of a long run.

Finch was floating on his back, eyes closed, his hands resting below his ribcage, his fluked tail wrapped around one leg. Every other time, Finch had reacted to Matty's approach, but this time he didn't notice. He was humming the same song in a loop, without pausing to draw breath. His voice echoed further than it should have, resounding through Matty’s skull like sound waves shivering in the body of his acoustic guitar.

In the water, his true face on display, Finch was really something else. And, apparently, Matty liked something else.

He walked up to the edge. "Can you sleep in there?" Shit. What a rude question. Like asking Matty if he slept in a tree.

But Finch only opened one eye, black as a patch of night sky. "Of course." He brought one hand up to his neck, indicating the dark blue gills. "That would be inconvenient otherwise, considering my entire civilization is deep underwater. We don’t live near the water’s edge like mermaids."

"It looks—relaxing."

"It is. I don't really care for human beds." A small, secretive smile crossed his lips. "Well. Human beds are good for some things. But not sleeping."

Matty almost asked what else Finch was doing in his bed. For once, his brain beat out his mouth. Still, a blush crept across his cheeks. "You just might not have the right mattress, you know." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Shit, now I'm talking shop. Don't mind me. I was studying all night."

Finch turned on his side, as comfortable as Matty felt buried under a pile of blankets. He stayed the same distance from shore without any apparent effort, near enough to speak easily but too far to touch. "I hope I've made it clear I never mind you. If not, let me know how I can correct the record."

Matty’s blush crept up to the back of his neck. He couldn’t figure out how to reply. Everything he wanted to say felt artless, compared to the way Finch put it. What could he offer someone so sophisticated?

"Do you swim?" Finch broke across Matty's thoughts.

"Huh?" Matty shook himself. "I guess. It's not my favorite kind of exercise, but I put up with it when I have to." He stopped himself, pressing his forehead against his knees. "I like swimming fine. For fun."

"Oh, good. Fun’s the only reason I do it. I respect your athleticism, but I'm afraid I'm terribly lazy. Most days I only come out here to watch the sun rise and float." He sighed. "When I left home, I didn't think those two things would be hard to come by, but the human world is built much differently than I expected."

He stifled a yawn with one long-fingered hand. "If you’re here already, I suppose I must get out. The weekday-weekend schedule takes so much getting used to. Underwater, our lives are dominated by the tides and the moon. We don't have our leisure and work times so sharply partitioned."

He paused. "Then again, I just said I'm lazy. My mother always scolds me for daydreaming when I’m supposed to be taking notes or making observations." He ducked underwater in a flash of long fluked tail, movement eerily quick, then surfaced at the edge and stepped out, suddenly so close to Matty he stumbled back.

Matty realized he was watching the water pour over Finch's teal skin and made himself look away. Staring was rude, whatever the reason. "Well, you're an artist. Daydreaming and distraction comes with the territory."

"Mm, not if you ask my primary mother. She has a schedule for everything." Finch pulled a towel from his black backpack and dried himself off. "Do you have to rush anywhere?"

Matty blinked. He hadn't been sure what to expect. Seeing Finch on the weekend felt… risky, almost. During the week, Matty could call it a coincidence. On the weekends, though, he was seeking Finch out on purpose, making his attraction more difficult to write off as the usual blue screen of death he experienced when he saw a hot person. "No, not really. I have more studying to do, but I figured I'd do it on campus to get out of my apartment for a while."

"If you wanted to go together, I was heading that way too. I have more work to do. Well, I don't have to, but I want to make sure my ambition doesn't get ahead of the time I have left before my show at the end of the semester."

Matty lost track of half Finch’s words, watching his more monstrous features slowly disappear as he dried off. How could he look so handsome both ways? "Uh, sure, sounds good."

If Finch noticed, he didn't show it, only smiled. "Good. Let me get changed."

Matty waited by the door of the changing rooms, restless and unsure why. Maybe because he was desperately curious about Finch's artwork. Or because this felt more personal than sharing breakfast or even their first weird conversation.

Finch returned in a similar outfit to Thursday, though instead of a button-down, he wore a black Henley, rolling up the sleeves as he approached. The muscles in his forearms were stark and clear, like diagrams in one of Matty's anatomy reference books. He wanted to know what they felt like under his fingertips, parse out the distinctions between flexors and pronators.

Stupid. "While I was waiting, I realized I never actually asked what kind of art you do. It's a pretty broad category."

"And I do a broad spectrum of things." Finch wrinkled his nose. "However, galleries prefer their artists to fit into nice little boxes, so I have to say mixed media or some such nonsense. It'll be easier if I show you." He started walking away. Though it would have annoyed him from anyone else, Matty liked the way Finch expected him to follow. He didn't have to question whether Finch minded him hanging around.

Matty nodded. "As long as you're not expecting any smart art criticism. I like museums, but I never have anything interesting to say."

Finch shot him a sharp look, black eyes gleaming with focus. "There is no such thing as an uninteresting perspective. Every person will look at a piece of art and see something different. For example."

He tapped his cheekbone, below one eye. "I see a slightly different range of colors than humans—more toward deep purples and blues instead of yellow-green. So for me, looking at a painting like Who's Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue number one or two is a distinctly different experience than it is for humans. Are you familiar with those paintings?”

Matty shook his head, totally thrown, both by the lecture and Finch’s proximity.

"They’re modern art pieces—and what a ridiculous distinction, but if I talk about that, we'll never get to campus. The point is, they're enormous, taller than even my sisters, and infamous for inspiring, shall we say, heated reactions in viewers, especially ones not well-versed in art." He dug out his phone and pulled up a picture: a variety of canvases nearly entirely covered in red paint, except for small stripes of pure blue or pure yellow.

"At first, I didn’t understand the reaction, beyond non-artists not realizing how much technique is actually on display in these. The reds didn’t jump out at me. However, I have a pair of glasses which alters my vision to a color spectrum closer to humanity. When I put them on and look at that painting, it is the same, and yet also completely different. All that red feels far more violent, the blues less soothing. I have a better idea of why the painting disturbs and unsettles people. But.”

He raised a finger. “Is my initial criticism less valid simply because I am not the intended audience? Should I need to change myself to meet the artist’s conception of his own work? At what point does his intent cease to matter?"

"Huh." For once, Matty didn't feel like he needed to rush to complete his thought or add something more interesting. At some point he’d stopped focusing on Finch’s nearness and actually absorbed his points, which was good because they were interesting. He took Finch's phone, studying the image results. "I guess I never thought about it that way. When I shift, I can see ultraviolet light—though it wouldn't be a lot of use to me in an art gallery. It makes for a neat party trick, I guess."

"Really?" Finch accepted his phone, his eyes wide with interest. "I would give my tail flukes for the ability. I've always wanted to do an installation with black lights, but they’re bad for my eyes."

He slid his phone back into his pocket. "The point is—everyone on the planet has something interesting to say about art, even if it's only what they do or don't like. And to be honest, I far, far prefer talking about art with non-artists. My peers try to make it into a competition of which galleries they've appeared in, or they turn self-deprecating and disparage their own creations. I cannot think of anything duller."

"You really have a lot going on, you know that?" Matty hooked his fingers in the pockets of his jeans. "You know what you want."

Expression suddenly unreadable, Finch glanced at him. "I do now. And I usually don't see the point in lying. If land dwellers want to call me rude, they may, but sometimes I really wish they could spend some time underwater. We don't have the luxury of prevarication, not when so many creatures think sirens make delicious snacks. Nearly getting eaten makes you more forthright."

"Well, hey, you can't bring that up and not tell the story."

Finch’s mouth twisted, and Matty felt like he might have said something wrong. Then his expression smoothed out into an even smile. It should have put Matty at ease—it was far more approachable than Finch’s usual intense stare. But it felt… wrong somehow. The way sometimes when Matty smiled at his dad in public, he was really baring his teeth.

“I’ve already told you I can’t defend myself. There are honestly too many stories to choose from. I was never allowed out of my mother’s or sisters’ sights underwater because they’d likely never see me again. My teeth and claws are too small to scare off anything but eels, and since I never developed my adult stripes, I couldn’t even signal for help.” He sounded so apologetic for something he couldn’t change. Matty wanted to ask, but he had no idea where to start.

Probably better to let it go. "Gotta say, you are not doing a very good job selling me on 'underwater' life. I'm happy here on land."

At this, Finch looked almost puzzled. "Of course you are. It's what you're made for."

Before Matty could ask what he meant, they arrived at the campus art building, a huge metal-and-glass slab on the western edge of the school grounds. "Come around this way. I don't want to pass too many students, or we'll risk getting sidetracked." Instead of entering through the main glass atrium—which appeared beastly hot at this hour anyway, since the rising sun struck the glass directly—Finch walked further down to an entrance tucked away in the lee of the building.

"I've never been through here much," Matty commented as Finch unlocked the door with one of several keys hanging from a ring clipped to his backpack. "I check out the vending machines once in a while, I guess. They’re less likely to be cleared out than the ones at the gym.”

"It's pleasant, if you don't mind the stench of burned coffee and despair," said Finch dryly.

"Oh, that's just college. At least it's coffee, not gym funk like over in the College of Professional Studies. You think they'd put better ventilation in a building full of jocks."

"Again, you land dwellers make me very glad I've never had a proper education sometimes." Finch flashed him a grin. The door opened on a back hallway, dim and crowded as opposed to the lighter, airier front part with the art gallery. "This way."

Most of the lights were off, though they sputtered awake as Finch and Matty walked by windowed classrooms full of half-completed paintings, sculptures, and woodworking projects.

"Here we are." Finch flipped over a sign on the door—the artist is out to the artist is in—and unlocked it. The lights came on automatically, revealing a room covered in bits and pieces of different projects: wooden frames flecked with paint, half-completed figures sculpted from papier-mâché and clay, paintings of single words in foot-high, monochromatic letters, yes, no, maybe.

Matty's tail flicked. He'd really been hoping he would be able to look at Finch's work and immediately respond with amazement or appreciation. But he couldn't stifle his confusion.

To his surprise, though, Finch laughed, delighted. "You look terrified." He walked over to one of the papier-mâché figures, giving it a gentle prod. "Still not dry."

Matty chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I told you I'm a rube. There is... a lot going on here, and I don't know what I'm supposed to focus on."

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" Finch moved on to another installment, a tiny red door, which he opened and closed a few times, testing the hinges. "It's not supposed to make sense yet. I could hardly call myself an artist if you could understand my work at a glance. Eventually all of this—" he gestured around the room, "—will be assembled into a single installation. For now, I'm trying to finish as many component pieces as possible."

"Oh, okay." Matty relaxed. "I mean—the pieces are cool." He walked over to the yes, painted in foot-high letters in shades of dark blue, and remembered what Finch had said about his eyes. "So... what's the final thing going to look like?"

"Have you ever been to a children's museum?"

Just once, he'd like to get through a conversation with Finch without wondering if he needed to clean out his ears. "Uh... Like... a science museum?"

"Yes, exactly. The sort where children wander around and explore the exhibit, where they're encouraged to experiment and learn on their own timetable. A playground, but with more stimulation for the mind."

"Oh, yeah. We went on a few field trips to places like that when I was a kid." Matty moved on to the no painting, this one done in yellow. The brush strokes were thick and heavy, leaving streaks and artifacts in the paint instead of the perfectly smooth surface of the yes.

"Well, you see, when I was a child, my primary mother did occasionally have to go to conferences, which meant, once in a while, we visited the surface world. I was usually left with a babysitter or at the hotel. But once, she took me to a children’s museum. I was supposed to be interested in the science, but there was a painting class…”

His expression drifted as he got lost in the memory. “I was the only student, and the human teacher walked me through the entire process—how to mix pigments, gesso a canvas, hold a brush properly. It was like being handed the keys to a new world. The first time I was ever allowed to express myself.”

Abruptly, his eyes snapped back to the present, and he smiled, almost apologetically. He moved on to what Matty had thought was merely a block on a table. It turned out to be a mold, which he carefully tapped to pry apart.

"Anyway, I ended up with a skewed version of the surface world, all wonderful spaces built for children and other beasts. Imagine my surprise trying to make my living here. I’m the first of my family to spend more than a few weeks out of the ocean, so I had a lot to learn.”

He slid his fingers into the cracks in the mold and tugged. It came apart cleanly, revealing a clay bust of an anatomically correct human heart sitting on a stand. "At least one thing is done." Almost tenderly, he scraped away a few stray strands of clay still clinging from the mold.

"So... you decided to make your own?" Matty asked, when Finch didn't continue, absorbed in cleaning off his heart.

Finch started. "Oh, yes. My apologies. I was thinking about what color I want to paint this." He swept off another speck of clay, then unlocked a drawer on the table, full of brushes and tubes. "When I first started, I painted portraits, since it was the easiest way to make money, but I got bored. I became invested in the way an audience moves through a gallery—I wanted a more vibrant experience than some art on walls and some art on plinths." As he talked, he dug out a paint palette and squirted out a glob of yellow, the same color as the no painting.

"Huh. I guess I've never thought about it."

"Why would you? It isn't your job." Instead of a brush, Finch used his thumb, smearing a streak of yellow paint across the center of the heart. "I should let that dry and see if I like it. I don't want to have to repaint it."

He set the palette down and turned around to face Matty, leaning against the table. “So that's what I do. Or what I'd like to, anyway. I've only actually put on one installation, at my last residency. It went over—what's the land dweller expression?—like a house on fire, and it was far more entertaining than my ordinary showings. Besides, it provoked more interesting conversations with the students. There's only so often you can talk about anatomy or chiaroscuro. Sometimes, you have to get weird."

Matty smiled; he couldn't help it. Watching Finch talk about this was like watching a spontaneous jam session, hearing the artists fall into sync together and make something amazing. "And you’re obviously an expert in weird.”

Finch laughed again, throwing back his head, exposing the long, muscled column of his throat. Matty wanted to laugh too, but his breath caught in his chest. "Honestly, I'd be more offended if you said I was dull. I can take any other comment on my character. As we’ve established, I’m well aware of my own faults."

"Oh, trust me, that is the last word I'd pick," said Matty, when his breath finally returned. "If someone did, I'd want to know what kind of life they were leading. Or maybe not. It'd probably involve too many dangerous activities for my taste."

"Not a thrill-seeker?" Finch inspected the streak of yellow paint, clearly not yet dry. He moved on to a pile of wood scraps, arranged by size, and sat on the floor to pick through them. "I thought you said you were a jock. Doesn't a taste for excitement come with the territory? Or am I misunderstanding?"

The maybe was the most curious painting of the bunch. The letters weren't quite filled in all the way, as if whoever colored it had gotten bored and walked away. Or changed their mind about what color they were going to be. Matty tore his eyes away. "No, it can. But I grew up in a doctor's office, and now I'm learning PT. I see way too many people with gnarly injuries to seek more out. Shifting can heal minor stuff like sprains, but I’ve never tried with a broken arm, and I would like to avoid ever having to."

Finch was now laying out different pieces of wood in various configurations, apparently to make more frames, though some were triangular or many-sided instead of simply rectangular or square. "Can I ask you about shifting, or is that rude? I've spent a little time with other shapeshifters, but never griffins."

Tail twitching, Matty tried decide if he honestly didn't mind or if he just didn't want to say no to Finch. Was there a difference? "No, it's okay. From you, anyway. I'm sure I'll come up with a weird question for you eventually."

"Fair's fair." Finch hummed as he fitted two pieces perfectly together. "I won’t take offense, for the record. I know I'm a curiosity. When I was younger, I tried being upset, but it was a waste of effort. Sharing myself freely myself encourages others to show me the same courtesy, and then the conversations are far, far more interesting." He finished laying out the pieces he wanted. "Do you mind handing me the wood glue? I should have grabbed it before I sat down."

"No, I got it. Don't want you to mess up—whatever it is you're doing." Finch chuckled, and Matty felt stupidly pleased. He spotted the wood glue on a shelf on the wall behind the scraps and passed it over. As he accepted it, Finch's fingers brushed his, and Matty started like he'd been stung.

"'Whatever' is a good term for it, at least at this stage." Finch glued the various pieces together, holding the edges. "Here’s my question. I transform whenever I fully submerge, whether I like it or not, because otherwise we'd all drown. But I don't think it would be the same for you, would it?"

Matty realized he was winding his tail through his fingers and made himself let go. Though it was nice to do so simply because he wanted to look calmer, not because he didn't want to alarm anyone by drawing attention to his more beastly features. “It's not involuntary. But we do have to shift on a regular basis, or else... it's like if you sit in one position for too long and your joints lock up. You risk getting stuck. Or the opposite can happen, and the shift does turn involuntary. But as long as I change fully back and forth once a week or so, I have total control. Unless I get drunk, but I don't care for alcohol."

"So serious." Finch’s voice was surprisingly fond. The wood scraps he was gluing together hid his expression, so Matty couldn't tell what he was thinking. Not that he probably would have been able to guess anyway. "And is it all or nothing? I wouldn't think so because of the tail, but I shouldn't assume other people can get rid of their tail whenever they want. I’d keep mine around if I could."

"No, I can modulate it." Matty couldn't help the little touch of longing in his voice. Keeping his wings hidden all day, every day was terrible. "I'd show you, but I'd knock something over. I only keep my tail because putting it away throws off my balance."

"And we will get an awful lot of interested parties in here eventually." Finch sighed. "Again, I don't mind others' curiosity." Though this time he sounded more like he was trying to remind himself than like he actually meant it. "But my students know my boundaries, not yours."

Matty wanted to dismiss Finch's comment, to say he didn't care. Maybe when he started here, he wouldn’t have been lying. But it'd been almost six months of questions and stares and weird comments and pick-up lines. Like Finch's advice about Ruby, being reminded he didn't have to tolerate those either was... good. Sometimes, he wanted to whip out the fangs and the claws and get people to back off.

"Thanks," he said, finally and painfully inadequate.

But Finch glanced up at him, smiling. "Don't mention it. Is that the phrase?" When Matty nodded, too vulnerable to say anything else, Finch's smile widened. "Yes. Don't mention it." He set down the finished frame. "You can work wherever you like. Or leave, if you prefer. I can never tell if you're going along with me because you want to be here or because you're too polite to tell me no."

"I want to be here," Matty blurted, then immediately turned his back to dig through his stuff. He didn't mean to sound so pathetic. “I usually go up to the top floor and hide in the bookshelves so no one bothers me, but there'll be fewer people in your studio."

Matty decided to stop wasting time and actually get out his books, before he thought of something else to say, anything else, to keep Finch talking to him. Earlier, he had thought the room was so warm, but now goose flesh sprouted all over his arms. He rubbed it away, then claimed the least-cluttered table for his studies, though he still had to move aside a large tub of holographic glitter and a few sheets of construction paper.

***

Despite Finch's warning, they were mostly undisturbed, but a student did show up a few hours later, knocking lightly on the door before he entered. He was human, with enormous glasses covering most of his face. "Professor—" His eyes landed on Matty, and he stopped, even though he was doing his best to appear friendly. He was never sure if it worked around humans who didn't know him. The eyes unsettled them. And people always insisted he didn't blink enough.

"I told you, Lee, I don't actually have any accreditations to my name." Though Finch didn't look up from the clay heart, his tone was gentle. He was inspecting a diagram, carefully adding in detail to match the outlines of the atria and ventricles. "No one will shriek in horror if you call me Finch, and it will put my colleagues at ease. They hiss like wet cats when anyone assumes I have a degree."

By Lee's expression, he was not ever going to call Finch by name. "Uh—well, I don't want to interrupt." He glanced at Matty, and Matty realized he wasn't afraid of him. He thought...

Well, probably the same thing as the people in the diner the other day. That they were dating, or walking in that direction. The idea tightened his chest with what he was only beginning to recognize as longing. He dropped his gaze before he freaked Lee out.

"If you were interrupting, I wouldn't have turned the sign to open." Finch dabbed another streak of blue paint on the heart, then set down his brush and turned to face him. His forearms and hands were streaked with all different colors, as were his jeans. "Is there something you need me for, or did you come to work?"

"I was—wondering if you'd look at some of my concept sketches. Before I get too far along in the process, I mean." Lee pulled a sketchpad from his backpack but kept it against his chest, like he was expecting Finch to say no.

But Finch hopped up on the table. "Let me have a look. Pull a stool over there if you like."

Lee's eyes flicked in the direction of the stool, as if moving even a few inches to grab it was completely terrifying, then passed over the pad. “I know it’s all really rough—” Lee began, but Finch lifted his head, frowning at him the same way he frowned at Matty.

“Lee, you know the rules.” He tipped his chin down, and Lee sighed, twisting his hands together behind his back.

“It’s still in the early stages, I mean,” he muttered, his tone indicating a practiced phrase. “I’m just—not sure if any of it is any good.”

Finch pinned him with a firm stare. “If you were not talented, you would not be in my class. What have I told you?”

“Doubt is the enemy of art?” Lee asked, not like he wasn’t sure of the phrase, but like he wasn’t sure how it applied.

Finch nodded. “I can see these were done without doubt in the confidence of your lines. Even if it needs refining, the essence of your vision is here. And I am here to help you with the refining. It is my responsibility, but it is also my pleasure. What you've sketched out here should make for a truly fascinating effect."

"But I don't actually know how to make it work," Lee blurted. "I can paint the pictures, but I’ve never made mirrors before, and I don’t know if the light will bounce like I want. Maybe I should scale back—I'm going to be pushing deadlines to finish all these pieces by the time of the show, much less figuring out—”

Finch held up a hand, and Lee went quiet, watching him intently even as he turned his fingers in knots. "I can help you with that, actually. You already have the dimensions of the room written here, and I assume you have a size for the mirrors, so we can figure out the light’s path. It's just physics. Do you have your phone on you? I left mine—somewhere."

Lee pulled his out, looking skeptical, but Finch continued. "Do me a favor and google the angle of refraction for glass." Clearly baffled, Lee typed it in. "Can I make some marks on your sketch? Good. This will be quite a bit of math, and it may not all stand up to the real world, but it will give us a rough idea.”

Matty tried to sink back into his homework, but he couldn't help glancing up now and again, listening to Finch's soft encouragement as he flipped through the sketchpad. He was just... so gentle. And Lee slowly relaxed, his posture opening as he leaned around to watch and make notes of his own. By the time they'd moved through his ideas, he'd joined Finch on the table, nodding along as Finch offered advice and gentle critique.

"Why did it sound so complicated when I was trying to figure it out and so easy when you did it?" Then Lee clapped a hand over his mouth. "Because—you have a lot of experience—"

Finch shot him a quelling look, and Lee put his hand down, blushing. "Because my mother is a scientist, so I happen to have experience in this. This doesn't mean you were wrong not to know it. It means you were correct to come to me for help."

Lee smiled shyly. "So you really think this might work?"

"If you discover unexpected snags, you can always come back to me. More importantly, you have the skills to do this." He smiled, his hand coming up to cover his teeth. "Also, I want to see it, which is a less important reason, but still part of my motivation for encouraging you."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Matty hadn't looked down at his own work in almost five minutes, just watching them. He dropped his eyes, but the words in his notebook blurred, the world nothing more than the soft sound of Finch's deep voice and Lee's softer answers.

If he didn’t find something to do with his hands, he would get himself in trouble. He tore a new piece of paper from his notebook, then folded one corner up to make a perfect square and tore off the excess. The rest of the movements came so naturally he didn’t miss a word of their conversation, but at least he wasn’t worried he would stare.

"Thank you," Lee said when he hopped off the table.

"You were on the right track, merely setting out to take the long path instead of the shortcut. What's the expression? Work smarter, not harder?"

Lee actually laughed. "Watch out. By the end of the semester, you'll be talking like a land dweller."

"Perish the thought."

Lee waved, then ducked out of the room, shutting the door carefully so it made almost no sound.

"I'm surprised he's the only one who showed up so far," Finch commented, returning to his heart. He studied it, then shook his head and started cleaning up his materials. "Usually, it's more crowded."

"Well, this weekend is Homecoming. They’re probably all sleeping off hangovers." Matty wondered if he should give up his studying as a bad job. Whenever he resorted to origami, his focus was gone. Honestly, he wanted to go for another run. He didn't know what else to do with the wad of feeling sitting inside him.

Cocking his head, Finch paused. "My students tried to explain the holiday, but I still don't think I understand. I thought they were exaggerating. But you land dwellers take every opportunity to intoxicate yourselves, don't you?" There was no judgment in his voice, only confusion.

"Mostly, yeah. Not me, though. I don’t enjoy puking my guts out." His hands stilled on his second paper star, remembering who he’d shared his first beer with. Who had taught him to make these in the first place, given him the outlet for his permanently restless hands.

He could see her so clearly, pushing her dark red hair out of her eyes as she bent over her desk, her tongue poking between her teeth, her lips curled in a permanent smirk. Freckles all over her cheeks and hands, wickedness in her eyes.

He was definitely going for a run.

"What on earth do you do for fun?" Finch was only teasing as he replaced his things, but the question stung, probably because Matty was already feeling so weird.

"Not much, if you ask my roommates. I'm boring."

Finch turned his head to study Matty's expression, and Matty ducked his head, cursing himself for being so obvious. "I'm not certain if I could say I know you yet. But boring is the last word I'd pick for you too."

Finch approached him, but now he wasn’t paying attention to Matty. He picked up one of the paper stars, formerly Matty’s anatomy notes, and inspected it with the same care and attention Matty had tried to give his paintings, like they were worthy of close study instead of toys he could dash off in less than a minute.

Finch looked up now, without seeming to notice their faces were only inches apart. “What are these, Matthias?”

Oh, he should not have been allowed to say Matty’s full name so near his breath brushed against Matty’s cheek. “Uh—you’ve never seen paper stars before?” Then he kicked himself. “Duh. They probably don’t have a ton of scrap paper in the ocean.”

Finch shook his head. “Is that what these are? Scraps?” A challenge lurked in his voice, like when he was speaking to Lee.

Even though the answer was yes, Matty rose to the bait, the same way he could never resist the urge to climb something high. “It’s origami. It helps me think.” He tore a blank sheet of paper and repeated the same steps: fold one corner to the opposite edge to form a perfect square, then fold, and fold, and fold again.

He held the finished star up for Finch’s inspection, and Finch took it, gaze intent as a jeweler’s assessing a stone. His eyes slid back to Matty’s; he had not moved an inch.

Under Finch’s gaze, Matty began to understand why his own attention unsettled humans. Finch could say he was small and weak all he wanted, but he could take Matty apart with no effort at all.

The scary thing was Matty probably wouldn’t stop him.

“Would you show me how?” Finch asked.

Matty wanted to say no, but then Finch would fix him with one of those looks he was coming to like and dislike in equal measures—like because he would do anything for Finch’s attention, dislike because he was afraid of anything reminding Finch of the unbridgeable distance between them. Finch could make speech upon speech about the worthiness of Matty’s perception, but Matty knew he wasn’t good enough for him.

But Finch was daring him, and Matty couldn’t say no to a dare, just like he couldn’t ignore the electricity in the air between them, so close together.

“Sure. Hang on.” Matty made two more pieces of square paper and passed one to Finch, then walked him through the steps, slower and more precisely than if he had been doing it himself.

When they finished, Finch inspected his own star with the same critical assessment he’d given his clay heart, then glanced at Matty’s notebook. “Help yourself.” Matty pushed it toward him.

Finch copied his steps exactly and came out with a much neater final product.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner.” Matty cringed at the inane comment, but Finch shrugged.

“For this sort of thing, maybe.” Before Matty could ask what he meant, he glanced at their combined pile of paper stars. “Can I have these? They’re giving me an idea, but I need to think about it some more before I do anything else.”

“Sure.” Matty swept them toward Finch. He could always recopy his notes later; it wasn’t like he had actually absorbed any of them.

“Not very attached, are you?” Finch cupped the whole pile in his hands.

“It’s about making them more than having them. It keeps my hands out of trouble.”

Laughing under his breath, Finch met his eyes again. “Oh? And what kind of trouble do you usually get up to, Matthias Beckett? You don’t drink, don’t stay out late, don’t party.”

Matty froze. Finch had gotten closer now, more than close enough for Matty to lean forward and—

What, kiss him?

He could picture it so clearly, more clearly than he saw the room right now: leaning across the table, erasing the distance between them, Finch dropping the stars to dig his hands into Matthias’s hair or grip his shirt instead, and—

And then what? For fuck’s sake. Finch was a sea beast, and Matty would move back home when he had his grad school diploma in hand. Kissing him would be as pointless as asking Ruby about her day and expecting an answer instead of endless silence.

He swallowed and moved away, and the moment popped like a soap bubble. “I don’t. I just told you I’m boring.”

He looked down at his notebook, but though he could remember writing them, his words meant nothing. "Shit, what time is it?" He pretended to glance at his watch, even though there was a large, colorful clock over the door. "I need to get going. I'm meeting my cohort for a study—thing." He wasn't lying, though he wasn't meeting them until much later. Presumably, they would drill some flashcards, between shots Matty didn't drink and awkward flirting Matty never participated in.

If Finch could tell he was lying, he didn't show it, though he hadn’t moved, like he was still waiting for Matthias to take the kiss he’d imagined. "Oh, of course. The day got away from me too." His tone softened slightly. "Will I see you tomorrow?" "Yeah," Matty said, mouth dry. "'Course you will." Then he grabbed his stuff and fled like the coward he was.

#writeblr #mermay #monster romance #queer romance #lugosi falls #the siren's lover

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jayclan · 7 months

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Moon 0

The small group of cats came from all over for one single goal. To rebuild the lost forgotten clan; Skyclan; after a dark evil forced them out of their home with the deaths of their leader, deputy and medicine cats. They had tried to continued under the leadership of Hawkwing but the loss of both their home and clanmates left them too broken and they had to disband.

Many attempts were made to rebuild the clan but that ended in failure. Now, under a new Starclan cat’s guidance; Jackdawpaw; has another chance to rebuild the lost clan.

Under the guidance of Comfreygleam; her new name Jackdawpaw had given her; she was also given a new mission and purpose. Together Comfreygleam, along with her sister Blizzardshriek and her young daughter Bristlekit they set out to find their new clanmates who are to join them. One after another they meet Lightflare who becomes their medicine cat, Cloveskip and Hawkshard from the mountains, Crest and Flame who were kittypets and finally Sky and Heather who were once rogues.

After the many moons of tireless traveling, huddling all together for warmth in the harsh leafbare season at night and traveling during the day they caught word of other clans and Comfreystar thought it’d be perfect to settle near them. They searched for a camp to call their own being lead by beautiful blue jays and finally settled.

The long furred dark brown smoke and white she-cat stood on the Tallstone and glanced around. She couldn’t help but feel pride bubble up her chest and throat at the sight. Her clanmates were bustling around the camp trying to fix the dens and walls of the camp. She had been working too but she couldn’t help but watch as the once strangers now clanmates all came together to work and fix their home.

She heard chirping and saw some of the same blue jays that had lead them here and thanked them for being the clan’s guide. Without them they would’ve never found this camp.

As the moon began to rise the clan decided that was enough for the day and rest. Comfreystar was laying in her nest with Blizzardshriek and her young daughter Bristlekit laying with her.

As Comfreystar dreams at night, she finds herself walking the stars of Silverpelt. A ghostly landscape surrounds her and the she-cat can’t help but admire the land she couldn’t help but feel like wanting to climb the trees off in the distance, explore and run the open fields.

A single, starry cat stood in the clearing and she recognized her as Jackdawpaw. The trees stood around them and as she grew closer she could hear the chirps of birds. When she stood in front of the little cat; she couldn’t help but notice that she was smaller compared to her. She remembered Jackdawpaw telling her she died young, shortly after her mother; Willowpatch; did.

In fact by the same cat.

Jackdawpaw grins big and brightly before speaking, “ Congratulations Comfreygleam.~” She purred happily, “ You have found your home, your clanmates and now settled around other clans. This is exactly what the Skyclan cats wanted us to do. We may have failed but you have succeeded in what we failed.” She began as eight bluejays fly down and take the forms of cats. Most she didn’t recognize but one. Jackdawpaw approaches her and although the young cat is unfamiliar, their meeting still feels like a reunion with an old friend, “ Take this gift. The gift of Compassion; to help you know when to fight and when to choose peace.” Jackdawpaw pressed her forehead to Comfreygleam’s forehead.

Love, kindness, compassion and every positive emotion flooded through her and while it didn’t hurt it was pressure and she dug her claws into the ground trying to endure the pressure.

“ Stay strong Comfreygleam, eight more lives to go through. You can do it.” Jackdawpaw dips her head and steps away where another cat steps forward.

A very faded form of a cat; patches of his form were gone but enough was there for her to see him. A light gray tom with pale blue eyes. The tom dipped his head before stepping forward, “ I, thank you for rebuilding my clan. Skyclan has suffered and we thought that after being rebuilt they would get to live such peaceful lives they were, yet again, wronged but now they will live on through you.” He explained, “ I am Skystar, Skyclan’s founding leader.” He introduced, “ I give you the life of Pride. Pride that you lead such a young group of cats who will follow you.” He pressed his muzzle to her head and she could feel electricity flood through her reigniting her with full life.

The tom was then replaced by a mottled, pale cream-and-brown tabby she-cat with amber eyes. She had cream patches and a long, brown tail, the she-cat was noble and walked with such grace that Comfreystar wanted to bow, “ I am Leafstar, the last leader of Skyclan. I give you the life of Endurance. Endure and hold strong even in the harshest times. Know you are not the only one and that your clan will stand behind you.” The she-cat pressed her muzzle towards her and Comfreystar felt all the pain and suffering that Leafstar dealt with.

Being driven out of her home, being killed and watching her clan disband.

Comfreystar couldn’t help but be sad but Leafstar smiled, “ Do not cry, the past is the past. As much as I wish it didn’t happened it still did.” She purred before joining the rest of the ranks of Starclan.

A silver-gray tabby she-cat stepped forward, “ I am Echosong, I was Skyclan’s medicine cats. I also gave Jackdawpaw her mission to rebuild Skyclan. I give you the life of Faith; have faith that everything happens for a reason and never doubt yourself or your clanmates.” Echosong pressed her muzzle against Comfreystar’s before stepping back as a big, sturdy and sleek-furred dark gray tabby tom stepped forward.

“ My name is Hawkwing, I tried to lead Skyclan after Leafstar and my father and the deputy died. I failed but you will not.” He said softly, “ With this life I give you protection. Protect those you love and cherish with everything you are. Protect the ones who need it and love them.” He said pressing his muzzle to her forehead before disappearing.

Next was three cats she didn’t know but she did see Jackdawpaw tense up at the sight of them and Comfreystar could only stand there dumbfounded as she didn’t know what was going on.

“ Why are you two here?” Jackdawpaw’s fur bristled, “ Especially after abandoning me when my mother was murdered.” She growled.

One of them; a brown-and-cream tortoiseshell she-cat stepped forward, flowers adorned her pelt, “ Jackdawpaw we’re here because we want to right our wrongs. After what happened we didn’t know what to do. You disappeared Jackdawpaw and we were left with no way to contact Starclan. We didn’t know what to do and we all started arguing. We finally decided to just go our separate ways and then Starclan came to us telling us to start our own clans and that’s what we did.” She explained before one of the other ones, an unusually white spotted tom stepped forward.

“ We were also told that one day another attempt would be made to rebuild Skyclan and that we were to welcome them as the fourth clan.” He explained, “ We failed but they won’t, we made the mistakes we want to save them from.” He motioned for Comfreystar, before turning to her, “ I am sorry we should’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Ripplestar and that’s Flowerstar. We were a part of the group that was with Jackdawpaw and his mother to rebuild Skyclan.” He motioned to the sleek pale silver she-cat with long, curly fur, “ That’s Willowsky, Jackdawpaw’s mom and our would be leader before Pebblescratch had done the horrible thing and murdered her and then murdered Jackdawpaw.” He explained, “ That’s why he’s not here. He’s where he belongs.” He added with a dark look on his face.

Just then Willowsky walks up to them, “ I’ve made my peace with it. I hate that my daughter couldn’t enjoy a full life but I’m glad she’s still trying to finish what she started.” She purred in pride, “ I don’t blame them for leaving and they did what Starclan asked and it must’ve been fate for this to happen so other clans could be born.” She had walked over to her daughter brining her close and licking her head, “ Flowerstar, Ripplestar I’m proud of you two.”

“ Thank you Willowsky.” Flowerstar said before she turned her attention back to Comfreystar, “ With this life I give you the life of Exploration. Don’t be afraid to explore out of your comfort zone and see things from another’s point of view.” She said pressing her muzzle on Comfreystar’s head before she stepped back and Ripplestar took her spot.

He pressed his muzzle onto her cheek, “ With this life I give you the life for Mercy. Show your enemies and everyone mercy and do not kill. Killing only makes things worse and it’s completely against the warrior code.” He said as he stepped back as Willowsky stepped forward.

“ I’m so glad to finally meet you and I know you will do well.” She purred as she did as the other’s had, “ With this life I give you Acceptance. Accept that things can happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. Everything’s happens for a reason.” She said before joining Flowerstar and Ripplestar as they joined the ranks of Starclan.

Comfreystar doesn’t remember how many she had gone through and she’s shocked to see the last cat. His smoky gray fur, almost like Bristlekit’s. He smiled and gave her a warm look, “ Comfrey or should I say Comfreygleam.~” He purred.

“ Yes that’s my new name now.~” She giggled.

“ Tell Blizzardshriek and Bristlekit that I’m watching over them.” He purred before pressing his nose into her cheek, “ With this life I give you the life of Empathy. Care for others as if their own. Love them, embrace them.” He purred before whispering something in her ear, “ Comfrey you will inherit the sky but just know dark clouds will bring storms to the clan.” He said which shocked Comfreygleam but she couldn’t ask as he was already joining the other Starclan cats.

Jackdawpaw stepped forward, “ You have received nine lives and now are honored by your new name as your old life in no more, Comfreystar, leader of Jayclan.” She said as the Starclan cats cheered.

“ Comfreystar! Comfreystar! Comfreystar!”

“ Use your lives well, with our blessing.” Skystar said before everything goes black.

Comfreystar jolts awake, unsure of even what time it was, but so full of energy and life. She had awakened her sister who quickly looked at her.

“ W-what’s going on?!”

Comfreystar immediately ran out of her den and stood on the Tallstone, drinking in the early Newleaf breeze, “ Cats old enough to catch their own prey gather underneath the Tallstone for a Clan Meeting!” She announced as most of the cats were already starting to wake up but moved towards the Tallstone looking up at their leader, “ I just had my nine lives ceremony. In my dreams Starclan came to me and granted me nine lives. My name is now Comfreystar and I’m leader of Jayclan!” The clan cheered but the leader continued, “ I also want to announce who will be my deputy. Blizzardshriek, will be our first deputy.”

Her sister had just walked out of the den with Bristlekit following behind, “ What, you want me as your deputy?”

“ Yes I know no other cat who would make a great deputy.” The clan cheered, showing they liked the idea of Blizzardshriek as deputy and so the older she-cat nodded.

“ Alright if you really want me to be your deputy I shall accept.” She said, dipping her head to her sister who purred happily.

The rest of the clan cheered for the new clan leadership and congratulating Blizzardshriek on becoming deputy. Unaware to them there is one cat not cheering who clung to the shadows.

A few days pass and mostly the clan had been focused on cleaning and rebuilding the camp. After that with the help of Blizzardshriek, Cloveskip and Lightflare they build good relations with the other clans; from there their medicine cats took them to The Star Lake as well as show them the Gathering Island, where they would meet on nights of the Full Moon.

Things looked good and the day goes by and it’s nighttime now. Blizzardshriek told Comfreystar she would guard the entrance and the rest of the clan went to sleep. One cat however, was awake and was trying to sneak out of camp and the deputy noticed it and went to follow. However at the same time Cloveskip wakes up and goes out seeing Blizzardshriek leave before following after.

Blizzardshriek however doesn’t know who it was due to the teeth tearing into her neck.

Cloveskip pushes his way through the bushes and gasps at seeing Heatherchase standing over Blizzardshriek’s body with blood staining her fur. Cloveskip digs into the ground and cries out as he launches at Heatherchase and quickly pushing her to the ground.

“ Why?!” He felt hot tears fall, he was so shocked and confused as to why this happened, “ Why would you kill her?” He snapped.

The she-cat hissed, “ She only chose her because that was her sister. Favoritism if you ask me.” The she-cat tried to push the other off but he was much bigger than her.

Cloveskip dug his jaws in her neck and began to drag her, “ I’m taking you back to camp! You are not ruining everything!” He snapped as she knocked her head into his which caused him to let go and soon enough the commotion brings Comfreystar and Lightflare as well as Hawkshard who is quick to pull Cloveskip off of Heatherchase who they all gasp when they see the blood and finally to the body laying cold.

Comfreystar cries out running to her sister’s body, “ Blizzardshriek?!” She cried out as she buried her face into her fur, “ Who did this?!” She cried out.

Cloveskip pushed himself out of Hawkshard’s grip and pointed at Heatherchase, “ She did this, she said she wanted to be deputy and you only chose Blizzardshriek because she’s your sister.”

“ How dare you?!” Lightflare snarled, the usually calm she-cat was crouched by the deputy’s body having been checking to see if there was a chance the she-cat was still alive. From her reaction they could only confirm that Blizzardshriek was in fact dead.

“ Why…?” Skywing asked stepping towards Heatherchase as Heatherchase looked down at the ground, “ We finally found a place for us to live.” He added.

Comfreystar glared at the she-cat, “ I banish you from Jayclan. You are no longer a part of this clan and welcomed on our territory. Leave now!” Comfreystar growled as the pale gray smoky she-cat stared at her for a second. Everyone thought she was going to challenge Comfreystar and they stepped forward ready to fight her if she did but Heatherchase only turned and took off into the bushes.

The group was silent as they huddled around Comfreystar watching the bushes that Heatherchase had just disappeared into before the medicine cat took a breath to calm herself, “ Comfreystar let’s take her body back to the clan, so we can sit a vigil for her.” Lightflare sniffled trying to be strong but it was hard.

Cloveskip decided to take charge for right now, “ Lightflare lead Comfreystar back to camp and prepare some Poppyseeds for her. We’ll have her take them later. We’ll clean Blizzardshriek’s body and prepare her.” He said before turning to the others, “ Hawkshard, Skywing can you go gather some flowers and take some feathers and cover her body with them.” He added as the two nodded, “ Cresteddream can you watch over Bristlekit and Flamekit? We’ll have to break the news to her.”

“ I can do it…” Comfreystar said moving away from Lightflare as she looked at Cloveskip, “ It’s my responsibility to do that. Let’s bring her body to camp and clean it please…before Bristlekit sees her this way.” Comfreystar felt numb but she knew she had to continue moving for the Clan’s sake.

The clan did as she was told. The brought her body back to camp and cleaned her up. Decorating her pelt with flowers and feathers to send her off to join Starclan.

Comfreystar went to the den that she had shared with Blizzardshriek, her scent still surrounded the den as she stepped inside and she wanted to cry but upon seeing Bristlekit who popped her head up at the pawsteps she forced herself to hold them back.

“ Comfey?” Bristlekit squeaked, the little two moon old kit still couldn’t say her name right which was fine she loved the little kit, “ Where’s Mama…?” The kit blinked the sleep from her eyes trying to see better.

“ Oh Bristlekit.” Comfreystar said as she walked over to bring the kit close, “ You remember when we told you about Starclan and how Jackdawpaw was a Starclan cat?” She explained.

“ Yes?”

“ Mama went to join Starclan tonight. Jackdawpaw and the other Starclan cats called her to join them from now on, but she will always be watching over you and us.” The leader didn’t know how to tell a young kit; her niece; that her mother was gone and she had thought about it the whole way back to camp. This was honestly the easiest way.

“ What happened to Mama?” Tears were forming in the young kit’s eyes and Comfreystar felt so bad.

Comfreystar was stunned by that question and didn’t know how to tell her that one of their own clanmates had done this. But she would notice that Heatherchase wasn’t in camp anymore.

“ Heatehrchase hurt her, we kicked her out of the clan and decided she wasn’t nice, we’re going to sit with her one last time and send her off to Starclan. Wanna come sit with me?” She asked as the young she-cat nodded. Comfreystar picked her up by the scruff to help her down from the leader’s den and there they saw Blizzardshriek’s body sprawled out in the center of camp. Many different flowers and feathers surrounded her and the scent of herbs filled their nostrils. They had cleaned the wound to her neck which had been wrapped by leaves and cobwebs to hide—atleast that’s what Comfreystar thought.

Bristlekit ran up to her mother’s body and buried her face and wailed loudly. Comfreystar could only join and comfort her by wrapping her tail around the young kit as she settled.

She could see the rest of the clan come together and began to settle around the deputy’s body and they began to mourn her.

Comfreystar looked up at the sky, tears finally falling as she cried silently, hoping her sister was watching from Starclan as they cried for her.

————————————xxxx————————————

*Blizzardshriek was murdered, the culprit unknown. Heatherchase revealed to Cloveskip that she killed her.*

*Heatherchase was exiled*

#clangen #jayclan #warrior cat ocs #Blizzardshriek #Comfreystar #Heatherchase #our first death #I liked Blizzardshriek and when I got this I was just sad #Bristlekit

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kiwi245 · 1 year

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PHOENIX BACKSTORY THING. WARNING. VERY LONG. AND OLD.

Owl watched the copper dragonet from a distance. The unfamiliar dragon was small, covered in shimmering copper feathers Owl had never seen before. She was sitting and looking into a small forest stream, her wings drooping. She didn’t look like much of a threat.

Owl approached, making sure to keep away from piles of leaves and large branches. She stopped a safe distance away before sitting on her haunches and clearing her throat. The copper dragonet’s head whipped up and she yelped, almost toppling over into the stream. Was it just Owl or did she… glow?

“Hey,” Owl said, curling her tail in to try to look small and non threatening.

“H-hi,” the copper dragon squeaked, spreading her wings and cowering away from Owl.

“What are you doing here?” Owl asked gently. The small dragonet seemed ready to bolt. She turned wide, blue eyes on Owl. “I was- I was just going for a walk!” she said, picking at a root under her talons. Owl narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?” she asked suspiciously. The copper dragonet didn’t meet her eyes.

“P-phoenix,” she whispered.

“Very pretty name.” mused Owl. Phoenix blushed, and it seemed that a wave of heat wafted off of her. “Would you mind coming back with me for dinner?” Owl asked, holding out a talon. The dragonet seemed hesitant, she eventually nodded

Owl leapt into the blue sky, looking back to make sure the younger dragonet was following. She saw her winging along behind, almost clinging to Owl’s tail. Owl noticed that she avoided touching the tree branches and fallen leaves. I wonder why. She could see her small camp setup in the distance. What she didn’t see was the dragon below.

A torpedo of black scales shot up from below the trees, tackling Owl out of the air. She gave a cry of alarm before twisting free and whirling to face her attacker. By the time she had turned, her enemy was already barreling towards her. Before Owl could react, a blur of copper feathers collided with the black dragon. There was a yell of surprise as they went crashing down to the

floor and Owl dove after them. What she saw made her stop in her tracks.

Phoenix had the black dragon pinned, and her feathers were pulsing with orange light. Flames licked along her spine and across her wings, and smoke was rising from her feathers. The black dragon had a look of terror on his face. Phoenix must have heard Owl land because she turned, her eyes glowing like cold flames, as if blue fire was blazing inside. She looked back down at the dragon under her talons in surprise. She looked hesitant and the NightWing took it as an opportunity to roll away and leapt into the air. The dragon bolted into the sky, soon a black speck winging away into the sky. Owl looked at Phoenix in shock. “What the-” she whispered. Phoenix’s feathers faded into a dark, dusty orange, and she was breathing heavily. Phoenix met Owls eyes before slumping to the floor, smoke smoldering from her copper plumage.

Owl looked down at her for a minute before leaning down and hauling her on top of her back before launching in the air, winging away towards camp.

By the time they arrived, Owl's wings felt like they were going to fall off. She stumbled into an empty clearing on the edge of a cliff, Phoenix sliding unceremoniously to the ground, wings askew.

Panting, Owl grabbed her from beneath the arms and began dragging her to a sheltered cave at the edge of the clearing. Multiple times she tripped over her own tail, almost dropping her cargo in the process. But finally, finally she made it to the cave opening. She laid Phoenix carefully on the ground, putting some soft moss beneath her head. Wow. She was out. Owl stepped away and flapped down to a creek nearby, scooping some water in a wooden bowl her friend, (significant other? Owl wasn't sure.) Spitfire had carved. Spitfire was a big CloudWing with dark feathers. Owl quickly flew back to the cave, promptly splashing the water on Phoenix's face. She woke up with a start, spluttering and the copper color blazing back into her feathers with a scorching blast of heat. Phoenix spotted Owl with a start, triggering another wave of heat to go crackling around the cave. Owl took a step back from the uncomfortable heat, fanning her wings lightly to try and circulate the now-stuffy air.

Phoenix gave her an apologetic glance, twitching her wings back nervously. “Are you alright?” asked Owl gently, trying to catch the flighty dragonet's eyes. Phoenix gave a slight nod, just the tiniest twitch of her head.

Owl sat down.“So,” she said conversationally, giving the copper dragonet a sideways look to gauge her reaction. Phoenix flinched, probably guessing what Owl was going to ask. Owl plowed on ahead. "Why do your feathers… do…. that?” Being straightforward is probably the best way to go about this, Owl thought. Phoenix gave her a look of pure panicked thinking before whispering, so softly Owl had to lean in to hear, “I don't know.” She glanced at Owl before saying, a little bit louder, “I hatched like this.” Owl nodded, but she str. The heat in the room was beginning to become uncomfortably hot, like the oxygen in the room was being burned out. "Would you like to come outside with me?” Owl asked, holding out a talon to the nervous dragonet. Owl felt like she was being suffocated in this cave. Phoenix nodded and took her talon. Owl winced at the searing heat, and the little copper dragon noticed and pulled her talon back as if bitten.

Owl pretended she didn’t notice. Owl stepped outside, breathing in the fresh,clean air. She saw a dark shape descending from the sky with something in its talons. “Spitfire!” she called, watching as the shape started with surprise before hurrying down. Spitfire was a large CLoudWing that looked like the dragon version of a kestrel. He dropped a large net of fish and the forest grass and the not on the top slipped loose, spilling silvery, stinky fish all over the place. Owl snatched one up and threw it at Spitfire. “Hey!” he yelped, lifting up his talons to fend off the next fish Owl was hurling at him. Phienix laughed, and Spitifire peered around Owl to look. “Who’s this?” he asked, looking the dragonet up and down. Owl opened one wing to shield Phoenix and pointed her talon at him. “This” she said, “Is Phoenix.” she met Spitfire’s eyes. “And I think shes important.”

(theres more but the rest is largely irrelevant and NOT CANON) (this thing is a few years old and thus highly outdated but like- its ok)

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haadeswrites · 3 years

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Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it.

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well.

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call.

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined.

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her.

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?”

And your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.”

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?”

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet…

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading.

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain.

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him.

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi.

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours.

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for.

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion.

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms.

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?”

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be.

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river.

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn.

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired.

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north.

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore…

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.”

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first.

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes.

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.

Time slows.

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally–

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound.

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.

It wasn’t him. It was never him.

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.”

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though.

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch.

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to.

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you.

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most.

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood.

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!”

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #cult au #tw: religious themes #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: minor character death #tw: abuse #hades.dark #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: god!Dream / DreamXD x gn!reader

Summary: [Reincarnation!AU & Dream SMP!AU] Being a god can be especially lonely—Dream knows that better than anyone. Yet somehow, you always manage to find your way back to him in every life you live. If only it didn’t hurt so much to love you.

Warnings: tw// mention of death

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🤡 anon, who asked for a piece based on keane’s somewhere only we know! i got rather carried away when writing this, and it’s certainly quite sad, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

Dream blinks lazily up at the fluffy clouds drifting across the cerulean sky, his emerald eyes tracing over their soft edges. He hums to himself as one of them drifts in front of the sun, the warm light suddenly leaving his face. Frowning, he sits up a little straighter, raising his arm above his head. He snaps his fingers once, and in an instant, the clouds vanish. Warmth floods his cheeks as the sun’s brilliant rays crash over him once more. He smiles, but it’s melancholic, a forlorn look passing over his face.

Just how long has he been alone like this?

Sighing, he rises to his feet, kicking at the soft dirt beneath the soles of his boots. His viridian cloak is light atop his shoulders, his wings neatly folded underneath the soft fabric. Above his head, his halos glow with a dazzling golden hue, sending beams of amber light flashing across the nearby tree trunks. Rolling his neck, he snaps his fingers again, and his wings and halos vanish in a flash. Just like that, the weight on his back dissipates, and his lips twitch. There—that’s much lighter.

His gaze flickers over to the waterfall lying just a yard away, rushing ripples of water streaming down the short cliff face and into the pool lying at its base. He crouches down next to the small pond, brushing his hand over the soft soil beneath his feet. Sparks shoot up his arm and into his fingertips, the earth suddenly bursting to life underneath his touch.

All of a sudden, a blossom sprouts from the ground, soft and pink as it unfurls its petals and soaks up the warm sunshine. Dream grins as row after row of flowers shoot up from the ground, circling around the pond and lining the trees around the clearing until suddenly, the whole space is surrounded by breathtaking blossoms. He stands back with a satisfied hum, glancing around himself with an almost nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

It’s been ages since he last returned to this little alcove in his favourite forest. He could tell no one else had stepped foot here except for him, too. After all, there was only one other person who knew about this place—the only other person in the world he knew would be able to find it in the first place.

Had it been decades or centuries since he last visited? He’s not sure anymore, but really, he’s not sure if he cares, either. There’s a reason why he doesn’t come back here very often—one that he hesitates to even think about.

It’s far too painful of a memory to relive.

“Hello?”

Dream freezes, his eyes going wide at the sound of a new voice—a familiar voice. Slowly, he turns, his lips parting in awe as he sees a figure stepping into the clearing, a mix of caution and curiosity flitting across your cheeks.

He knows that face—knows you.

His heart aches at the thought.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment, swallowing ever so slightly.

You flash him a sheepish smile, lowering your gaze to the ground almost bashfully as you brush a stray leaf off your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, or anything. I was just passing by when I saw the flowers, and thought they looked really pretty, and...”

You trail off, your voice growing smaller and smaller until it fades off into silence. Dream stares at you, unmoving as his heart races a mile a minute in his chest, battering against his rib cage as your timid gaze flickers to his.

“I, um,” you squeak out, feeling the intensity of his eyes on yours. “I can go if you wa—”

“No,” Dream suddenly blurts, the word flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He can already feel the heat flooding his chest at the way you startle in front of him, and he sucks in a breath.

“Wait,” he says, calmer this time. “Please, I—you’re not intruding at all. You can stay.” He takes a shaky step forward, offering you a crooked yet earnest smile. “I’d love it if you stayed.”

In an instant, your face lights up, and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight. “O-Oh, thank you! It’s nice to meet you. My name’s [Y/N].”

In that moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped and would never beat, again. “What’s yours?” you ask, your eyes shining like freshly cut gemstones.

His eyes scan your face for a moment, taking in the soft panes of your cheeks and the delicate curve of your lips as your smile leaves tiny cuts in his lungs.

“Dream,” he breathes at last. “Call me Dream.”

Suddenly, your eyes curve into tiny crescent moons as you grin at him, and he feels the loneliness flowing through his veins subside the tiniest bit.

Even after all this time, he still can’t bring himself to forget your smile.

Dream hums to himself as he tosses a pebble into the pond from his spot on the fallen tree log. The stream laps at the stone once before swallowing it whole, letting it sink to the murky bottom without so much as a splash. A rustle comes from behind him, and he immediately whirls, his lips curling up into an eager smile.

“[Y/N],” he chirps, bright and keen, “welcome back.”

Your glowing face greets him in return, and he nearly combusts on the spot. He still remembers the way you had promised him you would return to see him again a week ago, when you had first stumbled upon his clearing. His head still spins at the thought, and it almost makes him forget the longing ache that sinks into his bones when his gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long.

Almost.

You wave at him as you jump over a protruding tree root, crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. “Good morning, Dream! What are you doing here so early? The market only just opened.”

He shuffles over on the log to give you room, raising an eyebrow at you. “I could ask the same of you.”

Crouching over, you settle down onto the space next to him, not at all noticing the way he stiffens when your thigh brushes against his. “I woke up early to watch the sunrise,” you say with a half-drowsy smile.

There is a beat of silence, then Dream tilts his head at you. “The sunrise?”

You bob your head, turning to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur wistfully, raising your arm to wave your hand up at the sky above. “I love watching all the pretty colours fill the horizon. It only lasts a few minutes, but it’s so magnificent, and I always try to watch them if I can.”

His eyes flash as he takes in your gentle expression. Then, he opens his mouth, thoughtful and slow. “Sunrises, hm? What other things do you like?”

You pause for a moment. “Other things I like?” When he nods, you hum, averting your gaze from his until you find yourself staring over at the bubbling waterfall.

“I like... I like flowers,” you begin, “but you already knew that.” He chuckles at the hint of a smile that dusts your face before you continue. “I like exploring the market every Saturday, too. They always have something new to find.”

Suddenly, your eyes flicker to life, glittering with excitement. “Oh, I also like stargazing! It’s like watching the universe paint a picture with little crystals every night, and something about looking up at the sky makes me feel so small, and I... I...” You gesture vaguely, a frustrated noise escaping your throat. “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Dream cannot help the way his heart melts in his chest at the sound you make, a certain fondness seeping into his soul. You were always so endearing—always, always, always.

“What about you, Dream?” you say suddenly, looking at him curiously. “What things do you like?”

Dream blinks at you—once, twice. Suddenly, his mind is flooded with image after image, memory after memory.

He thinks of the millennia he has lived through, the cities he has watched rise and fall. He thinks of the countless distances he has wandered, travelling far and wide with a heavy loneliness hanging in his barren heart. He thinks of soft kisses pressed to calloused fingertips and fluttering eyelids.

Then, he looks at you, with your enraptured eyes and your glorious grin.

“You,” he says, sincerity gracing his every word. “I like spending time with you.”

He watches as you stammer in reply, your eyes going wide as you gape at him in a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. He laughs at you, and his heart swells in his chest.

He’s missed you—more than you would ever know.

“Say, Dream, have you ever seen the ocean?”

The sun glares harshly into your eyes from where you lie on the earth, staring up at the cobalt sky, but Dream hardly notices—his eyes are too focused on you. “I have,” he murmurs as his gaze traces over the bridge of your nose in wonder. He’s seen more of the world than he would like to admit. After all, he was the one who created it in the first place. But to you, he’s just a simple traveler with a penchant for waterfalls.

Before he can even register it, you’ve bolted upright, bending over him with an excited shout. “Really?! What’s it like?”

He jolts at the sudden movement, all too keenly aware of how close your face is to his before his shuffles into a sitting position, resting his chin on his hand. “Well,” he begins, “it’s really big. So big that you can’t see the shore on the other side no matter how hard you try. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, and the breeze kind of tastes salty if you open your mouth.”

He catches a flash of your awed expression as he waves his arm in front of him to illustrate the vast size of the ocean. “The water,” he continues, envisioning the waves as they crash onto the sand, “is nice and cold, and if you swim deep enough, you might find fish and coral. It’s relaxing to watch the tide come up into the beach. Sometimes, shells wash up onto the shore, too. You can keep those as little souvenirs.”

For a moment, you are silent as you simply stare at him, something swirling deep within your gaze. “Wow,” you say at last, sounding completely breathless. “That sounds beautiful.” You stretch your legs out in front of you, your fingers curling into the grass spread beneath your palms. “My best friend says there’s mermaids in the ocean.” You scrunch your nose. “I don’t know if I believe him, though.”

Something dark ripples through Dream, and the tiniest of frowns passes over his face. “Your best friend?” he parrots.

You nod. “Yeah—his name’s Karl. He’s really nice and likes to goof off a lot. He’s also a really good storyteller!” You look at him then, fondly and with such a kind look it almost knocks Dream right over. “I think you might like his stories.”

His lips quirk up into a coy smile, and he leans ever so slightly forward. “Would I, now?” he croons, a teasing lilt tinting his tone. “What kind of stories does he like to tell?”

You clasp your hands together, excitement brimming in your face. “Oh, wonderful ones! There’s the one about the sleepy fox, the one about the pig who could not be killed, and the one about how we all face reincarnation after death, but my favourite,” you murmur, “is about the creation of the world.”

Dream goes still at that, his smile faltering for a split second. “How does that one go?” he asks softly.

You scoot the tiniest bit closer to his side, your gaze lowering ever so slightly. “Once upon a time,” you start, your voice as smooth as velvet, “a god descended from the heavens and carved the world into the shape it is today.” You traced your finger along the soft dirt. “He made valleys and hills, oceans and rivers, decorating the land with flowers and trees. The world he made was beautiful, but it was lonely, so he filled it with people to keep him company. He was so full of joy to have friends, until one day, he fell in love.”

Your demeanour, which had been cheerful up until this point, suddenly shifted, darkening as you let out a sigh. “He fell in love so quickly and so deeply that he was blind to the nature of his own creations, as they had a mortal lifespan, unlike him. When his lover died, a part of his soul died with them. He vanished after that, never to be seen again.” You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head upon them. “Some people say he wanders the world, mourning for all of eternity. Others say he died of heartbreak. Even fewer believe that his lover lives on and he loves them still, although they’re not entirely sure. Either way, he has yet to appear, and humanity quietly awaits for his return.”

Dream is silent beside you, his lips pressed into a thin line as his chest rises and falls with the timing of his breaths. “Why is that story your favourite?” he finally asks.

You lift your head, surprise shooting across your face. “I’m not sure,” you say softly, pondering for a moment. “I just think he sounds so... sad. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him. He only wanted to not be alone anymore.” Your voice drops even lower. “He only ever wanted to love someone.”

An ache suddenly expands within his gut, digging into his sides of his skull with such ferocity he fears he may never escape it. That same, fleeting sense of solitude slinks around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing until your eyes lock into his, and they halt.

“Do you think that he lives on?” you whisper, your gaze searching his. “That he might have found someone else to keep him company, despite his sadness?”

You pause, something like hope sparking within your eyes. “Do you think... he ever loved again?”

Dream stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. Your lips are right there, are so dreadfully close to him as he looks at you, feeling the blood pound through his ears as the pain in his heart begins to lift. It rises higher and higher within him before sliding off his shoulders entirely, leaving nothing behind but tender affection and warmth—a warmth he had been yearning for for so, so long.

He smiles at you then, and for once, this one is real.

“Something tells me he did.”

Dream stretches his wings out behind him with a quiet groan, feeling the cool air ruffle his ivory white feathers. His cloak sits on the ground next to him while his golden halos spin rapidly atop his head from where they float, glowing faintly in the fading evening light. After a moment, he lets his wings fold back up against his back, lowering his arms with a sharp exhale. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of the setting sun just before it dips below the horizon, shrouding the world in darkness. With a bored look, he picks at his nail, curling his toes in his shoes.

He’s already waved you off and watched as you wove your way out of the clearing and between the forest’s tangled trees back to your village. Now, he has nothing left to do but wait for your return the next day, his throat aching for your arrival with every passing second.

How far I have fallen, he thinks distantly to himself, to be reduced to nothing more than a helpless admirer for a human.

A moment passes, and his heart sighs.

A lovely human, at that.

All of a sudden, he hears a stick snap behind him, and Dream immediately snaps his fingers, his wings and halos disappearing in a flash, almost as if they had never existed to begin with. Whipping around on his heel, he narrows his eyes at the clearing entrance, jaw clenched in preparation. His shoulders are raised at his side, tense with anticipation when just then...

...you stumble out of the forest, tears streaking down your face.

Dream’s shoulders fall in an instant.

“Dream,” you choke out, your voice cracking sharply.

You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth again before he’s standing in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as gently as he can manage. His eyes scan your face as his stomach churns with agony at the despair painted onto your features. “[Y/N],” he murmurs softly, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle, lifting your head to look at him through watery eyes as you open your mouth. “Karl—he’s sick. Really sick,” you babble like a winding stream. “The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he’s been coughing so badly that you can just tell he’s in pain. At this rate, I—I’m scared he’s not going to get any better. He... I’ve known him since forever, and I—”

The words die in your mouth as you cut yourself off with a broken sob, and Dream almost feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. He never wants to see you in pain, to see you as sad as this, and the fact that you are sobbing at all makes him want to wail himself.

Softly, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to your chest as he rocks you gently back and forth with your head resting on his shoulder. Your tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t mind one bit. “Shh, [Y/N],” he coos quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back with a wary gaze, fear etched into your features. “How do you know that?” you whisper. “What if he doesn’t get better? What then?”

Dropping one arm from behind you, Dream slips a hand into his pocket, quickly rubbing his fingers together. Just like that, cool glass that wasn’t there a moment earlier presses against the warmth of his palm, and he pulls out a vial filled with a pale, rosy liquid.

“Here,” he says, pressing the vial into your hand. “This is an antidote I’ve been...” He pauses for a split second, then fibs. “...holding onto for a while. For emergencies.” Slowly, he clasps your fingers until they’re closed around the glass top, sending you a reassuring smile. “Give this to Karl, and I promise you he’ll recover.”

You blink at him, your eyes glimmering underneath the light of the swirling stars overhead. “You swear?” you ask meekly, hope dancing along the edge of your lashes.

Dream swallows thickly and nods. “On my life.”

You inhale a deep, shuddering breath, then raise your hand to wipe at your eyes before smiling at him, warm and full of affection. “Okay,” you murmur as you step back from him. “I trust you, Dream.”

The next morning, you come tumbling into Dream’s arms with a gleeful cry, tears flowing freely down your face as you knock him to the ground. This time, they’re there for an entirely different reason as you ramble about Karl’s cleared airways when the doctor came to check on him after you fed him the antidote.

Beneath you, Dream relishes in the warmth of your body against his, praying you cannot feel the way his heart hammers against his chest.

There were not enough words in the world that he could use to describe how deep his devotion to you ran.

He fears there may never be enough.

Months pass in a blur, and Dream watches with knowing eyes as summer turns to autumn. Soon enough, snow coats the clearing although the waterfall continues to flow. No matter how harsh the weather, you stumble your way back to the forest to him, and each day, Dream feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the very essence that is you.

To think that there was once a time he never wanted to return here at all.

“Dream,” you say abruptly one day, “you know, I think you might be my favourite person in the world.”

He cocks a brow at you, his lips twitching up into a small smirk. “In the world?” he repeats. “I think Karl would be offended.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t stop the smile from stretching across your face. “Maybe, but it’s the truth!” You lift a hand and begin counting off on your fingers. “You’re—you’re so nice, and passionate, and bold, and bright, and...” You pause, then chuckle almost shyly. “I could go on and on, but that’s embarrassing.”

He chuckles at your words, only growing more and more enamoured with each word that falls from your lips. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says gently. “It’s cute.”

Your shoulders suddenly stiffen, and you slowly turn your head to glance up at him. “Cute? You think I’m cute?”

He doesn’t have to think twice about his response. “Very much so. I would dare say that you are even more beautiful than you are cute.”

You whine with a pout, heat crawling up the side of your neck as you dig your thumbs into your palms. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He stares at you for a second, then he flashes you a grin that is both parts wicked and affectionate. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

Your mouth drops open at the way he fires your own words back at you, and you gape at him a moment before you groan, reaching over to playfully bat at his arm. “Why, you!”

He laughs at you and loves the way he can tell your heart races in your chest. He loves the way you smile despite your small shouts of frustration. He loves the way you are just so endearing to him in every which way.

He laughs at you and he loves you, hopelessly and wholly.

Dream gazes up at the orange sky with a slight frown and furrowed brows, watching as the clouds coast by overhead on a distant, northern gale. The waterfall babbles restlessly at his side, and he taps his foot against the smooth stones lining the pond with abandonment. The flowers he had once grown rake this petals over the soles of his shoes as he lets out a long sigh, anxiety slowly beginning to paw at his backside.

Are you going to show up at all today? he wonders. There are some days you don’t appear at all, typically because you had to run some errands or something of the sort, but those days are few and far between. He won’t chastise you for not seeing him, of course, but he cannot simply ignore the pang of his heart when he misses you so.

His fingers drum against the cool material clutched in his hands, and a melancholic look flits over his features. It would be a shame if you didn’t appear though, especially given what he had in mind for the day.

Right then, he hears your lovely voice call out for him. “Dream!”

His frown is immediately replaced by a smile as he whirls around to see you, his hands carefully tucked behind his back. “[Y/N],” he greets, striding up to you. “It’s good to see you.”

You’ve only just made it in front of him when he opens his mouth again, excitement filling his words to the absolute brim. “I brought you a gift.”

You blink wildly at him, pointing to yourself in surprise. “For me?”

His grin only grows wider, his heart leaping into his throat. “Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else?”

You squint for a second, then smile. “Karl?”

Dream deadpans at you, and you laugh in return, not noticing the way his eyes melt fondly at your expression. “I’m kidding,” you chide, shuffling a step closer to him. “So, what is it?”

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he finally brings his hands out from behind him, pushing them towards you. “Ta-da! Here.”

Your breath catches at the sight of his palms, and with trembling hands, you reach up to pull the curved item from his hand. “Is this... a shell?” you whisper, your eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. “A conch shell,” he says. “From the ocean.”

You sputter as you gently turn the shell over in your hands, your fingers tracing over the solid edges with nothing short of pure shock. “H-How did you even get this? The nearest ocean is at least a week’s travel on horse away!”

Dream thinks of the wings he typically had tucked on his back and how they carried him to the ocean and back in less than a few minutes, but to you, he only smiles and shrugs. “I have my ways.”

You don’t respond for a moment, then two. All of a sudden, you sniffle, and Dream is bending before you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching for yours before just stopping short. “[Y/N]?” he asks in a soothing tone. “Is something wrong?”

Your gaze is watery, but only slightly as you raise your chin to look at him, your lower lip set with determination. “Dream,” you say with a shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” You gulp. “It’s serious.”

Immediately, Dream’s mind runs through a million and five possibilities of what you could possibly say to him, each one increasingly worse than the last. Your family is in need of funds, or you’re about to leave on a life-threatening journey. Or maybe Karl is just sick, again.

But before he can run himself into the ground with his own worries, Dream lets out a breath and tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

Your gaze falls down to your feet, and you stare at the earth for an excruciatingly long minute. Dream simply stands in front of you, patiently and earnestly waiting for your response when you suddenly open your mouth.

“I—I love you.”

Dream’s lungs feel as though they are about to collapse in his chest. “You do?”

You bite your lip, but raise your head, your shoulders trembling at your sides. “Yes,” you whisper, the syllable steeped with emotion. With one hand clasped around the conch shell, the other reaches up to rest over your chest, palm pressed flats against your left side. “My heart is yours, all of it.”

The world is a blur of colours and sounds around him, and he can feel his head spin faster and faster as a wave of memories come crashing down over him, drowning him whole. He wants to tear his hair out and scream to the heavens above until his throat is raw and he can scream no more.

You love him. You love him back, and as much as he wants to burn your words into the back of his eyelids, something else sinks its claws into his heart and tears a hole right into the flesh.

This is not the first time you have spoken these words to him. No, not at all.

He had done his best to forget them over all those years, had tried his best to outrun the anguish with every century he lived through. After all, when you live as long as he has, it is only natural for him to forget some things. Through wandering across every land he had lovingly sculpted by hand, he had hoped to erase his suffering by engulfing himself in other worldly affairs, isolating himself entirely from others.

But no amount of time could ever truly erase the memories he had of you—the first incarnation of you, from all those years ago.

He remembers how the two of you had shared your first kiss under the light of the full moon, giggling to one another as he wrapped you up in his soft feathers. He remembers the way you would hold his hand and tell him about all the things you could not wait to do with him in the very same clearing he stood in now. He remembers the way your body went limp in his own arms, coughing until your lungs could cough no more. He remembers the agony and the torment as he wasted away, too caught up in the imprint of your skin against his before you turned to dust before his very eyes.

He remembers it all, and he cannot not let himself be shattered like that, again.

“I have to go,” he whispers, jerking his arm back from yours.

You whip your head up, pain shooting across your face. “Y-You’re leaving? What?”

He takes another step back and swallows down the lump in his throat, but it tastes like acid burning his stomach. “I—I can’t stay here.”

Before he can move back again, your hand shoots out to grab at the hem of his shirt, desperation soaking into your face: “P-Please,” you plead, “you can just say you don’t love me back. My feelings for you won’t change.”

He wants to cry. No, he thinks, it’s not that. It could never be that. Not with you.

You clutch at the cloth, hoping your feelings somehow reach him through your anguished touch. “I love you, Dream,” you begin, “I really do. I love how attentive you are, how much you always seem to care. You’re always so patient with me, so kind, so generous, and it makes me melt inside. I love the way your eyes shine so brightly, and I love your little freckles. I want to count them all, and I don’t mind if that takes the rest of eternity.”

You’re almost entirely out of breath by now, and Dream’s jaw has gone slack. He can only stare at you with a look of pure conflicting despair as your eyes search his for answers he knows he cannot possibly give. “An eternity with you would be nothing,” you breathe, your voice cracking. Your grip on his shirt suddenly goes limp, and your arm falls back to your side. “Please. Stay.”

The knife in his gut only seems to twist deeper as he takes yet another step back, his cloak feeling like a boulder upon his back. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I really can’t.”

Tears line your eyes like tiny jewels, and he wishes he could wipe them away. “Why?” you beg. “Why do you have to go?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

In front of him, a look of absolute defeat sinks into your expression, and your voice grows smaller than ever. “At least—at least tell me if I’ll ever see you again.”

Dream’s feels the back of his eyes sting, and he clenched his hands beside him. “Not in this lifetime,” he wants to say. “And hopefully not in the next, either.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he says instead.

Just like that, he watches as the light fades from your eyes, vanishing from sight as the setting sun watches on with a sad gaze. Your lower lip trembles, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crumpling to the ground in a heap and watering the earth with your tears. You clutch the conch shell to your chest and let it dig into your chest from how tightly you press it against yourself, your vision completely blurred. In front of you, Dream holds back tears of his own, forcing himself to look away from your broken figure as he walks toward the forest away from you.

Your wails follow after him even after he unfurls his wings deep in the forest and soars up into the sky, flying high above the world below as he dries his tears with the harsh wind that bites at his face.

He will not return here for a long, long time.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to bring himself to if he tried.

Dream brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder as he steps over a root, his eyes focused on the bushes before him. A bird chirps as he strolls past a tree, nestling further into its nest as he ducks under the branch. He smiles at the sight, a deep fondness seeping into his heart as he lets his hand run over the tree’s hard bark.

He recognizes this forest—these trees. He knows this sky, has leapt over these rocks. He’s walked this path before.

It’s a shame he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last came here.

He hums a quiet melody to himself as he weaves a path between the trees, drawing nearer and nearer to the place he had been searching for with every passing second. He’s only a few steps away when a sound calls out to him—a sound that isn’t a part of the forest.

“Hello?”

Dream goes stock still, his heart coming to a screeching halt in his chest.

He knows that voice, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly steps forward, out into the entrance of the clearing. In front of the waterfall stands a silhouette he is absolutely positive he’s seen before—countless times before. Something tells him that he should leave, that he should run far, far away and disappear from view. But as he watches the silhouette take a tentative step toward him, his inhibitions fall away.

Warmth blossoms in the space between his lungs, all encompassing and full of grief as he opens his mouth.

“Hi.”

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ramenoff · 3 years

Text

• 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩 •

Synopsis: Bucky would literally die for you but his ego is bigger than his dick and you wanna shove him out a window.

Pairing: fuckboy!bucky x AFAB!reader (college au)

Warnings: uH enemies to lovers, no explicit smut (brief, inexplicit mentions), PINING OH MY GOD, unrequited love (on Bucky’s part), language, some specific traits for reader mentioned (nothing like skin, hair or eye colour, more just clothing style and no makeup), Bucky is an idiot lmao.

(1.3k words)

You’re staring at your board like you’ve got a bone to pick with it, determination evident in your brow and a scraped knee to match it.

Should’ve bought those knee pads.

You huff out a sigh and push off on your board once more before dipping back down into the bowl and rounding the circumference to get yourself comfortable. Your foot meets the ground to spur on your momentum- it’s a simple trick, and you’ve only been skating for around two weeks at this point but you’ve spent all afternoon trying to nail this move and you refuse to return to your dorm with defeat written all over you.

You direct yourself to round another lap before allowing the board to take its course up the side of the bowl. You meet the edge and you use the momentum in your hips to let yourself rise up in the air and- holy shit, you’re almost doing it!

As you meet the edge your body swivels, right hand gripping the board to your feet as your left-

Well, your left hand was supposed to catch you.

Before you can calculate that the distance was misjudged, you're tumbling down the side of the bowl and biting the pavement.

“Take it easy there, champ.”

You’re so ready to castrate him.

“Eat glass,” you snap, dusting off your cargo shorts and examining your twin wounds on your knees.

You’ve never understood just what makes James Buchanan Barnes so great. It's clear that he’s a class A douchebag with his stupid blue eyes and ridiculous hair that falls perfectly in place no matter how hungover and disgusting he was. He swears he’s got a big dick but he’s proven that his ego has the advantage, even girls on campus swap stories about one night stands and seven minutes of god knows what when stuffed into a closet together on a dare. Maybe you’re jealous that it isn’t you, or maybe you’re just tired of the pick-me-girl shit that goes on simply for a college fuckboy with precisely two and a half brain cells who has somehow Pavolov’d a swath of young girls to be at his beck and call when he wants a blowjob. Either way, the rest of campus thinks that Bucky is just peachy while you can beg to differ.

The best part? He wants you bad.

Your bruised skin and scruffy attitude is refreshing, he’s decided. Not once has he been so threatened by a look but he’d be damned if he didn’t imagine those harsh features softening at his touch. He doesn’t care if it’s behind closed doors, where your back arches and your eyes roll, pleads and prayers dripping off your lips like honey as he plays your body like a finely tuned instrument. Nor if it’s out where everyone can see, a brush at the small of your back, just so you know he’s there. If he could just tuck away that flyaway strand of hair that always hangs in front of your eyes he’d die happy. If he’s lucky he might cup your cheeks and trace your lips with his thumb, trying to memorize the touch in case his body forgets.

He thinks, if he could have you, that his body would never truly forget it. You’re too extraordinary. You’re extraterrestrial. He swears your beauty is so alien but also earthly and real, unlike anything else he’s ever seen. If God exists, he made the cosmos revolve around you. Bucky sometimes scrunches his nose and grimaces at how cheesy it sounds but he solidly believes that God took inspiration from your eyes and created stars. Your hair is the waterfalls of the world, the clouds in the sky and the leaves on the trees all at once. Your skin is the earth, lush and rich, but blemished from your pursuits. When your eyes narrow and your brow sets, so does the sun. When you breathe the wind wraps him in chilled kisses. He’d like to create a hurricane with you.

He’s bad at showing it, but he’d give you everything. He’s made fun of you and taunted you out of his own insecurity, but only because he just knows he’d love you better than anyone else. When he teases you about your baggy, ripped clothes it’s because he wishes he could worship the prize that lies beneath them. When he points out your circled eyes and offers to take you makeup shopping it’s because he wants to kiss those dark crescent moons and adore them like the rest of you. He finds any opportunity to poke at your scars and scabs because he yearns to place a band-aid on them and kiss them.

Champ? He calls you that for two reasons.

1. He can’t get enough of that face you make when he does. Never has he wanted to drop to his knees to beg and throw you over his shoulder and feel you squirm at the same time. You look like you could commit all sorts of creative crimes when you look at him like that and it makes his heart swell morbidly.

2. You are a champion- his champion. He wants so desperately to be proud of you, to watch you with adoring eyes and his face in his palms as you put everything surrounding you to shame. Roses? They pale in comparison to your skin’s natural glow. The jaws of death? They snap shut and whimper when you walk- no, skate- by.

Bucky wants you more than he has ever wanted anything in his life- come to think of it, he hasn’t ever really wanted much in life. He just grazed the median to get into college by a longshot, never exactly cared for a job or any of the girls he dated in the past. Steve and Sam, while being his best friends, Bucky knows they won’t put up with his absolute dogshit behavior forever. But you? He’d change for you. He’d cut his hair or wear a clown suit if you really wanted him to, he would do anything if it meant making that tight line of concentration and grit that is your mouth curve up into a smile.

What does he do instead?

“You’re pretty shit at this,” he readjusts his ball cap as he peers down the bowl at you.

You glare up at him. Your eyes are a myriad of labyrinths. He’s sure he’ll never find his way out of them but you break the gaze and kick up your board.

“Not as shit as you in bed,” You quip, taking a run up the side of the bowl and making it up this time without trouble.

Please, just let him hold you.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out.”

Even just for a minute.

“I’d like to keep my pink palace untainted, thank you.”

You can count if you really can’t stand it.

“Pink palace? You mean crackhouse.”

Just let him be selfish. He doesn’t deserve it, but hell does he want you.

“And your junk is close to godliness?” you snort.

You’re now nearly nose-to-nose. He can smell you- warm vanilla and sandalwood rolling off your body like waves of rugged sweetness and the sharp bite of spearmint gum on your breath. He could kiss you. He could just take you by the back of the neck and finally get that clash of lips, teeth and tongue that have haunted his dreams at night. Or he could guide your chin to his lips with the tips of his fingers, letting anticipation build with the riot of butterflies in his stomach.

But no.

“Maybe you’ll get that trick next time, champ,” Bucky claps a hand on your shoulder and is on his way with his heart sinking in his chest.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #buckyxreader #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes fluff #my writing #pls rb if u like <3

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melon-wing · 4 years

Text

Chase Me [Grian x Doc]

[Fanfiction Masterlist] Happy Birthday @gridoc I can finally share this! Thank you for spreading the gridoc love. This day should totally be the unofficial official Gridoc-Day ;) I commissioned a picture and wrote this story for the picture! (maybe you are lucky and get to see it ;D) Also there’ll be another Birthday story later today!!! ~

Doc sat straight up, when sirens blared all around him, red lights flashing. It took him a moment to gather his surroundings. He was still in one of the Area 77 labs, his equipment right in front of him on the table. One of the glass vials had spilled, leaving the whole table covered in a brownish liquid. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of his experiment. Damn. That meant he'd have to start the whole thing all over again. Why hadn't Scar woken him up? He usually did when something like this happened and then scolded him for not going to bed.

Doc rubbed his eyes, trying to chase his tiredness away. The alarm was still going. It took unusually long. Why wasn't Scar...?

Oh, right. He remembered. Scar wasn't here, because he had left the day before to get together with Cub. Something about a meeting, that Scar had postponed one too many times and him 'having to make it up to his husband‘. He wouldn't be here for the next few days.

Doc sighed. He felt a pang in his chest when he thought of the Convex. Those two were truly made for one another. Even when he would never admit it out loud, hearing Scar talk about Cub as if the whole universe revolved around him, made Doc feel a longing ache. He had been happy on his own for so long. He'd been alone ever since the disastrous end of his engagement to Bdubs back in their old world. He had thought he'd be done with love and relationships. He had thought that no relationship was made to truly last.

Seeing Cub and Scar, hearing Scar... He wanted that.

Doc shook his head to rid himself of that line of thought as he hurriedly walked through the corridors. He didn't have time to go all sentimental now. He blamed the dream he just had awoken from. The dream that kept repeating over and over again.Though he couldn't quite remember the details, only being locked in a heated embrace with someone, lips pressed together. A small giggle, fleeting touches, sky blue eyes, but when he tried to remember the face of the person, his mind drew a blank.

"Oh god damn it! Concentrate, Doc!", he scolded himself, voice echoing off the walls. This situation needed his full attention now. It wasn't the first time the alarm had been triggered, but most of the time it had just been large animals wandering past their body. It was probably some stupid cow again. Or one of those overly annoying traders with their idiotic lamas, trying to sell him some trash for ridiculously high prices.

Doc yawned, grabbing a few emeralds and wheat from one of the chests before finally getting to the lever that turned off the alarms. The silence after helped him to clear his head a bit faster. The lights stopped flashing and with one last sigh he stepped outside, following their main path through flower filled grass and... wait.

Flowers?!

Those hadn't been there before... And Scar couldn't have been the one to plant them, which meant somebody else had been here. But what kind of intruder would just run around and plant flowers?

And then he heard a giggle.

A giggle that felt so familiar, as if he had just heard it a few minutes ago. A giggle that made his chest ache in a weird way. The same way it felt when he looked at Scar and Cub.

"Who's there? Show yourself!", he shouted, taking his trident out and scanning his surroundings. His foxes had also risen from their sleep at the entrance and were now jumping in between his legs in nervous excitement. There was a flash of red in between the trees next to the border and another giggle from the same direction that seemed to echo over the flowery field. Doc let his trident soar through the air with perfect accuracy. There was a loud high pitched sound of surprise, and then more giggling as the intruder kept running in between the trees. The trident must have barely missed them.

Doc made a gesture with his hand and the trident came flying right back into it.

"Go get them, boys.", he growled and the foxes darted forward, Doc right on their heel.

Who was it?

He swore he knew that voice.

He had heard it before.

His foxes easily darted between the trees, leaving Doc a bit further behind, but he was still running. There was a loud shout and a heavy thud and Doc grinned. He put on another burst of speed and when he passed between the next row of trees he stopped. There on the floor right in front of him lay the intruder, his foxes had their claws and mouths all over their legs, clawing and biting into the fabric. Doc whistled and the foxes let go, returning to his side.

Doc looked at the figure on the ground for a few seconds and suddenly his eyes went wide, when he recognized them - him.

“Grian?”

There was a groan and Grian turned onto his back before sitting up.

Doc’s breath hitched as Grian looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from running away. His hair was a bit messy and a crown of flowers sat a bit tilted on his head. He looked… adorable. Like some otherworldly being. Doc almost expected to see pointy ears. He couldn‘t believe how attractive Grian was.

Doc felt heat rushing to his cheeks at that sudden thought popping up in his mind and he cursed his own mind.

“Well, looks like you caught me, Agent Doc.”

Doc felt more heat rising to his cheeks, when Grian all but purred the greeting and especially his name. Going by the sudden gleam in Grian’s eyes and his lop-sided grin, he knew exactly what he was doing to Doc‘s head.

When had that happened? When had Grian been able to get to him like that?

Certainly not during the Civil War.

“What’s wrong, Agent Doc. Fox got your tongue?”

There it was again. That teasing tone of his and finally Doc was able to get at least a part of his composure back. Enough at least to stop standing around like a statue.

“What the heck are you doing here? And what‘s up with the flowery get up? Were you the one planting those flowers?”

The way Grian’s smile widened already gave Doc the answer to his last question. Only Grian could manage to look so innocent, yet quilty at the same time.

“Well. A certain someone stole my time machine, so I‘m here to get it back.”

“That really doesn‘t explain the flowers.”

“Oh, that. I thought who better to fight a secret government facility than some Hippies? I thought you might appreciate a little gift to celebrate getting new neighbours.”

Grian kept smiling, even when Doc stepped closer, the trident pointed right at the center of his chest.

Doc was torn between feeling flustered, frustrated and completely enraged.

“Well, good to know”, he growled low in his throat. “Means I gotta build a nice prison cell for you.”

Grian‘s smile turned into a smirk, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Yeah. You really should. Might wanna invest in a better security system as well.”

Doc looked at Grian in confusion. His security system had worked pretty well in catching Grian after all. But just as he was about to voice this thought, a loud explosion shook the ground, the sound coming from the direction of the main building. He stared at Grian open mouthed for a second, as a satisfied grin spread on the other’s face.

“So… Do you wanna take care of that or do you wanna have me as your prisoner? I do think I‘d look pretty out of place in a cell.“

“Stay there. I am not done with you!“

Doc cursed under his breath and then turned around, sprinting off towards the explosion. With a loud whistle the foxes ran alongside him. A light giggle faded into the distance as he kept running and he knew that Grian wouldn‘t be there when he came back.

When he reached the site of the explosion, he saw Ren running off in the distance. So those two were working together now? Damn. He hated fighting Ren… And fighting Grian? Well that was frustrating and kind of exhilarating at the same time. Things always got exciting when Grian got involved.

Doc stood in between the flowers, smoke rising from the slightly damaged wall, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. He was really looking forward to this.

~*~

Doc awoke with a start, sitting straight up in his bed, his brow drenched in sweat. He kept having those dreams. The body pressed against his no longer some vague figure. It was weird. He just couldn‘t get Grian off his mind and he followed him into his deepest dreams.

Doc groaned, burying his head in his hands. This was so annoying. The things they had done in his dream last night... Dear Lord. It was getting worse and worse each time he and Grian interacted. Which they did quite often recently.

The things he wanted to do to Grian every time he looked at him with those sparkling blue eyes. Every time it got harder to resist, harder to hold himself back. But he had enough restraint. He wouldn’t act on these thoughts. It wasn’t like Grian ever showed any interest anyway. He was just into it for the fun and the time machine. Doc sure as hell wouldn‘t push his affections onto someone who was unwilling.

With a yawn Doc walked into the lab. Scar took one look at him and sighed, pointing to a table by the side.

“Coffee is ready. You look like shit. Did you dream of your sweet little angel boy again?”

Doc grumbled in annoyance and went in a beeline to the coffee, pouring himself a cup and immediately draining it. He would need more than a few cups of coffee to get this night‘s dreams off his mind. He also regretted telling Scar about them that one drunken night. The teasing never stopped.

“Must have been a lot of fun. I heard some rather interesting sounds coming from your room when I got up.”

Doc whipped around so fast he almost spilled his coffee all over his suit. “Sounds? What sounds? There were no sounds! I didn’t…” The way Scar was grinning at him made him glare. He had really fallen for that one.

“So I was right after all. Thanks for confirming. You should really go get him and tell him how you feel.”

Doc sighed, leaning against the table and letting his head hang, staring into the black shining surface of his coffee. “He’s not interested, Scar. Have you seen the way he looks at Impulse like a lovestruck puppy? Ever since Impulse joined all I ever hear him talk about is how amazing Impulse is and how glad he is that Impulse joined. He keeps complimenting Impulse on his redstone skills. Did he ever once stop to look at the redstone circuits I‘m building?! Do I have to challenge Impulse to a redstone competition to have him talk about me like that?”

Scar‘s smirk faded, but the look of pity he had on his face now was even worse. “Doc… You’re seeing things, mate. I told you before when you thought he was so into Ren. It wasn’t true then and it isn’t true now. I was right about Ren having the hots for Iskall… But the moment those two started dating you thought Grian was after Impulse. Why can’t you just spare us both the discussions this time and believe me when I tell you that Impulse has an enormous crush on False?”

Doc rolled his eyes a bit. Sure Scar had been right about Ren and maybe he was right about Impulse, but why would that matter. “Well I didn‘t say they were in a relationship this time. Impulse going after False doesn’t mean that Grian can‘t fall in love with him.”

Scar shook his head, throwing his hands up. “I give up. You’re too stubborn for your own good. Mope around in self pity if you want to. But I swear the next time Grian crashes our base because he wants your attention, I won‘t throw his sorry ass off our property again. You can do that all on your own. I swear the next time those sirens go off, your ass can go out there and get rid of all of those hundreds of flowers. He leaves them for you anyways!”

Doc took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to piss off his partner, but talking about Grian had just become a really sensitive and annoying topic for him.

“Scar I’m-”

He never got to finish his apology. As if some divine being was making fun of him, the sirens started going off, red lights flashing in their laboratory. Doc prayed. As he turned at the screen on the wall he was begging the fates, that it was just a trader or maybe Ren or Impulse. Please, anything but Grian. His eyes scanned all the small tiny camera images until they landed on camera 5. Grian’s red sweater stood out glaringly among the greenery. The fates must really hate him.

“I’m going to get rid of that hippie. And no. I‘m not talking about any unnecessary feelings with him, don’t get your hopes up.”

“I bet if you two would just get it on, we’d have no more Hippies to fight.”

Doc threw Scar one more annoyed look before grabbing his trident and rushing through the halls to get outside. There were flowers all around, a huge bouquet of red tulips lying right in front of the main entrance. He didn‘t know why, but he made sure to take a big step as not to trample them, but didn’t have enough time to think about the meaning behind those flowers. Going by the surveillance Grian had been east of the facility.

Doc ran through the trees, jumping over roots and rocks. He cursed the fact that he had thought a suit was the appropriate attire for this job. Well, in his defense, he hadn’t planned to be chasing Hippies through a thick forest when all of this had started. He really should have changed his working clothes when this had begun… but there had been that one time Grian had complimented him on it and ever since that day… gosh, Doc really had it bad.

Grian’s delighted giggle seemed to bounce off all the surrounding trees, echoing through Doc’s head, taking hold of every part of his mind. This time Doc wouldn’t let him get away. This time he’d end it once and for all. No more Hippie shenanigans driving him to the brink of insanity. Maybe if he locked Grian up, he‘d get at least one night of peaceful sleep.

He saw a flash of red between the trees and let his trident fly. There was a shout and when the trident came back, a small piece of red fabric was pierced by it. So close. It was always so close. He always had Grian almost in his grasp and somehow every time Grian managed to slip past their border back to the Camp.

That’s when it hit Doc. He needed to get to the border. Quick. Grian was moving all over the place, no predictable route, but they were gradually getting closer to the border. If Doc just ran straight ahead he could get him.

Doc whistled and his foxes sprinted after Grian, while Doc himself turned a different way. Hopefully Grian would hear and see the foxes and think Doc was a bit behind them, still chasing.

Doc rushed straight to the border and grinned when he reached it. No sign of Grian. No sign of red in the forest, except for a few of the flowers that were planted everywhere around the border. Doc had given up getting rid of them around the edge of their property. They just kept popping up.

His eyes kept scanning the tree line. And then he smirked when he heard his foxes yipping in the distance, chasing Grian his way. He was really happy that they were so smart and knew what he wanted them to do with just one whistle.

Doc walked over to one of the trees, hiding behind one of the thicker ones. The rushed steps were getting closer and closer. He counted the estimated seconds down in his head. And when he hit zero he let his arm fly out, just in time to grab Grian around the waist as he ran past the tree.

Grian gave a surprised scream and fell to the floor from the sudden impact, taking Doc with him. But that didn’t matter. Doc was on top of him. There was no getting away now. He’d just need to get some cuffs on Grian and all of this would be over.

Before Grian could snap out of his confused daze, Doc grabbed his hands and pressed them above his head with both hands, putting his weight behind the grip. He would not let Grian get away this time.

“Look at what I caught. Things didn’t go as planned this time, did they? You really should have stopped coming here without backup.”

Grian finally blinked and looked at Doc, the look of confusion fading and turning into a smirk. But Doc could see the insecurity hidden beneath it. Grian smirked and smiled at him so often, he could tell the smallest differences in those expressions.

“Who says I don‘t have any backup? Who says I’m not just a distraction so Ren and Impulse can get into your facility.”

“Scar”, Doc just replied flatly “You know we have cameras. He would let me know if there was anyone else. And if there was you sure as hell wouldn’t have mentioned the possibility. You are way too predictable Grian. Fighting you has almost become boring. Just a routine now.”

The smirk fell and Grian huffed in annoyance. “Well took you long enough to catch me then if I am this predictable, agent Doc.”

Before he could stop himself, Doc let out a low growl at the way Grian said his name. Grian seemed startled, eyes widening, breath hitching. Doc only now noticed the slight flush on his face, the way he was out of breath from the running. They were so close. Doc could feel the heat of Grian’s body even through the suit. So close… Doc leaned in a bit, his body moving on its own accord.

Doc felt his own breath stop for a few seconds. The light shining through the leaves of the trees made Grian’s eyes sparkle as if they were a pair of blue gems.

Damn. ‘Self restraint’, Doc reminded himself. He needed to resist the temptation. He was too close.

Grian’s look of annoyance went away and he was staring at Doc in confusion, his lips slightly parted. Doc’s eyes kept being drawn to those lips, pink and oh so soft. He wanted to kiss them. He wanted to touch Grian, to claim him, to make sure he‘d make him his own, before Impulse got a chance.

“Doc?”

The quiet question ripped him out of his thoughts and he suddenly felt disgusted at himself and his train of thought. Grian was a human being, and here he was, thinking of him like some piece of meat. He should be ashamed.

“Sorry. I…”

Doc stopped. Grian wouldn’t know what he was apologizing for. Grian was always so oblivious to his advances. There had never been even the sliver of a chance for him, and Impulse joining the hippies had lowered them even further.

Doc moved back a bit with a sigh, almost ready to let Grian go altogether, just to get out of this awkward situation.

“Don‘t stop”, Grian said, his voice sounding soft, but commanding at the same time and Doc raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I am not supposed to stop arresting you…? Did I hit your head a bit too hard?”, he tried to joke, almost desperate to return to their usual mood, but Grian didn’t seem up for the bickering and just shook his head.

“Kiss me.”

Those two small words… Doc swore those simple words shut down his brain completely. It seemed like it took forever for those words to process and only when Grian let out one of his small giggles, he snapped out of it.

“Come on, Agent. I know you wanna do it. I’ve noticed the way you always look at me. Don’t tell me you are too scared of a kiss.”

Doc growled, but a small smile crept onto his face as he moved down again.

“You wish.”

Doc moved down, only stopping a breath away from Grian’s lips, hesitating for a split second before pressing their lips together. He had never imagined their first kiss to be so soft. He let one of his hands wander from Grian’s wrist down his side and in return Grian took a hold of his cheek, gently pulling him in more, leaning up a bit into the touch.

Doc took hold of one of Grian’s legs, pulling it up a bit and leaning into the other’s body even more. He needed this. He needed to feel Grian. He needed to feel the heat to know that it was real, that it was not just another one of his dreams.

After what felt like an eternity, Doc finally moved back, opening his eyes to look at Grian, whose eyes were still closed, blushing, lips shining wet and slightly red. And the knowledge that it had been Doc who had put him into this state, made him feel so warm inside.

When he didn’t resume the kissing within a few seconds, Grian let out a needy whine, opening his eyes, looking back at Doc. He smiled softly, but didn‘t say anything, slipping his other hand out of Doc’s weak grasp and putting it on the back of Doc’s head to pull him into another kiss, this one less soft and more passionate.

They broke apart again, when one of Doc‘s foxes made a little noise. Doc turned in its direction, noticing the way the animal looked up into the tree. Doc followed his gaze and stopped when he looked straight into the lense of one of their cameras. Fuck. Scar. He was never going to live this one down.

“You do know Scar is probably watching us right now?”

Grian giggled.

“Nope. I didn‘t know that. But if that‘s the case… Let‘s give him a real show.”

And before Doc could say another word, Grian’s lips were pressed against his once more, their bodies so close together, that Doc felt as if not even a sheet of paper could fit in between them anymore. It was nothing like he had imagined this confrontation ending, but he sure as hell wouldn‘t complain.

#🍉 stories #hermitship #hermitshipping #gridoc

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ab1tofsp1ce · 3 years

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A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 5: Do You Trust Me?

Masterlist HERE

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: Violence, mild sexual harassment.

Description: If you want to get this ship fixed, you and the Mandalorian are going to have to make a deal that could put your safety in jeopardy - do you trust him?

The clouds had mostly cleared by the morning, and I found myself apologizing countless times for setting back our journey. Graciously, he reassured me that it was fine, but the pang of guilt ate away at my chest for the rest of the day. So, I decided that I would do the best damn repair job he had ever seen. I would work my ass off making sure his ship was perfect at as little extra cost to him as possible – this would be the only way I could make it right. Additionally, I tried my absolute best not to alert him towards how much pain I was in. It actually seemed to be working, as he seemed to have no cognizance of the pain I was in. I supposed for someone who deals with violence for a living, he had probably suffered a million injuries far worse than mine, and so I caulked up his indifference to this as opposed to my brilliant acting skills; I could barely hold back my moans and groans as we climbed up and over that mountain. Finally, the trees become sparser, and soon we left the forest behind us. We trekked through fields, most of which seemed to be untouched, but distantly I could see smoke rising in small puffs. We eventually came across a gravel road that seemed to separate the wild from the colonized; on the other side were well-kept fields of strange fruit trees and neatly plowed dirt. We stopped for a moment as we reached the road, the Mandalorian looking down at the small navigation device in the forearm of his suit while I took a moment to catch my breath. I’d definitely seen better days. It was fortunate I hadn’t had too much of a chance to look at my appearance, because I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked what I saw. Much of my clothing, particularly around my injured leg, was ripped or stained, and I was almost certain I still had grease on my face from my hasty repair work a couple of days ago. The small stream that banked the side of the road and the tended fields beckoned to me, and so while the Mandalorian busied himself, I went over and kneeled down at its edge to scoop up some water and splash my face down. It was freezing and fresh, reminding me again of the beauty of this planet. I took a moment to feel the mild sun on my back and the cool water drip down my chin, before standing up and turning back to the Mandalorian. “Before we go,” he said, when I reached him, “I want you to carry this.” Out of his utility belt he pulled a rather sharp dagger. It was nothing flashy, except for the way it shone in the afternoon sun, but it pricked something in my heart. “I – I wouldn’t know how to use it,” I admitted timidly. “Are you sure?” He held it out to me in the flat of his palm. “It would bring me some comfort,” he admitted, and so I took it. “Here,” he said, reaching down to my belt. My heart skipped a beat as he attached a sheath for me to keep it in. “Hide it. It will be the most useful if no one knows you have it.” I nodded, carefully sliding the dagger in.

We walked in relative silence, as we had for most of the day. But, unlike it was when we first met, it was a far more comfortable silence. A mutual understanding, of sorts, that we both had things we wished to mull over in our thoughts. I could only guess what he was thinking – he was still a mystery to me. But I thought about my plans on Kistern; where I would go, what I would… in truth, there wasn’t much use. I tried, desperately, over the whole course of the day to consider my plans. But I knew so little about the planet I would soon call home it was futile to try and pretend I did. I hated the uncertainty of my life at the moment (and of the past year), but I distracted myself by admiring the view around me and focusing on what I could manage in the near future; fixing this ship and getting off this planet in one piece. The sun was getting low in the afternoon sky by the time the once empty land began to become sparsely populated. But none of this planet’s loveliness could’ve prepared me for meeting its inhabitants. They were very similar to those back home on Yak’ish Temeen, in that they were a motley population of various races and species, but all equally unsettling. Roadside stalls and derelict houses intermittently spotted the side of the road, and we soon gained some unintentional company as more roads and paths began to diverge onto ours. By comparison to Yak’ish Temeen this was, on reflection, a far more diverse crowd – strange, large furry creatures towered over us, shepherding small and equally hairy creatures transporting goods on their backs, a group of Gungans manned a small cart of strange smelling purple fruit and humans at all wore equally unsettling expressions. They stared at us as we walked, glowering from a distance and occasionally whispering to each other. The Mandalorian must have noticed this, as he slowed down very suddenly to close the distance between us. “Walk near me,” he said quietly, not turning his head. “And don’t make eye contact. We’re not looking for trouble.” I slid my eyes down to the ground, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. I felt my heart race in my chest. Eventually, we seemed to enter the settlement, marked by a higher density of houses and people. It was mostly one long street, flanked by various stalls selling strangely roasted animals, buckets of grains and other odd goods. Despite the fact I could hear children laughing in the distance, and that the general chatter of the place seemed civil, I followed the Mandalorian’s advice and stuck close by him. Although this was a new place to both of us, he walked with a confidence and direction that made him look like a seasoned local. By comparison, I was almost certain I looked frail and timid, shuffling along and intently staring at the ground. In times like this I was once again grateful for my peripheral vision. The Mandalorian veered off our straight course over to a stall on the right side of the road, where a man was talking to an Artiodac, both sitting on chairs under the cover of a low-hanging tarp. Under it and behind them I noticed a long table covered in various mechanical parts – all of which, I must admit, didn’t seem to be in the best condition. The Mandalorian conversed with the duo, who exchanged glances between each other, the Mandalorian and me. I shuffled uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, so I busied myself by trailing my eyes over the parts in the stall, scanning for anything I might be able to use. From this distance I could make out few bits that could be relevant – whether or not they were in usable condition was another question entirely. My heart stopped beating for a second, jumping out of my chest in shock as I felt a hand grab my arm gently. But it was just the Mandalorian, who was now facing in the opposite direction of me and the vendors as if to better prevent them from hearing what he was saying to me. “We’ll have to get the parts from here,” he said in a low, hushed tone. The baritone depth of his voice sent chills down my back. “Fill your bag with them. But don’t take long – I don’t trust these guys. Or anyone here.” I threw a glance at them; the man was murmuring something to his Artiodac colleague, both staring at us with dirty looks. I nodded in silent agreement with the Mandalorian, my arm still tingling as his grasp lingered on it, firm but tender. He let me get to work, scavenging through the piles of spare parts. As I did, he alternated between examining the pieces I presented to him and watching both the vendors and the general public. I tried my best not to let this creeping feeling disturb me, but it was hard to focus when I was acutely aware of the attraction we were drawing. I filled up my rucksack with the pieces we needed – although some of them were far rattier than I would’ve preferred, I figured it was better to clean and adjust them back at the safety of the ship than make any sort of complaint about it here. After about 20 minutes, I felt that I had truly ransacked the selection for all it was worth. What I had managed to collect wasn’t ideal, but I could definitely make it work, at least enough that we could get off this planet and to Kistern safely. Once I had informed the Mandalorian of this, he escorted me over to the two vendors. The human male gave me a look up and down, making me shuffle slightly – there was something almost hungry in his expression. He looked only a few years older than me and certainly didn’t look to be the muscle of the duo, but between his rugged facial hair and beady blue eyes, he felt threatening enough. Perhaps the Mandalorian saw this too, because he stepped forward rather pointedly, almost sizing up the man as he stood up. “Hand over the goods, lovely,” he said with a slick tongue. “Let’s see what you’ve picked out.” Turns out I didn’t need to hand over anything, as the Artiodac snatched the bag out of my hand with a low growl. “Watch it,” breathed the Mandalorian threateningly at him. The Artiodac took no notice, rummaging through my rucksack and conversing with the man in a foreign language as he occasionally gestured to certain parts. They seemed to be negotiating with each other, with the man occasionally spatting something at the Artiodac, who grumbled something back rather animatedly in return. Eventually, they seemed to come to an agreement, as they both turned back to me in unison. “You’ve got a good load here,” said the man, shifting his eyes slowly from me to the Mandalorian. “We’ve agreed it’ll set you back four thousand credits.” He exchanged a smirk with his colleague. “You’re overcharging,” said the Mandalorian in a gruff tone, which I could read as ‘I don’t have four thousand credits.’ “I can give you three thousand, no more.” The man raised an eyebrow, clearly bemused, and turned to the Artiodac to swap a few remarks in another language before turning back to him. “My friend and I agree four thousand is more than fair for a purchase of this size. However,” his gaze slid back over to me. “We’d be willing to compromise if you have something to offer that can… sweeten the deal.” The Mandalorian stiffened, seemingly understanding the implication of this statement. “Like what?” “My friend here,” said the man, shifting his weight to face me slightly, “is curious about what a Grat’anarian is doing in these parts. You see, he knows Yak’ish Temeen well, been there on a few business trips haven’t you, Uulog?” Uulog made a slurping sound as a reply. I shivered. “What’s your point?” The Mandalorian almost growled these words. “Well, if I’m correct, this one has a great bounty on her head… what with her refugee status, she has free entry onto all sorts of planets… planets me and my friend here, as well as many others, would love to gain access to. So, I’ll tell you what, you –” “I’m not bartering with her life,” said the Mandalorian, stepping even closer and slipping a hand silently onto his blaster. Uulog the Artiodac seemed to notice, as he reached for his blaster in the exact same manner, snarling. The man feigned a sympathetic smile, although the corners of his mouth remained sinisterly twisted. “Of course, of course! Such a pretty thing, I can understand how you wouldn’t want to part with her…” He looked at me and licked his lips. “However, I’m really not sure what else you have to offer that we’ll be interested in. Well, apart from…” he gestured with the silent tilt of his head to the Mandalorian himself. For a moment I was confused as to what he meant, but clearly the Mandalorian wasn’t, and his next words cleared it up. “My armor is not for sale.” “Hmm… what a shame. Well, then, neither are these parts.” The man studied the Mandalorian as if he knew this wouldn’t be the end of it; he was waiting for a better offer. The Mandalorian seemed stuck for a moment, and I could almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in his head. “Give us a moment,” he said to the man, who dismissed us in gratuitously generous gesture. Once again, the Mandalorian slipped his hand around my arm and escorted me to the side, shooting one last look at the vendors before turning to me. I could feel his gaze under the helmet and could sense his uncertainty. He had a plan, and I wasn’t going to like it. “Do you trust me?” I was taken aback dramatically by this question. My eyes, which had been trained in apprehension on the two conversing men, swiveled back to the Mandalorian in mild shock. His voice was almost a whisper, but I could once again hear what he was really saying – almost everything he said had another meaning, as I’d come to learn. I suppose a man of few words had to make the most of them. So, when he said, “do you trust me,” all I heard was “are you ready?” And despite my fear, despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, despite the hairs rising on the back of my neck and every instinct in my body telling me to run, I knew my answer to both questions. “Yes.” “Then play along,” he said quietly. We spared a moment, a split second to look at each other. I felt him squeeze my arm lightly, a small gesture that did a surprising amount to quell the rapid beating of my heart. Then, he turned back and walked over to the vendors. “Well, have we come to an agreement?” The man clapped his hands together enthusiastically, switching his gaze between the two of us. “You can take her,” said the Mandalorian. I’ll admit, I didn’t really have to feign shock at this statement. I knew, with the context of what he had just told me, that he wasn’t being serious, but his tone when he said it – so unbothered and emotionless – it fooled me for the few seconds it took to regain my senses. “What?!” I said, and he grabbed my arm with a force I was yet to feel from him, yanking me as if I was a bounty of his. “Ahh… an interesting development… I’m curious, what made you decide this?” The man’s voice was laced with civil suspicion; he seemed to find it hard to believe the Mandalorian would give me up so quickly. “Well, as you said,” said the Mandalorian, “she’s a very valuable bounty. But I need to get off this planet, so you can have her if that’s your price.” His grip tightened around my arm, and I took this as a silent signal; ‘you’ll have to sell this narrative’. “You bastard!” I yelled, and rather convincingly too. “You – you promised you’d help me! Over there you said – I’ll kill you!” I thrashed against his grip, but before I knew it, he was behind me, one hand tying mine together quickly with handcuffs and the other covering my mouth with his gloved hand. I knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but I couldn’t help my heart flutter at the feeling of my back pressed against the cold beskar breastplate behind me. The man’s smirk turned into a full grin, clearly entertained by our performances. “I have to say, you have not disappointed your reputation, Mandalorian. Cold both inside and out…” “There’s one condition,” said the Mandalorian, his hand still over my mouth. “I need her to repair my ship. You come with me, she repairs it, and then I’ll be on my way.” Once again, the two vendors exchanged brief and heated words in their language, before the man turned back to us. “You have yourself a deal. And, since we reached it so… amicably, I’m prepared to lower the credit portion of your price to just two thousand. As a symbol of… goodwill.” He smiled, that same twist at the corners of his mouth. I felt the Mandalorian nod in agreement behind me, and the Artiodac handed him back the rucksack, which he took with his now spare hand. “Perfect! Now, where is this ship of yours?” The Mandalorian slid his hand slowly off my mouth, faking a threatening glower at me before gesturing at the tall mountain we had recently climbed, which now loomed distantly behind the two men. Both of them turned around in unison, and the man made a sound of familiar acknowledgment. “Ahh, yes! The mountain of Pelesus! An important monument in Utaran history. I assume you hiked your way here, yes? Well, we do not mind in the slightest to give you a ride there… it would be in the best interest of all parties involved, no?” “Lead the way,” said the Mandalorian in return.

We were led further down the road before deviating off it and into what I can only describe as a shanty town, which proved this outpost was far bigger than we had initially noticed. Handmade lean-tos and shacks were piled haphazardly around, only making small alleys as paths between them. It was a strange and drastic contrast – the one between the beautiful, lush and rugged landscape around us with the squalors we were being led through. I wondered how this place could be so poor if it were so abundant with natural resources, and I sensed that something more sinister was probably at play on this planet. The man switched between conversing with the Artiodac in a hushed, foreign tongue to occasionally making cheery remarks to the Mandalorian, as if he were a tour guide showing us around the glorious city of Theed. Eventually, we made it to what almost appeared to be a junkyard on the outskirts of the town, where we were led to a landspeeder. “Wait aboard,” said the man, whose name we had learned on our walk over to be Raggard. I thought I may have a moment alone to ask the Mandalorian something, but the Artiodac stayed with us as we climbed onto the large and rusty landspeeder, eyeing us pointedly the entire time. I watched discreetly as Raggard waved over a few people who had been sitting around nearby and spoke to them in the same foreign language he had spoken to his colleague in. By the way they looked over Raggard’s shoulder at me hungrily, I could only assume they believed they would be getting their fair share of my worth when we returned. Which we wouldn’t, of course. I looked over at the Mandalorian, who sat next to me. He seemed unreadable at this moment, still as a statue and paying attention to nothing in particular. I hoped he knew what he was doing, because I certainly didn’t. His words, ‘do you trust me’, echoed distantly in my ears.

Soon we were off, the four of us in the landspeeder. The journey was only a few hours, and by far shorter than our hike here, but felt agonizingly long as I sat with anticipation and fear in the pit of my stomach. Finally, we arrived at the bottom of the other side of the mountain, and I could almost see the ship as I looked up its slope. We hiked the rest of the way up, the Mandalorian guiding me with a gentle hold on my arm, as my hands were still cuffed. Eventually, we reached the ship, by which time it was almost sunset. “You’d best get working,” said Raggard, walking slowly around the ship to admire it. “It’s clear you’ve got a lot of work to do before it gets dark.” As I collected and sorted the parts, I noticed the Artiodac grumble something at Raggard, who hissed something back in what seemed to be a low, yet heated argument. I tried to ignore it, focusing on my repairs and working as quickly as possible; the sooner we could do this, the sooner we could leave. The Mandalorian helped with repairs but no matter where we went, either inside or out of the ship, one or both of the duo followed us. Because of this, I had not a moment alone with him to ask what his plan was, although I had a strong feeling it would involve violence. Finally, not long after dark, we completed the repairs. The Mandalorian escorted me out of the ship to meet outside with the two men. I began to get nervous. “Well,” said Raggard, approaching us as we were followed out by the Artiodac. “It has been a pleasure, really. But I suppose now is the time to part ways.” The Mandalorian said nothing but didn’t let go of his grip on my arm – if anything, he tightened it. “It is a shame,” said Raggard, poetically, “that you must part ways with such a precious bounty.” He walked up to me, too close for my liking, reading over my face with a gleam in his eyes. “But I’m sure you’ll take comfort in knowing she’ll be of great use to us.” With a dirty, spindly finger he traced a line down the side of my cheek. I shuddered and bit down hard on my tongue to hide my disgust. “However,” he said, “although she will prove a most valuable asset, I just can’t stop thinking about that beautiful beskar armor of yours, I mean, how did you get it?” The Mandalorian didn’t indulge him with a response, but Raggard took his silence as one. “I know, I know, secrets of the Mandalorians. It has been exciting, really, to do business with you. But,” he said, slowly, exchanging a glance with his partner, “it will be even more exciting to kill you.” In the course of the next three seconds, I barely had time to do anything but fall to the ground in shock. As Raggard said these last words, the Mandalorian drew his blaster and simultaneously threw me to the ground. He shot over Raggard’s shoulder, and it was only then, when I looked up, that I noticed the figures drawing in from the forest around us. The men from back at the junkyard began firing at the Mandalorian, and from my position cowering on the ground I watched as he, one by one, meticulously shot them down. He didn’t even seem to look at them, he just knew where they were. When the Artiodac pounced it him from behind, I screamed in shock, but the Mandalorian shook him off in forward-roll drop to the ground, shooting him with a blaster shot straight to the head. I didn’t see what happened in the next few seconds and only heard the Mandalorian grunting as he spared in hand-to-hand combat with a few more goonies who had seemed to close the distance towards him. I was yanked up off the ground, and felt a cold blaster dig into my lower back, freezing me in fear as another arm wrapped around my throat tightly. I could feel Raggard’s hot breath on my neck and smell the sweat on his arm. I scrambled desperately at it, trying to pull it away so I could breathe, but it was no use. “STOP!” Raggard’s voice was shrill in my ear. My vision unclouded at last, and I was able to see the Mandalorian, standing only a few feet away from us, bodies sprawled around him. He turned to us, still holding his blaster in one hand and what appeared to be a spear in the other. “Let’s not – let’s not let this get more out of hand than it already is,” said Raggard, panting violently. I could feel him shaking with adrenaline. “I wouldn’t want anything nasty to come of this pretty little thing, but if we get too ahead of ourselves, I may have no choice.” But as he spoke, something strange happened. I felt the world fall away, and the sound of Raggard’s voice, the clench is arm had around my throat, the blaster in my back… I lost all sense that they were there. I felt my arms release from Raggard’s, falling to my side. Even though he was wearing a helmet, I knew he was looking at me. I could feel it, like I always did, the warmth of his gaze that, for once, seemed to slow down my heart as opposed to speeding it up. Right now, I could only feel him. Him, and… At my side, I slipped my hand into the folds of my shirt. In one swift movement, I unsheathed the dagger and plunged it into the arm that was so tightly constricting my throat. Raggard let out a yelp of pain, letting me go as he stumbled back. “Onto the ship!” The Mandalorian yelled, and I wasted no time scrambling aboard. Outside, I heard blaster shots and scuffling, but I didn’t give myself time to reflect on it. I ascended the ladder into the cockpit and, without even sitting down, began to start up the ship. My hands were shaking violently, and I tried so hard to keep my focus on the buttons I was pressing and not my concerns for the Mandalorian. Before I initiated take off, I almost jumped back down into the hull and watched in astonishment as the Mandalorian strode up the ramp, sheathing his blaster and spear in the process. With no hesitation he went right past me and into the cockpit, and only seconds later I felt the whole ship shake underneath me as we rose up from the ground and away from it all.

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin reader insert #din djarin x ofc #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine

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nikki-writes-stuff · 5 years

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A Stolen Choice (Alpha!Nomad!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader)

Summary: When your aunt dies and leaves you everything she owns in her will, you find yourself travelling to the mountains of North Carolina to her cabin in the middle of nowhere to sort through her belongings. But you also quickly find yourself helpless against the desires of a mysterious alpha who’s decided to claim you as his...

A/N: Hello! I wrote this fic for one of my ko-fi readers! Click here if you’d be interested in donating. There’s no pressure to whatsoever, but everyone who donates will be able to request any type of fic they’re interested in. Message me if you have any questions! In the meantime, enjoy this fic! Be warned: it contains rape, dub-con, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, and nomad!Steve. Enjoy!

You hadn’t really even known your aunt very well; you’d met her three, maybe four times over the course of your life, and while she’d always been incredibly sweet, she’d never really stood out in your mind as one of your closest relatives. Therefore, you were surprised to say the least when you were informed, after her death, that she’d left all of her worldly possessions to you in her will.

“Wait, there… There must be some kind of mistake,” you’d told the banker, shaking your head. “I wasn’t even that close to my aunt. I don’t understand…”

“I can send you a copy of her will, if you would like to see for herself,” he’d told you in a disinterested tone. “She also had a letter she wanted you to read; perhaps that can shed some light on the matter for you.”

The letter, as it turned out, did manage to enlighten you; it arrived at your apartment about a week after you’d first learned about your inheritance, and it revealed more about your aunt in just a few sentences than you’d ever known about her over the course of your life.

To my niece:

If you’re reading this, then it means my cancer finally got the best of me. It was a long fight, but rest assured that I’m glad it’s over; I’m a tough woman, always have been, but cancer is even tougher, and I’ve been tired of my uphill battle with it for a long, long time.

I know we never got to know each other well, hon. But you always stood out to me – you’re stronger than people give you credit for. I know most of our family’s judged you for being an omega; hell, I’d even made assumptions about you before meeting you. But you managed to prove me wrong, and for that I love you.

Don’t stop being yourself, and don’t let the family get you down. The only thing you need in life is you. But I’m sure the twenty grand I’ve saved up won’t hurt, either.

Her signature was scrawled across the bottom half of the page, and you found tears in your eyes as you read the letter for a second time; no one, not even your parents, had been that accepting of you after you presented. Your entire family was made up of alphas and betas, with only one or two omegas popping up along the way. And while they’d all still loved you, their disappointment upon learning of your status as an omega had still been loud and clear.

But your aunt evidently had believed you to be strong, and you felt more determined than ever to prove her right.

And so, here you were, navigating the treacherous, narrow roads of western North Carolina, your knuckles white as they gripped your steering wheel and your nerves frayed from the lack of guard rails, fences, or really any kind of separation between the road and the twenty foot ravine sloping down along its length.

“Ok,” you breathed, focusing your eyes straight ahead. “It’s fine; everything is fine. We are not going to go over the side; we are almost there. We can do this.”

Along with the twenty thousand now resting in your savings account, your aunt had left you a cabin she and her late wife had built about ten years ago. Ever since your aunt’s wife died in a car accident, she’d lived in their home in the middle of nowhere, and no one in your family had ever been to visit. Everyone had joked about her being a hermit, and while you’d never laughed along with them, you’d had to agree that she only seemed to come to family gatherings if they coincided with a funeral or a wedding. But now, as you made your slow, steady climb up to the address of what was now your cabin, you couldn’t help but wish she’d decided to be a hermit somewhere else.

“You couldn’t have chosen a beach house,” you huffed. “Or a sensible condo in the city. You had to live up in the boonies with black bears, coyotes, and the ghosts of lost hikers.”

But finally, after a long and tumultuous journey, you were able to see the outline of a building from between the trees. A grin spread over your face and a triumphant exclamation escaped your lips, and as soon as you found yourself parked in front of your aunt’s former home, you threw yourself out of your car and threw your arms up.

“Finally!”

You languidly stretched your limbs, touching your toes and then bouncing a bit on your heels before stiffly retrieving your suitcase from your trunk; you’d been stuck behind that wheel for several hours, and if you ever drove again, it would be too soon.

You had to admit, though, that the property was lovely. Your aunt had lived in a charming little A-frame cabin with a green tin roof, and if the chimney was any indication, a cute fireplace would be waiting for you inside. It was currently right in the middle of spring, and the trees sang with the songs of birds and cicadas. Honeysuckle grew in thick bushes along the side of the driveway, and little patches of wildflowers were dotted along the plush green grass.

“No one will be able to hear me scream all the way out here,” you mused to yourself as you walked towards the front door. “But at least it’s pretty.”

You fit the key into the lock and gave it an experimental twist, and the sound of the lock clicking almost drowned out the snap of a twig from somewhere close by. Almost.

Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, you turned around, scanning the forest for the source of the sound. You suddenly felt, distinctly, as if you were being watched, and you set your suitcase down before taking a step forward.

“…Hello?”

You didn’t receive an answer, and your ears strained to pick up on any other suspicious noise. But, after waiting for several seconds, your shoulders finally slumped, and you turned back towards the door.

“Must’ve been a squirrel or something…”

After nudging the door open, you struggled to pick up your heavy suitcase, oblivious to the pair of blue eyes watching your every movement. Your admirer closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a waft of your scent on the breeze as you finally managed to shove your case passed the open doorway. A quiet growl escaped his chest as he opened his eyes once more, just in time to see you turn and close the door behind you. His ears registered the sound of the lock sliding back into place, but he knew that it wouldn’t be able to keep him out.

It never had been able to before.

______

You didn’t even know where to begin. You knew that you were supposed to go through everything of your aunt’s and decide whether or not you were going to sell it, but you hadn’t expected the act to feel so…wrong. Even though she was long gone and had left everything to you, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were throwing away someone else’s things without their permission.

And so you put it off; instead, you spent your first day simply taking inventory, going through the house and trying to learn more about your aunt in the process. You sorted through her storage room, finding old, dusty boardgames and random little trinkets lining her bookshelves. Your favorite things were the pictures, though – she had so many hanging up on the walls of every room in the cabin, all of them containing photos of her, her wife, and their families. You were shocked to see your high school graduation photo among their ranks; you’d had no idea she’d even been sent a copy.

After your little self-guided tour, you went through her refrigerator and threw everything within it out, plugging your nose as you did; she’d been dead for only two weeks, but the food your aunt had left behind had already, for the most part, spoiled. The only things that were still in date were a half pack of bacon, six eggs, and a few frozen pizzas tucked into the freezer. From there, you went upstairs to the loft-style bedroom and washed the sheets on her bed, and then you unpacked your things until the sky started to turn the pink and orange hues of a sunset.

Luckily, your aunt had a huge supply of canned goods, and so after opening and microwaving a can of Chef Boyardee, you retreated to perhaps your favorite part of the entire cabin – the back deck.

Your aunt had built her house on a piece of land that sloped steadily downwards from the driveway, and so the deck was situated on stilts that allowed it to overlook the ravine several feet below. It gave you a panoramic view of the forest, with the sloping peaks of the Appalachian Mountains rising in the distance. Down at the bottom of the valley, a creek trickled by, and the soft sound of its babbling served as soothing background noise for your evening meal.

After you were finished with your pasta, you sat back and closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. There was something blooming nearby that smelled intoxicating – like cedar and sandalwood and musk. Your mouth watered at its sweet, masculine scent, and you found yourself wishing that you had a candle that smelled like it.

You jumped when, once again, you heard a twig snap, followed by the sound of bushes rustling from somewhere close. You sat up, peering over the deck’s fence to try and pinpoint its source.

“Hello?”

Setting your empty bowl to the side, you stood up and walked closer to the edge, peering out over the woods. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; maybe it had been a possum. Or a skunk. Or…whatever else that lived in the mountains of North Carolina.

You were ready to turn away when you saw it – a flash of movement to your left. Frowning, you leaned over the side of the rail, and your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of blue from between a patch of brambles.

“Hey! Hey, are you ok?”

You watched as whoever it was froze in place, and you glanced back towards the sky; you could just make out the outline of the moon, and the pinks and oranges had faded to red and violet.

“Hey, are you lost? It’s starting to get dark out; I would head back if I were you.”

Slowly, the person stood up and picked their way out of the brush, and when they turned towards you, you realized that it was a man. A very tall man. A very tall man with a beard, a gun strapped to his belt, and two very impressive biceps.

Shit.

“Uh… Hi,” you called out once again, this time sounding significantly less sure about yourself.

“Hi,” he called back, raising his hand in a wave.

“Um… Whatcha doing over there?”

“Oh, I was, uh… I was hiking,” he explained. “But I think I got lost somewhere along the way. Could I borrow your phone?”

You hesitated, watching as the man started making his way up the hill, covering a large amount of ground with each of his long, confident strides.

“Mine died a while ago,” he went on, lowering his voice as he grew closer. “I was debating whether or not to disturb you; I know meeting a strange man in the woods probably isn’t what you were hoping to do this evening.”

Finally, he was standing directly in front of you, though the ground was about six feet beneath the floor of the deck. You looked down at him and chewed your lip, debating whether or not to help him. He looked nice enough, and he sounded genuine, but you’d said it yourself earlier – no one would hear you scream this far out.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but that was when it hit you – the smell from earlier. This time, it was much stronger, and it was then that you realized why the scent had hints of musk in it.

It was the scent of an alpha – an alpha about to start a rut.

Your blood ran cold, and you backed away from the deck’s fence as if it had burned you.

“You need to go,” you told him, watching as his smile abruptly faded away. “Right now. Or I’ll call the police.”

“Look,” he sighed, holding his hands up. “I know that this looks like; but I promise I don’t wanna hurt-“

“I don’t believe you,” you interrupted, and a cold flash of annoyance crossed his handsome, somehow familiar features. “Please, just go. I don’t want any trouble. But I will call the cops.”

The alpha sighed, setting his hands on his hips, and for a long moment the two of you were silent. The sound of the crickets that pervaded the forest seemed to rise up in a crescendo as he studied your face, but his voice seemed to drown them out as he spoke next.

“I wonder how long it’d take the police to get all the way out here.”

Your eyes widened at that, and you stumbled backwards when he suddenly jumped, pulling himself up onto the deck as if it were the easiest thing in the world. You let out a squeak and turned around, dashing to the door and yanking it open. You were just barely able to get the door shut and locked behind you before the stranger was standing in front of it. Your heart sank as you stared at him through the glass, and he arched an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against it as he stared you down.

“This doesn’t have to be hard,” he called out, his voice muffled but just loud enough to make out. “I really don’t want to hurt you. Just let me in and we can talk – I promise.”

“Is it really that surprising that I don’t believe you?” you yelled back. “Please, just leave. My alpha will be here any minute!”

You knew that was a lie – you’d never even had sex before, and you definitely didn’t have an alpha in your life. But maybe this man didn’t know that; maybe he wouldn’t call your bluff.

But all hopes of that flew out the window when he let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re a horrible liar,” he remarked. “You’ve never even been with an alpha before; I’d be able to smell your innocence from a mile away.”

Your cheeks burned and you turned away, reaching into your pocket for your phone.

“Last warning, shithead,” you called out. “I’m calling the cops right now.”

Finally, the smile dropped off of his face, and he let out a deep sigh. Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back from the door, bowing his head in mock-respect.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Alright; I guess I’ll go ride this rut out with a more receptive omega.”

His eyes flashed as he turned away, and you watched as he walked to the other side of the deck. He leaned over the rail despite the fifteen foot drop just beneath it, and you watched as he turned towards you over his shoulder.

‘See you soon,’ he mouthed, and then he threw himself off the deck.

With a surprised cry, you stared blankly at the spot he’d just been standing in, and after a pregnant pause you tentatively opened the screen door, stepping out cautiously. You had 911 pulled up on your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial as you stalked towards the fence, and after swallowing thickly, you leaned over its side, searching the forest floor for any signs of the creepy alpha.

But there was nothing – he wasn’t, as you’d suspected, laying there with two broken legs from the fall. No, in fact the only sign that he’d ever been there at all was the frantic beating of your heart and the lingering scent of his oncoming rut.

__________

You woke up three times during the night. The first time, it had been right before midnight, and it had been for no reason at all. No sound had awoken you, nor had a bad dream. After several minutes, you’d gone back to sleep, tossing and turning until waking up a second time.

It had been around 1:30 in the morning at that point, and it had taken you over an hour to sleep again. You kept thinking that you’d heard something from downstairs, but your late night paranoia told you not to go down and investigate.

The third time you woke up, it was a few minutes before 5, and you immediately knew that you weren’t alone. You felt a presence leaning over you, could hear his soft breathing. You froze, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to keep breathing at the same pace you had been while sleeping, but then you heard a soft, gravelly chuckle from close by.

“I know you’re awake, omega.”

Fuck.

You already knew that it was the alpha from before, but still you opened your eyes and sat up, clutching the covers to your chest as you looked up at him.

He was wearing the same clothes from before, except his gun holster was nowhere to be seen. Your phone, too, was gone from its usual perch on your nightstand, and your blood went cold as you breathed in his warm, overpowering scent.

“…Please,” you heard yourself whisper. “Please, don’t do this. I-“

“You shouldn’t have been so rude earlier,” he remarked, lowering himself down to sit on the side of the bed. “I would’ve rather not had to break in, but you left me no choice.”

You swallowed, tensing up even more when his eyes flashed down to your throat to track the movement. He looked so familiar now that you were so close to him; you just couldn’t put your finger on where you’d seen him before.

“Who are you?” you asked, and at first you thought that he hadn’t heard you. He made no reaction, and you opened your mouth to voice your question once more.

“I said who-“

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted you. “That’s all you need to know.”

You bit your lip and nodded, glancing over to the stairs, and then to the window. You knew, though, that you had no chance of running. He was standing between you and the staircase, and the window wasn’t even open. By the time you’d be able to pry it up, it would be too late; he’d be on you in a matter of seconds.

“Listen, Steve,” you started, forcing yourself to make and maintain eye contact with him. “I… I know this probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but… you were right earlier. I’ve never…been with anyone. And I don’t have an alpha. I’ve been waiting to find the right one for so…so long. Please, I’m begging you, don’t take that choice from me. I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you, and I won’t make any trouble. Just…please don’t do this.”

He seemed to consider your words, and for a few moments you felt a spark of hope rise up in you. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you silently willed him to leave you alone, to forget any of this happened.

“I didn’t think there were women like you around anymore,” he eventually murmured. “Some omegas these days don’t even settle down with an alpha, which was unheard of back in my day. And if I had a dollar for every time a cockhungry bitch in heat had thrown herself at me only to leave once she’d had her fill, well. I’d never have to work another day in my life.

“But then you show up in my life – innocent, pure, and loyal to an alpha you haven’t even met yet.”

Your eyes widened when he leaned towards you, and you squeezed the sheets as he cupped your cheek.

“I can see so much potential in you,” he breathed. “You could be such a good girl.”

He leaned toward even further, and you realized that he was going to kiss you. For a moment, all you could do was watch as his face got closer and closer, frozen by your fear and his suffocating scent, but as soon as his lips touched yours, your body leapt into action.

You threw yourself away from him as if he were on fire and scrambled to the stairs, your feet stumbling as you ran down them. Towards the last step, your ankle twisted beneath your weight, sending you crumpling to the ground. You cried out as your head hit the banister hard, but you ignored the ringing in your ears, forcing yourself to stand up again.

Movement caught your attention out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped dead in your tracks as you watched Steve calmly approach the staircase. Instead of starting to walk down, though, he hoisted himself over the rail and dropped to the first floor, landing in a crouch before standing up and sauntering over to you.

And that was when you realized why he looked so familiar. No normal person would be able to just do shit like that. And if you were to take away the beard, he would have the exact same face you’d seen in museums, textbooks, and newspapers throughout your entire life.

“…Captain America?”

Steve rolled his eyes and marched towards you, and you were so surprised that you didn’t even try to retreat.

“I used to be, doll,” he growled. “But I’m way past trying to be a hero for a world that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

You finally began to struggle when he set his hands on your hips, but he ignored your protests as he effortlessly picked you up.

“I understand,” he huffed, starting to carry you once more up the stairs. “Really, I do. You’re scared, and I’m a stranger.”

He dropped you onto the bed before shucking off his shirt, and you clambered backwards when he started to crawl over your body.

“But I’ve made my decision; you are my omega.”

The sound of fabric ripping coaxed a startle cry past your lips, and you tried to cover your chest when Steve tore your shirt away.

“Please-“

“Quit with the complaining, doll,” he huffed. “I’ll treat you right if you just let me-“

A sob escaped you when he took hold of your wrists and pinned them to either side of your head. Tears were running down your cheeks, and Steve’s knee between your thighs made it impossible to close your legs no matter how hard you tried to. For a moment, both of you simply looked at one another, one with terror in their eyes, the other with pure lust.

Steve’s nose skimmed your neck as he leaned down, inhaling your scent and nuzzling your mating gland. The sound that he made could only be described as a purr as he drank in your essence, and his hips started to lazily grind down against you.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he groaned. “How haven’t you been mated yet?”

His tongue darted out, tracing the gland languidly. Shocks of pleasure coursed down from your neck to your spine, and you found yourself arching up of your own accord; you’d thought that it was a myth that more nerve endings existed in a person’s mating gland, but Steve was proving that theory wrong despite how much you didn’t want this.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he breathed. “Imagine how good it’ll be when I fuckin’ sink my teeth into you.”

“N-no-“

Your voice cut off into a stuttering moan when he nipped at the skin, not hard enough to pierce it but enough to make your hips buck upwards of their own accord.

“That’s my girl,” he praised. “Let yourself feel this; you deserve it. You’ve waited so long for a good, strong alpha to take care of you, haven’t you? My good little omega…”

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve preened under his praise, ever the stereotypical, eager-to-please omega, and you fought against the urge to lean into his touch. His scent had an almost dizzying effect on you, and your struggles were slowly growing weaker and weaker.

“I’ve heard that an alpha’s rut can sent their omega into an early heat,” he mused, letting one of his hands trail up to cup your breast. “I think we should test that theory.”

You whined when his thumb started circling your nipple, and an amused grin overtook his features.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you momentarily had enough clarity to glare at him from under your lashes.

“Fuck you,” you grunted, but he only chuckled.

“Well that’s the idea, sweetheart,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you felt the world spin around you, and suddenly you were on your belly.

“But if you use that language with me again,” he purred against your ear, “I’ll fuck your throat until I knot in that dirty little mouth of yours. Are we clear?”

Hurriedly, you nodded your head yes, and Steve’s hand slid down the curve of your spine.

“Good.”

You gasped when his arm snaked under your hips, pulling up on them until you were on your knees and elbows. You felt as if your cheeks were burning when he spread your ass cheeks, and you squirmed as you tried to close your legs.

“You’re already wet for me, omega,” he noted. “Your body wants this; why can’t you just give in?”

Despite his earlier threat, you were about to say something along the lines of ‘because fuck you, you star spangled asshole’, but then something cool and wet licked upwards from your clit to your entrance, and all of your thoughts faded to white noise.

Steve’s tongue slid into you slowly, stretching your hole in ways that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and the groan he let out at your taste was pornographic. At a slow, even pace, he started tongue fucking you, and you couldn’t control the moans that were spilling out of your lips. You reached out, gripping the nearest pillow and digging your nails into it as pleasure started flowing through you.

You whined when, all too soon, he pulled his tongue out, but when he slid it over your clit and started tracing quick, tight circles against your bud, you nearly screamed. A finger slid inside of you as your hips started rocking; it was obscene, and wrong, and humiliating, but you’d never felt anything like this before. Steve’s moans urged you on, and despite your fear, your hatred, of him, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your climax.

“S-steve,” you squeaked, “w-wait, fuck-“

You buried your face in the pillow as, all of a sudden, your orgasm came over you, but Steve’s free hand snapped up to your head and pulled it back by a handful of your hair, making you arch your back as you screamed his name. His finger curled inside of you as your pussy clenched around it, and he was murmuring soft words of encouragement as you came down from your high.

“There you go,” he purred. “You did so good for me. See how good your alpha takes care of you?”

Your head was still spinning when Steve pulled away, but your eyes snapped open when you heard the slide of fabric against skin. You looked over your shoulder and felt your blood ran cold when you saw him toss his jeans to the side, and immediately you looked down at his cock, already fully hard and leaking a bead of precum.

"N-no," you gasped, trying to crawl away. “Steve, no, please-“

But he only gripped your hips and pulled you back to him until you felt his hardness grind against your ass.

“Calm down, baby,” he murmured. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

Before you could beg him anymore, he started pushing into you, and nothing could have prepared you for the stretch. It burned, so bad that all you could do was bite down on your hand and trying to hold back your tears as he impaled you.

“Fu-uck,” he groaned. “Oh, my god, baby. So good, so fucking good-“

He paused only when his head pushed painfully against your cervix, and for a long moment he stayed still, allowing you the small kindness of adjusting to his thickness.

“Shh, it’s ok,” he cooed, pressing his chest flush to your back. “The worst part is over, baby. We can take our time from here.”

He nuzzled your mating gland and cupped your tits, rolling them in his palms as he pressed kisses over the curve of your shoulder.

“This is the tightest little pussy I’ve ever felt,” he whispered. “You’re making your alpha feel so good, doll.”

And as twisted as it was, as much as you hated it, his words actually helped. Slowly, you let your muscles relax, and he rewarded you with an open-mouthed kiss to that sensitive spot in your neck. One of his hands snaked its way beneath your body and began toying with your still-sensitive clit, rubbing it until your hips squirmed against him.

He took your movements as a sign to move, and a surprised moan escaped your lips when he pulled back, nearly pulling out completely before thrusting forward. Your pussy made an embarrassingly loud squelching noise, but you found yourself grateful that you were wet enough to make the stretch that much more bearable.

Steve slowly began to find an easy rhythm, and despite his rough treatment of you, he was gentle as he took you. At least, as gentle as rape could be. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself; despite every sweet word that left his lips and despite every moan he managed to pull from yours, you still didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had…”

You whined as he kept rubbing your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers to the rhythm of his hips. Your body betrayed you as it started aching for more, and as he started speeding up you found yourself moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. Steve’s moans grew louder, and you heard a loud crack as his palm smacked your ass.

“Good girl-“ he panted. “Taking your alpha’s cock so well…”

Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and dripping and wanting, and you felt him shift upwards onto his knees. Roughly, he shoved your knees further apart and entered you again, immediately snapping his hips at a hard, brutal pace. Every thrust drew a moan out of your parted lips, and your arm and leg muscles were starting to shake.

The bed beneath you creaked loudly as he fucked you into the mattress, and your scents had mingled into something heady and warm and intoxicating. The founds of skin slapping skin was as intimate as it was erotic, and your moans became deeper, throatier as his pace suddenly shifted, slowing down as he bucked his hips harder. Each movement drew a strangled moan from your throat, and Steve’s fingers found your clit once again.

This was somehow even worse than the erratic, frantic claiming. This had somehow become more intimate, less frenzied, but the pleasure dulling your senses remained the same.

“Knew it from the first moment I smelled you,” Steve whispered, his voice strained and husky. “I knew that you were gonna be mine. ‘ve never met anyone like you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you let out a low whine as the head of his cock brushed against a sensitive, delicious spot inside of you. Without thinking, you pushed back against him, silently urging him to move faster.

“Oh? Right there?” You nodded your head, mewling as he hit your g-spot again. “Right there, little omega?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, resting your forehead against your arms. “Please…”

“Please what, little one?” he grunted, slowing down until he was only just barely grinding his hips. “Tell me what you want.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head; you wouldn’t say it out loud – your pride wouldn’t allow you to.

“Say it,” Steve urged. “I won’t give it to you until you do.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the fluttering in your pussy, urging Steve’s cock in deeper, but after a few seconds you snapped. With tears in your eyes, you looked over your shoulder at him, taking in the rapid rising and falling of his hips, the way his lips were parted as he watched you.

“…Fuck me,” you finally whispered, bowing your head as your defeat washed over you. “Please, fuck me…”

Your eyes widened when he pulled out of you completely, but you understood when he flipped you over onto your back. You stared up at him as he positioned himself at your entrance once again, and your back arched up as if you’d been electrocuted when he shoved himself inside of you once more.

His pace was no longer kind nor was it unhurried as he fucked you; you were both so tantalizingly close to your release, and now it was just a matter of chasing it. His moans escaped from behind clenched teeth as he gripped your thigh in one hand, hoisting it up and bending it until your knee was almost touching your chest. But from this angle, you felt him so deep inside of you that you didn’t care; you laid back and took it, clawing at his biceps as you got closer and closer.

All too soon, your body tensed up, your pussy clenching as you came. White exploded behind your eyes as the pleasure overtook you, and not even the ringing in your ears could drown out Steve’s names as you screamed it. You glanced up through your lashes to find the alpha’s eyes already gazing into your own, until he grit his teeth and threw his head back.

Your name was a prayer on his lips as he grew closer and closer, until he lunged forward with a growl. His tongue lapped at your mating gland in ways that had your pussy fluttering even after your release, but time seemed to stand still when you felt his teeth sink into your flesh.

You were vaguely aware of the heat of Steve’s cum as it painted your walls, and even your own, second, orgasm faded into the background. Your eyes were unseeing, your body unfeeling; the only thing you could focus on was your mating gland being bitten, being claimed, by Steve Rogers. It was a permanent mark of who you belonged to; a milky white scar would forever be left behind, as would the memory of who put it there.

A broken, distressed moan escaped your lips when he pulled away, but you immediately understood what he wanted when he bared his neck to you in a rare sign of submission, especially from an alpha like himself. As his knot swelled inside you, locking you in place, you leaned forward, licking your lips.

Later, you would blame it on your hormones, on your body’s natural instinct as an omega who had just been claimed. But whatever the true reason was for your actions, you latched onto his neck and bit his mating gland in return. The piercing of teeth against skin felt amazing in an explainable, primal way, and you both moaned as you marked Steve in the same, permanent way he’d marked you.

You stayed there until you’d both caught your breaths, reveling in your ability to hurt him, to wield control over him in the way he’d forcibly done to you. When you finally tasted his blood on your tongue, you let go, licking it off of your lips and wincing at how far his knot had stretched you.

Looking up into his blue eyes, the reality of it all came crashing down onto you; you’d been raped, claimed, by a total stranger. You knew of him only from history books and news reports, and now he was inside you, the mark on your neck a permanent part of him that would follow you for the rest of your days.

A sob wracked your shoulders, and your hands flew up to cover your face. A sad, almost pitying look swept across Steve’s features, and he gathered you into his arms as he rolled you onto your sides.

“Shhh, it’s ok,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair. “I know, I know… It’s ok, omega. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to throw your fists against his chest; you wanted to slap the pitiful look off of his face. You wanted to throw yourself off of the deck just as he’d done hours earlier.

But instead you closed your eyes and let him whisper empty words of comfort to you until sleep finally, finally, came.

_____________

If it weren’t for the soreness that had spread all over your body, you would’ve thought it had all been a dream.

You woke up with the sheets neatly tucked around you. You were still naked, but your clothes from last night had been tucked away into the laundry hamper in the corner. You heard faint noises coming from the kitchen – the occasional clang of two plates clinking together, the sizzling of something on the stove – but there was nothing out of place in the bedroom.

Wincing, you pushed the covers back and stood up swaying unsteadily on your feet. You glanced in the mirror, feeling your blood run cold at the sight that greeted you. Your reflection was covered in bruises and bitemarks; you hadn’t even been aware of Steve biting you that much during last night’s activities. Your hair was a mess, but there was no dried cum along the inside of your thighs. He must have cleaned you up after his knot allowed the two of you to separate.

Gulping, you tilted your head and leaned forward, feeling a fresh wave of tears sting your eyes when you saw the red, irritated bitemark on your mating gland. Soon enough, the puffy flesh would calm down, and the crimson would be replaced by a silvery scar that would remain there for the rest of your life. Every look in the mirror would be a fresh reminder of what Steve had done to you.

Clearing your throat, you arranged your hair until it covered over the mark, and you reached into the dresser to pull out a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You didn’t really think that you could escape the famous Captain America, but you still crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones you’d discovered yesterday as you made your slow descent.

Upon reaching the first floor, your eyes focused on the side table next to the front door, but your keys weren’t resting on it like you’d left them yesterday. A disappointed sigh left your lips, and you tiptoed closer to the door. Maybe you could make it on foot-

“I made breakfast,” you suddenly heard Steve call from the kitchen. “Come and get it before it gets cold.”

Your heart sank, and you immediately knew that there would be no use in trying to leave now. Squaring your shoulders, you cautiously made your way to him, your abused pussy aching with every step you took.

Steve was standing over the sink, washing a pan and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten them; you doubted he could have fit into any of your aunt’s clothes.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he instructed you, not looking up from the pan. “I’ll bring over our plates. Do you like coffee?”

You bit your lip and did as he said, lowering yourself into the seat with a wince. Steve finally looked up when he heard your sharp inhalation, and guilt flashed across his face.

“I’ll get you some pain killers,” he said. “Can you take ibuprofen?”

You looked down at the table, wringing your hands in your lap.

“…I’d prefer Tylenol,” you murmured. “And yes, I like coffee.”

The alpha nodded, and you continued resolutely staring at the table, even when he set down a plate of steaming eggs and bacon, a mug of coffee, and a bottle of pain killers. You mechanically took four of the pills, washing them down with the black coffee. You jumped when Steve settled down into the chair across from yours, but you refused to look up at him as he began devouring his meal.

“…You should eat something,” he remarked, but you ignored him, only taking another sip of your coffee. With a sigh, he set down his fork, swallowing a bit of eggs before addressing you again.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “I haven’t even started my rut yet; you’ll need the strength.”

A tear slipped out of your eyes, and you looked down at your food. With shaking fingers, you picked up a slab of bacon, but when its smell hit you, you felt bile rise up in your throat. You immediately dropped it, taking another gulp of coffee to help push down your nausea.

“Hon,” Steve huffed. “C’mon. At least try.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered.

“Just one bite, then,” he persisted. “Please.”

You shot him a glare from beneath your lashes, but he only raised his eyebrows expectantly. You stared until you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and your resolve crumbled as you finally looked down. Picking up your fork, you shoveled a bite of scrambled egg into your mouth, not tasting it as you chewed and then swallowed.

“There,” you grumbled. “Happy?’

Steve once again sighed through his nose, but he only shook his head and went back to eating. For a long moment, the two of you were silent, until he finished his plate and slid yours over towards himself.

“So,” he started, picking up the piece of bacon you hadn’t been able to stomach. “You obviously don’t live here. Who does? A relative – sister, maybe? Is she the one in all the photos?”

You didn’t answer him, and with a frustrated grunt he reached over, grabbing your hand.

“I know that you probably hate me,” he mumbled. “And I can understand why. But we’re together now; you might as well make the most of it. Tell me about yourself.”

Your chest ached with unshed tears, and you looked down at his massive palm as it engulfed yours.

“…I always dreamed about falling in love,” you finally spoke. “I didn’t care who it was with – an alpha or a beta. I just knew that I wanted to love the person I shared my first time with. They didn’t have to be my mate, and I never expected it to be perfect. But I wanted it to mean something.”

You looked up, clenching your jaw as you pulled your hair away, showing him the bonding mark still fresh on your neck.

“You…took that from me,” you growled. “And you stole so much more than just my virginity. You took my choice; you made the years that I’d waited for someone special mean nothing. And I’ll never be able to forget it because of this fucking scar you left behind. So no, I’m not going to make the most out of a shitty situation, because no matter how nice we play, no matter how much I try, it will always and forever be a shitty thing that you did.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and you flinched when he abruptly stood up from his chair. You pressed yourself against the back of the chair as he towered over for you, and you feared the worst when you saw his hands clench into fists at his side.

“…I’m going out,” he growled. “If you try to run, I’ll find you.”

With that, he stormed out, nearly yanking the front door off its hinges and letting it slam shut behind him. For the next several seconds, the only sounds in the room were the muffled birdsong from outside and the ticking of a clock from the hallway.

Eventually, you stood up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and scraping its contents into the trash can. Your mating gland throbbed, but inside you felt nothing but numbness as you went about your cleaning.

After everything was spotless, you futilely searched for your keys, but Steve must have taken them with him. And despite your earlier desire to try and flee on foot, a gut instinct told you that he’d meant it when he said he would find you. You were miles away from a road that wasn’t made of dirt or gravel, and even the nearest highway was even more miles from any signs of civilization. You were well and truly stuck here.

Not knowing what else to do, you went outside onto the back deck, where it had all started. You sat out there until the sun was high in the sky, and it must have been hours until you heard the screen door open. You kept your eyes focused on the forest around you as Steve sat down next to you, and you remained still as a statue even as you felt his eyes baring into you.

“…I first came here two weeks ago,” he started. “No one was here, so I used it as a safehouse. I’ve been on the run since…since the Avengers split apart.”

The only response you gave him was a nod, and he took that as a sign to continue on.

“It had been a while for me. Since I’d…been with anyone. Ever since I was given the serum, my ruts have been more intense. At first, I tried to ignore them, fight ‘em off, but eventually that just stopped working.

“When I first saw you, smelled you, I knew that I wanted you,” he sighed. “Everything else kind of…faded into the background. Your scent was enough to send me spiraling towards a rut. Hell, I haven’t even started it yet, but it’s gonna be one of my most intense ones yet.

“I’m not saying that I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Because I know we’re way past that. And I’m not gonna say I’m not gonna do it again, cuz even now it’s taking all of my willpower not to bend you over the side of the balcony. But I guess I’m saying that… I get what I’ve done to you. I know it’s…heinous. And a younger me would’ve been disgusted with it. But now that we’re bonded to each other, I’m going to make this work.”

You turned to him, feeling your blood go cold at how determined he sounded.

“Make this… Steve, this can’t… There’s no future for us,” you stammered. “We don’t know each other; you, you raped me. There is no ‘making this work’.”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “I waited for someone special too, you know. I let the only woman I ever loved slip out of my fingers; when I woke up after the ice, I knew I wasn’t gonna just spend the rest of my life with anybody. And even if we don’t know each other, it doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. We can learn-“

“I don’t want to learn!” you exclaimed, rushing to your feet. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you! If you’re bound and determined to ride out the rest of your rut with me, then fine. I’ll hate it, but I’ll get it. Use me like a glorified sex doll like you did last night. But don’t turn this into something it’s not. Just leave me the fuck alone once you’ve had your fun.”

“No.”

Steve stood up, towering over you, and you stumbled backwards as he advanced towards you.

“You don’t want me to be your alpha? Well tough shit,” he spat. “You should’ve thought about that before you bit me back.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but then your eyes fell onto the side of his neck, and your mouth snapped shut. It was a perfect mirror of your own scar, and you gulped when Steve tilted his head to the side so he could get a better view of it. Your teeth were perfectly imprinted in red right over his gland, and sick shame washed over you as you stared at it.

“I’m going to carry around a piece of you for the rest of my life,” he continued, starting to walk towards you again. “So you’d better be damned sure that I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

A gasp escaped your parted lips when you felt your ass press against the deck’s railing, and you looked over your shoulder to see a fifteen foot drop just on its other side. Gulping, you turned back around, and once again Steve was towering over you, his scent wafting to your nostrils as he caged you in.

“I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, sugar,” he growled. “I’d get used to it if I were you.”

One of his hands tangled in your hair, and then, before you knew it, he was pressing his lips to yours, His other hand trailed up the side of your neck, tracing his bitemark with his fingertips in ways that shot tingles all the way down your spine, to your toes, and back up again. Your whole body twitched at the sensation, and a laugh that sounded more like a purr sounded from his chest.

“I’ll always love how responsive you are,” he murmured. “And eventually, one day, I’ll love the rest of you. Even that bratty little mouth of yours.”

You whimpered when his hands moved down to your hips, picking you up and setting you on the rail. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders, leaning towards him and away from the drop behind you.

“Steve!” you exclaimed. “Wait, I don’t-“

“I’m tired of waiting,” he interrupted. “You’ve been walking around in those tiny shorts all fucking day. I’ve held back for long enough.”

He reached down and roughly yanked your shirt up, tearing it down your arms and tossing it behind him. Your nipples pebbled as your breasts were exposed to the slight chill in the spring air, and goosebumps rose up all over your torso.

“I fucking love your tits,” he growled, dipping his head down to suck on one of your nipples. His hand roughly rolled and groped your other breast, and you fought not to arch your back, already feeling off balance as you tried to remain seated on the thin rail.

“Steve, can we please go inside-“

“No, baby,” he grunted. “I need you right here, right now.”

He did, however, pull you forward, and you let out a huff of relief when your feet met solid ground once again. Your relief was short-lived, however, as he turned you around and pushed you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades. You bent down, clutching the top of the low fence and staring at the forest floor below as he ground his erection against your ass. He was already half-hard, growing harder by the second as he rubbed himself against you.

“At least I chose the best pussy I’ve ever felt,” he mused, and you whined when two fingers suddenly plunged into you.

Your slick sounds were obscenely loud, and despite the cabin’s isolation, you felt a fleeting stab of fear that someone would hear him as he fingered you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the top of the rail, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your moan when Steve’s thumb found your clit.

“No, no, no,” he chided. “I want to hear you, little one. Let me hear those cute little noises you make.”

He reached down and grabbed your wrist, pulling it away as his thumb traced quick, tight circles against your bud. All the while, he was still grinding his clothed erection against the curve of your ass, and your thoughts swam as he added a third finger inside of you.

“I did make you feel good last night,” he breathed. “Didn’t I? You came…I think it was three times? Fuck, I think you were just as desperate as I was.”

He chuckled, pulling his hand away.

“But who am I kidding? I’m still desperate for you.”

Without warning, he spun you around and sat you on the rail once again, shoving his sweatpants down before lining his cock up with your entrance. It all happened so fast; you had no time to prepare yourself as he slid into you in one fluid, fast motion.

“Oh, god-“ you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders. “Steve, please, it hurts-“

“It’s gonna hurt these first couple of times, babygirl,” he sighed, as if he were an exasperated teacher trying to explain a difficult problem to you. “But if you just, fuck-“

He was cut off by his own moan as he started thrusting, not pausing to give you any time to adjust before starting to pump his hips forward.

“If you just relax,” he continued, “then it’ll feel better.”

You clung to him as he started pounding into you, letting your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. There was nothing else you could do as he snapped his hips; you were powerless against him as he used you for his own pleasure.

Oh, and you’re not getting anything out of this? A treacherous voice whispered to you in the back of your mind, and as you started to feel the same pleasure as you had last night, it grew louder and louder. He’s right – it does feel good. Just give in; it would be so easy to just enjoy it.

You couldn’t bite back a moan as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot, just as it had last night, and Steve rewarded you by snaking a hand between your bodies and rubbing your clit with his thumb once more. The stimulation to your bud made your thighs tremble, and you found your hips rolling forward as you felt that familiar knot start to tighten in your belly.

Your eyes opened, and you found yourself face to face with your bite mark. In your pleasure-addled mind, you couldn’t help but admire the impression that now marked his flesh; you thought back to how it had felt to bite him, to sink your teeth into him as he’d made you cum a second time with his cock buried deep inside of you.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve leaned downwards, and you cried out when he fit his teeth into your fresh scar once again. It hurt like a bitch, but it also felt perfect, as if a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized you were missing had finally found its rightful place in your body. You let your instincts guide you as you opened your mouth, first licking at Steve’s mating gland before sinking your own teeth into his bond mark.

Steve’s hips stilled, and you felt him growl as he pulled you tighter against him. He removed his teeth from you and squeezed your ass, picking you up.

“Keep biting me,” he commanded, his voice huskier than you’d ever heard it. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

You whined and nodded, biting harder as he pressed your back against the screen door. Once again, he started pounding into you, starting out at a punishing rhythm as he held you aloft. You could tell he was close, and you weren’t far behind him.

“I’m gonna fill you up again, omega,” he grunted. “Gonna make your belly round and – fuck – and swollen with my child. Gonna cum in you again and again and again, just like I know you need.”

A moan escaped your throat, and you let go of his neck to let your head fall back against the glass. Your eyes met his pleadingly, captured by those intense, terrifying blue irises as you both approached your peak.

“You gonna cum?” he murmured, and you nodded wordlessly, whimpers and groans spilling out of your open mouth as he snapped his hips harder.

He thrust one, two more times before you both snapped, and your screams of release mingled together as you came. His knot pushed past your entrance, swelling inside of you as his cum filled your pussy, and you let out a low groan at the strange sensation. Your nails were biting into his biceps, but neither of you cared as you rode out the aftershocks.

Last night, you’d been able to find respite in falling asleep, in not having to deal with the immediate consequences of what Steve had done to you and of what you’d done to him in return. But now, you were wide awake, watching in horror as the alpha, your alpha, caught his breath.

“…How long does it take for your knot to go away?” you asked in a quiet, almost timid voice.

“Um…” Steve thought about it. “Typically about twenty minutes.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“You know, now would be a good time for us to talk, since you refused to earlier.”

You shot Steve a withering glare, and he only chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not like any of the other omegas I’ve met,” he murmured.

“If you’re seriously going to tell me I’m not like other girls,” you quipped, “I’m going to throw both of us off this balcony.”

Steve chuckled again, tightening his grip on you and walking you over to the outdoor couch. You were feeling a medley of confusing, conflicting emotions, and you looked away as you fought to process all of them. It was true, what they said – you did feel more vulnerable after having sex with Steve. You refused to cry, though. You’d wasted enough time and energy on tears.

“I meant what I said, you know,” the alpha suddenly said. You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, arching an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“When I said I wanted to get you pregnant,” he clarified. “You would look beautiful with my child growing inside of you.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and you had to look away.

“I… I’m not ready to have kids,” was all you said, and Steve nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m not really in a position to have them, either,” he sighed, letting his head fall back. “I’m still on the run from Tony until everything blows over. It’s not a situation to bring a child up in.

“But one day, omega,” he said, his voice dipping low in its timber as he grew more serious, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you. I don’t want to hear any lip about it, either.”

You bit your trembling lip at the thought of being pregnant with this man’s child; if that ever were to happen, you really would be well and truly stuck with him.

You couldn’t think about that, though. You wouldn’t let yourself think about it. As Steve rubbed your back, waiting until his knot released you, the only thing you could think about was getting from one moment to the next. You didn’t know how or when you would manage to do it, but one thing was for certain.

One day, you would find a way to escape Steve Rogers. After all, it was like your aunt had said in her letter – you were strong. Even stronger than Captain America. And the only thing in life you needed was you.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve #omega!reader

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candycityy · 3 years

Text

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

#rivetra #levi ackerman x petra ral #i was reading madeline miller's circe and it reminded me of this fic which never materialised #much to my FRUSTRATION #candycity writes #levi ackerman #petra ral

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