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wheneclipsefalls · 2 years ago

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Ma Neteyam pt.7

Explicit, Minors do not interact

Part 6, Part 8

Summary: Neteyam can only put off his desires for so long.

Warnings: smut, mxm anal, explicit, power imbalance, stockholm syndrome, dirty talk, abo universe, daddy kink, swearing, angst, etc.

A/N: This chapter is long! I got pretty carried away but I’m happy with how it turned out. Thanks for patiently waiting on this one

“Eat up baby, you’re gonna need it.” Neteyam’s eyes snapped up from the plate of fish presented to the alpha’s expression, confused by the heartier breakfast.

“Why?” The omega questioned, nervously watching Kxolo take his seat next to him.

“It’s a surprise.” Kxolo wrapped one arm around Neteyam’s waist to easily pull him against his side. There was a giddy grin etched into the Olo’eyktan’s expression that made Neteyam suspicious. He was not sure whether or not he should be excited for the ‘surprise’ or wary of it. For all he knew, it could simply be a continuation of the activities from the day before. However, Neteyam couldn’t help but feel an unnatural thrill at the possibility of the latter.

As they ate, Neteyam caught the look that Kxolo gave Tamil which was quickly reciprocated with a subtle nod. For the rest of the meal, the boy tried to pay extra close to their conversation and body language, searching for anything else that would hint at the surprise. He still wasn’t sure he trusted the three of them together, especially Pulo.

Neteyam had lost his taste for surprises a long time ago from growing up with his younger brother. When Lo’ak had a ‘surprise’ it usually meant he had a problem that he was about to drag Neteyam into. He still remembered the spanking he received after helping, or rather begging Lo’ak not to, catch a palulukan at 13. Both boys could barely sit for a week after the disaster.

“I don’t get a hint?” Neteyam innocently batted his eyelashes at the older male for good measure. The efforts were seemingly wasted as the alpha simply laughed and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Patience, ma Neteyam.” Neteyam wiggled his toes against the dirt, trying to distract himself from the rush that soared through his body at the intimate nickname. His omega senses had been responsive all morning, preening at every praise and touch Kxolo gave.

When breakfast finally finished, the alpha disappeared with the Pulo and Tamil, promising to be back in a few minutes for his surprise. Vamai happily agreed to stay with Neteyam as they waited. The boy groaned at her persistence in keeping his eyes closed. He hissed and tried to shrug her off as her small hands cupped around his eyes, but to no avail.

“Vamai, quit it. I’ll keep them closed, I promise.” Neteyam shifted between his feet, fighting every urge that told him to peek. Vamai was giggling, forcefully positioning him into the right spot to stand. Her giddy did little to put the boy at ease, wondering what sort of mischief the group had cooked up behind his back. For all he knew, it could be Kxolo served on a silver plate and the girl would be ecstatic to aid in his embarrassment.

“As my friend, I do feel like you have some obligation to warn me if this little surprise is my demise.” His ears twitched, picking up on every noise reverberating. Only Vamai’s pacing footsteps could be heard.

“You and I have very different definitions of friendship duties, Neteyam.” She laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. With his eyes closed, the push sent the other omega back a few steps blindly trying to regain his footing.

Neteyam’s tail shot up on high alert at the sound of a distant screech. Vamai was quick to palm over his ears in order to dampen the noises.

“Vamai, stop!” He attempted to pry the girl off again but the matter was useless as her hands always returned. Although not able to block every sound, his hearing was muffled enough to be confused as to what was occurring around him.

Once the commotion had settled he felt her fingers leave his ears.

“You can open your eyes now, baby.” Kxolo called a few yards in front of him.

Neteyam wearily peeked them open, braced for any type of scene to unfold before him. His eyes were instantly caught by the swirling colors of brown, green, and blue he could recognize anywhere.

“Surprise!” Kxolo beamed, gesturing to the ikran. The creature immediately went to snap at the hand, causing the alpha to draw back quickly. A loud laugh slipped through Neteyam’s lips as he observed the scene. Over five Na’vi males tried to hold down the restless ikran.

“Azer!” Neteyam bounded for the ikran that screeched in earnest at the familiar na’vi.

The mighty creature instantly calmed as Neteyam ran his hand along Azer’s head and neck. Kxolo watched from the sidelines proudly as he observed the boy’s tearful eyes and wide grin. He watched the way Neteyam calmed the ikran with such gentleness and intimacy, it was obvious the two knew each other well. Even Tamil let a small smile form, seeing Neteyam so ecstatic.

“But how did you…and when..” The omega sputtered out, only barely glancing up from Azer occasionally. Kxolo motioned for the others to be dismissed before hesitantly walking toward the ikran and omega. Azer watched the male cautiously with keen precision. Kxolo was careful to not make any sudden movements.

“I guess you could say your dad and I came to some kind of agreement.” Neteyam’s head snapped up at the comment with furrowed eyebrows.

“And what agreement would that be?”

“That we both want you to be happy.” Kxolo stated simply. The Sully boy scrunched his nose back at the male, unconvinced.

“Oh really? It was that simple.” His tone dripped in sarcasm. Neteyam had to pull Azer’s head back from trying to snap at the alpha again. Finally going around the ikran’s head, Kxolo was able to face Neteyam properly.

“Simple is not how I would describe it, but I can be very persuasive as you know.” Neteyam rolled his eyes at the wink Kxolo sent him. Crossing his arms, the taller male continued. “Obviously relations between Toruk Makto and I are…strained to say the least. However, he did not do this for me. He did it for you. We both figured you deserve to have a friend from home with you.”

“Oh.” It was all Neteyam could get out as a large lump began to form in his throat. Tears strained against the back of his eyes, but he fought them off, trying to look past the male’s broad shoulder instead of at his eyes. He subconsciously laid his head against Azer’s, taking in the information.

“Well I uh don’t know what to say…t-thank you.” Neteyam felt foolish and ungrateful letting out that excuse of a thank you, but it was all he could get out without giving away his surging emotions.

“Of course. Anything to see you smile.” Neteyam's eyes finally locked on the male’s face to find a warm smile overtaking his countenance. There was something so sincere in that gaze, Neteyam couldn’t look away.

It felt naive and wrong to admit, but for the first time, Neteyam believed him. He considered the idea that perhaps in his own way, Kxolo truly did want to make him happy. His heart beat heavily in his chest at the thought. Neteyam couldn’t tell if the soothing circles he ran along Azer’s skin were meant to calm the ikran or himself.

The omega softly shook his head as if to shake the train of thought out too.

“I guess I know now why there were so many messages being sent back and forth.” Neteyam weakly laughed.

“True, a great deal of them have been to arrange this. Now you see why I break my back to keep you out of those meetings.” Kxolo teased, affectionately brushing his knuckles along the boy’s cheek. He admired the way it lightly dusted pink at the action.

Azer made another pass at the male, Kxolo flinching out of the way just in time. Neteyam was quick to calm him down with soothing strokes and coos.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.” Kxolo chuckled deeply.

“Well Azer is very sensitive. He doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, it frightens him.” The ikran finally tore its predatory glare from the Olo’eyktan to focus on Neteyam.

“An understatement if you ask me. He fought tooth and nail the entire way from the Hallelujah mountains. Your mother was the only one he took kindly to.” Kxolo instantly felt a pang of regret as Neteyam’s doe eyes looked up at him with a glimmer of hope. Silence was all it took for the omega to realize it was falsely fortified. Taking in a deep breath he turned back to the Olo’eyktan.

“Let me guess, there are rules.” Neteyam strained his voice deeper in an attempt to imitate the Olo’eyktan.

“A month here and that is the best you can do? That was weak, little one.” Kxolo mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. Neteyam felt the immature urge to stick his tongue out at the alpha in response but figured it would only result in being teased more. “But since you bring it up, yes there will be some rules.”

“Naturally, since I know how much you enjoy establishing them.” Neteyam teased but a sudden nervousness made him switch back to focusing on Azer, in fear of maybe pushing the alpha too hard.

“What I enjoy is not having to chase after your ass through the forest so you don’t hurt yourself.” The tone was still light and teasing as Kxolo raised an eyebrow but there was a hidden sternness to it. An unspoken message that the only danger in Neteyam running away was not him actually escaping but rather hurting himself in the process of trying.

“For now I only want you flying when I am with you. And I need you to let me lead the way. I don’t want you getting lost again.” Neteyam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the male. He was certain he would have never gotten lost if he had an aerial view from his ikran the whole time.

“Is that it?” He questioned, trying to keep the annoyance from slipping into his tone.

“Stay close. Wander off and I’ll have you back in thirty seconds.” Kxolo promised, sending him another wink.

“I’d like to see you try.” Neteyam murmured under his breath once Kxolo’s back was turned. Whether or not the alpha heard the remark, he didn’t say anything.

A distinct yipping sound echoed across the trees as Kxolo called for his own ikran. Within seconds a creature with mighty wings adorned in mixtures of yellow and blue was swooping down towards them. Azer hissed at the ikran Kxolo was calming while backing away from the pair. Neteyam did his best to keep him placid with reassuring pets and sounds.

“You’ve met Eyvu before, although not officially.” Kxolo gestured to the female ikran eating the fruit from his hand, unbothered by Azer’s show of aggression. “I have the rest of the day blocked off so, it's just you and me baby boy.”

“Where are we going?” Neteyam watched the edges of the alpha’s lips turn up slightly in an effort to suppress a grin. He shifted back and forth between his feet once again cautious of the plans Kxolo could have made for the two of them.

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Without waiting for a response, the Olo’eyktan turned to grab several items from the large satchel attached to Eyvu. Neteyam instantly recognized his battle band in one of the male’s hands.

The omega rolled his eyes as Kxolo insisted on fitting the band around the boy’s waist himself, another excuse to fondle him. Regardless, his body perked up at the touch, leaning into every swipe or drag of the fingers against his torso.

Kxolo gave a crooked smile while showing Neteyam’s rider's mask pinched between his thumb and finger. Neteyam didn’t protest when the male carefully settled it around his head and forehead, shifting it back and forth until it was in place perfectly.

Instead of falling away, Kxolo’s hands settled themselves on each side of Neteyam’s face. Thumbs running along the boy’s cheek bones, Kxolo leaned in slowly till their noses nudged against one another. The air left Neteyam’s chest as he was pulled into a deep kiss.

A shiver from his head to toes rushed through his body, prompting the omega to rise on the balls of his feet in order to reach the male easier. His hands naturally found their way to Kxolo’s shoulders, savoring the feel of the muscular expanse of the muscles and smooth azure skin against his fingertips. Their tongues swirled lazily, only occasionally breaking away for small spurts of air. The feeling of warm large hands encompassing his head as Kxolo maneuvered it in whatever direction, sparked a warmth in his stomach that couldn’t be explained.

Neteyam gasped for air once they pulled away, faces still only inches apart. A delicate kiss was placed atop the boy’s nose, causing his eyelashes to flutter close momentarily. A loose free smile graced Kxolo’s lips. That touch of sincere happiness was back in those golden orbs, almost childlike. Neteyam marveled at the contrast it was to the mighty Olo’eyktan role Kxolo usually maintained.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You just looked too beautiful.” The air was caught in Neteyam’s throat as his brain went blank, looking for a response. There was not much time for one to be given as one last kiss was pecked onto his cheek before the towering male was turning around and heading back to the other ikran.

He shifted the mask idly, looking for something to do with his hands. It wasn’t until Azer had nudged his shoulder that Neteyam remembered what they were there for and finally connected the tsaheylu. A heavy sigh worked its way through his body as he was once again able to feel every pulse and heartbeat of his friend. Their breathing synced into a slow hum that was bubbling with strength and excitement. The omega could tell that Azer knew they were about to fly together again.

Boarding Azer again felt as natural as breathing, but as they took off, he could feel the extra strain in his muscles. His thighs tensed and shook from not being in proper use for so long, but Neteyam diligently shifted and clung until he was appropriately in position to ride properly.

The wind picked and crashed into his face as they raced upwards and out of the treeline after the ikran ahead. His stomach lurched at the dramatic pull of gravity from their vertical ascend against it. It wasn’t until they had leveled out once more that Neteyam was able to focus on anything besides clinging to the creature.

For the first time in weeks the horizon was in clear view. The endless blur of orange and yellow scraped across in the distance, another reminder of how infinite the world could be. Gliding through the open air, Neteyam could hardly breath, taking in the vastness of skyscraping trees intertwined that flowed into bodies of water rushing into one another. Ikrans decorated the skies in clusters as they freely danced through the empty space.

It was like seeing it for the first time.

Although more harsh and unyielding at the speed, Neteyam swore the air felt crystalline pure in comparison. His lungs filled deeply, basking in the smell of pine and sunshine. Panning the distance, Neteyam caught sight of Kxolo watching him from the right. He had forgotten the alpha was even there, but the older male was content to patiently glide beside as Neteyam had his moment.

“Follow me.” He called before banking to the right. Neteyam shifted his grip on Azer before swinging them in the direction of his mate.

It only took a few minutes of following the alpha calmly for Neteyam to feel Azer’s impatience at the speed. They both yearned for sharper turns, fast uptakes, and winding paths that would leave one's head spinning.

Neteyam swirled them into an aerial spin, hands holding on for dear life as toes gripped the ends of the saddle. Adrenaline mixed with pure ecstasy raced through his veins with every twist. A scream ripped its way through his throat as they continued their way through the air, completely weightless.

A sharp cry to their left startled Neteyam into finally looking over and seeing Kxolo bumping alongside them. Azer let out an aggressive cry, going to snap at the other ikran but Neteyam swiftly swerved them away in time. Kxolo burst into a laugh before jetting down into a spiral descent.

Neteyam followed without hesitation. The speed along with the spinning made it near impossible to tell when the world was right side up. Only streaks of color could be interpreted as they continued to cut down through the air at great speeds. The omega could hear the alpha’s own cries and yips of glee beside them.

Neteyam and Kxolo leisurely took the path towards their destination, oftentimes going off to explore certain parts of the forest unseen to Neteyam or race each other to designated tree lines. The omega’s heart soared at the taste of true freedom.

He would no longer be prisoned to the grounds covered by trees that dwarfed him and blocked the sunrise. Neteyam didn’t realize how much he truly yearned for flying until it had been taken away. It reminded him of the first time he rode Azer after completing his iknimaya. Their first ride together was clumsy and uncoordinated but nothing could beat the awe and rush of adrenaline that came from swimming through the clouds. He was invincible. The world was below him and Neteyam lived among the stars.

His body became quicker to respond to the changing sharp angles and turns as he clung to the ikran. The glides became smoother as the muscle memory snapped into place and Neteyam was able to chase the horizon without a single thought. Azer and Neteyam moved as one, inseparable in body and mind.

“Keep up, little one.” Kxolo yelled over his shoulder teasingly. The alpha swerved to glide behind the backside of the roaring waterfall with ease. Neteyam struggled slightly to get them into position to do the same but found his way nonetheless. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face and laugh from lips as the thundering water crashed close enough to mist their bodies completely.

Any sense of time slipped between Neteyam’s fingertips as the pair continued to ride till his thighs were on fire. At some point the omega knew they were flying in circles, putting off reaching their final destination, but he couldn’t care less. It was the most he had felt like himself since arriving to the clan.

When they finally perched along a cliffside covered in thick grass and small budding flowers, Neteyam’s legs wobbled beneath him as he dismounted. He brushed along the ikran’s neck, calming the exhausted animal down before going to stretch his own limbs out. Every part of his body ached from holding the crouched position over Azer but the pain was welcomed with the knowledge that it had come from doing something he loved.

“I thought I lost you there for a minute.” Kxolo called while taking out a blanket from the pack on Eyvu. Neteyam rolled his eyes and snorted at the teasing.

“As if. I was riding your ass the whole time. If I weren’t rusty from my month hiatus we would have been a speck in the horizon to you.” Neteyam pushed the mask off of his head to see the alpha’s expression better. An amused demeanor was all he found as Kxolo finished laying the blanket out and sauntered over to the smaller male.

“Hmm arrogance suits you well, my love.” As usual, Kxolo took liberties in invading Neteyam’s personal space at the first chance possible. “And so does flying. You were beautiful out there.”

Large hands casually grasped at Neteyam’s hips, bringing him in closer.

“You weren’t too bad yourself.” The omega muttered, unsure of where to rest his hands at such close proximity. He flinched as small circles were traced over the matching hickeys on his hips.

“Generous of you.” The older male chuckled before intertwining their fingers and pulled Neteyam towards the laid out blanket. Neteyam sat obediently as he watched Kxolo carry over an arrangement of carefully packed fruits, berries, nuts, and dried meat.

The alpha confidently settled himself behind Neteyam with a leg on either side of the boy. He didn’t question the older male when he removed both of their battled bands and placed them to the side. The intimate position had the omega squirming slightly but when one large hand gently pushed against his chest to urge him to lean back, Neteyam caught a whiff of Kxolo’s overpowering scent and every muscle in his body relaxed. He could no longer remember why he would want to move in the first place as his omega hindbrain sang praises of approval and relief at the feeling of the alpha cuddling him close.

Neteyam obediently opened his mouth as different pieces of fruit were hand fed to him. His mind was already drifting off into its own world, too tired to care or even notice the intimate act. His eyes lazily followed the soaring patterns created by wild ikrans drifting through the clouds. The omega basked in the silence and reprieve the lookout point brought.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Kxolo asked, putting another piece of fruit in front of the boy’s lips. Neteyam quietly chewed, trying to think of some response.

“Did you see my family when you picked up Azer?”

“Pulo led a small group to meet them and bring him over last night. I was a little preoccupied.” He could feel the male's lips pulled into a smirk as they leaned down to brush against his cheek. “That reminds me,” Kxolo shuffled behind him, pulling a few small objects out of the satchel. Neteyam turned around to face the alpha, sitting on his knees.

“These are for you.” Placed in his hands were colorful bracelets of different patterns and designs. He ran the beads between his fingers, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I’m told they are from one of your sisters.”

Neteyam perked up, remembering the bracelets that his parents had mentioned Tuk making for him.

“Tuk was there?” He began to more closely observe each and every bracelet, impressed by the complexity and clean construction his youngest sister was able to execute.

“She was there alright and according to Pulo, the most intimidating child he had ever met. She made him promise to get these delivered to you in one piece followed by some very creative threats.” Neteyam laughed loudly at the mental image of tiny Tuk pointing her finger angrily while growling out demands and threats at the grown alpha. He couldn’t help but be proud of his sister’s passion.

“That sounds like her.” His grin spread from ear to ear as he continued to admire the bracelets, unaware of Kxolo fondly watching him. “She gets very serious about her projects. I almost lost my title of favorite brother to Lo’ak once because I accidentally snapped one of her necklaces.I had to give her rides on Azer for a whole week to make it up to her.” He chuckled.

“I’m sure that secured your title permanently.” Kxolo listened intently, happy to hear the boy babble about his family. Truly just content to hear Neteyam talk about anything that brought him joy.

“Well that’s not even half the stuff Tuk has dragged me into. Last year she became obsessed with the idea of princesses. They’re a Sky People thing, like a Tsahik in rank I guess but they just dance in these giant dresses with sparkly hats on their heads.”

Wrinkles formed between Kxolo’s eyebrows as he tried to understand the weird Sky People custom Neteyam described. The omega gave a small laugh at his expression, waving his hand to show the definition didn’t really matter.

“Anyways, she spent weeks creating these makeshift tiaras, the sparkly hats, out of twigs, beads, shells, anything she could get her hands on. Dragged Kiri, Lo’ak and I into having a tea party. It’s just sitting around drinking stuff with these ridiculous head pieces on. Lo’ak found some lame excuse to bail and Kiri was called to the healer’s tent so I was the only one left to be tormented by her for three long hours.” He secured an orange and purple bracelet around one wrist while continuing. Kxolo held in a coo at the idea of sweet patient Neteyam grumbling with a cup in hand and sparkly headpiece on for hours in order to entertain the girl.

“Unfortunately, a few of the other warriors walked by during this escapade. Tuk was more than happy to explain what we were doing and for months I had the nickname ‘Princess Neteyam’. It took Lo’ak punching one alpha in the nose after using it for the trend to finally die off.” Finally finishing the story, Neteyam’s cheeks started to burn red as he realized how much rambling he had done to the alpha, and with an embarrassing story nonetheless.

“She is lucky to have such a caring older brother like you, sweet one.” Kxolo purred, thumbing at the ebbing red spreading across the boy’s cheek bones.

“I don’t know why I told you all that.” His eyes averted from the Olo’eyktan’s gaze down to the remaining bracelets still in his lap.

“I like your stories, baby.” Kxolo assured. “Were you teased often by other warriors?” Neteyam knew that the older male was really asking about alphas in particular. He knew better than to let Kxolo in on all the courting, teasing, and flirting he had endured from other alphas in the clan. Yet somehow, the words slipped out.

“Well being a male omega always comes with a certain amount of unwanted attention.” Something dark flickered in the Olo’eyktan’s eyes. Neteyam mentally cursed at himself, trying to figure out why he had said anything at all when he knew it was a bad idea.

“Like what?” Kxolo maintained his casual posture and nonchalant voice, but that hard steel in his eyes did not vanish and Neteyam knew he had stepped into dangerous territory. Alphas were known to be territorial and possessive, something Kxolo had already established several times in their relationship. The last thing he needed was for the Olo’eyktan to hunt down the silly boys that had chased him back home. Lo’ak had already done too much of that for Neteyam’s liking.

“Oh it’s nothing. Yum fish, did you want some?” Neteyam reached for the small basket of fish, desperately trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Neteyam.” Kxolo drawled. Intense eyes bore into the side of Neteyam’s skull as he fiddled with the fish.

“You know I caught a fish just like this when I was little. It was pretty impressive for an eight year old.” His mind scrambled for any information that could permanently keep them off the topic of persistent alphas.

“You didn’t answer my question, little one.” The words were on the verge of a deep growl and Neteyam’s heart rate sped up at the tone. A sudden urge to tell the alpha everything bubbled to the surface but the omega swallowed it down.

“Sure I did. Yovo?” Neteyam held out the purple fruit in offering. Kxolo slowly grabbed the fruit from his grasp and laid it to the side, eyes never leaving the omega before him.

“Is there something you don’t want to tell me, little one?” Finally making eye contact with those golden orbs, Neteyam found it nearly impossible not to say something in response.

“It really is nothing. Just a few silly alphas that had a hard time taking no for an answer. Had to get a little creative in shaking them off, but it was fine. My dad and Lo’ak were pretty stern with some of them.” The confession spilled out messily, almost against his will, but Neteyam did his best to remain aloof, picking at the fish in front of him.

The pheromones drifting from the alpha were slowly shifting into ones of lethal anger, so Neteyam decided to try a new strategy. Shuffling on his knees, the boy hesitantly straddled one of Kxolo’s outstretched thighs. He did his best to flutter his lashes innocently at the male while holding up a piece of yovo in front of Kxolo’s lips. Sharp eyes watched the boy warily.

“Here, I’ll feed you.” His lips cracked into a nervous smile.

Long fingers wrapped around his small wrist, lowering it from the Olo’eyktan’s lips.

“Shake them how?” Kxolo’s jaw clenched, as the intoxicating pheromones rolled off of him in waves towards Neteyam. The boy bit his lip to stop himself from continuing on and making things worse, but there was a little voice in the back of his head that was getting progressively louder. A voice that begged for him to tell the alpha what he wanted to know. To give in and spill any and every secret he ever had.

“Just some silly ways I got some of them to stop following me around after asking didn’t work.”

“So they stalked you.” Neteyam’s chest tightened at the rumbling voice.

“Well I wouldn’t call it that necessa-”

“Did they touch you?” A fire seethed in those golden eyes and Neteyam felt drunk off of the possessive tone that fell over him. It took serious effort to not present his neck to Kxolo submissively.

“N-no not really. I don’t see why you care so much anyways.” Neteyam knew it was the wrong thing to say the second the words left his mouth.

An arm of iron steel wrapped around the omega’s back, pulling him further up Kxolo’s thigh until they were chest to chest. Neteyam whimpered at the friction of the movement, the coil of arousal already forming. His chin was pinched tightly between the alpha’s thumb and finger, forcing the nervous omega to maintain eye contact.

A looming intensity settled over Kxolo’s features, a burning fire that could not be tamed. The musky scent encasing Neteyam’s senses had his head spinning, staring dumbly up at the male. The boy’s fingers gripped at the beads adorning the alpha’s neck, looking for something to grasp on to.

“I care because you are my omega, my mate. And it is my job as your alpha to protect you. Nobody touches what is mine.” The deep rumble of assertions were laced with dark threads of promises. Promises to own. Promises to protect. Promises to kill threats, if necessary.

Shaky breaths slipped through Neteyam’s lips. His thoughts felt like a tangled mess of string, with no beginning or end, no sense in any of it. All that he could focus on was the pure power and dominance radiating from the alpha, his alpha.

“I am always going to look after you, baby boy. I take my responsibilities very seriously and you are my utmost priority.” Neteyam preened at the affirmations. His fingers happily slipped behind Kxolo’s heads to begin playing with the braids happily. He caught the corner of the Olo’eyktan’s lips twitching upwards almost into a smile before disappearing.

“Neteyam,” The omega’s eyes snapped back into focus from their wandering along Kxolo’s broad shoulders. “If anyone ever touches you or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, I need you to come directly to me. You tell me what happened, and I will take care of it.” An ominous ambiguity lay around the definition of taking care of it, but Neteyam didn’t dwell on it. “Can you promise me that, baby?”

The back of Kxolo’s knuckles tenderly traced his cheekbones. Shivers traveled down Neteyam’s spine as he nodded.

“Use your words, baby boy.” He commanded gently.

“I promise.” Neteyam whispered, causing a grin to slowly return to Kxolo’s face.

“Good boy.” He praised the omega. Neteyam held in a whimper at the words as slick began to leak out onto Kxolo’s thigh.

A strong grip around the back of his neck pulled the boy into a slow heated kiss. His fingers held onto the braids for dear life as his hips accidentally rutted against the Olo’eyktan’s thigh again. His head was already starting to turn fuzzy but Neteyam knew there was one thing he had to do before losing himself to the pleasure. Kxolo let out an unsatisfied grunt when Neteyam pulled himself out of the kiss with some force. The grip remained but the alpha didn’t try to pull him back in.

“Kxolo?” He hesitantly whispered.

“Yes baby?” Kxolo watched the boy’s expression vigilantly.

“L-last night when we were…together,” Neteyam gulped, willing himself to spit the words out he had been holding in all day. “Why didn’t you take my virginity?” Kxolo repositioned his hand from Neteyam’s neck to instead run soothing strokes through the boy’s braids.

“Take,” He hummed. “Precisely because of that. I don’t want to take your virginity, Neteyam. I wait for the day that you give it to me. Last night you were in no position to do so, completely overtaken by your desire. I wasn’t about to do something that would have you singing praises one night and hating me the next.”

The explanation made sense, was even thoughtful, but a part of Neteyam’s heart sank. He knew convincing the other male wasn’t going to be easy, but the boy knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed, what he thought of every night he closed his eyes to sleep.

“I’m giving it to you now.” There was a silence as Kxolo’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Neteyam recognized it as the same expression his father wore when trying to hold his temper back, praying to Eywa for strength, but Kxolo was praying to control something else.

“It is a dangerous thing to tease me, baby boy.” Neteyam was instantly shaking his head, shuffling further up the alpha’s thigh.

“I’m not.” Kxolo’s jaw clenched at the words, eyes roaming up and down Neteyam’s form slowly.

“I only have so much self control, Neteyam. Do not say this to me, unless you are committed to following through. I will not wake up to a bratty omega that regrets giving in. Do you understand?” The coil wound tighter and tighter in Neteyam’s core at the words. He knew then more than ever that he wanted the male. He wanted to give everything over to the Olo’eyktan till all of his worries were illegible words drifting at the back of his mind.

“I know what I’m saying.” Neteyam smoothed his fingers along the expanse of Kxolo’s shoulders, relishing the dip and curve of the strong muscles. “I’ve wanted you, needed you, for a long time.” He laid opened mouthed kisses along the older male’s neck, avoiding the thick beaded choker. “It’s the only thing that runs through my head at night when you're pressed up against me, or when I wake up and I’m drowned in your scent.” He squeaked as the arm around his back yanked him up against the alpha till they were chest to chest. “Please help me, alpha.”

Kxolo gently shifted his hand to encase Neteyam’s neck, forcing the boy to look upwards at him. The other hand went to claw and squeeze at the boy’s ass mercilessly. More slick was released and Neteyam was suddenly desperate for the friction against Kxolo’s thigh. Despite this, he didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. He was pinned by the dilated pupils staring back at him, swimming with primal desire.

“If you want this, you are going to promise me something, baby boy.”

“Anything.” he breathed.

“Promise me that tomorrow when your head is out of the clouds and you remember what we have done, you will not be upset with me. Promise me that this is more than just your hormones talking.” Dull fingernails dug into Neteyam’s plush ass cheek and he whimpered at the sensation.

“I promise, Kxolo.” The crooked smile that slowly seeped its way across Kxolo’s face had Neteyam shifting uncomfortably under his loincloth. Anticipation was steadily creeping in the pit of his stomach.

The hand around his neck dragged down the boy’s torso, never missing a chance to land a quick flick against a nipple until it circled around to his back and gripped the other cheek. Neteyam let out pitiful little whimpers as Kxolo palmed both cheeks and spread them apart slowly. Despite the bands still securing his loincloth in place, Neteyam could feel the soft breeze against his wet hole. He had never felt so vulnerable and naked, and yet never more aroused.

Hot breath tickled his ear as the alpha leaned in close to it.

“Are you ready to be mine, baby boy?” Neteyam’s own fingernails dug slightly into those broad shoulders as the familiar haze began to overtake his train of thought.

“Yes daddy!” He cried out as one finger skated against his rim.

“You have all the right answers today, don’t you?” Kxolo chuckled. One hand on the boy’s hip and the other still digging into one cheek, Kxolo began to move Neteyam back and forth across his thigh.

The friction was sweet torture as his stiff cock dragged along the smooth skin. Kxolo’s hands pressed him down harder, insisting on Neteyam letting his whole body weight be pressed down against his stripped thigh. The omega yearned to remove the piece of fabric separating his cock from the flexing muscles. Neteyam’s whimpers into the crook of Kxolo’s neck finally caught the male’s attention.

“Don’t pout, pretty thing. Daddy’s trying to get you ready for him.” He smirked at Neteyam’s increasing ruts against his thigh, aching for any type of pressure. His smile, however, dropped when the omega halted the movement to reach for his loincloth and begin taking it off. “Nuh-uh baby boy, not yet.” He demanded.

Neteyam sent pleading eyes at the male, but obeyed anyways. He rutted against the exposed thigh until there was leaking precum staining his loincloth. No matter how hard he tried to buck or how many different patterns he tried, it was never enough to get him close to the edge, only enough sensation to have him aching for more focused attention.

The omega tried to distract himself by laying kisses along the column of Kxolo’s throat, progressively getting more annoyed at the beads blocking his path. The distraction was only effective for so long as Neteyam could already feel the cut of the woven blanket into his knees as he rocked himself back and forth.

“Daddy please! I need more, need you closer!” Neteyam could practically feel the waves of approval in the pheromones that drifted from the alpha. Before he could ask again he was pushed flat on his back with Kxolo watching on his knees from the side.

Neteyam reached a hand for the male, but was shushed gently as he repositioned himself to straddle the omega’s knees. Seeking some sort of contact, Neteyam was finally able to locate a hand and intertwine their fingers together. His tail wrapped around the forearm too for good measure.

Devious eyes peered up at Neteyam as Kxolo bent down towards his clothed crotch. The omega was unable to look away as the Olo’eyktan placed an intentional kiss on top of his bulge, then licking over the precum spot darkening the loincloth. Neteyam could feel himself getting more and more anxious as he was teased relentlessly.

Kxolo swiftly moved his head along the top of the loincloth until reaching one of the straps holding it on. He stared back at the whimpering omega with glee as he carefully used his teeth to latch onto the strap. Using that grip, he tugged it slowly down Neteyam’s leg, loincloth following reluctantly in the process. Goosebumps bloomed across the azure skin as the sharp edges of Kxolo’s teeth grazed his limb consequently.

Halfway down the boy’s thigh, Kxolo grinned slightly as the hard little cock slapped against Neteyam’s stomach. When he had finally managed to get the fabric down to the boy’s ankles and off, Neteyam was panting heavily and squeezing his hand till there was little circulation.

He ran the side of one finger up the length of Neteyam’s cock, lightly swirling around the head once reaching the top. It twitched and leaked shamelessly as Kxolo teased along it with feather light touches.

“Don’t be mean.” Neteyam complained, hips shuffling to escape the teasing.

“Am I not allowed to admire my omega’s little cock?” Kxolo mocked. Neteyam let out another loud groan as the alpha swiped his thumb over the head harshly with a squeeze. “So pretty.” He cooed.

Watching from lidded eyes, Neteyam drank in the sight of Kxolo hungrily. A white heat ran through his veins, screaming at the omega to fulfill every dirty desire. His heart rate sped up as he remembered what it felt like to trace along the lines and curves of the larger male’s torso. He began to salivate at the idea of following them with his tongue instead.

Tired of speculating, Neteyam quickly pushed himself up until he was back to straddling Kxolo. Their lips attached automatically as the Olo’eyktan gripped the smaller body against his forcefully. The kiss quickly turned into a mess of tongue and teeth. Neteyam’s own canines scraped along Kxolo’s bottom lip. The licks and kisses began to trail away from the alpha’s lips and towards the male’s right ear. He ran his tongue down the side of Kxolo’s neck, alternating with wet kisses. The scent was intoxicating, pushing Neteyam to travel further and further down the expanse of skin.

Kxolo watched in pleasure and amusement as Neteyam separated them enough to duck his head down to the male’s chest. Small hands fervently danced across the male’s lower abs and sides. Tongue and teeth scraped along his pecs before settling against a spot next to Kxolo’s collarbone. Lust filled eyes twitched upwards at Kxolo before Neteyam latched onto the spot.

A small groan left the alpha’s throat in surprise. Neteyam sucked the patch of skin zealously trying to leave a hickey. A primal urge to mark the alpha as his own just like he had done for him.

“There you go, baby boy. Such a good boy marking your alpha.” Kxolo growled at the slight pain radiating from the spot.

Neteyam pulled off with a messy smile, fingertips running along the small mark already forming. The heat inside of him burned brighter at the praises that so easily fell from the Olo’eyktan’s lips. Hastily placed kisses ran down Kxolo’s chest and abs in celebration.

Kxolo massaged and dug into the curve of Neteyam’s ass, letting the boy explore and mouth at his body freely. He allowed himself to bask in the feeling of the inexperienced tongue and fingers desperately searching him. His cock was already on the verge of bursting out of his loincloth, but Kxolo yearned to slow down time as much as possible. He was in no rush to subdue Neteyam’s oral fixation.

Sharp tugs to his loincloth snapped Kxolo out of his blissful trance. He fought back a laugh as he watched Neteyam angrily yank at the straps, unable to pull it off with Kxolo sitting down. He watched the omega’s frustrated expression with pinched eyebrows and lips formed into an adorable pout. It wasn’t until Neteyam refocused that expression up at the alpha that he decided to have mercy on the boy and remove his loincloth for him.

Kxolo jolted drastically as warm lips wrapped around his cock within seconds of the cloth falling away. He watched in awe as Neteyam intently tried to fit the large member into his mouth, whining when he was only able to fit it halfway down. The sound sent vibrations through his cock that had him twitching and groaning in delight.

Animalistic desires surged through Kxolo’s thoughts at the sight. His pretty little omega, desperately sucking at his cock, poor little thing barely able to handle it but gagging earnestly on it anyways. An oral fixation indeed.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He breathlessly laughed. He fought back the urge to buck into Neteyam’s warm mouth, but as the suckling and gagging continued, it became progressively more difficult to hold back.

Trails of saliva coated the corners of Neteyam’s outstretched lips. His eyes were glossy but determined as they went back and forth between focusing, squeezing shut in frustration and blinking up at Kxolo. His lower abs tightened in anticipation of the impending orgasm coming his way. There was only so much self control he had left before his instincts would take over.

“Keep going like that and you’ll have me cuming down your throat.” Kxolo warned.

To his surprise, Neteyam moaned sweetly at the words. Looking down at those eyes it was obvious the boy was somewhere far away, completely lost in the primal desires his omega screamed for. It was Kxolo’s last tipping point.

“You want that, baby? Want daddy to fuck his cum down your throat?” Neteyam did his best to nod without letting the cock fall out of his aching mouth.

Kxolo used both hands to gather Neteyam’s braids and cue into a makeshift ponytail. He swirled it around one wrist before gripping the gathered hair tightly. Satisfied with the makeshift handle, he gave the boy one last warning. “Remember what I said about breathing through your nose.”

He guided the boy down his cock before harshly tugging his hair up till Neteyam’s lips were just around his head. This pattern continued, long strokes as the omega became closer and closer to taking in all of his alpha’s cock. The boy would choke and gag as the head and part of the shaft would hit the back of his throat. Despite these struggles he continued to suck and hollow his cheeks in effort to reach his goal.

The pace slowly turned brutal as Kxolo manhandled the boy’s head up and down, chasing his own high. He did his best to check on the boy throughout but there was little need as Neteyam continued to moan and slick could be seen coating the boy’s thighs from where Kxolo sat.

Deep growls and groans filled the air with Neteyam’s wet noises and whimpers. The alpha could feel his high reaching quickly as his cock was squeezed tightly by his mate’s little mouth. The golden eyes blinking back at him in search of approval set him on the edge. It wasn't until a small hand came to fondle his balls that Kxolo lost it.

“Neteyam!” he growled as stars clouded his vision. The omega sputtered and choked at the feeling of warm cum down his throat but this time he didn’t pull off. Kxol drunkenly watched his omega suckle down the sperm.

Finally down from his high, Kxolo released the boy’s hair and gently slid his sensitive cock out of his mouth. Neteyam’s chest rose and fell quickly as he gasped for air. There was an unmistakable smile forming along his panting lips.

“You ok, baby boy?” Face still a mess of spit and dribbling cum, Neteyam pulled them into a passionate kiss. Kxolo laughed between their lips before grabbing him by the waist and deepening it.

“Swear your mouth was made for me, baby. It was made for daddy’s cock wasn’t it?” Neteyam nodded eagerly. His hips began to move against Kxolo’s pelvis seeking friction for his erect cock.

“N-need your cock i-inside daddy!” Neteyam’s voice was barely a raspy moan from the ache in his throat. The sound had the alpha moving into action immediately.

The world spun as Neteyam was pushed back onto the ground with his ankles held together in one hand that pushed them up towards his ears. His hole fluttered against the cool air, wet and desperate for attention. His toes wiggled in anticipation as he strained to see the alpha from the otherside of his upturned legs. A disappointed whine cut off his train of thought at the feeling of a finger being pushed in, instead of what he really wanted.

“Have to stretch you out first, baby. Try to be patient.” Neteyam tried to focus on the soothing rumble in that voice. He could feel himself practically ripping holes into the blanket as he gripped the material with both hands.

Minutes felt like hours as the Olo’eyktan thoroughly added finger after finger, swirling, twisting and scissoring to ensure he was being stretched properly. The pleasure was undeniable but Neteyam couldn’t help but feel as if it was not enough, not when he had been promised to be filled.

Twisting to one way, Neteyam was finally able to catch a glance at the concentrated Olo’eyktan. A prideful smirk made its way across his face as he noticed the alpha was already back to full mass. He bit his lip at the sight.

“What did I say about being patient?” Kxolo raised his eyebrow at the boy.

“I am being patient.” Neteyam innocently whined.

“Then stop,” The three fingers jammed against his g-spot abruptly. “Tempting me with that lip bite.” A silent scream had Neteyam’s mouth wide open as Kxolo continued to massage and rub that special spot. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I’m gonna cum!” Neteyam blurted out.

“Won’t be the last time today.” The promise had Neteyam shaking as the orgasm ripped through him. His stomach became painted in ropes of cum as the fingers continued to ride him through the high. Finally opening his eyes, Neteyam blinked at the mischievous alpha smirking back at him.

“Feeling a little more patient now?”

“Asshole.” Neteyam muttered, earning himself a sharp spank to the ass.

Still sensitive but aching for more, Neteyam’s suspended legs began to tremble as Kxolo pushed his thumb past the rim. Kxolo watched in smug fascination as the tight rim of muscles began to stretch and form around his fingers. He eased the whimpering omega with soft coos and kisses to the bottom of his thighs periodically, promising he would have his cock soon.

Finally when his hole was relaxed enough and Kxolo couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he repositioned Neteyam to get him ready. The boy’s small body was pliant as he parted those legs to place them on either side of him, bent at the knees. His heart warmed at the sight of Neteyam’s tail naturally wrapping itself around Kxolo’s thigh.

“So pretty.” Kxolo murmured with a soft kiss to the winking hole.

“Please please please Kxolo.” Sitting up to face Kxolo, sparkling eyes on the brink of tears blinked back at him. Kxolo’s breath caught at the sight. His pretty Neteyam.

One hand lined up his cock to the entrance while the other pulled the omega into a deep kiss. It was interrupted as the head of his cock just barely breached the ring of muscles. Neteyam sharply took in a breath.

“Relax for me, baby. That’s it. Good boy.” Kxolo tenderly brushed the hair from Neteyam’s sweaty forehead. Inch by inch slowly pushing into the tight heat, it took great effort to keep his own voice even at the sensation. It took every fiber of self control to keep himself from plunging in mercilessly.

His pelvis finally met the curve of Neteyam’s ass. The omega’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, breathing intensifying at the full feeling. It was unlike anything he had felt before. So many nights imagining and yet nothing could prepare him for it. The burning stretch had him caught in a limbo between pleasure and pain.

“Great Mother! You are so tight, Neteyam.” Kxolo growled into the smaller boy’s neck in between kisses. “How’s my baby? You doing alright?”

“So big.” Neteyam cried, shifting slightly on the cock. Kxolo fingers dug into one of the soft thighs, holding himself back from moving.

“I know, baby boy. You are taking Daddy’s cock so well, so tight for me.” The burning slowly began to fade. Neteyam found himself restless, squeezing around the cock in efforts for more.

“Shit, Neteyam! Careful there.”

“Need you to move now!” He whined, bucking his hips back against the alpha’s pelvis. Kxolo let out a string of curses before complying.

He slid out slightly, savoring in the tight walls that held him inside mercilessly. Every drag sent white hot pleasure through the alpha’s veins, barely able to move with the way his omega’s hole hungrily sucked him in. Neteyam on the other hand was already incoherently begging for more, faster, harder, deeper.

“Careful what you wish for.” The alpha growled before pulling completely out and slamming back into the hilt without pause. Neteyam screamed at the sensation. His hands clawed Kxolo’s shoulders to pull himself up.

He repeated the movement again and again until Neteyam was letting out scream and whimpers at every thrust. Kxolo couldn’t keep in his own groans as the tight heat sucked him in effortlessly.

“Yes yes YES!” Neteyam screamed into the male’s shoulder.

“Found it.” Kxol smirked as he teased around that spot with his thrusts, only then to randomly hit against it at full force. The teasing had Neteyam fully shifting himself onto Kxolo’s lap, looking for some sort of control.

“Wanna ride you daddy.” He whimpered. Kxolo lovingly kissed along the boy’s neck, nodding at him to continue. He steadied the hesitant omega with hands to his hips, guiding him up and down.

Neteyam intertwined his fingers through the beaded choker around Kxolo’s neck, using it as a grip. With every thrust, Kxolo found new places to kiss and praise within his reach. Little love bites littered the side of Neteyam’s neck down to his jetting collarbones.

Kxolo took in every sight, touch, and sound and committed it to memory. He reveled in the feeling of Neteyam’s small body finally wrapped in his arms, no space between their bodies, perfectly together in one. He ingrained the sounds of those whimpers into his brain, noticing every hitch of breath or cut up exhale the boy breathed. This was where he belonged. This was where Neteyam was meant to be.

A sharp tug accompanied by a sounding snap brought him back to reality. Beads were falling everywhere between their bodies, his necklace split to one side. A glance to Neteyam’s hands still grasping strings and beads, had the alpha chuckling, realizing he had broken the choker once used as a handle.

“S-sorry.” Neteyam barely got the words out as he struggled to maintain the bouncing motion in pace.

“I think I like it better like this anyways.” He laughed, reassuring his mate. “Why don’t you let me take over, hm?” Neteyam nodded, eyes barely peeking through the lids.

Kxolo pulled out carefully, cooing as Neteyam whimpered at the loss. He flipped the omega over on this stomach with knees underneath him to prop his ass up. He wasted no time in re-entering the boy from behind. Neteyam hiccuped and cried in pleasure as he was filled once more. The new angle had the alpha able to fuck into him deeper than before, reaching the boy’s g spot head on.

“I know baby, I know.” He grunted as Neteyam began to let the tears freely roll down his cheeks. The pleasure was overwhelming, it sucked the very breath from his lungs. A firm hand pressed against his lower back till Neteyam was bowing back into a provocative arch. A warm chuckle had him looking back in confusion at the alpha.

“Maybe I’ll have some yovo after all.” Kxolo teased, gesturing to the purple fruit that rubbed off onto Neteyam’s back from laying down across their picnic spread. Kxolo picked up the pace, jackhammering into the little hole.

The flat of his tongue ran from the base of Neteyam’s spine to the bottom of his upturned ear. He delighted at the shivers and goosebumps that speckled across Neteyam’s skin at the act. He liked his lips and hummed at the sweet taste before repeating the action. Between licking off the fruit juice the Olo’eyktan would look down at where their bodies connected, watching the omega’s ass bounce against his pelvic bone.

“So good so good sogoodsogood.” Neteyam screamed weakly, underneath the larger male. Kxolo continued to sink into the boy harder, shooting for the little spot that made him see stars.

“I know, baby boy. Feels so good. You are being so perfect for me. So fucking beautiful!” The older male growled, rutting his cock faster into the boy’s hole till there were red marks forming along the cheeks where his pelvis was hitting. “Are you gonna cum pretty boy?”

Neteyam nodded hastily against the woven blanket. He reached his hand back blindly searching for contact. Kxolo understood instantly and instead pulled the boy up until his back was flush against the Olo’eyktan’s chest. Neteyam nestled easily into the form with his head thrown back against the older male’s shoulder. The two intertwined hands, laying them across the omega’s bulging stomach.

Neteyam unlatched one hand in order to reach for his own leaking cock. Kxolo quickly slapped the hand away sternly. He went to complain until the Olo’eyktan’s own hand reached around to wrap firmly around his length.

“That’s mine.” The reverberating growl made Neteyam’s toes curl in pleasure.

The brutal pounding from behind and strokes to his cock had the omega shaking from the intense stimulation. He was barely able to tell left from right. Every stroke brought him closer and closer to his release. Barely a breath away from pure ecstasy.

“So beautiful on my cock, Ma Neteyam.” The orgasm ripped through Neteyam fiercely. His hole squeezed harshly around the older male’s cock causing a loud groan to leave his lips. He held the boy, continuing the rhythm, as the omega’s body shook and convulsed.

“Good boy, cuming for daddy.” He purred, hips zealously snapping into him in order to push himself over his own edge. One final squeeze around him had the man growling as his own release spilled into the smaller male’s hole.

“Love you so much, Teyam.” He moaned euphorically.

Neteyam’s muscles felt powerless as he lay there, completely lost in the post orgasm haze. Kxolo continued to affectionately pet the boy’s soft skin, whispering praises into his ear. Eventually, keeping his eyelids open was too much for Neteyam and he drifted seamlessly into a deep slumber.

Neteyam napped for over an hour, head laid happily on Kxolo's lap. The Olo’eyktan was impressed to find the boy stir not even once as he cleaned the cum off of both their bodies with a wet rag. He stroked longer fingers across the boy’s sides sweetly as Neteyam slumbered deeply in the setting sunlight.

When Neteyam finally woke, the two found that he was in no state to ride on his own. The boy could barely walk, let alone crouch over Azer to fly. Instead, he watched as Kxolo packed up their things and then joined him atop of Eyvu. The omega snuggled close into the Olo’eyktan’s large frame, seeking refuge from the cold wind whipping across his skin.

When they finally landed in the village, Azer trailing behind, Vamai was the first to greet them. She ran towards the two dismounting from around the corner. She watched as Neteyam was carefully helped down from the Ikran’s back. Her eyes landed on the broken necklace around her Olo’eyktan’s neck and the two’s messy hair. A knowing smirk stretched across her lips as devious eyes sparkled in the night.

“Welcome back. You two seemed to have a lot of fun.” The Olo’eyktan rolled his eyes at the girl's insinuation. Neteyam was too exhausted to register what she was saying, let alone care what it meant.

“Nice to see you too, Vamai.” Kxolo politely nodded at the omega. Neteyam snuggled against the taller male’s side, daydreaming about their hammock at home.

“Hi Neteyam.” She happily chirped, leaning towards the boy to get his attention. His eyes reluctantly focused on the familiar figure before humming out a ‘hello’. Kxolo cut in before the frolicsome girl could tease his mate anymore.

“Vamai, do me a favor and make sure to let Epok know we made it back safely.” He requested. Vamai raised an eyebrow back at the Olo’eyktan.

“Why me?” Neteyam tuned in to the conversation, sensing the weird atmosphere around it.

“I figured you are going to see him tonight, are you not?” Kxolo fought that smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the girl squirm. “I know how much you two enjoy your time together.”

Vamai’s lips formed into a thin line, trying to keep her composure at being caught. Knowing when to cut her losses, she quickly agreed and scrambled off into the bushes.

“What was that about?” Neteyam questioned. Kxolo finally finished taking the pack off of Eyvu and setting it to the side.

“Time for bed, baby boy.” He simply stated before carrying Neteyam bridal style to their hammock.

“And I found these purple rocks by the lake that are Neteyam’s favorite color! I think I can weave them into a necklace. Kiri said she might know how.” Tuk babbled in excitement while gesturing to her older sister.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes at the display. It bugged him to no end how optimistic Tuk was being about the whole situation. He figured, however, there was nothing more he could expect from a little girl. He could feel his father’s warning glare flash in his direction before returning his focus back onto his youngest daughter.

“I’m sure he would love that, babygirl.” He hummed before handing Neytiri a plate of fish. Tuk smiled softly at her parents' approval as she continued to eat dinner.

“How are you planning on getting it to him? It’s not like that skxawng is letting us visit Neteyam.” Lo’ak gritted through his teeth.

“I already sent five bracelets over, Lo’ak.” Tuk proudly stated, lifting her head high.

“Oh yeah and how do you know they are actually going to give them to him? We have no idea if they are allowing mail to come through.”

“Lo’ak.” Jake growled at his son, but Tuk continued anyway.

“Trust me, that ugly man knows better than to defy me.” There was a devious spark in those eyes that had both parents giving their youngest an inquisitive side eye.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Lo’ak muttered, once again picking at the fish.

“Lo’ak, that’s enough.” Neytiri hissed, sending him a death glare.

“You’ve been so mean since Neteyam left.” Tuk complained, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nete always played with me-”

“Yeah well I’m not Neteyam!” He bursted out, rising to his feet. “And I have more important things to do than playing mermaids with you.”

“That’s it! Get your ass outside, now.” A deadly fire raged in that tone as Jake pointed at the tent door. Lo’ak happily obliged, not wanting to face Tuk’s hurt expression. He knew the words were out of line, but he could feel the stress getting to him and sometimes it came out in ways that caused collateral damage. He promised himself that he would apologize to her later, maybe find a few of her favorite flowers to smooth things over.

He could feel his father’s heavy footsteps behind him. Once out of hearing range he turned to face the fuming man.

“You need to be careful how you speak to your sister.” Jake crossed his arms, the picture of discipline and structure. He knew that look and figured there was no point in arguing when his father was in that mode.

“I know, I’m sorry sir.” He mumbled with a clenched jaw.

Jake let out a long exhale. His fingers went to pinch at the crease between his eyebrows in stress.

“I know that you miss him, we all do, but right now we need to stick together. We need to be there for one another.” Jake tried his best to let the words come off more gentle and patient. It was times like these that he wondered if it was better to send Neytiri out for this talk instead.

Lo’ak tried to keep a stoic expression as his fist clenched behind his back. How could they stick together when Neteyam was clearly gone. Sullys stick together, but somehow it was ok that Neteyam was left behind? ‘Taken’ Lo’ak reminded himself. That bastard alpha took his brother.

He swallowed down the rage in order to keep his composure. Lo’ak couldn’t have his parents suspecting another attempt. He needed to play his cards carefully, perfectly. Amnu had already agreed to cover for him so that his parents wouldn’t bat an eye at his disappearance tomorrow night. He knew the other alpha agreed partly out of hopes of courting Neteyam when he got back home, but Lo’ak didn’t care if he had to take care of that problem in the future. His first priority had to be bringing Neteyam home.

“Your mother and I are doing everything we can to deal with the situation.” Jake continued.

The equipment was ready and packed. He knew how to attach it to his ikran without weighing her down too much.

“Hell, everyone is doing what they can to figure out how to get him back without a war.”

He knew the way to the other village. Lo’ak had memorized the path Azer and the other ikrans had taken. The Sully boy knew how to recognize an Olo’eyktan’s tent from a regular one. Neteyam was sure to be there.

“But I need you to trust us.” Jake finished. He blinked down at his son, trying to make out whether or not the boy was really listening. “Are we clear on that, Lo’ak?”

“Yes sir.” Lo’ak habitually responded. He schooled his features into one of understanding and patience. Jake seemed happy enough with the response and motioned for them to return to dinner.

Lo’ak let out a quiet sigh.

In a little more than twenty four hours, Neteyam would be home.

Taglist: @perfectprofessorloverapricot

#sub neteyam #avatar smut #avatar fanfiction #omega neteyam #abo universe #dad jake sully #neytiri #protective jake sully #protective loak #stockholm syndrome #tuktirey #kiri sully #male x male

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kayleezra · 2 years ago

Text

Someone Else // (Marcus Pike x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 3878 Warnings: nada

Summary: My attempt at angst with an established relationship. Marcus tells you that he’s met someone else.

A/N: Grammar and spelling mistakes aren’t real

~ Today~

Marcus hands you a bouquet of flowers, this time they’re already in a vase since you complained that you didn’t have enough vases for all the flowers he was bringing you. You laugh as he seems to have misinterpreted what you said last week.

“Well now I feel like I’ve died with all these flowers,” you tease.

Marcus has just managed to take off his outerwear and smiles at you with those warm loving eyes you long to see every day.

“What are all these flowers for?” you ask while finding a spot to place them, “has a flower shop opened up next to your office?” you joke.

Marcus follows closely behind you, when you stop and place the flowers down he rests a hand on the small of your back before leaning into you and kissing your head. “Can’t I get the most amazing person in my life flowers?”

You feel the blood flow through your cheeks at his loving words. No matter how often he vocalizes his love for you you’ll never get used to it. “You absolutely can but soon you’ll have turned our home into a jungle!”

Marcus’s chests vibrate with the rhythm of his laugh, “Then what shall I get you?”

You turn and look up at Marcus, taking his hands in yours, “nothing, I don’t need you to get me anything. Just come home to me, you are all I need.”

The man who exudes welcoming warmth envelopes you in his arms, “Always baby, always.”

~ 7 Days Ago ~

You almost always get home before Marcus and today is no different. You got a text that he was running late, probably stuck with a pile of paperwork. But nonetheless, you’re happy, tonight you and Marcus are renting a film you’ve been wanting to see for a while but haven’t had the time for. It was like an unofficial date night although that felt like nearly every night with Marcus, he had so much love in his heart you had a hard time believing the man was real never mind yours. After changing into some more comfortable clothes, you begin some light cleaning so you can enjoy the movie without clutter and then dinner and snacks. It’s nothing difficult as you’ve had everything planned out to ensure you go through with the plans rather than accept defeat and lounge on the couch until you go to bed.

You’re placing bowls of snacks and plates filled with steaming food when Marcus comes in, in all he’s only 45 minutes home later than usual.

“I’m so sorry baby, I rushed home as fast as I could,” he apologizes before even taking off his coat.

He sounds genuinely upset by being late even though he’s not as late as you thought and that your plans haven’t been impacted in any way. You make your way to him, hugging him and kissing him, “Don’t worry, you’re home and that’s all that matters,”

“Still,” he shrugs, “I got you these… to apologize,” he says while extending his hand that holds a bouquet of flowers.

You shake your head with a smile on your face, unable to believe the guilt this man feels for coming home to you later than usual, which in his line of work isn’t too uncommon. When you take the flowers from him his face lights up in remembrance, “Oh! And these,” he says while pulling out your favourite candy, “for the movie,” he explains.

You place the flowers on the counter before returning to the man who hasn’t even gotten out of the entryway yet. You hold his face gently in your hands, purposefully looking into his eyes, “I love you, Marcus.”

He smiles like it’s the first time you’ve said it, as he does every time, “I love you too, baby,” he says before giving you a loving kiss.

“Now, go get comfy while I fix these up,” you say while unwrapping the flowers, “so we can finally watch this movie!”

~5 Days Ago~

Finally, the weekend has arrived and you’ve got some errands to run, which makes your day feel… less like a day off and more like work 2.0. However, Marucs always manages to make the mundane tasks of life fun, that’s how you know that he’s it for you.

“Marcus, you ready?” you shout to him.

He emerges from your bedroom, “yep, c’mon baby,” he says while placing his hand on the small of your back. The man almost always has some form of physical contact when near you, it makes you look like a bunch of new lovesick puppies that people scoff at or say ‘they won’t last’ but it doesn’t matter. His touch has become reassuring not only for him but for you as well.

While in the grocery store, Marcus with his hand still attached to your back, everything seems to be going per usual.

“Ugh,” you sigh, “this lettuce looks like shit again and it’s risen in price! This inflation has been obscene lately, how can simple necessities for living be so expensive?” you ask rhetorically.

Normally, Marcus would pipe in about the rise of neoliberal capitalism and how income inequality is rising but this time? There’s silence from him. You look to him and his mind seems to be elsewhere.

“Hey?” you gently rouse while grabbing his shoulder.

He shakes out of it, “hmm? Sorry baby, just thinking about a case from work,” he explains.

“I didn’t think you had any big ceases on your plate right now,” you inquire with furrowed brows.

“I don’t, it’s an old one. An old piece, taken from a family, not worth much monetarily but quite sentimental. They really loved the piece and we’ve had no leads on it for a while now. I just- I hate the idea of being unable to find a piece that means so much to people.”

Marcus’s big heart bleeds into his work, both in the art he deals with and the people affected and he’s always been drawn to the ‘smaller’ cases. If a well-known piece is missing then he knows that the whole world is looking for it but the small pieces that are more important to individuals? They barely get looked at so Marcus puts his all in, as well as his team. The monetary value of the piece never means much to him but rather the sentiment in which the people who’ve reported it missing.

“Is that the one you guys got a few months ago? The ‘quietly rich family’ as you called them,” you ask. He nods.

You give his shoulder a squeeze, trying to reassure him, “I’m sure whoever has it has just gone underground for a bit, soon they’ll resurface and trip up and you’ll find it.”

He gives you a warm smile of gratitude but solemnly nods, “Right, I’m sorry baby, what were you saying?”

You just point at the price of the wilted lettuce before you.

“Good lord!” Marcus exclaims to which you can’t help but giggle.

“I know!”

Later, at home, you and Marcus are putting the groceries away. You absolutely detest the task so you always try to get it done as fast as possible, Marcus usually moves at the same speed as you so the 2 of you can move on to better things. But, today Marcus is moving a little slower, his head is still caught up in that case. Every now and again you bring him back down to earth with a reassuring touch and a soft smile that he always returns.

~ 3 Days Ago ~

‘We just got a lead on *that* case, so I’m gonna stay a little longer. I’ll be home by 7, I love you!’ the text reads.

You can’t even be mad or disappointed, you’re actually excited. This case had burdened Marcus's mind since the case came into his lap. The family was distraught as the piece was done by an artist in the family who came to an early and tragic demise. You know that this lead will get Marcus out of the slump he’s been in regarding the case, allowing him to work at it from new angles and a more positive outlook.

‘No worries! Be safe, I love you too!’ you respond.

Just as Marcus said, he’s home by 7, catching you in the middle of getting ready for bed. He sees you in what you'd consider to be the most unflattering form of yourself and his tense shoulders ease and a soft almost sad smile comes across his face. Before you can ask him about it he explains, “I can’t believe I missed all this for those office walls,” while motioning to you with one hand while the other remains hidden behind his back. He hasn’ you respond.

You shake your head in disbelief and meet him, embracing each other, “I did however, get my favourite flower her favourite flower,” he says while revealing the bouquet hidden in his hand behind his back.

“More flowers?” you tease, “you know the others are still alive and well?”

“Yeah but those aren’t your favourite, these are.”

That is true, “And we don’t have much for vases,” “Then maybe I’ll have to get you more?” You laugh, “no no… I love them thank you,” you say while reaching up and kissing him.

~ 2 Days Ago ~

The day progressed as normal for both you and Marcus. Marcus was even able to get home earlier than usual. When he walks in you notice a much smaller rustic, weed-filled bouquet in his hands, before you can chastise him he says, “I know, I know. But, a little girl was selling them, she went out and picked flowers and weeds from the yard and the park, she said she was saving up for a new toy,” he pauses and you smile at the graciousness of his heart, “it’s a new sparkly pony, apparently it can talk and jump,” he elaborates.

You chuckle at the new information he’s given you about a toy neither of you knows about. “Wow, sounds pretty elaborate,” you say while taking the flower and fitting them in one of the pre-existing vases filled with flowers from easier in the week.

“How much did this poor girl need to save?” you ask as you organize the flowers.

“50 bucks, she was selling her bouquets for $3. I told her she should charge more given how beautiful they are,” you nod in agreement, “she said people wouldn’t buy them if they were expensive…” you feel Marcus leading up to something, “so I tipped her $20.”

Your chest warms at Marcus’s gesture, making a little girl's day simply because he could. When you finish with the flowers you turn back to Marcus who’s gotten out of his shoes and coat, “has anyone ever told you that you are the most kind, generous and loving man to have graced this planet,” you voice softly while looking up at him, your arms resting on his shoulders.

A shy smile comes across his face, “Yes actually. You, almost every day, although I’m not sure it’s true…” Marcus solemnly adds.

“It is, and I’ll make it every day to prove it,” you kiss him.

~ Yesterday ~

Another mundane day. Nothing exciting happened, good or bad which is better than anything bad so you’re grateful for that however glad the boring day has come to a close. When Marcus walks through the door you half expect another gift with an elaborate story but he’s emptied handed… thank god. The man has been spoiling you unnecessarily and the increase in gifts has you feeling unworthy of the man's love.

“No flowers today?” you tease.

Marcus smiled while taking off his shoes, “Not this time baby.”

You make your way to him and kiss him, holding one another in each other's arms.

“Oh,” his face lights up, “but I did,” Marcus removes his arms from you and begins searching his pockets, “I did get you this,” he finished while pulling out a pen. Not just any pen but your favourite pen that he clearly stole from the office for you. Their stationary budget is a little bigger than yours and these pens are nice. It’s a small gesture that means more than any other commercialized gift. Your face lights up and you gasp as you take the pen from him and hold it like a treasure.

“My favourite pen!”

Marcus chuckles, “your favourite pen,” he affirms.

“Agent Pike… are you stealing from the FBI for me?” “I’d steal the royal jewels if you asked me to.”

~ Today ~

Marucs’s normal light and loving energy slowly dips as the evening progresses. You think it’s that one case again. They got a lead earlier in the week but not much turned up from it and he was left frustrated and a little hopeless. By the time the two of you have prepped and crawled into bed, it’s become an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.

You reach out to Marcus, lightly grabbing his arm, “Marcus? Baby, what’s wrong?” He hears you but doesn’t move from his fixation on the ceiling. It's like his emotions have weighed so heavily on him that he’s unable to move.

“Hey?” you say more urgently, shifting up onto an arm.

Finally, he looks at you, his eyes holding so much heartbreak, “Marcus, what is wrong?”, you ask, genuinely worried about what could have him so upset.

Marcus never ceased to amaze you. You can’t believe you got so lucky but Marcus spent months insisting that he was the lucky one, unworthy of your love. It all feels surreal because it feels as if nothing could ever harm to two of you.

But of course, reality always comes knocking at your door, bringing with it worries you hopes you’d never have to face again.

“I need to tell you something that’s… extremely difficult, for both of us.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of what it is that Marcus is referring to, “well, whatever it is, I love you,” you reassure him.

Your last three words pain him, causing him to physically flinch. That confuses and worries you.

“I fear that might change baby,” he swallows, “even though I really don’t want it to. Last week, the day of our movie date, we got help from another sector, major crimes. A robbery went wrong, the owner refused to hand over a piece, sentimental reasons, and… they were shot and killed. It was the man's wife that reported it all, heartbroken that she lost her husband and the piece he painted of her that made them fall in love.”

So this is what's been on Marcus’s mind, art theft doesn’t usually result in homicide. A life cruelly taken is hard on anyone, especially someone with a heart as big as Marcus’s.

“Oh, Marcus,” you bring a hand to his cheek.

He gives you a sad smile, a pained chuckle leaving his lips before he gently pulls your hand away from his face.

“No, no,” he says quietly while still holding your hand in his, looking at your joined hands like he’s memorizing them. You give him the time he needs, giving his hand reassuring caresses with your thumb.

It breaks Marcus that you’re still comforting him when it is you that will need comfort. That he stayed away from this, from you, for someone else.

Marcus takes a deep breath, “I met this woman,” your heart drops, and you don’t want to hear another word. You immediately tense, letting go of his hand unable to process what is likely to be said by the man who you truly believed was the one, that you believed he thought the same of you.

“We were just talking about the case, but I sought her out after the briefing, telling you I’d be late. I didn’t even notice how the time was passing and… I wanted to make her laugh and smile because it felt like liquid sunshine. Then I came home like nothing happened and every day since… I’ve thought about her, sought her out in the office, still amazed by her beauty. I-”

You feel yourself leave your body. The space around you empties, void of all objects and sound, just you and the ache in your chest and confusion in your mind. You and Marcus have a life together, you’ve talked about your shared future. He’s everything and he said you were his… But someone was better than you. You should have known, there was always someone better than you always but Marcus… he had reassured you for months! Marcus instilled a confidence in you with him you should’ve never had.

“What’s her name?” you interrupt him.

“Teresa. Teresa Lisbon.”

Still in your void, your eyes completely unfocused, “What does she look like?” Someone was always better than you.

Marcus begins to answer, he may be gushing about how attractive she is or trying to reassure you but you don’t know you don’t hear him, your mind is too loud.

“What makes her laugh? What does it sound like? Is it high or gravelly? Rhythmic? Does she snort? Her diaphragm, does it move vertically or horizontally?” you ramble at a speed you didn’t know you could reach.

Someone was always better than you. Why was there always someone better than you?!

Marcus grabs hold of your shoulders trying to ground you. It doesn’t, it makes you crash land. His touch which was always welcoming and comforting suddenly feels… dirty. Has he touched her? With the same hands that he caressed you with, the ones that brought home gifts. The gifts… they weren’t expressions of his love, no they were expressions of his guilt. You feel your eyes get warm with tears but yet they remain unfocused.

“I need you to know, I still love you,” that phrase silences your mind.

“Oh.”

Your senses return to full capacity and it’s all too much, it's too much, all of it! “I just need a minute,” you say before leaving and going into the bathroom.

Marcus doesn’t follow, he knows his confession hurts and you need a moment to process it all. So does he. What has he done? He’s potentially ruined what he built with you for a woman who he barely knows. But that’s the problem, he wants to get to know her and he wasn’t going to cheat. He selfishly wanted to explore what could be with Teresa but have you wait, in case things weren’t real with her because he knows what you have is real. Instead, he’s damaged something real, bringing back the monstrous voices that fill your mind with doubt and worry for something he’s not even sure of.

Tears stream down your face, unable to control them. You don’t sob, you don’t hiccup, tears just fall while you focus on your breathing. Your chest burns with a crushing weight but you can hardly feel it because it is your mind that hurts the most. All self-doubt you ever carried before is back along with all the doubt you lacked when you were sure he was the one. You’re second-guessing everything he’s ever said and done. You can’t rationally see what's real and isn’t, your self-destructive brain wants it was all asituation have to take it. You’Marcus but you hope you’ll find the answer soons been real between yit0makes for you and Marcus while giving him the freedom to potentially leave you for another woman… It sounds about as bad as it can be but if it means that there's a chance he’ll come lie but it couldn’t have been. You know it couldn’t have been but you can’t distinguish anything more than that. The biggest problem is that you love him and you imagined yourself in these situations dozens of times, if someone even breathed near the idea of cheating you’d leave them immediately. But now? When it involves the man you love, the man your world is centred around? It doesn’t feel so cut and dry. You don’t want to lose him you want him to tell you that he’s an idiot that he loves you wait, in case things weren’t real with her because he knows what you have is real. Instead, he’s damaged something real, bringing back the monstrous voices that fill your mind with doubt and worry for something he’s not even sure of.

The truth is all of it was real. Marcus does love you and believes you to be the one. But something about Teresa made him second guess it and he was so scared of potentially losing love that he’s losing you. It is unlikely that things will ever be the same between the two of you and he hates himself for it.

You collect yourself and return to the bedroom.

“I think we should take a break. Allow you to see what it is you feel for Teresa and me…” what is it that you get from this? ��a chance to win you back.” You can’t look at him so you stare at the feet of the bed. ‘A chance to win you back’ because you weren’t enough and need to prove yourself worthy again, I mean that’s why he’s interested in Teresa right? She offered him something you weren’t?

The words ‘a chance to win you back,’ haunt Marcus. He knows it means you feel less than worthy, you’re self-doubt and hatred returning full force, making you believe you can only be loved when you create worth for yourself by catering to others. That's not what he wants or what he believes, he loves you, the real you! Not the fake version you adapt to fit the person and situation, but the you that comes naturally. The you he spent weeks getting glimpses at and slowly getting closer to. But, it’s too late, you won’t even look at him. He knows tomorrow you’ll be a different person, a person your brain believes he’ll love more.

“I’m going to sleep in the living room,” you say.

“NO,” Marcus quickly cuts in, “I’ll sleep-”

“No, no, NO,” you raise your voice, closing your eyes to calm your emotions, “I want to sleep on the couch,” because I can’t bare sleeping in a bed that smells of you, you want to say.

Marcus just solemnly nods, “Okay… This break, how long will it last?”

You feel your eyes burn with tears again, “I don’t know until you decide who it is you love.”

You leave before Marcus can tell you that he loves you again.

You make yourself comfortable on the couch, tears making a slow but continuous stream down your face. You think back to who you were when you met Marcus, maybe you’ve changed and become less interesting and desirable and that’s why Marcus is interested in Teresa. You begin coming up with ways you’ll compensate to ensure you give Marcus everything he wants and needs. You know that tomorrow you’ll wake up a new person, a person you hope Marcus will love.

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlemisspascal @writer-darling @avengetheunnatural @louderfortheback @currentobsessionrabbithole

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #the mentalist

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imperator-titus · 21 days ago

Text

Be My Juice Box Ch. 7

Without the excitement of Gale’s party on the horizon, Rowan had to come to terms with the fact that she’d been distracting herself from the huge black cloud hanging over her head.

The cloud was grief.

This time of year was the worst for it. Merriment. Winter darkness. Lights and music and laughter. Gatherings of loved ones and friends, where cheer pushed back against the harshness of the season.

It was awful.

For different reasons, Astarion agreed.

Sensing her mood, taking note of changes in her routine, Astarion started inserting himself more into her daily life.

This was greatly aided by his recent success unlocking the ability to become a cute little creature. Somehow, being a bat made it easier to get closer. Not only did it fill him with a strange comforting warmth to be pressed against her body, his appearance made him less intimidating.

“I know it’s still you,” Rowan admitted in the car on the way home from Gale’s party, “but it’s different. Is this weird?”

Astarion’s answer came in the form of relaxing against her chest, his head on her shoulder, wings outstretched. If he was a cat, he would have purred in delight and comfort as her fingers rubbed his little head and body. She was so warm and soft and, unfortunately, smelled like Gale.

Actually, Gale smelled very good, but he wasn’t about to tell him that.

After coming home rather inebriated one night soon after, Astarion didn’t make it to his room. Instead, Rowan found him hanging by his clawed feet from the bannister in front of her bedroom door.

“You okay?” she asked with clear concern, even though he couldn’t answer unless he changed back.

He opened his wings, flapped them a few times, and then stretched them out towards her in a sort of grabbing motion.

“You wanna hang out?” Rowan said sweetly, holding out her hands for him to drop into. Turning him around, she placed him on her chest. With white leathery wings, he grappled onto her in something akin to a hug.

Neither knew that the other was in desperate need of this contact.

By the end of the week, Astarion had gained enough confidence to once again invite her to join him for the evening.

“I don’t know…” Rowan answered meekly when he made the offer.

“It might be good for you to get out. Meet people. People that aren’t Gale.”

“I’m too old-”

“Darling.”

“I didn’t even go out like that when I was young.”

“See it as a new era.”

“I don’t do well in crowds…”

“There’s no better place to be alone than surrounded by strangers. Also, that’s what alcohol is for.”

“I already drank too much at Gale’s party.”

“You did fine, I’m sure you know your limits.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’m sure I can find something in that closet of yours.”

Rowan watched as he went through her clothes, only briefly embarrassed when he opened her underwear drawer.

“You don’t have much…” Astarion muttered in disappointment as he inspected what passed for her “good” pants. “I expected at least one skirt and a pair of heels, but not even a single stocking?”

Rowan’s face and voice soured. “Maybe you’d like to dig my mother up so you can commiserate over my lack of femininity.”

“That’s not- I apologize,” he said sincerely, placing a delicate hand over his silent heart. “There was no intention to slight you. I will keep your… unique taste in mind. It’s easier for me to envision an ensemble that is a little less… concealing.”

Rowan’s head was filled with awful thoughts, but she didn’t let them out of her mouth. His explanation was thoughtful and he really did seem considerate. They were just different.

Astarion took out one of her shirts and inspected it. Concentration shifted into understanding.

“Of course. I need to stand out, you need to blend in.” He proceeded to grab some things and threw them on her bed so he could look at them together. Hand-on-chin, he mumbled to himself, “And with those little boots… and that jacket with the pins…”

“An old band shirt and some jeans…?” she asked uncertainly, wondering if he’d gone mad.

“Do you have any jewelry?” Astarion asked suddenly, seemingly having unheard her.

“In the-” Rowan didn’t bother finishing her sentence, opting to simply point at the little jewelry curio cabinet on a different shelf. He pranced off to it excitedly, only to be disappointed all over again.

“You could’ve just told me you have nothing,” he complained as he dug through the drawers. There was only one ring, and it was a class ring from her university. Not even a wedding or engagement ring? Maybe it was tucked away somewhere else… “You didn’t have to pawn everything, did you?”

“No, I didn’t pawn anything.”

“Ooh!” he cooed in delight as he found something hidden behind a drawer, possibly knocked loose and forgotten. Holding up a black band choker, his eyes lit up as he told her, “You have to wear this!”

“Oh, no-”

“Yes. It will tie the whole thing together, especially with some dark lipstick-”

“I hate that I have to say this, but that’s a sex thing,” Rowan explained as she snatched the choker out of his hands, “and I thought I got rid of it already.”

“Even better,” Astarion purred darkly, pointer finger pressed against his cheek with the middle finger under his chin. “It would be perfect for the venue.”

“I’m sorry, are you inviting me to a sex club?” she asked none too happily.

“It’s not a sex club, it’s just…” Astarion sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s just not, okay? Ask Gale, he’s been.”

“I have a weird feeling that Gale’s opinion isn’t going to clear things up… And I’m not asking him if he’s been to a sex club with you.”

“Don’t be a prude.”

“I’m not a prude. I just don’t want to be in certain situations. Like the off-chance someone has low enough standards to hit on me.”

Rowan half-expected Astarion to make some comment that would blow the whole thing up, like ‘as if anyone would hit on you while I’m around to be admired.’

Astarion refrained from voicing his immediate thought, which was ‘maybe some sex would get you out of this bad mood.’

“Can you just trust me? Just a little bit?” he pleaded, eyes big and wet like a begging dog, his hands pressed together in supplication. “Nothing will happen to you, I promise. It’s not that kind of place.”

It was really hard to say no.

“Fine.”

“Good. Put this on, and some socks that go with those cute little black boots you have, and then meet me upstairs.”

When Rowan was dressed the way he wanted, she entered Astarion’s room to find him going through what had to be a hundred tubes of lipsticks, stains, and glosses.

“Is this really necessary?” she asked, picking up a color he’d set aside.

Astarion took her hand, pried the lipstick out of it, and started testing the ones he’d chosen on her arm to match her complexion.

“Were you born in a wet blanket?” It was hard for her to tell if he was amused or annoyed.

“I was born during a blizzard, if that helps.”

“It explains some things.” Taking hold of her chin, he put his first choice on her lip. Rowan had to fight the urge to pull away. Thoughtfully, as he wiped away failed attempts and applied new ones, he asked, “Didn’t get along with mumsy, hm?”

“She was kind of a bitch. But so am I.”

“Don’t let Gale hear. He worships his mother.”

It did not escape her attention that he didn’t deny her being a bit of a bitch. However, she was unaware that he liked that about her.

“She did her best,” Rowan explained when her mouth was free. “Unfortunately, I think trying to not fuck your kids up the way your parents fucked you up just means you fuck them up in a different way.”

With some final touches on her lips, he said, “That all ends with you, I take it.”

“Oh, no, my brother’s out there giving his daughters their own problems.”

In the 7 months they’d been living together, not once had Astarion heard her mention family other than her late husband, until today. Her documents listed no next-of-kin, so he’d assumed she was an only child of deceased parents.

“Let me finish getting ready and then we can go.”

With the flick of his hand, he sent her out of his room.

----

Rowan immediately regretted agreeing to this.

First off, it was late. She wanted to be in bed, reading a book.

Second, being around so many people in such an enclosed space put her immediately on edge.

Third, people were giving her weird looks. Astarion was practically dragging her through the place to some secluded spot where he normally held court. Eyes found him and sparkled with excitement, only to notice he wasn't alone. The sea of sweaty dancing bodies parted for this gliding icon of beauty and she was safe in the little pocket created behind him before the sea closed in again.

Fourth, it was like he was a totally different person. This Astarion was perfectly charming, not uttering a single wrong word or voicing a strange opinion. He was some confusing mix of bubbly and catty, dark but friendly.

They met up with some people he knew. They tried to hide judging looks as he introduced her to them. Rowan couldn't hear their names, but offered them an awkward smile in the hopes that it would suffice.

Astarion was the only one who spoke to her. He would chat away with someone and then turn to her to say something, usually with a wide fangy smile. Sometimes he wouldn't even wait for a response, a few times he turned his head mid-sentence. The people on her other side talked amongst themselves until he turned, then they'd act like they'd been part of the conversation all along.

Drinks kept appearing in front of her. She didn't even order them. Out of politeness, Rowan drank them even if she didn't like them. This, however, meant she couldn't keep track of how much she was drinking.

She turned to ask Astarion where the bathroom was, only to find him missing. This happened several times over the course of the next couple hours. He would disappear and then come back with no explanation. In what little light there was, his complexion became more lifelike.

Eventually, Rowan realized she was sitting in a booth occupied by vampires. Their “guests” would come and go, usually leaving with their respective vampires, including Astarion, only to be replaced on the way back with someone new.

This did not make her feel unsafe. In fact, this was probably the safest place to be. She hadn't picked up on it, but Astarion introduced her in a specific way that said ‘this one’s mine.’ “This is Madame Rowan Vignaud, my donor. She will be joining us this evening.”

What it did make her was sad. Engaging in their own feeding rituals and unable to use her neck, they focused their attention elsewhere.

When she couldn't take the pressure in her bladder anymore and the couple to her right left, Rowan slipped out of her seat.

The crowd was not so forgiving without Astarion there. He wasn't exactly that tall, but she was shorter than the average club patron and with the near-deafening music, couldn't move past with a simple meek “excuse me.”

Somewhere on the dance floor, Rowan ran into him. In a way she’d never seen before, Astarion’s face lit up to see her.

“There you are, my little treat! You've finally decided to join me!” he announced with grand flamboyance. Pulling her close, he said in her ear, “I knew you had it in you!”

Her nose was assaulted by not only his favored cologne, but the metallic tinge of blood washing off his tongue.

“I just-” she tried to argue, flustered by his hand on her arm.

That hand snaked around to her back and pressed them together while the other took hold of her hand as if they were going to tango. Which would have been very inappropriate for the music and venue.

Astarion’s tongue ran over a fang, licking the blood out from between his teeth.

“You just owe me a dance,” he told her sweetly, clearly having fun. Rowan had bigger things on her mind than worrying about whether or not he was mocking her.

As he tried to guide her in whatever non-dance they could manage on such a tight dancefloor, she once more tried to explain her situation. “I have to-”

“-be at my side? I don’t blame you.”

Tears welling in her eyes, every muscle in her abdomen tensed as tight as they could manage, Rowan hissed at him, “I have to go!”

Astarion would have stopped, but she didn’t know that and didn’t have time to wait.

So she shoved him away.

And shouldered her way through the crowd without looking back.

To say Astarion’s heart broke was maybe an overstatement, but it was close. Coursing with blood and the alcohol in it, he’d been riding a high that now came crashing down to a normal simmer.

On her way to what she hoped was either the entrance or the bathroom, Rowan was stopped by someone grabbing her shoulder. Thinking it was Astarion trying to either apologize, yell at her, or continue whatever game he was playing, she wheeled on the person with her palm raised, ready to smack at something.

“Woah! You’re a feisty one!” a half-orc woman exclaimed in glee, her large lower teeth fully exposed in a grin. On her leather jacket were several pins and patches, displaying information such as clan status, sexuality, and her clear confidence in her ability to make any girl scream.

“Sorry-”

“Oh, you should be, princess,” the woman said, her grin turning into a smirk. “I’ve never seen a girl like you tell a vamp to fuck off.”

“He’s-”

“Not your type, right? A little too primped and perfect?”

Rowan backed up, jumping a bit as she ran into a wall. Nervously, she tried to say, “I have to-”

“I like girls like you. Got a little fight, but I bet you like being bossed around.”

“No-”

“Be a good girl-” the woman started as her hand reached around Rowan’s head and took hold of her ponytail, “and I’ll show you that god you Terrans are always going on about.”

Rowan knew she needed to argue, or scream, or lash out, but she froze. All she could think about was the likelihood that she was going to get out of this place with dry pants.

The hand trying to control her head let go as its owner was taken by the throat and bodily slammed into the wall beside her.

Holding her would-be date a foot off the ground was Astarion, his eyes glowing red, his fangs extended and bared, a look of complete rage lining his face. If she could see in the dim light, Rowan would notice that even his fingernails had grown out into more obvious claws, the tips digging into the half-orc’s flesh.

“I’m sorry!” the woman begged, her feet kicking reflexively. “I didn’t know she’s yours!”

“It shouldn’t matter!” Astarion growled back, his voice dipping into a register Rowan had never heard from him before.

“It won’t happen again!”

“Astarion!” Rowan cried through her desperate tears.

Those bright red eyes turned to her and the anger faltered. It returned in full force to silently relay the message again to the woman before he dropped her.

Swiftly, with a whip of his cloak, Astarion took hold of Rowan’s arm and guided her away.

As if the anger radiating off him could be felt, people quickly left the secluded little alcove he pulled her into.

Astarion’s voice was still deep and snarly as he started to speak. “What-”

“Jesus Christ!” Rowan hissed, tears rolling down her hot cheeks. As embarrassing as it was to say, the situation was about to get even more embarrassing. “I need to pee so bad!”

Thankfully, it only took Astarion a split second to understand what needed to be done.

“Come. We’re near the bar. Shadowheart is working it tonight.”

Once more, he took hold of her by the hand to guide her through the press of people.

Near the end of the bar was a half-elf woman with black-and-white hair. It was so long that, despite her braid starting at the top of her head, it came down to her shapely ass. Her brilliant green eyes noticed Astarion almost right away and became concerned.

“Help her,” he said rather succinctly, pulling Rowan in front of him to present her to Shadowheart.

Not even asking for an explanation, the woman took Rowan’s hand and guided her around the end of the bar towards the back. Those present, some people on break or doing various tasks, looked at the two.

“What's wrong?” Shadowheart asked firmly, holding Rowan by the shoulders.

“I need a bathroom really badly,” Rowan answered as best she could, clearly distressed.

There would be a moment where Shadowheart would question why Astarion thought this was necessary, but she knew enough to immediately address the issue instead of asking questions.

“Nocturne, I'm gonna help this poor girl, can you cover for me?” she asked her friend as she pointed Rowan in the direction of the staff restrooms.

“Of course…” Nocturne answered, getting up to fulfill her friends’ request while giving them a concerned look. Shadowheart would definitely be answering a lot of questions of her own after their shift.

Safe behind the stall door, practically throwing herself down on the toilet seat, Rowan let out the biggest sigh of relief known to mankind. For a minute, she was unsure if she'd get this far, practically starting the process as she was sitting down. It was one of those moments that both hurt and felt incredibly satisfying.

“Oh, wow, you really had to go, huh?” Shadowheart said more or less to herself in surprise.

“You have no idea,” Rowan answered in a voice so relaxed that she might as well be getting a massage.

“How do you know Astarion, anyway?”

“I'm his live-in donor.”

“And he brought you here?”

“I… haven't been that happy lately.”

“He can be sweet. When he wants to be. He got me my first DJ gig here.” Rowan gave a simple answer in response. “He looked kind of pissed, though. Did that have anything to do with that little dust-up?”

Rowan debated answering. Actually, the situation hadn't fully hit her yet. “A woman was… was trying to hit on me or something and-... I don't know.”

Shadowheart’s ears picked up on her uncertain tone, even through the stall door. “Are you okay? Should I call security?”

“No!” Rowan sniffled, but didn't know why. “It's okay.”

“It doesn't sound okay.”

“I just… I just want to go home.”

“I’ll get Astarion. You can go out the back.”

“I'll go by myself, it's okay.”

“That doesn't sound like a good idea.”

“I don't want to ruin his night. I don't want him to be mad at me for calling it early.”

“I don't think he’ll be mad.”

“I want to go by myself.”

Shadowheart took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay. I’ll show you out the back.”

After finishing up, Shadowheart guided Rowan through the back rooms. At the staff entrance, she asked once more, “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. It's not far.”

Rowan got as far as half a city block before Astarion appeared before her. Her heart lodged itself in her throat, cutting off her surprised scream. Vampiric speed was definitely the most startling thing about him.

“Why would you leave without me?” he cried, angry and hurt. Even in the city, people spared them glances.

“I didn't want you to have to come home,” she answered meekly.

“Don't be ridiculous, I care much more about you.”

“I'm sorry,” Rowan said through a sob, hanging her head in shame.

“No, don't do that,” he pleaded, the anger retreating. Practically on his knees begging, he asked, “If you could have anything right now, what would it be?”

“I-I dunnooo, a b-burger, I guess?” Rowan managed to say through her tears. With a careful swipe of his thumb on her cheeks, he wiped them away.

“We can do that,” Astarion told her sweetly with a nervous little smile.

Thankfully, Astarion knew a lot of places to find normal human food because of Gale. So it didn’t take long to find somewhere a little dark and quiet that could satisfy Rowan’s desires and also not make Astarion feel like he was sticking out too much.

Tucked into a semi-private corner, he went over the night’s events while Rowan decided what she wanted.

He thought it would be good for her to get out. He wanted to take her out. Maybe she’d meet someone and have fun. Maybe she’d have fun with him.

He’d been trying to get his courage up, but perhaps leaving her alone while he had his own drinks wasn’t the right choice. When they ran into each other, it felt like the perfect moment. It hurt a lot more than he expected for her to reject him. If it was anyone else, he would have just moved on, but he couldn’t. They lived together.

Astarion didn’t want to lose her.

So he’d sought her out to apologize, only to find her in need of rescuing.

Rowan sat down across from him, breaking him from his thoughts.

“That’s quite a lot,” Astarion pointed out in genuine surprise.

“I didn’t even order the milkshake,” Rowan said with a sad little laugh. “I think he felt sorry for me.”

“If you’d let me do your eyes, he probably would’ve given you the whole thing.” Cheekily, he swiped a fry off the top of her plate.

“Hey!” she cried playfully, pulling her plate closer. “I thought you can’t eat.”

“Tastes like ash.”

“Then why’d you take it?”

“To make you smile.”

Rowan glared at him for a second before taking a bite out of her burger.

The sound that came out of her throat as the taste touched her tongue was a little inappropriate. In proper lighting, she might have seen Astarion blush as he pointedly looked away.

Besides, no one liked being watched while they eat.

A few minutes passed in silence with Rowan eating her food and Astarion dealing with his phone. She was languidly sipping her milkshake when he set it aside and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Awful,” she mumbled. Unable to look at him, she went on to say, “I have all these thoughts in my head. Like, should I have stayed home? Why did I wait so long? Why didn’t I try harder to get away? What did I do to make her think I was interested?”

“Darling, you did nothing wrong,” Astarion reassured her, leaning in to catch her eye. His tone was serious and hard, trying to impress upon her that he was speaking the undeniable truth. “That place has rules. She broke the rules. It wasn’t your fault. It does you no good to think like that.”

Wiping away her tears, she nodded in understanding.

Rowan went back to eating for a bit before Astarion told her, “I’m sorry you had to see me that way.”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he followed up with sadly.

Rowan looked up at him. “You weren’t the scary part of that situation.”

“But… at Gale’s party…”

“I was tired. And… very aware of my insignificant and powerless place in the world.”

“I felt like that, too, once. A very long time ago…”

Not wanting to make him explain if he didn’t want to, Rowan didn’t ask. Astarion was thankful.

“Is that what you do all night?” she eventually asked, still picking away at her food.

“It takes a lot of blood to keep this old thing going,” Astarion answered with a cocky chuckle. “And at a pint a pop, that’s quite a few necks.”

“Then why keep me around?”

“A consistent, reliable supply is nothing to sneeze at.”

“But you can just have it sent to you. And it seems like you do pretty well when you go out…”

“I suppose I do. I never really think about it. It’s just… what I’m used to.”

Rowan stewed on that for a few bites before saying, “That doesn’t really explain why you have me stay.”

Astarion stared at some point on the table, circling it with the tip of his finger. Thoughtfully, he answered, “You are… a special meal.”

“Like dessert?”

“Not exactly. Dessert isn’t really good for you, is it? It’s fine from time to time, but you can’t have it every day. You can’t live off dessert.

“You’re more like… the dinner Gale’s mother makes for his birthday. Or going out for a nice steak to celebrate an anniversary. Even just a nice warm loaf of bread, that makes you groan with happiness once you take a bite.”

Rowan pouted, well-aware that he was talking about her.

“It’s very rare, for a vampire to find someone whose blood makes them feel that way. Usually we just have a sip and forget about them, onto the next. But every day, I get to look forward to having a piece of you all to myself.”

Rowan started to sniffle. Astarion immediately perked up.

“Nononono,” he pleaded, reaching out towards her. “Please don’t cry.”

“That’s just r-r-really s-sweet,” she managed to say between sucking breaths.

“Let’s… Let’s go home, yes? You can cry all you want at home. Where it’s nice and warm and quiet-” Astarion babbled as he helped her out of the booth and onto her feet. Under his breath, he continued to himself, “and where no one is going to think I’ve done something to you…”

Rowan wasn’t quite sure when she stopped being drunk. When she froze in the club? When she went out into the crisp cold air? Or perhaps after her massive meal that made everything better.

Either way, now she was extremely exhausted, clinging onto Astarion’s arm for balance as they walked home.

When they got home, Astarion helped her take off her jacket and put it away before taking off her little boots. He even made her sit and wait while he did the same for himself.

In his room, he removed the lipstick from her face, chuckling a bit under his breath at how much had already been rubbed away.

“I’m sorry you had to bring me home,” Rowan said tiredly, melted into his big chair.

“I wanted to spend time with you. Being here with you is still spending time with you,” Astarion explained as he worked on the much more arduous task of undoing all the primping and preening he’d done earlier.

“Maybe we could go out again,” she thought aloud, trying to keep herself awake. “Somewhere else.”

“That would be nice. I’d be lucky if it’s just a dinner date.”

Was that too forward? It was supposed to be self-deprecating.

“Mmm… steak…” Rowan muttered to herself dreamily. Clearly she hadn’t found anything wrong with his suggestion. “Orrr… sushiiii?”

“How can you think of food right now?” Astarion asked in disbelief.

Rowan didn’t know how long she’d been asleep in the chair when Astarion woke her up with a gentle touch.

“Oh…” She looked around, realizing she was still in his room. “I’m sorry-”

“I have something for you.”

In his hand was a nondescript black box. Inside was a brooch in the shape of the Black Cross on white bat wings with a red gem in the center shaped like a drop of blood.

“I should have given this to you before,” he started as she inspected it. “You didn’t go out much and I didn’t want to come off like some possessive vampire lord…”

“Why would you come off that way?” Rowan asked, her thoughts a little slow.

“It tells others that you’re a donor. Other vampires treat it like… a brand. Something to mark their property,” Astarion explained darkly.

“I see,” she said rather distractedly.

“It has one of those little… tracker thingies, so I can know where you are. I swear not to snoop,” he reassured her as he took it from her. “And if you press it really quickly, it’ll let me know you’re in trouble.”

He demonstrated the function, pressing it five times quickly. In his pocket, his phone started to go off. As he turned it off, he continued explaining. “I set it up so that, if I don’t answer, it’ll inform Gale. And if he doesn’t answer either, it informs vampires and others near you.”

Carefully, he handed it back to her.

“After tonight…” Astarion cleared his throat and started again. “I want to know that you’re safe. And that you feel safe. I promise that you can rely on me and ask me for help, even if it ends up being nothing. I will find you and protect you.”

Rowan got out of the chair and wrapped her arms around him.

A fuse in Astarion’s head shorted.

Face tucked into his chest, she told him, “Thank you.”

Slowly, Astarion returned the embrace.

Some time later, Rowan returned, freshly showered and dressed for bed. In her arms she carried her pillow, a heavy blanket, and a book. Astarion looked up from where he was lounging in his proper bed, reading a book of his own.

“Can I…” she started shyly, lingering at the door. “Stay up here for a bit?”

He was surprised at the request, but pleasantly.

And so, he made space for her beside him.

Rowan made a decent effort to read her book, but it wasn’t long before her hands were going limp in her lap and her head was lolling into Astarion’s arm.

He let her rest that way for a while, enjoying her warmth and the reassuring weight of her body leaning against his.

When it came time for him to crawl into his coffin, Astarion carefully removed himself, making sure to place her head on her pillow and tuck her in with her blanket so she’d stay warm.

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munsonfamilyband · 2 years ago

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I know I promised this last week but my life is Insanity currently. So, here is part 1 of my Captain America AU. If you want to be in the taglist, let me know! I do have more of this written but it’s mostly snippets rather than coherent story so it may take a bit to get the next part - I also want to update my Different Meeting AU before I post part 2 of this.

———————

Steve had met Eddie when he was just 7 years old. It was lunchtime during school and Steve had seen Charlie O’Connor picking on Betty Simmons. Now, despite his numerous health issues, Steve refused to let someone else get hurt if he could stop it. So, he stood up and marched himself over to Charlie and shoved him as hard as he could. It wasn’t very hard but it made him stumble, which was just enough of a distraction for Betty to run off. Charlie had been furious and, predictably, turned his anger onto Steve. When Eddie showed up Steve had been knocked onto his ass again, nose already bleeding. All Steve could see from his position was a taller boy with curly hair stepping in between him and Charlie and telling him to go pick on someone his own size. Eddie had turned to Steve and held out a hand to help him up.

Steve pointedly refused it and pushed himself to his feet, grumbling that he had him on the ropes. Eddie had paused, looked over Steve for a second, and then smiled before saying that he knew that but he didn’t want Charlie to embarrass himself.

Eddie never left his side after that day, even though it took Steve about a week to finally warm up to him. They started spending all of their spare time together - Steve meeting Eddie’s parents and his sisters, and Eddie meeting Steve’s ma. Steve started teaching Eddie some Gaelic and all about the Irish traditions that he and his ma practiced. Eddie taught Steve about his ma’s Romani heritage and his dad, Wayne, taught Steve about their religion. That first year after they became friends was the first time Eddie celebrated Christmas and the first time Steve celebrated Hanukah.

As they grew up together people stopped thinking of them as Eddie and Steve, rather they were EddieandSteve. Everyone in their neighborhoods knew that where one was, the other was close behind. Steve’s ma certainly appreciated it because Eddie kept Steve from picking as many fights, and the ones he couldn’t stop, Eddie helped finish. They were a team, tied at the hip and puberty didn’t change that.

Steve realized that he was in love with Eddie when he was 13. Because Eddie was a year older than him they weren’t at the same school that year, with Eddie starting high school. Steve had left his school and walked down the block to meet Eddie so they could walk home together and when he arrived he saw Eddie standing under a tree with a girl. Steve didn’t know who the girl was, he didn’t really care, what he did care about was the fact that her and Eddie were kissing. Steve felt his whole chest tighten, which is something he is used to feeling but this time was different. This time the tightness didn’t feel like an asthma attack, it felt like someone gripping his heart in this fist and squeezing as tight as they could. Steve ran before Eddie saw him, his chest still tight and his eyes growing wet for reasons he couldn’t understand. That night, when he was lying in bed, he realized what he was feeling. He was angry, not at Eddie, but at the girl because he wanted to be in her place. When Eddie knocked on his window from the fire escape that night, Steve pretended that he was already asleep. He managed to keep up the act for a few days before Eddie got the jump on him and was standing outside of school when Steve got out. Eddie followed him home, refusing to give up no matter how long Steve pretended not to hear him. When they got back to Steve’s apartment, he blew up - their first actual fight. Even years later Steve couldn’t tell you how it had gone from them screaming to Eddie holding his face in his hands and kissing him. It was one of the best moments of Steve’s life.

After his ma died when Steve was 17, he and Eddie got a place together in the Queer neighborhood. Brooklyn was a haven then, full of people like them who never asked questions. Eddie got a job at the docks and Steve started doing art for people around them. His odd jobs are what led them to discovering their favorite place - Sammy’s was a bar that had a secret basement for people like them. He and Eddie would go to Sammy’s every Friday night, usually with Steve dressed up in one of his ma’s old dresses and heels to avoid suspicion, and they would spend the night together dancing and drinking like any regular couple out there. Sammy’s was where Eddie slipped a ring on Steve’s finger on his 18th birthday. Sammy’s was where they went the day Eddie’s draft notice came in the mail. Steve and Eddie both hated that draft notice. Eddie hated it because he didn’t want to go fight in the war, no matter how it was affecting his people. Steve hated it because he wanted to go fight but the army wouldn’t accept him with all of his health problems. It led to a few fights between them before they settled their differences about it and just avoided discussing Eddie’s impending departure for war.

The months after Eddie left for basic went by in a blur for Steve. He kept busy to avoid thinking about how lonely he felt. He avoided it so well that he forgot when Eddie was coming home from basic, up until Eddie showed up and sent the other guy running. Eddie was complaining about Steve liking to get beat up but Steve was just glad he was home. Finding out that he was only home for a day though? That ruined the joy of their reunion a little.

Eddie dragged him to the Stark expo, telling him that they were going to see the future but all they really saw was a failed attempt at a flying car. The night only got worse when Eddie saw two girls all alone and invited them to join them. Steve didn’t want to ruin the mood, Eddie was clearly enjoying being back in the city, but all he wanted to do was go home and be alone with Eddie for the last time for who knows how long. He slipped away from the group and wandered around before he found a recruitment hall set up and he walked in. It wasn’t the first time he had lied to a recruitment officer, he just had to keep trying. Normally he would be brought back to the exam room and then a doctor would come tell him that he’s not fit for the army and he would be sent home with another rejection. This time was different though, a man walked in and he introduced himself as Dr. Abraham Erskine before telling Steve that he knew he had lied on his forms. Even more surprising though was that he approved Steve for basic training. He had asked Steve why he wanted to fight, and then he had smiled when Steve said he didn’t like bullies. Steve left the recruitment office with a notice to attend basic training folded up in his pocket and a grin on his face.

Basic was terrible for the most part. The other guys were rude and everything smelled. The training sessions were grueling and Steve barely stayed on his feet most days. The one nice thing was the only woman there - Agent Chrissy Cunningham had come all the way from England to work with Dr. Erskine on… something, no one actually knew why she was there. Steve adored her though, she was smart and terrifying, none of the guys tried anything with her after the first day. One of the men had asked her to get them their lunches and she walked right up to him and punched him square in the jaw. Steve had never seen anything quite like it.

He wrote to Eddie as much as he could, though some letters he just folded up and tucked in his bible. He knew that the army searched every piece of mail going in or out so he couldn’t say anything too explicit or romantic without hurting both of them.

A few weeks into basic they were given a new task during their morning run - get the flag down off the flag pole, the first one to get it was able to ride in the jeep with Agent Cunningham the rest of the way. All of the men scrambled over each other to try and climb the pole, all sliding down it after a few feet. Once they had all tried and deemed it impossible, they started running again but Steve stayed behind. He walked up to the flag pole and studied the base for a moment before finding the right pin and pulling, sending the flag pole toppling over to the ground. Everyone froze when it clapped against the dirt but Steve just walked over, unclipped the flag and handed it to the Colonel before climbing into the jeep. Out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw Agent Cunningham grin at him but it was gone before he could turn to her.

After that day Erskine started showing up for training sessions almost daily. It was clear that he was studying something but no one would explain anything. He finally learned what was going on after a particular training drill.

They were doing exercises in the center of camp when he heard someone yell “GRENADE!” Quickly looking around, Steve spotted it only 5 feet away. Everyone was running but there were still people too close, so instead of trying to run away, he ran toward the grenade and jumped on top of it, wrapping his body around it as tight as he could. If he was about to die, at least he might absorb some of the blast. But then - nothing happened. He slowly unclenched from his ball and looked around, realizing that it had been a dud. The Colonel was looking at him like he was crazy, Chrissy had something like surprise on her face, and Erskine look thrilled. He was pulled aside that night by Erskine who told him about Project Rebirth and the Redskull and his plans to make a super soldier.

Steve didn’t wait before saying yes.

The night before he was set to get the serum, he sat down at a desk and wrote a long letter to Eddie. He hadn’t told Eddie about being in basic, making up stories from home so that he wouldn’t worry. Steve knew that there was a possibility he could die tomorrow, and he didn’t want to leave Eddie without telling him the truth somehow. In the morning he handed the letter to Chrissy and asked her to get it to Sergeant James Edward Munson in the 107th if he didn’t make it.

Getting the serum was one of the most painful experiences of his life. He could feel his body growing and changing, his skin stretching and his bones elongating. When the doors to the chamber opened with a hiss he was laying limp against the back of it, breathing deeply for the first time in his life. It felt like he was drunk, his whole body tingling with the lack of pain he felt. Before he could even fully settle himself though there were gunshots and screaming. Erskine was dead and Steve was chasing a Nazi through Brooklyn.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #captain america au #I’ve had this sitting for a week #i have so many snippets of this written spanning from the first CA to WS

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thesinglesjukebox · 10 months ago

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SISTAR19 - "NO MORE (MA BOY)"

youtube

Reunited, and it feels so... ???

[5.30]

Michael Hong: The parent song might have had a chorus that positively soared, but here, the duo arrive with a flat announcement: a gentle tap-tap-tap. [5]

Ian Mathers: I have heard "Ma Boy," ma'ams (just today, actually!) and this is no "Ma Boy." By which I mean mostly I miss the boom-bappier production and what feels like a lightness of touch, but this comeback ain't half bad either. [6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: What the hell were they thinking in referencing “Ma Boy” in the title? I hear “Alone” and traces of 4Minute’s “Volume Up,” but tidied up into something dignified. What that means is Hyolyn does not deliver a stunning vocal performance, nor does Bora function as an interesting foil with a rapped verse. I was never a huge fan of “Gone Not Around Any Longer,” but in retrospect I appreciate that it had the audacity to capture the pathos of a Korean drama. [3]

Kayla Beardslee: This hook isn’t big enough to carry a whole song (every time I make myself sit through it again, my score drops further), but at least Hyolyn reminds us that she still has one of the greatest voices in K-pop. [4]

Nortey Dowuona: When Sistar19 lock in together, they are unstoppable. Apart, though is a different story, When Hyolyn handles the first verse, she is confident and poised, swapping back in during the pre-chorus without losing a step, and leading the last line of the song out on a sterling, clarion note. Bora, however, meekly and gently starts the first pre-chorus and tiptoes to the forefront on the second. Hyolyn strides forth to sing the second pre-chorus with Bora, who gains a bit of confidence in the second part, thus leading each chorus to combine into a bold, all-caps declaration rather than the confident, capable delivery and the shy, meek delivery of the verses, a sign of trust that each's approach will strengthen the song. They've worked together over the 11 years of their hiatus, growing into themselves fully as soloists, and their combined performance is proof. [6]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: I could talk about the way this was designed to be my personal dopamine dealer (strings, piano hits, dual harmonies). I could talk about the sheer amount of context I'm missing (a decade-long hiatus). I could even try for the mythical long blurb and turn this into a personal anecdote. But I'm at a loss here. Pobody's Nerfect. [9]

Katherine St. Asaph: Stiff, stodgy, and capable of exorcising any summoned groove. [2]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This is so frothy that it almost defies critical assessment -- I've had the hook stuck in my head for the past week but have not managed to muster any particular thoughts about the song other than a sense of giddiness at the throb of the bass. Maybe that's my failing as a listener; maybe it's the song's success. [6]

Anna Suiter: I listened to this maybe 5 times, trying to figure out if "Ma Boy" was actually in the lyrics or just a reference to the now seemingly distant past. It turns out that it actually is, if you listen closely at the very end. An easter egg, if you will. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: The intricacies of these often short-lived K-pop subgroups make it hard for me to think of a Western pop equivalent to this. The closest I can think of would be if Patrick Stump came out with a sequel to Soul Punk in 2022, with a lead single talking about how he actually kinda hates Chicago. And since we're on a Fall Out Boy train now, one could plausibly describe "No More" as a song that knows what "Ma Boy" did in the dark. The willingness to view one's past with coldly unsentimental eyes is a useful skill to have in real life, but it takes some deft songwriting hands to avoid putting too much emphasis on the coldness of it, and to still allow some space for unfettered cathartic release. That deftness is evident only in patches here, and "No More" suffers by comparison to the effortless, perhaps naïve joy of the original. "Take everything you love and burn the ashes," indeed. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#sistar19 #sistar #music #k-pop #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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aquadestinyswriting · 2 years ago

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15 Questions OC Edition- Yoruk

Right, so since I've received at least one more tag for this game, I'll be doing this for the other two options that were voted for in the poll I did for this game. Today will be Yoruk, next week his mother.

Once more: Tags are only for those interested in the answers to the questions here. I am not tagging for anyone necessarily to do this game (unless of course, they want to).

Tags: @druidx, @asher-orion-writes, @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds

All that said: Let's get into this for one of my favourite OCs.

A quiet corner in the back room of the Hammer and Anvil, Fangthane. Yoruk Bloodvein sits back in his seat, sipping from a small glass containing firewater, while a shadowy figure opposite him nurses a mug of Snorri Ironforge's finest ale.

Interviewer: Thank you for agreeing to see me, especially on such short notice.

Yoruk: It's fine, I'd heard ye were goin' around asking folk a bunch o' questions from Merri. She said ye might ask aboot me.

Interviewer: Ah yes, how is the rest of the family?

Yoruk: They're a'right, but I dinna have all day to chat, so if we ca get this done?

Interviewer: Of course.

1. Are you named after anyone?

I think I was name for one of my great grandpas on my da's side. The Copperheart Clan has a fine and storied history, and the man I'm named after was a hero of great renown at a time when evil was far more prominent in the world. I hope I've lived up to that legacy, despite only playin' a bit part during the whole Ragnarok fiasco.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Oh, that'd be right after Gavid wis born. I ken Merri did all the hard work, but the minute I got that bairn into ma arms, I started bawlin'. Honestly, it's a good thing Elowyn was there to see to my wife because I wis in a right state for at least a good half hour. I'm no' ashamed to admit to that neither.

3. Do you have kids?

As mentioned; I have Gavid. Merri and I do plan on more children eventually, but we're happy with just the three of us for now. He's no' long started moving around, so he's a bit of a handful.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

All the time, I'm fairly certain Merri telt ye it was basically a third language around here. I do try not to use it too often because it gets a bit tiresome to work out when folk are being genuine.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

The body language for sure. I had to get used to quickly working out when a certain birth giver was in a mood and to not bother her with "inane, childish chit chat", and that's carried over to pretty much everybody else. It's pretty helpful in my job, though, it makes working out when someone's bein' a bit shifty without having to rely on magical methods.

6. What's your eye color?

Amber, which is typical for dwarves born into noble families.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Oh Merri told me about those. Happy endings fer definite. We just got incredibly lucky to get our own happy ending and I don't much like the idea of gettin' stressed out for entertainment.

8. Any special talents?

I'm actually a right dab hand at embroidery of all things. One of my tutors from when I was a wee lad was a much aulder woman who liked to embroider her clothes and I begged her to teach me because I thought it made her clothes look beautiful. I taught Merri because she needed something to do while stuck at home during her maternity leave.

9. Where were you born?

Right here in Fangthane, in my father's house.

10. What are your hobbies?

Aside from embroidery, I enjoy a good game of cards or dominoes. We've got a rather serious dominoes tournament going on in the rec room of my chapter house right now. I've made it to the quarter finals of it so far and am hopin' that I can at least make the final.

11. Have you any pets?

Dwarves aren't big on pets, honestly. I used to like petting the miners' ponies when I was a wee lad, but those are working animals. I don't think Alistair, my mount, counts either since he's technically a divine beast who's agreed to carry me around when I need him to.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I'm not big into sports as such. Most of my time as a lad was spent with tutors to make sure I had a decent upbringing worthy of a man of nobility. I did get into dwarven fencing for a little bit, but felt the rules were a bit too restrictive and gave it up pretty quickly.

13. How tall are you?

Four foot eleven, so one of the tallest dwarves in Fangthane. I think there's only two, maybe three others who are even the same height.

14. Favorite subject in school?

Ididn't attend a school, as such, as I mentioned before, I had personal tutors. I did enjoy learnings some of the finer arts though, having a creative outlet made life a lot more bearable while I was growin' up.

15. Dream job?

I'm pretty damn happy in the one I've got, honestly. It keeps me close enough to my family, and I'm constantly helpin' folk with various wee problems, and it doesn't hurt that the hours are consistent so I can look after my wee boy. I'm determined to be a much more present father than mine was.

Interviewer: Thank you very much for your time, Sir Bloodvein. Your answers were most enlightening, especially when taking the ones your wife gave into consideration

Yoruk: Eh, we had different upbringings despite us both livin' in Fangthane our whole lives. That was bound to happen.

Interviewer: Indeed. I had best be off, I have one more stop on this round and I have quite the journey ahead of me.

Yoruk: A'right, bye then.

The Interviewer backs into the shadows and vanishes with barely a wisp of smoke. Yoruk politely declines to point out that he can see in the dark. and downs the rest of his drink before getting up and leaving.

#writeblr tag games #15 questions tag game #aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #yoruk bloodvein #I liked getting the chance to go this much in depth into Yoruk honestly #he's a very different kind of person to Merri #and Selene #he still has so much trauma #but it wasn't inflicted by outside forces

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memo15g · 4 months ago

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Flight Back to US (7/21) | Kat Tang (BOD)

Waking up at 5am in the morning, the bittersweet knowledge that we were leaving Vietnam settled in. As I finished packing up my box of leftover MEMO clinical supplies, I reminisced on the trip and all of the months of preparation we had done. It admittedly felt as if we had been in Vietnam for a long time, yet simultaneously the two weeks passed by in the blink of an eye. The mission trip was over, and so was my term as Co-Executive Director. As I look forward to the next chapter of my life, I know I will look back fondly on my 5 years in MEMO and all of the work we’ve been able to accomplish thus far for the underserved communities here in Vietnam, but also back home in Southern California. I will miss the 20 hour days, all of the yummy food, late night officer and BOD meetings, playing with the children in the schools and orphanages, and supervising the vitals room during clinic days. I will miss feeling connected to our patients, as I rub their hand comfortingly after pricking their finger at the glucose station. I will miss all of the wonderful and kind people we met in Vietnam, from our collaborators to the local volunteers who worked side by side with us during clinic days. And I will miss all of the beautiful memories I have made alongside our other MEMObers.

When 6am rolled around, our 15Gers began to head down to the hotel lobby to bring their luggages and MEMO boxes down and eat breakfast. Once the bus arrived, we loaded our things and climbed into the bus. During the ride to the airport, I opted to peer out the window, taking Vietnam for the last time. I am so grateful to everyone for being so welcoming to us during our time here.

At the airport, we ran into some problems with our MEMO check-in boxes (note for next year: no batteries in the check-in items!) but other than that, our flight from Vietnam to Taiwan went smoothly. I sat next to Wendy and we spent the majority of the flight talking and reminiscing on the trip. Kalvin was in front of us and was lucky enough to get the whole row to himself! We then had a 6 hour layover in Taiwan (big thank you to our advisors and providers for giving us access to one of the lounges there!) and some of our members parted ways with us there for their short vacation in Taiwan. Then came the long flight from Taiwan back to Ontario, California (about 12 hours!) where I got to sit with Wendy and Hallie. I honestly slept the majority of the flight. Usually I have to put a movie that I know well on to fall asleep, so I opted for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. This was admittedly a bad choice when I was later awoken by a particularly loud fight scene. When we arrived to the airport and got all of our belongings, my sister and mom were waiting to pick me up. I went around to our advisors and members to give hugs and say my heartfelt goodbyes. While I was sad, thankfully it was more of a “see you next time” since I expect to attend Gala next year!

MEMO has been a huge part of my life and while I am closing this chapter, I do not plan to leave MEMO behind forever. It will always have a special place in my heart, and I look forward to seeing MEMO continue to thrive and help those in need. After 2 years on Board of Directors, I think I am more than ready to start cheering from the sidelines and allow our upcoming Board of Directors step in with their fresh outlook and exciting new ideas! I have always joked that being in MEMO feels like running a marathon rather than a sprint. Looking back now, I think it is more like a relay. At the end of the day, it’s always a group effort and we all rely on one another to accomplish our goals. Passing the baton on to the next set of directors, I have confidence that they will continue to lead MEMO into a bright future. The mission trip is such a wonderful culmination of all of our efforts throughout the school year. It was so inspiring to see all of it come to fruition after spending so many long hours planning, and I’m excited to carry that inspiration and love for serving the community into the next segment of my life.

#traveling

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ebitchwriting · 9 months ago

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Dragged Into The Blood

Story Summary: Never staying in one place for long, moving nearly every year, Lea Anderson was used to impermanence, chaos, and having to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat. Lea never expected that she would be kidnapped and wake up in a rusted, decrepit prison cell because of a madman's delusional belief in eugenics and cleansing the Earth of imperfection. By herself, with only the clothing on her back, she will have to rely on luck and logic to escape before she's killed or worse. Chapter Summary: Finding an escape from this compound was easier said than done when everything was locked, and the captor was seemingly watching their every move, pulling their strings where the captor wished. More than that, it was getting harder for Lea to hide her true nature from her fellow prisoners, and there seemingly being a feral creature around every corner, ready to tear them apart. How long could Lea keep her mask up in the carnage? Chapter Warnings: blood, gore, guns, death, and sensory overload issues.

I'm back! After a month! Sorry, an ice storm hit, which led to me losing power for 12 days. Then I noticed how literally every single chapter has typos or weird nonsensical crap in it because, apparently, Grammarly sucks now. So once I got power back, I obsessively started to go over each chapter and edited out all the mistakes until it was acceptable in my eyes. And, in all honesty, my MA Apprenticeship overwhelmed me as well. Regardless, I'm back with a new chapter and working on the next! However, I will be changing my upload schedule to once a month rather than once every two weeks to account for the apprenticeship, this fic, and also the passion project of my own epic fantasy world. Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think of it!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17.

Chapter 15: Locks and Keys

No one said a word as Claire took the first step forward. No one said a word when they pushed past the door and entered yet another ominous, dark hallway, lit only by the flickering overhead lights. Moving slowly, cautiously, anticipating someone or something to pop out and attack them. Yet, with each step, nothing jumps out of the shadows. Leaning against the wall behind Claire as she peered over the edge, there was still nothing. Turning past the corner, everyone stayed eerily quiet, not wanting to tempt fate.

‘… And whoever is puppeteering us…’

Lea couldn’t help the twitches at every distant screech. Wails reverberated off the walls, and it was impossible to tell where they originated. Eyes wide beneath the cover, darting back and forth as she shuffled forward.

‘… The doors conveniently unlocking… that butchered guy dropping as soon as Claire grabbed the keys… the fact we found each other damn near immediately… There is no fucking way that whoever kidnapped us isn’t watching us right now...’ The corner of her mouth twitched into a grimace. Back taut, feeling like a thread threatening to snap under the tension.

‘… This is actually worse than Wesker… at least that fuck couldn’t be bothered to keep tabs on me after… that…’

Another corner. Another stop to peer over the edge for anyone or anything malevolent. After a moment, Claire silently begins moving again. Moira tentatively followed, honey eyes alert and darting around the dimly lit area. Lea languished behind, struggling to keep her movements calm and controlled.

‘… They always have a goal… no matter how fucked it is… there’s always one… I’m swear if it’s godhood again…’

Claire pushed open the red-lit double doors, the hinges groaning, timed almost perfectly with the low wailing of something far in the distance. Every hair not singed from Lea’s body stood on end as a rush of frigid air poured out from what looked like the remains of a morgue. Teeth chattering, shivering hands reaching up to rub at her shoulders. Lea’s clothed gaze stared enviously at the other two and their jackets.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Moira whispered, rushing towards the knocked-over desks, rummaging through the drawers as fast as possible with shaky hands. The corners of Lea’s lips curled into a vindicated smirk at the sight, rubbing at her shoulders as she trembled.

“It’s L-” Lea froze, eyes falling to the floor as she tried to focus on what I.D. the B.S.A.A. supplied her. She cringed with every second that passed as Lea struggled with her memory.

“… Uh, you alright?” Moria asked, giving her a quizzical look as she moved across the room, idly looking over the counters for anything useful.

“Yep! It’s… um… Lana… Westerna.” Lea awkwardly drawled out as the name finally resurfaced, instantly burning with embarrassment when she peeked at Moira’s incredulous face.

“… Like from Dracula?” Moira asked, quirking up an eyebrow at her, eyes meeting cotton. Lea could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she blushed harder from the embarrassment.

“At least they didn’t name me Lucy,” Lea tried feebly to laugh it off, her attempts at laughter sounding painfully forced. Lea cursed under her breath for jokingly suggesting that name and her inability to use the correct tone.

“Shh, we still don’t know what’s out there. Come on.” Claire warned, the octaves of her voice falling down a few notes for a moment. The two quickly finished giving the room a once-over before falling back behind her.

Out and around the corner, the group found a ladder going down. Lea rises to the tips of her toes, peering over Claire’s shoulder to the lower platform. A surprisingly small room, hardly lit by fallen lights, just as run-down as everything else in this building. Her gaze locked with the two corpses on either end of the room. One covered in a bloodied and dirtied white tarp. After a moment of focusing her gaze, she recognized the fallen butchered guard as the other corpse.

“Alright, we made it. Key’s over there.” Claire breathed a sigh of relief, stepping down a few rungs of the ladder before gripping the sides and sliding down. On the other hand, Moira chose to go down each rung, complaining about the smell. After a pondering second, Lea slid down like Claire, not wanting to waste more time than necessary.

Tentatively stepping toward the butchered guard, about fifty feet away. Forty. Cries of agony, but the other two didn’t hear it.

‘… Not safe yet…’

Thirty feet. Twenty. A loud crash that as all flinching back.

“Shit, what was that?” A scared muttering nearby, Moira, perhaps? Or was it herself? It certainly wasn’t Claire.

Ten feet. Five. Then, finally, they’re at the body, the air thick with apprehension as Claire kneels and inspects the corpse. The more experienced woman grimaced slightly at the sickly-sweet stench of death but ignored it.

“The key’s gone.”

‘… The keys aren’t on the belt… did it fall to the ground..? No... nothing… not a damn thing… maybe it’s caught..?’

Claire pulled out the handgun from the guard’s belt, quickly ejecting the clip and inspecting it alongside the chamber of the 9mm. Lea’s eyes were trailing upward, looking at possible hooks and crevices. A shuffling step backward echoes in the room.

“Do you, uh… are you gonna use that?” Moira asked timidly, her voice just wavering a little bit. Shuffling of fabric, something plastic being clicked open.

“More reliable than any person,” Claire responded without a beat. A click, then something being pulled out from under the corpse, quickly followed by something plastic clicking close and something heavy being holstered. More shuffling steps backward.

“If you say so,” Moira said, her tone wary but dropping the subject. Lea opened her mouth to ask Moira a question when a metallic glint caught her attention. The keys, hanging off the side of a rusted water tank.

“I found the keys!” Lea excitedly announced, pointing at the rusted tank with a smile. A smile that fell as soon as she turned around and was met with the confused gazes of the other two women. “Uh… I really don’t need much to adjust to the dark…” Lea mumbled under her breath, reaching a hand to scratch at the back of her head.

“Moira, shine on light on it, will ya?” Claire asked, unholstering her gun. Lea didn’t miss how Moira’s amber honey eyes flickered with fear as they locked onto the 9mm. After a moment, the pixie-haired girl shook her head and pointed the flashlight at the water tank. Lea quickly raised her hands to cup her ears and turned away from the pair.

A jolt of pain shot through her head the second the trigger was pulled, followed by a high-pitched ringing muffling all other sounds. The jingling of the keys as they were quickly scooped from the ground was barely audible, much less the loud, mechanical beep of the nearest door being unlocked. Lea shook her head, rubbing at her ears as if that would make the ringing go away quicker.

Turning around, the three started making their way back. Fifty feet, forty. Lea nervously glanced around the room as she followed Claire, her nerves filled with urgency. Memories start flickering in the back of Lea’s mind, sidestepping her attempts to shove it down. Thirty feet, twenty. The temple, bullets flying back her head, debris coating her lungs, blood dripping down her hands. Ten feet.

The door crashes open, practically hanging off its hinges, as another mutilated shell of a person starts wailing, spewing blood and saliva everywhere. Without waiting another second, Claire aims and shoots, the bullet lodging in its throat and sending another jolt of agony through Lea’s head. Lea’s clutching at her head, hardly aware of the whine that escapes her lips.

A hand grips her shoulders, and suddenly, she’s being pulled along and toward the ladder. Someone’s shouting voice warbled as if from underwater, the horrid ringing muffling anything identifiable. Snapping back into action, Lea climbed the ladder as fast as possible. Sprinting down the hall, skidding around the corners. Eyes locked forward, ignoring everything behind her.

Slamming past the door and entering the frosted morgue, skidding to a stop at the sight of another one of those creatures baring its teeth at Claire. Lea’s eyes went wide. Claire lashed out with her knife before Lea could try to launch herself forward. She slashed the cheeks, forcing the thing to clutch at its face. Spinning around, Claire kicks at the thing, sending it back into the knocked-over trolley.

Claire looked over her shoulder, shouting something indiscernible back at the two girls before running again. Lea’s eyes flitted to the mutilated body in the corner for a moment before going against her instincts and following Claire and Moira.

Through the double corners, swerving around the broken door hanging off its hinges and down the hall. Skidding around the corners to a screeching stop. There was no one in sight except another one of those monsters. It shrilly cried out, charging her.

Lea cringed at the sound but forced herself to slip into a fighting stance. Closer and closer, leaving bloody footprints on the linoleum floor. Shoulders tensing, eyes locking with a bloated, malignant form. As soon as it reached out to grab Lea, she grabbed the closest arm, flipping and slamming the body into the ground. One swift stomp to the skull, crushing it beneath her heel. The ringing still hadn’t let up, but Lea could feel the crunch, the wet slick of blood and tissue.

‘… Doesn’t matter… need to find the others…’

Lea’s eyes roamed the corridor for anything familiar. After a few seconds, a flash of movement. Eyes snapped to the barred windows, and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of auburn hair and a dirtied hoodie.

Relief was short-lived as the door at the end of the corridor flew open, and another one of those creatures toppled out. It wasted no time to start sprinting at Lea. Just as Lea slipped back into fighting stance, a shot rings out, the bullet lodging in the eye. The teen flinched but forced herself to close the distance, grabbing and slamming the skull into her knee. Once, twice, thrice, then it went limp.

A hand grabbed and pulled on Lea’s shoulder, and it took everything in her to not twist it off, focusing instead on the flash of auburn hair and blood-spattered leather jacket as they started sprinting again. Lungs burned with every breath, muscles aching with every step. Mind blank for once as her gaze is locked forward, uncaring of whatever is behind her.

Another walking, screeching horror charges from the opened isolation rooms. Another shot rings out, bringing the monster down to its knees. Instinctually, Lea swings down into its temple with her shin, bringing it down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Claire quickly searching for something in the isolation room.

Before the three could continue their escape, something leaps out from the dark. Without thinking, Lea pushes Moira out of its path. Within a second, it tackles the teenager. She reaches out with her hands, keeping it as far away as possible. It clawed at her with its gored and reeking hands. Lea gagged at the stench. From behind the writhing creature, Lea’s covered gaze caught the glint of the barrel pointing at the thing. She ducks her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut. Another shot, and the splatter of something hot and putrid coating the back of her head and shoulder. Lea pushed the corpse off and flung herself back onto her feet. Running.

Slamming past the blue door, sprinting up the stairs. Claire practically rips the key from her pocket, shoving it into the lock and unlocking it. Yanking the key out of the lock, her hands push the door open, and all three rush past the threshold, slamming and locking the door behind them.

Moira and Lea collapsed, heaving and trembling, while Claire leaned against the door. Lea cupped her ears, closed her eyes, and focused on breathing through her mouth, trying to not gag at the never-waning scent of decay and excrement. The slowing thrum of her heartbeat. The feel of her now sweat-slick skin and sticky hair. Slowly, the high-pitched ringing ebbed, and the mumbling curse words of Moira right next to her brought Lea back down to the present. Behind the stained cloth, Lea opened her eyes, taking in the image before her. Moira, on her hands and knees, dry heaving and cursing up a storm that would put a sailor to shame. Claire, leaning against the door, breathing slowly and deeply, eyes closed yet focused.

After another blessed minute of rest and silence, Claire’s cerulean eyes opened, darting between the two younger women. She knelt, helping Moira back onto her feet before switching to Lea, offering her hand and a tired but warm smile. Tentatively, Lea took Claire’s hand and pulled herself up. They all exchanged glances with each other before Claire took the lead, slowly walking down the new corridor.

They had barely turned the corner before coming upon another corpse. However, Lea wasn’t focused on the fresh carnage but rather on the extended barrel of a shotgun that lay just out of reach of the gnawed hands. Very little of his blood contaminated the gun, only the barest amount on the handle. Claire grabbed the weapon and slung it over her shoulder before moving past the body. Lea couldn’t help but notice how Moira’s already pallid skin grew greyer at the sight of the weapon, honey eyes locking with it as the three turned the corner.

Claire swipes at the wooden crate, shattering the fragile wood. She knelt to rummage through the debris before picking up a small pack of shotgun shells. She holstered her 9mm and grabbed the shotgun slung over her shoulder.

“You need a gun too, Moira,” Claire said flatly as she started loading the shells. Moira froze mid-step, eyes going impossibly wider.

“No, I really, really don’t. Sorry, I don’t do firearms.” Without a beat, the words rambled out of her mouth. Her eyes fell to the ground as they seemed to grow distant, far away. “Not after what happened,” Moira asserted in a hush, her arms crossing over her chest, almost as if cradling herself. Claire swiped the knife through two more crates, grabbing another pack of shells and a handful of green herbs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot.” Claire turned, looking at the brunette. She let out a small sigh as her eyes trailed to the floor, pondering momentarily. “Maybe we can find you something else.” Claire raised her eyes to try to meet Moira, but the brash young woman scoffed, brushing past Claire.

“No, I’ll just… be on flashlight duty or something. It’s fine.” Moira insisted, despite the waver in her cadence. Walking over to the surprisingly intact storage shelf in the corner, rummaging through the cluttered boxes for anything useful. There were a couple of 9mm bullets, which were hurriedly handed off to Claire. Then, there was something small and blue glinting in the light, but it was pocketed away before Lea could look at it. “Nice,” Moira pulls out the discarded and surprisingly not dirty or rusted crowbar from behind a few boxes on the bottom shelf. “Blunt weapon. I can do blunt weapons.” Moira moved to the other side of the room, inspecting the bright blue graffiti on the wall.

‘… What the fuck happened…’ Lea wondered to herself as she observed the pixie-haired girl walk over to the door, using the crowbar to rip off the nailed-on bar.

‘… I need to step up and get my shit together…’ With a muffled but loud grunt, Moira ripped the bar off, breathing laboriously.

“Lea,” Claire quietly called out, her voice slightly hoarse. Lea stopped, turning her clothed gaze towards the more experienced woman. “You know how to use a gun, right?” Lea’s gaze fell to the shotgun still in the older woman’s hands, the barrel pointed to the ground.

“Oh, uh, yeah. My uncles and aunt taught me, but I only know basic shit.” Lea said awkwardly, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck to rub at it. “I’m fine with the shotgun. It’ll give me more distance.” Claire nodded, handing the gun and shells over to Lea. Claire moved to the door, motioning for the two younger women to stay close behind her.

As soon as they pushed the door open, they were met with the menacing sight of flickering lights, blood stains drenching the walls and ground, and a lone figure dressed in something white and poofy. In an instant, Lea’s jaw dropped in horror as she processed that it was a little girl. Before anyone could react to the sight, the girl ran off, eerily silent.

The three froze, staring ahead where the girl was for a long moment. Claire slowly started inching forward, the others shuffling behind her.

“Clarie, you saw that, right?” Moira tentatively asked as the group turned the corner, careful not to step into the coagulated blood puddle. Rounding the corner, the dark hallway was nearly entirely silent, save for the rasping yet even breathing of dozens of probably more of those things. Were they resting?

“Yeah, I saw… something.”

“Something? That looked like a kid.” Lea snapped before remembering that the two couldn’t see as well in the dark as she could. “Fuck, I hope that’s not a kid. She doesn’t deserve this�� no one deserves this.” Lea tacked on, feigning uncertainty as another rush of anxiety flowed through her veins.

“Are you sure, Lea?” Claire paused, turning to face the teen, tone deadly serious yet unjudging. Lea inhaled sharply before nodding just as sharply. “Then we need to keep an eye out and bring her with us. No sudden movements, don’t yell, and stay calm.” Claire flicked her eyes between Lea and Moira, not moving until they both nodded or made affirming noises.

Bizarrely enough, no child was in sight when the three crossed the next threshold. The prison door was sealed and barricaded with large metal crates. There were no crevices she could have hidden in, nor lockers or unlocked crates. After a moment, Claire sighed dejectedly as her cerulean eyes trailed over to a metal divider lifted just slightly so that someone could crawl underneath it.

The group fell back into the routine of breaking the wooden boxes and searching the crevices between the metal crates. Luckily, the search yielded more ammo but did nothing to ease the dread settling in their guts.

‘… There’s no way that kid is infected… too quiet… too good at hiding…. how long has she been here..?’ The thoughts rolled uneasily through Lea’s mind as Claire and Moira started to lift the metal divider to eye level. Lea quickly slid under the divider. She gripped the bottom edge of it, holding it up while the other two crossed over before letting the barrier slide down as quietly as possible.

The horrid stench of dried, old excrement got more potent with each and every step up the stairs, making Lea gag under her breath. The rasping yet even breathing also got louder as they made their ascent, leaving no doubt in her mind that there were at least a dozen more of those poor bastards throughout this new area.

When they reached the last step, Lea immediately recognized this area as an abandoned detention center. Like every other room in this hellscape, blood and dirt caked the walls and floor, though some stains appeared fresher. The stench of urine and fecal matter emanated from the locked solitary cells, strong enough to force Lea to breathe through her mouth to avoid its inescapable odor. The hanging lamps didn’t even flicker, so the only light source came from the tiny slivers of sunlight shining through the barred windows above. As Lea walked underneath one of the slivers of sunlight, she shivered in the minuscule warmth the feeble ray provided compared to the desolate prison.

A familiar electronic screech from a radio filled the relative silence, shocking them to a halt, heads whipping around to find the source of the noise.

“Fear what you will become and become what you fear.” A husky feminine voice languidly said, slightly distorted by the radio waves. Claire lifted her now orange wristband to her ear quizzically.

‘… She’s the bitch… I can feel it in my bones…’

“Are you afraid? You can tell me. Talk to me.” The mysterious voice continued, taking on an almost hissing, cold tone. With every word the mysterious woman said, the more her suspicions started nibbling at the back of her mind.

‘… Why does she sound so familiar..?’

“Those bracelets change color in response to fear.” The voice cryptically trailed on, frustratingly holding only clues and yielding no answers. Even though Lea couldn’t see the face of their captor, she could envision the sadistic smile painting her lips.

“And who exactly are you?” Claire demanded, not an ounce of fear in her tone. Eyes hard, lips pressed into a firm frown, Lea practically sees the fury rolling from the woman in waves. For a moment, she was envious of Claire’s fearlessness and collectedness. Why couldn’t she be like that?

“So much suffering… you don’t even know what to be afraid of yet.” Just as suddenly as the melodic voice had come, the voice went silent, leaving the three with even more questions as well as a palpable and undeniable atmosphere of annoyance. The more experienced woman rolled her eyes and started walking again.

“Was she talking to us or at us?” Moira vented, rolling her eyes as the group entered the next room, a dark room lit by a singular fluorescent light in the corner, otherwise devoid of objects.

“At us. She was definitely talking at us.” Lea concurred, walking over to the desk off to the side. Immediately, she took the map to the detention center before opening the drawers. She grimaced as she noticed that the drawers held nothing. “Here, found this,” Lea said, walking up to the leather-clad woman and handing the dirtied parchment over. For a moment, Claire said nothing nor moved, just stared again with an exhausted expression.

Scrunching her eyebrows, Lea’s eyes traveled over to where Claire was staring. Immediately, she understood Claire’s expression. There was a path, possibly an exit, barred and locked off. Just next to the doorway were gears, clearly missing two vital parts.

#dragged into the blood #original character #resident evil #resident evil revelations 2 #claire redfield #moira burton #a03 link #a03 fanfic #canon compliant #resident evil fanfiction

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theawkwardterrier · 2 years ago

Text

A Surprise Delivery

Steggy Week 2k22, day 7 Prompt: Free choice

Summary: Steve has an unexpected situation while touring with the Star Spangled Show. Peggy comes to lend a hand.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

Steve had suspected that the SSR would be sending someone to help…manage the situation. Of course it would end up being Agent Carter, and of course it would end up being just now.

“Sorry,” Steve says, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the wailing. “The sirens went off at the fire station just now and that always seems to get to him, not to mention that he’s usually a little fussy around this time. Well, all the time, really.” Trying to remember what his ma used to do, sitting on the stoop as she talked to the neighbors, he turns the baby over to rest against his shoulder, shushing and patting and bouncing a little. For a moment, there’s silence. Then the baby gives a burp, and Steve feels something trickling down the back of his neck as the crying starts up again, if at a very slightly lower register. He clenches his jaw and stares straight ahead.

“Why don’t I take him for a moment so you can get cleaned up?” To his surprise, Agent Carter doesn’t sound disgusted or annoyed or amused; her voice is mostly neutral, just a touch of…sympathy, he thinks. After days of being chewed out or teased, it is more of a relief than he would have thought such a simple thing could be.

His shoulders relax, just slightly, and he says, “Here, come on in.”

She accepts the baby with only a slight awkwardness, although considering her usual poker face and cool demeanor, he suspects that means that she’s barely more familiar with infant care than he is. It makes him even more grateful that she’d offered. He’ll have to tell her more thoroughly when he gets back, but just now the idea of a shower holds such strong appeal that he can only manage a heartfelt, “Thanks,” as he starts to head toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning his shirt.

“Steve.”

It’s only his name, but he turns, half-panicked that he’s somehow managed to do something wrong within the first five minutes - and more than half-panicked that she’ll take back her offer. But she only says, with a bit of a smile, “Don’t expect me to do this with very much frequency. Child-minding isn’t exactly within my usual purview.”

The growth of his own slight smile surprises him, although perhaps it shouldn’t have; regardless of the unusual situation, he’s enjoyed each of the few conversations he’s had with Agent Carter. “I wouldn’t have expected any different,” he promises, and goes to start the water.

When he comes out, Agent Carter is sitting in the armchair by the window, meeting the baby’s unblinking gaze solemnly as she speaks to him in a quiet, sensible sort of voice. Steve finishes toweling his hair, clean for the first time in what feels like weeks but has actually only been a couple of days, returning the towel to the bathroom counter before he sits on the edge of the bed to join them.

“Well,” says Agent Carter, handing the baby back to Steve. He’s somewhat impressed that she doesn’t allow herself to be pushed by politeness or the conventions of gender to do something she isn’t interested in, although he wishes a bit that she’d been willing to hold on a bit longer - it feels as if the whining becomes louder as soon as he takes the baby in his arms, and he suspects that he and the little guy are on the same page regarding who in the room they’d rather be around. Raising her voice just slightly, she continues: “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

He’s recounted the story more than once - to the head of the USO tour over the sound of his groans at the hassle (not to mention his sideways, suggestive remarks), to the shocked, giggling girls, to a narrow-eyed visiting Senator Brandt, to a nearly apoplectic Colonel Phillips over the phone. This is the first time someone has responded with a decisive nod and an “Alright, I assumed it must be something of the sort.”

“You believe me, then?” He sits up straighter, trying without success to avoid sounding too shocked or too eager. It is such a tremendous relief to get a different reaction.

She merely shrugs. “Of course. Firstly, I can do basic arithmetic, and even if this child’s birth certificate can’t truly be believed, his size doesn’t lie. I’m not an expert, but I would guess that he was conceived at least fifteen months ago, at which point the woman who was under contract with the Star Spangled Entertainment Company as Lucinda Greathouse was living as Lucy Garvey in Gardner, Wisconsin - I’d say that sort of liaison would be a bit far for a man who had practically never been out of Brooklyn until about six weeks ago. Secondly, the Life photographer who was covering your tour stop in Philadelphia happened to capture a snapshot of you signing an autograph for Miss Garvey, and when enhanced, that signature looks suspiciously close to the one on the alleged custody papers which she left. And third—” She blinks, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say that for a second she looked almost…flustered. “Well, I’d like to think that I know something about you, and illicit trysting doesn’t seem very much like something you would do. Although facing up to your responsibilities, or at least the ones that you’re taking on yourself unnecessarily, certainly does.”

“Someone I met a month ago suddenly leaving her kid in a basket outside my hotel room door with just a note saying that he’s mine and a legal agreement that I supposedly signed is more likely to you than that I got a girl in trouble and ran off?”

“Oh, yes. And the idea of you having actually gotten yourself into a sticky spot now based on your own principles is even more likely. So—” She stands, brushing her hands briskly together. “Let’s find somewhere for lunch, shall we? We can work out a plan, and perhaps our companion will settle a bit once he gets some food in him. I find that it always works for me.”

“I liked Cindy,” Steve says as they sit in a diner booth a half hour later. He blows cool air across a forkful of the filling from his chicken pot pie, the softest thing he could think of on the menu, touching it gently to his lip to test the temperature before positioning it in front of the baby in his lap. The offering is scrutinized closely and suspiciously before one pudgy hand comes up and takes the food (although only about half actually ends up in his mouth, the other half smearing across his face). Steve looks up again, watching Agent Carter shake vinegar over her fries. Even such a casual, everyday movement is performed so precisely that he cannot help but pause to watch. Only when she shifts her gaze directly toward him is he able to shake himself out of it.

“I liked Cindy,” he repeats stupidly. She cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t have expected her to be the type to just leave a kid on his own, or even with a half-stranger. Most people…Most people’d have to be in real trouble to do something like that.” He looks down, then reaches for a napkin to smudge across that scrunched little face. “I’d have helped her with whatever it is if she’d asked.”

“Mmm.” Agent…Peggy picks up one of her fries, but is contemplating him more than it, which makes him blush slightly and hastily shovel in a forkful from his own plate. “Well, hopefully you’ll have a chance soon enough. There are SSR operatives working to track her down right now, although I must say that the colonel wasn’t best pleased that he had to remove some of the staff from war work to focus on this.”

Steve sighs. “Didn’t think he would be. I don’t think he’s best pleased by much, and this certainly doesn’t qualify.” Peggy actually laughs a bit at that, biting into her fry.

“Indeed. But regardless, there aren’t exactly many ideal options presenting themselves in the meantime. We could, of course, present the evidence I’d mentioned to prove that you are not the father of this child and that the documentation indicating that you agreed to take custody was forged, but that would only mean that you had no legal standing to act as his guardian, or to recommend anything regarding his care. And in absence of his mother or another guardian presenting themselves, that would mean—”

“An orphan home, or a foster service,” Steve says grimly. He knows that there are people who take those jobs seriously, but there are too many who don’t concern themselves for a moment over the well-being of those who they’re supposed to be caring for. “That isn’t an option.”

She only nods, as if she’d been expecting him to say that. “Well, if you maintain guardianship, at least for now, at least until we’ve found Miss Garvey, then you would be able to designate others to mind him. Someone trustworthy, who you can feel he’s safe with as you get back to your tour.”

The last word is said with such purposeful blandness that Steve peers at her more closely, as if that might help him understand her meaning further. But she only sits waiting for his answer, head tilted slightly, and so he tries to think about what she’s actually asked.

Mrs. Barnes would take the baby if he asked - probably even if he didn’t ask and she just somehow heard that he’d gotten his hands on one who was in need of a good home. She was always rocking the child of some niece or neighbor, raising the issue of grandchildren with an eager little smile as Bucky and his sisters groaned. But when he thinks about the kid in his lap being sent along on a train or put in a car to some other place, even if it’s to someone who would love the chance to care for him, someone who might be better equipped than Steve is, he finds himself balking at the idea.

“No,” he says finally. “He’s already been taken from wherever he was staying while Cindy was on the road. Leaving him with me might not have been the best choice, but it’s where he is now. I’m not going to just ship him off, uproot him again so that he thinks that no one wants him. They’ve already canceled our next few bookings so things can get sorted, and it’s Labor Day next week - we didn’t have anything on the calendar then anyway. That’ll give a good bit of time for someone to figure out where Cindy’s gone and get her back. In the meantime, he can stay right here with me.”

He feels a little defiant as he finishes, waiting for her to tell him that he’s being foolish, that the kid is too small to remember any of this and he’ll be perfectly happy to be in a nice house with someone nice to take care of him instead of in a hotel room with an unqualified guy who he doesn’t even seem to like much. Instead, a little smile comes over her lips, as if she expected him to say just that.

“Well, that’s settled then.”

“Sorry you had to come all this way just to talk me through that,” he apologizes, and he is - he knows that she’s Agent Carter, and she probably has plenty of other, more important things to be taking care of than this. But he also…He can’t truly bring himself to be entirely sorry that she came all this way, considering that he isn’t likely to have another chance to see her, at least for a long while.

“It wasn’t only that, I’m afraid,” she says, picking up another one of her fries. The kid makes a whiny sound and reaches out a hand, opening and closing his fist like he wants to grab it. Steve hastily starts cooling another bite of pot pie.

“What do you mean?” he asks between breaths, picking up the pace when he glances down at the little body beginning to wriggle in his lap and finds a stormy face to match.

Peggy appears to hide a smile, covered by her usual professionalism so quickly that he isn’t even certain that it had been there at all. “It seems that there have been some concerns mentioned regarding the situation. A few of those in SSR administration have wondered what precisely a child of yours might have inherited.” She makes a very tiny grimace as she adds with a remarkably straight face, “The idea of a baby with superpowers was discussed.”

“Wha—But he—” Steve leans forward a bit, lowering his voice and offering another bite of pot pie as a distraction. “We both know that he isn’t even mine. I couldn’t pass on anything to him any more than I could to Betty Grable or President Roosevelt. And besides, I don’t think that’s even how it works.”

“Well, to be frank, we don’t really know how it would work, exactly.” She says this with perfect equanimity, as if she spends all her dinners out talking about the potential heredity of serum augmentation. “With Dr. Erskine gone, Howard is at least nominally the expert on his research, but despite his bluster - and admittedly a fairly good mind - he doesn’t have a bloody clue what sort of effect it might have on your potential children.”

“Potential future children,” Steve reminds her firmly before he can think better of getting pushy with a woman like Peggy Carter. It’s only that now that he’s found someone who actually believes him, he isn’t at all eager to let her forget the truth for even a moment. Luckily, she just laughs, although it fades quickly into something more thoughtful. She looks at him for a moment over the rim of her coffee cup before she continues.

“Regardless, there is another concern that I actually believe has merit. Despite all the efforts to keep this quiet, the news, or at least the allegations, will undoubtedly get out.”

Steve sighs, then sighs again as he realizes that the latest bite of pot pie has fallen onto his pants - where it is already being gleefully rubbed in. As he takes a few fruitless napkins from the dispenser, he glances down in half-disbelieving exhaustion at the unrepentant perpetrator before he looks back up and tells Peggy, “Yeah, I already listened to about ten rounds from Senator Brandt about public relations and ruining my all-American image, so—”

His hand suddenly stops its wiping, and not because he realizes that he’s only making the mess worse. “Wait, do they think that someone might try to use the kid as leverage?”

The idea is at once utterly pointless - they could have used any kid off the street if they wanted to try to get him to do something, not to mention that he doesn’t know a damn thing approaching classified information there isn’t much they’d be able to leverage out of him - and so monstrous that it jostles his stomach, and also, considering who they’re dealing with, completely plausible.

Peggy smiles at him again, but it is thinner this time. He notices the way her eyes brush over the child in his lap before she meets Steve’s gaze again.

“We haven’t intercepted any sign that someone is planning to try, but It would be foolish to leave the two of you unprotected, just in case.” She takes a sip of her coffee and says casually, “When Miss Garvey is eventually found, we’ll have things cleared up publicly so there won’t be further increased danger to the two of you, but until then, I’ve been assigned to watch over things, and to act as backup if needed.”

Steve stares. He knows that his mouth is open a little, and he knows that it isn’t exactly showing him to best advantage, but it feels like the only response to discovering that for the foreseeable future, he is going to be sharing his life not only with a small child he is extremely ill-equipped to care for, but with Agent Carter as well.

Finally he manages to clear his throat and get out a plausibly put together, “Uh, sounds good to me.”

“Excellent,” she says, not quite as businesslike as he’s seen her, but still definitely controlled. She holds up a finger to request the check. Steve trades looks with the child in his lap and quickly divides the remainder of the meal between the two of them. With the last bite, the kid actually looks calm and satisfied, placing a pudgy hand into his mouth as he slumps back a little against Steve.

He tries to insist on paying, but she insists with equal firmness that it is an SSR expense. Once he’s finally agreed, they edge out of the booth, the kid drooling peacefully against Steve’s shoulder.

“I won’t set many rules, because I have the feeling that would only encourage you to break them,” Peggy remarks as they come out onto the street, the breeze managing to find a bit of spare fabric in her uniform pencil skirt and swaying it back and forth. “So I’ll simply ask that you take me with you when you do things, even if you think they’re meant to be brief or mundane.”

Steve nods. “I can live with that.” As if having Agent Carter with him would be much of a hardship - besides her sharp mind and conversation skills, he likes the idea of having more and more opportunities to learn her facial expressions, what sorts of things she likes, what makes her laugh, the whole spun story of her.

“Where are we off to, then?” she asks, and Steve focuses once more, casting around quickly for a direction.

“Montgomery Ward,” he says as they begin to walk. “I need to pick up some baby things - I begged a crib from the front desk, but in general my room didn’t exactly come equipped.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed so.” She falls into easy step beside him. “And I’ve the feeling that having some better amenities will win you the favor of…Do you know, I didn’t even think to ask what you’ve been calling him.”

Steve blushes, trying to ignore the contented hand sucking going on in his ear. “I haven’t exactly…If it had been any other name…I know it’s what was on the birth certificate, but it’s just a strange prospect, calling him Steve Jr. Especially since I don’t even think that’s his real name.”

“It’s certainly likely that that detail was simply another part of Miss Garvey’s ruse,” Peggy agrees. “Nevertheless, you can’t simply avoid using any sort of name.”

Steve sighs. “If he’d been a girl, I’d just call him Sarah after my mom. Even though…” He manages to shut himself up before he finishes the thought: that, once or twice, he’s imagined using his mother’s name for his own daughter someday. “Anyway, I guess I could call him Gary or Humphrey or Spencer - Cindy was always going to the pictures, so it’s pretty likely that she called him after some star or other.”

“Hmm,” Peggy says, but she doesn’t seem particularly convinced. She looks at the baby, sleeping fairly heavily now against Steve’s shoulder. He’s been rubbing the little guy’s back without realizing it, but even as her eyes linger there, he doesn’t stop.

“What about Michael?” she says slowly. “It’s—It’s a good, simple name, and it once belonged to someone who means quite a lot to me.”

She meets Steve’s eyes then, and he isn’t certain whether he is getting better at reading her or if she is beginning to allow herself to be more easily read, at least by him - the pain there is very clear before she blinks it away.

As strange as it is to not only be walking around with a baby who isn’t his, but one named for the likely-dead sweetheart of the woman he’s…well, ‘developing feelings for’ likely isn’t accurate, considering how developed the feelings seem to be already, nevertheless, he swallows and nods.

“Michael’s a nice name,” he agrees, and when she smiles, he’s glad that he did.

Steve always knew that, regardless of how hard his ma worked, his childhood was spent at least on the brink of poverty if not over it entirely. It doesn’t quite sink in just how much until the saleswoman has informed him for the fifteenth time that he “really does need at least one or two” of some additional new item if he’s going to have Michael outfitted properly. There’s a pitying edge to her toothy smile which actually does make him believe that no child should be deprived of any one of these things, and he’s starting to panic a little, more convinced than ever that he in his ignorance, he is going to somehow manage to ruin the rest of Michael’s life.

His arms are filled with various items and supplies, and he is trying to keep Michael from grabbing and/or drooling on everything, and he is having a minor internal breakdown when Peggy returns from her brief sweep around the area. One of her eyebrows twitches up, amused, at the sight of him; in any other circumstance he’d take credit for managing to charm her at least a bit, but right now he only meets her eyes with something close to desperation. She nods to him, already walking over to join him.

“How are we getting on, then, darling? A bit overwhelmed, I think.” She turns to the saleswoman and says, perfectly calm and firm, “I don’t think we need quite this much. A basic layette will do nicely.”

If Steve hadn’t heard directly from her that childcare wasn’t her milieu, he wouldn’t have guessed that she didn’t know what she was talking about. Still, he glances over without really meaning to, just trying to be sure that this is the right decision.

“That’s exactly the sort of thing that I grew up with, and I didn’t turn out too badly,” she says aloud in reassurance. “I would even have been happy enough for my mother to have avoided the more elaborate confections, if I’m being honest.”

Steve can feel his shoulders relax at that, and the saleswoman sizes her up quickly and gives in, retrieving several of the suits from the top of Steve’s pile.

“Mother knows best, after all,” she said with a little laugh, even as her smile took on a more fixed quality. Steve and Peggy glance at each other, and Steve knows that at least for his part, he isn’t doing a very good job of covering up his startlement at the mistake. Peggy, however, merely tips her head and turns back and doesn’t say anything, and he figures that she must think it’s too much trouble to explain. The woman probably wouldn’t believe them, anyway.

After a few more minutes and a consultation between the two of them, Steve and Peggy walk out with bags containing several daysuits in various colors, a jacket for the cooler evenings (improbably small, although it somehow fits Michael perfectly), a few bottles for milk, and probably several dozen diapers and sets of pins. At the last minute, Steve added in a stuffed lion toy - it had been on a discount because the mouth had been sewn on crookedly, but Michael kept reaching for it on the shelf, and now contents himself with hugging it, one ear stuck in his mouth.

“I have a good amount of yarn back in my room,” Steve says. “I can probably make a few little boots for him - help protect his feet and all.” Mind half on remembering how much yarn he actually has, he adds, “Might be able to put together a blanket for him, too. The hotel ones are nice enough, but I think that it feels good to have something made just for you.”

“I certainly agree.” There is a certain gentleness to her tone, however, which makes him think she has something else to say. And indeed: “But I wonder if you might be thinking in quite the long term. Blankets do seem as if they would take a decent bit of time, after all, and once his mother is found…”

It’s strange that he would forget for even a moment that he and Michael should both be hoping that Cindy is found soon. It’ll make it better for both of them, easier. He adjusts the baby where he is held against him.

“Right, of course. Well, I can mail it to him, anyway.” A bit lighter and wry, he adds, “I spend a lot of time on a bus these days, and there isn’t much else to do during those long hours on the road.”

“You do travel with a full entourage. Surely there’s plenty of opportunity for socializing and companionship, at least.”

She has that bland voice again. He’s becoming increasingly familiar with her various tones by now, and he’s starting to suspect that she adopts this one on purpose. Slowly he says, “I guess, but after this long, everyone’s already sick of each other. Honestly, I think they got sick of me first - the girls are the real talent, after all,, and I don’t even have stories to tell of all my big adventures.”

“Well, I know that certainly isn’t true.” The corners of her crimson mouth begin to turn upwards. “Why not lead them all on an imaginary tour of Brooklyn via the sites of your youthful escapades?”

He laughs softly; the movement almost seems to wake Michael but he settles again. “I was told by someone that it wasn’t exactly a good move.”

“On the contrary, I think it would be quite charming.”

They stop at the corner to check the traffic and he catches her eye just then. He wonders if he sees something in them, a continuation - I think it would be quite charming for the right person - or if he’s only imagining it.

He finds himself holding his breath until they’ve crossed.

“When exactly did you learn to knit?”

Steve swallows his spoonful of his peach ice cream - just as creamy and flavorful as the ad in the window had promised - before answering.

“I spent a lot of time sick in bed when I was a kid, and any time I was laid up, my ma used to bring me as many books as she could borrow from the public library. One day, she brought home a how-to guide on knitting. And I just—After all that time, it was something I could do. It’s hard to play chess without someone else there, and we couldn’t afford paints and pastels and canvases and all of that too often, and half the time I could barely sit up, but that next Christmas, I had a pair of needles all wrapped up with my name on them. I got the book out again and taught myself, unraveled old sweaters and things when I needed to so I could make something new.”

Turning to watch Michael crawl around in the grass of the park where they’ve brought their ice cream he asks, “Did you ever learn?”

“No, I was busy enough playing knights and dragons alongside my brother, and generally eschewing anything my mother considered an acceptable activity for a young lady.” He snorts softly, able to picture that easily, hoping that he’s buried the sound sufficiently in his dish of ice cream. By her quirking smile, he hasn’t exactly managed it, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Now I do find myself wishing I’d picked it up - it’s quite the useful skill to have, after all, especially when you do find yourself a bit at loose ends during long-distance travel.”

“Yeah, I—” The ice cream turns slightly bitter in his mouth. He sets down his spoon. “Like I said, I’ve been doing a lot of it these days. Knitting my bit and all.”

“Something I’m certain that the Red Cross appreciates,” she says. She casually lifts a spoonful of her own peppermint to her lips, but there is once again that added perceptiveness to her gaze.

He finds that he cannot quite meet her eyes at the moment. His own gaze goes long, looking past where Michael is patting his hands energetically against the tufts of grass, past the border of trees and the city buildings, trying to reach something far beyond here and now.

“I thought,” he begins slowly, “that after the serum, I’d be able to actually do something. Instead I—Sometimes it’s easy to forget, day to day, but I’m still not doing what I should be anymore now than I was back when I was a foot shorter.”

“And to your mind, the only thing you should be doing, the only thing that counts, would be getting yourself to the front lines?”

“No.” He says it without thinking, and only after it is done does he realize that it is true, not only something he said to appease her and the undercurrent that he sensed in her words. It is a subtle thing, and when he plays back her words, he finds it difficult to say what calls his attention back to her so fully. Her tone had not been harsh or disapproving or affronted - it was, if anything, mild. But perhaps he has begun to know her better than he had thought, at least well enough to pick up this small thing.

“No,” he repeats, standing and going to sit beside Michael, taking the fist that had been heading toward the baby’s mouth and peeling it open as he speaks, freeing the handful of grass which was clutched there. He takes the baby in his lap and offers him the toy lion, jiggling it in front of him until he finally accepts with a screech.

Facing Peggy again, he continues. “Of course there’s all kinds of ways to help, and I don’t think anything folks choose to do is less important than anything else. But the choice I was given, to be locked up somewhere being tested, having samples taken, or to be here…I could be of use over there. Here all I’m good for is a way to spend an afternoon when you’ve already seen everything that’s playing at the theater, and a ten-percent bump in bond sales in every state I visit.”

“I hadn’t realized that I’d invited Senator Brandt on this outing,” Peggy says, a neat arch to her brow, and he looks down toward the whorl in the top of Michael’s hair, although he breathes out a softly amused sound even as he does. When he looks up again, she is taking him in with a new sort of seriousness.

“You seem to feel that you have only two options,” she tells him. “So make yourself another. You need to find a way to show that there are other places where you can be of use, and I believe that you already have some advantages in that sense. First, your mind. You’re sharp, Steve, and you’ve spent your life facing obstacles - this is simply another. And, of course, you have the truth on your side.”

A held-breath feeling in his chest, he asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that there are things you could be doing other than this - things which are different, which are more. You believe that, and so do I. So you find a way to get it.”

She makes it sound terribly simple, even though he knows that it won’t be. He was already rejected once, despite his efforts to push back, and he knows that it won’t have gotten easier with time, and especially not now that he’s established himself as a golden goose here. She is familiar with all of that; her sense of simplicity comes, he thinks, from having done it herself, made a door where there wasn’t one. She knows that the actual path, the details of it, will not be easy, but she trusts that he can do it anyway. She knows that it is the only way to make something of himself, to stand up in a way he can be proud of.

“You give good advice,” he says softly, not because he is afraid of any of their fellow park-goers hearing, just because the air between them feels too tender for volume. “Mine isn’t half as good, but let me know if there’s a way I can help you out in return.”

She breaks into one of her smiles, a smooth, pretty one that touches the corners of her eyes. “Give me your word that you’ll teach me to knit sometime, and I suppose we can call it even.”

“Alright. When you’re done slaying those dragons,” he promises, and smiles back.

After such a full and busy day with only a small nap between errands, Michael actually falls asleep with a minimum of fuss.

“One small mercy,” Peggy comments.

“I think he’s on his best behavior for you,” Steve says, sliding the door to the pocket-sized balcony partially closed behind him. They have a good view of the room from outside and can get back quickly if there’s any sign of a problem, but it’s nice to have the sweet play of air across the backs of their necks.

Hooking a foot around the leg of his chair to sit down, Steve continues, “He took to you right away. You must be good with kids.”

Even before she has raised that inquiring eyebrow, he knows that it was a mistake. “Not because you’re a—You don’t need to be good with kids, I only thought because you’ve been—”

Finally she waves a hand and puts him out of his stammering misery. “I understand what you meant, although I wouldn’t say I have very much experience at all with children. I had only the one older brother, you see, not much in the way of cousins or nieces and nephews. There weren’t even many young neighbors about. I suppose it’s just Michael. For all the ways that he seems difficult, he can be very sweet as well.”

Steve snorts softly. “Maybe you just bring it out in him. Or maybe…” He goes silent for a moment. When she looks over, he has his head tilted. Slowly he says, still not sure if letting the words out is the right thing, “Or maybe you bring something out in me. I’m sure it can’t be a picnic for him to have been left with someone who’s panicking because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing and you—Well, I’ve felt better since you’ve been here.”

Peggy can, it seems, still be quite opaque when she wants to be. Even in the dim light, he can see her face, but cannot guess her reaction from her smooth expression. She keeps her eyes on Michael, but she does not make excuses or rush away.

Finally he clears his throat and says, “Was it lonely? Growing up with just you and your brother?”

“I seem to recall that you haven’t any siblings either,” she points out, her tone just a bit dry, and he feels a surprising pull in his chest - she isn’t a cruel person at all, and he knows that it’s only from his own mind, but for a moment he almost thought that she was going to say you haven’t any family.

“Well, Bucky - Bucky Barnes, my best friend - he was nearly like my brother, and his sisters were half mine too. And there was a whole neighborhood of kids to spend time with too - going to school, playing stickball, errands for our parents that were more fun to do together.” He’s glad that the words come out evenly, a reminder for him too, a comfort.

“Wonderful to know that there were people around who you hadn’t managed to inspire to attempt to beat the cheek out of you,” she says, but there is a fondness there, weighty enough that even he cannot mistake it. He laughs.

“One or two, I guess.”

The breeze rustles once again along the back of his neck, a welcome relief. Hoping that it’s managed to brush beneath those perfect curls and cool Peggy too, even though she hasn’t shown any real outward sign of discomfort, he tips his head back against his chair and breathes in, listening to the crickets and the small sounds of Peggy existing beside him.

“I suppose it could be a bit lonely.”

He opens his eyes, turns to look at her just barely. Her change of subject was neatly done, but he had noticed anyway; he hadn’t expected to hear any more from her.

“I wouldn’t say that my current line of work encourages personal connections either. But one day, perhaps…When the war is over, I can imagine myself finding some good friends, settling someplace where everyone will recognize me and I’ll be familiar with them in return.”

“That sounds nice,” he says into the soft night, the quiet which she has been careful not to break. He does not ask, although he wants to, whether she imagines anyone else beside her in this future.

But, as if she has heard his thought, she says, “I never considered having children before, you know. I know it’s a bit foolish - I was nearly married once before, after all, you would think that we might have discussed it - but I suppose at the time I thought it a settled matter whether I actually wanted it or not.”

“And now?”

His mind catches on the idea of who she might have been preparing to marry - was that her Michael? he wonders. Soldier or pilot or seaman, lost to her before they had their chance to be happy, to build a life together? - and his words come out so low that they are nearly swallowed by the breeze; she answers nevertheless.

Very slowly, her voice resting on each considered pause: “After today, with you and Michael, I could perhaps see myself with a child, and with a partner. Someday. If they’re the right one.”

Steve’s chest fills with something very warm and potent and fragile. “How will you know when the right one comes along?” he manages, not out of hesitancy or confusion, but to try to see if her instincts are anything like his own.

“I’ll know,” says Peggy simply. She turns only her head, so her eyes meet his. “And when the moment comes for us, he and I, we’ll have our chance to know together.”

Their gazes hold for another moment before, standing, she offers her hand. “Now, it’s likely best that we get some sleep so we can be fresh for another day of it tomorrow. I’ve been given the room next door, so simply alert me if you think anything is amiss.”

“Alright,” he says, still feeling a bit overwhelmed - by getting to be with her all of today, by the thought of her sleeping just next door, by the words that, in the small and secure rooms of his heart, he doesn’t think he’s mistaken at all. He takes her hand. It feels as if he is accepting much more than that, all with gladness and with hope.

It becomes clear over the next few days that, although museums and indoor attractions are largely off the table while they still have to contend with Michael’s temperament and penchant for getting into things, there is still plenty for them to do in St. Louis. They visit the zoo, where Steve and Peggy discuss the ethics of such places and Michael nearly has a tantrum before they figure out that his insistent whining means that he wants to visit the monkeys again. They take in the plants at both the botanical gardens and the Jewel Box, each developing an automatic instinct for removing leaves and branches from Michael’s grasping hands. They even take in a production of Rosalie at the outdoor theater. Steve had seen the film version back at the picture house in Brooklyn, but it had a Cole Porter soundtrack instead of the Gershwin and he finds himself humming the new songs all the way back, Michael dozing heavily in his arms and Peggy teasing him for his tunelessness all the way.

But truly, it doesn’t matter what they do. What makes him wake up smiling isn’t the thought of sightseeing or tourist attractions. It is debating with Peggy as they walk around the city, hearing her opinions as they find somewhere for lunch, sharing stories back and forth as they sit around together in the evening, having her raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him for thinking a fedora and a pair of clear lenses are a good enough disguise, pushing exhaustion aside longer and longer each night. It is getting to watch her easy, confident movement throughout the day, and listening to her brook no condescension from anyone, and getting to tell her how good she is at what she does - not because she needs the confirmation but because he thinks it might be nice for her to have.

It is the times - once a day, sometimes more - when people tell them that they look like such a lovely family, and neither he nor Peggy corrects them. Better for their cover is what they tell each other aloud, but Steve thinks each time about the possibility, of Peggy’s someday, of what might be a future for them. He thinks of how much he wants it, and asks himself over and over whether he is completely out of line for considering that she might be thinking the same.

Afterward, he can break down precisely how it happened and still can’t manage to stop it. One moment they are walking back to a bench where they can watch Michael splash alongside a group of kids playing in the spray of a fire hydrant, and the next…Somehow there’s a crowd separating him from Peggy, an old woman walking beside him having her cane slip out from under her, but when he bends closer to help her, he sees that she isn’t particularly old at all, her makeup already sweating off, and he drops her arm, feeling too slow even as he turns, knowing what he will see before he does.

Peggy is at his elbow again, and they both look at the place where Michael had been. Where he isn’t anymore.

“When I’m through with them,” Peggy says as they walk through the dusky streets back to the hotel, “there won’t be anything left.”

She sounds grim and truthful, and he knows that it isn’t about a point of pride with her, nothing about someone having managed to get the drop on her and damaged her professional reputation, but because it’s Michael and they lost him. He can feel the ache of it through his own core, the thought of the little boy who makes eager noises when they feed him something he likes and loves animals and hates sirens and has fallen asleep so many times tucked beneath Steve’s chin, trusting him as safety…that boy is in Hydra hands. He scrubs his hands over his face and forces himself to follow Peggy despite the sickness in his gut.

It only gets worse when they pass the front desk, and the concierge calls them over to deliver two messages. The first is from an SSR agent whose name Peggy acknowledges with a tightening of her mouth and who reports that Cindy had been traced to Los Angeles, but that she’d apparently already started back for St. Louis herself; she should be arriving on the next train. Based on the time the message was sent, she will likely be back in the city early the next morning.

The message underneath is simpler: Will trade for Rogers. 10 tonight, main stage of the Fox. No higher ups, no tricks. They don’t need more than that to threaten.

“I’ll do it,” Steve says, voice low as they take the stairs two at a time to get to their rooms. “Me for him, it’s an easy trade. I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” Peggy says, something steely but affectionate to her words as she unlocks her door. Every motion is purposeful, as if she knows exactly how many steps it will take to find her weaponry. “I never doubted that. Now the question is how we make certain that we get both of you back.”

“It doesn’t matter about me,” he says immediately, but she only glares at him. “Honest, Peg, I’m not the important one here.”

“If you can’t consider that I—that perhaps some of us aren’t so eager for you to put yourself in danger by giving yourself over,” she snaps, “then at least recall that they aren’t simply demanding you in trade in order to strike a blow to Allied morale; their hope is that experimenting on you sufficiently will reveal some sort of secret to the serum, and if they’re successful, the tide of the war will turn decidedly against us.”

“Right.” Steve shakes his head, trying to clear the questions about Michael’s safety which crowd through each thought. “Right.” And he closes his eyes briefly, picturing the layout of the Fox Theater in his mind from the one matinee and one evening performance they’d managed before everything went south. Peggy by his side, they begin to plan.

They don’t bother contacting anyone from the SSR. Peggy speculates that it will only mean too much dithering and blame-laying and debating, too much time wasted. She doesn’t say aloud that they might decide that the life of one little boy wasn’t worth the potential threat to Steve and not even attempt the trade, but Steve knows that it’s all too possible. It’s easier this way - he has Peggy here, backup he trusts, and doesn’t have to sneak around to be able to do the right thing, the only thing.

He remembers where the stage door is, goes right there; when he sees a man leaning against the wall, having a casual cigarette, he knows that Peggy’s instincts were right. Shaking out his shoulders, he approaches.

“No funny business, now,” says the man, dropping the cigarette and pulling a pistol from the inside of his jacket. “I’m a good shot, and they tell me that even you would have a hard time coming back from a point blank bullet.”

He holds the gun without the care and weight that Peggy gives to her own weapon, and Steve narrows his eyes at that. His accent is unexceptional to Steve’s ears, his face in the streetlight like that of anyone Steve might have passed a dozen times in his life. A hot and sweeping anger licks through his body, thinking of someone who he could easily have been neighbors with or worked beside in any office or factory standing for this evil.

He forces himself still, however, when a second man comes through the cracked open door at the sound of their voices and begins to pat Steve down. He’d dressed simply knowing that they would probably do that, and so after only a minute, he’s being nodded inside and led through the back passages he’d walked last week under very different circumstances.

The stage looks different without the set and the lights, or at least the bustle of the crew and the girls. A third man stands in the center, shadowed, but Steve can see the unmoving bundle in his arms. Every one of his muscles goes wire-tense, and it is a desperate, close-edged thing that he doesn’t go running forward.

“Came alone, then?” calls the man. “We saw the argument you had with the woman.”

“Agent Carter didn’t approve of my coming.” Steve stops at the edge of the wing, only moving forward when the gun at his back insists on it. “She didn’t think it was worth it. I couldn’t take that chance.”

The man laughs, casual and genuine and awful, but at least Steve can breathe out, seeing Michael stirring a bit at the noise. “Calculating. A woman after my own heart. Too bad you’re too soft to have held out. Of course, we didn’t expect anything else from…What is it they call you? Ah, yes, Captain America.”

The men behind Steve laugh as well at that. Steve ignores them.

“Let me see that the boy is safe,” he says, the desperation in his voice not feigned or exaggerated or part of any plan. Michael is nothing to them; they could easily and remorselessly have done something to him, determined only to lure Steve here.

“Of course he’s safe.” The man clicks his tongue, shifting the bundle in his arms and pulling back the blanket which had been over his face. Even in the minimal light, Steve recognizes Michael easily, watching sharp-eyed for the steady rise of his chest, familiar after all these nights. He rubs a palm over his chest, near his heart.

“He cried himself to sleep, I’m afraid,” says the man, and the way he is looking down at Michael’s face forces Steve to swallow the urge to tear him until there is nothing left but pieces. “But I’m sure he will be glad to be home again when he wakes - even if he won’t exactly remember what you did for him. But the question is, if the woman is not with you, how to make the trade. We could—”

But whatever falsely helpful suggestion he was about to offer falls by the wayside, because several things happen at once. The fire alarm system goes off, blaring through the theater, startling them all - but especially Michael, who wakes and begins to cry nearly louder than the noise itself. Both disruptions offer a decent enough distraction, but not quite enough that the leader doesn’t notice that Steve has turned on the goons who were guarding him and, taking advantage of their surprise, punched one into the other so they go flying past the curtain and deeper into the wing.

“I’ll—” he starts shouting, although the threat doesn’t go much farther than that: Steve can hear the moment he feels Peggy’s pistol buried in his back.

The words choke off and instead there is Peggy’s cool voice saying, “Hand over the child, and don’t even consider trying to bite into the capsule in your tooth. I have a kit here that Howard Stark himself assures me will act as an antidote, and if I have to revive you on top of everything else, I won’t take to it kindly and you won’t like the results.”

Steve grins a little to himself, but he is caught up in keeping the other two down. Sometimes his body moves so easily now that he doesn’t immediately remember all the time that it did not; right now, he notices it all the more. Even without any training, his punches simply have more power, his eyes are sharp enough to have him aiming where it can hurt every time, and if they get a hit in, this new frame simply absorbs it.

“I think this might help,” comes a new voice when Steve finally has the two moaning on the ground. Steve reaches out to grab the rope from Annalee, thanking her without taking his eyes off the pair he’s tying up. He learned his knots from a library book, practiced on a piece of string in his bed through a long winter, and they hold just as they always have.

When he turns to signal to Peggy, he finds that she’s just finished tying up her target and is standing, holding out her arms so Wilma will pass Michael over to her. Behind her, Patty and Leona are joining too, but Steve barely notices them.

For the first time all night, his shoulders relax. He meets Peggy’s eyes, watches her rock Michael lightly to start trying to calm him back to silence, and smiles.

They briefly considered simply dropping the Hydra agents at the local precinct, but in the end knew that they needed to contact the SSR to have them picked up and interrogated. When the higher-ups arrive, Steve and Peggy are alone with Michael. The few girls from the Star Spangled Show who were still in town instead of taking advantage of the break had been willing to lend a hand - “You’re one of us, Rogers, and Cindy was too, even if she ran off right after I’d altered her costume my own damn self,” Stella had said when they explained the situation, ashing her cigarette and getting to her feet - showing Peggy the back entrance to the hotel that they found to avoid the chaperones, and taking her in through the tunnels below the theater that the stagehands had used, and flirting with and/or high kicking the extra Hydra muscle roaming around as needed. Nevertheless, they didn’t need to get mixed up in the official after-action.

Corporal Whiting, the head of the detail, seems simultaneously disdainful and impressed regarding the whole situation. When he begins to take Peggy to task over her failure to prevent Hydra getting their hands on Michael and nearly on Steve himself after she’d insisted on taking leave to attend to the matter, Steve has barely let out a confused “hey!” of protest before Peggy is saying coolly, “My regrets over any mistakes I might have made will remain mine, but I’ll remind you that if this was such a high SSR priority, then perhaps you should have actually sent along staff and resources and…prioritized it,” raising an eyebrow with such crispness that Whiting gapes speechlessly for a moment.

“Well,” he finally blusters, “I suppose we won’t write you up. But we’ll be expecting your report before you leave for London tomorrow night. And you—” He looks at Steve, seeming a little annoyed at the definite way he has to tilt his chin upward to look him in the eyes. “We’ll certainly be reporting your part in this to Colonel Phillips himself.” Whether he means it as a threat or a promise, that doesn’t actually sound too bad to Steve - after weeks on the road, it would be nice to know that Phillips even remembers that he’s there, a possible asset to be used rather than being invisible or some nuisance - but he just keeps his face blank and nods. He thinks he actually sees a little relief in the corporal’s expression as one of the others calls him over and he can stop blowing hot air at them.

“I didn’t realize that you were going to London,” Steve says, turning to Peggy. He keeps his voice low, Michael once again asleep against his shoulder. The poor little guy still has tear tracks on his face, and he moves his head restlessly back and forth in his sleep, but Steve pats his back in the way he likes and tries to settle him a bit.

“I wasn’t aware either,” Peggy says wryly. “But I suppose that’s only to be expected these days. I go where I’m needed, after all.”

“About that—” Steve starts, but before he can continue, there’s a shriek from behind him. He turns just in time to see Cindy’s familiar blonde curls fluttering as she shoves her train case at one of the agents accompanying her and dashes down the aisle toward where Steve and Peggy stand.

“Cindy, you’re—”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, and bursts into tears. Around her sobs, she continues, “I’m sorry I left you with him. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I just left him. I only thought—You’re Captain America, you know, and you’re so nice and so good-looking and you’re touring the country and, well, even if you sent him to stay with your sweetheart of something, that would still get him so much more in life than being my kid and growing up in a nothing dot of a town in Wisconsin. My sister said that I should have left him with her and maybe he’d like growing up never seeing anywhere new and just milking cows his whole life, but…they’re cows.”

She tries to fall against his chest, a few stray tears wetting his pale blue shirtfront, but Steve’s startled enough and the noise is loud enough to have Michael awake and wailing too. Steve trades a somewhat desperate glance with Peggy, who raises an amused I’d love to see you manage this one yourself eyebrow at him before sighing and shaking her head and guiding Cindy over to one of the red upholstered seats.

“I really am sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t realize I’d get Steve in so much trouble, or that there’d be danger and—Mac!”

Steve looks around at first, trying to figure out who she’s talking to. But when he turns back, Cindy is holding out her arms to take the baby Steve is still trying to soothe.

“His name is actually Michael,” he nearly tells her, but she’s already on her feet, reaching, saying, “Oh, Malcolm, come to Mommy.”

Peggy steps forward again, and Steve can see that she has the same instinct as he does, the one that says that just because Cindy knows the baby’s actual name, it doesn’t mean that she should get a chance to have him. But Michael—Malcolm, Steve corrects, with a painful little clench of his stomach—Malcolm catches a glimpse of her and flails a hand in her direction. Taking in a breath, Steve makes himself place the baby gently in her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Cindy whispers into her son’s hair, rocking him slightly back and forth. The flaky bits of her, the wide-eyed platinum blonde showgirl who wants to make it big in the city, seem to drop away for a moment as they watch. “I’m sorry I left.”

“You did,” Peggy says, crossing her arms. But as they watch, the little boy nuzzles into her, seeming calmed by the scent and feeling of his mother, she relents a bit. “You left,” she continues, “but you also came back.”

They walk back to the hotel together in quiet; their bodies are perhaps closer than Peggy realizes, although Steve can’t stop thinking about the moments that her skin nearly brushes against his, about the way he recognizes the scent of her, Evening in Paris and gun oil and a bit of clean sweat.

In the hallway before their side-by-side doors, they stop. Steve doesn’t want to leave her, doesn’t want to let her go, doesn’t want to walk into the room and see the empty crib he’s going to need to call the concierge to have taken away.

“Do you think Mich—” Steve stops, mouth going tight for a moment before he forces himself to correct, “Do you think Malcolm’s going to be alright?”

Peggy tilts her head, considering. He can see her tiredness in her shoulders and around her eyes, but she bears it as well as ever. “I don’t think Miss Garvey is going to try to leave him like that again. She did seem remorseful, after all. But I’ll be reaching out to this sister of hers before I go - it sounds like she has something of a more sensible head on her shoulders, and I’m certain that she’ll do whatever she can to prevent any similar sorts of antics from happening again. And between the two of them, I think he should be fairly well-loved, whether he’d like to come make it in the city or would prefer to enjoy his small town life alongside his cows.”

Steve snorts, and grins, his head tipping back, and then he’s laughing, quiet but full. When he looks at Peggy again, she’s shaking with equal mirth, such that it takes a few moments for them to contain themselves; each time they catch each other’s eyes, they start up again.

Finally Peggy gets her breath back and says, “This certainly wasn’t any situation that I’d have expected to end up in, but I think the first Michael would have been proud.”

“Do you want to…” Steve swallows. He doesn’t ever want her to feel as if there are things she cannot tell him, feelings that she must keep secret or memories that must be hidden, but something twinges through him at the thought of asking the question. He pushes it away, continues: “You could tell me about him, if you wanted. The first Michael, your Michael, your…”

She studies him for a moment, and he isn’t certain what he expects her to say. But of the options that leap to mind - her finishing the sentence with “my husband” or “my fiance,” her politely turning him down and saying good night, her furiously informing him that she doesn’t need his nose in her business - what actually happens surprises him.

“My brother,” she tells him simply, and lowers herself gracefully onto the floor, legs angled primly beneath her skirt. She looks back up at him. “If you’re willing, I do have a few stories to share.”

She has more than a few, something which surprises Steve when she reveals that they both went away to school as children and so spent most of the time that they were growing up apart from each other. Still, every story that she tells, the ones which make Steve laugh and the ones which sober him, each makes him grateful to know that Michael Carter had been here once.

“You were right,” he finally says, leaning his head back against the wood of his door. “I think he would have appreciated everything that’s been happening around here lately.”

“Yes, he was quite the troublemaker but he was charming beneath that, and sweet too, deep down.” She pauses thoughtfully. “It’s why I suggested that name - because I could see that in Mich—in Malcolm too.”

They’re quiet for another moment, then Steve says simply, “I’m going to miss him.”

“Perhaps not when there’s a siren about,” Peggy suggests, one corner of her mouth ticking up, but only slightly. He can tell she understands even before she nods and says, “As surprising as it is, I believe I’ll miss him too.”

“I’m going to keep an eye on things around here, even once we’re back on the road - see that Cindy’s doing right by him, make sure he’s taken care of.”

He’s determined to follow through on that, even if he’ll have to figure out the details in the morning. Peggy seems to believe him, though. She smiles.

“I don’t know how effective I might be from across an ocean,” she says, “but I’ll try my level best to do the same.”

“You’re pretty effective wherever you are, and your best is better than anyone’s I know” he tells her, turning his head to smile at her in the golden light of the hallway fixtures, and she leans in and kisses him gently.

She had given him time to pull away - by now she knows the speed of his new reflexes - but he hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t thought of doing it for a moment. There is only the light, coaxing pressure of her mouth, the knowledge of how her curls feel between his fingers, how her skin and solidness feels beneath his hands.

Someone closes a door down the hall, and it’s enough to make them pull apart, reminded of the realities of the situation - that she is leaving and he is staying, that there’s a war on, that there are ways they are meant to present themselves outside of this little bubble they’ve made.

“I know that they need you over there, and that you’ll do a lot of good,” Steve says softly. One of his hands is still resting on her back. “But I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Her smile is a very true one - full, and a bit sad, and just for him. “I wish I didn’t have to. But…” She winds her fingers between his. “I’ll see what I can do to convince Colonel Phillips that you’d be useful to have with us. After all, when we heard about the situation here, I managed to convince him once that I was the only woman for the job, so I do know a bit about getting into his head. And I’ve heard that you were instrumental in apprehending several Hydra agents with minimal support.”

His smile blooms in return, unable to be contained as she acknowledges what he’d only hoped for: that she’d thought of him, that she wanted to see him the way he wanted to see her. “Don’t sell yourself short - and definitely don’t do it to the girls, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” Not knowing the next time he will hear her laugh, he treasures this one all the more, takes it in and lets the quiet afterward rest for a moment before he says, “If I get the okay, I’ll be across the ocean as soon as I can. But in the meantime, if I could, I might…” He can feel the flush in his face, but it feels too important to pull back now. “I’d like to write you letters, if I can.”

“I’d like that too,” she says, and although she sounds a bit more dignified than he does, there’s an eagerness to her tone that warms through his chest.

“And even if I don’t my orders don’t come through, the show’s scheduled to head to Europe soon, and if we could…”

“If I can, I’ll meet you there,” she says, and holds out her hand, as good as a promise.

So far he’s been in camp for several hours and one disastrous show, but hasn’t seen a sign of her and no one he's talked to has either. He tells himself it’s alright: he has one of her letters in his pocket, the rest of them in his kit bag, and Cindy just sent a photo of Malcolm that he can share with her in the next one. He knows that their side’s better for her being able to get her job done, and that there are folks far worse off than the two of them. His mouth still twists with slight regret as he ducks his head from the rain, bending over the new monkey he's sketching in the corner of his notebook; he’ll include it in the letter he’s planning to send to Wisconsin.

“Hello, Steve.”

He recognizes her voice, her scent, before he turns, his face already opening into a smile, warmth sliding through his limbs despite the weather and unrelated to his new baseline temperature.

“Hi,” he says, and means everything and more.

#SteggyWeek22 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #technically about 4 hours too late where I am - not to mention very weird and messy! - but here ya go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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