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too-lit-for-fanfic · 4 years ago

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A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.”

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion.

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy.

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew.

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now.

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face.

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance.

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being.

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern - shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest.

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot.

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone.

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight.

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste.

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be.

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy.

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

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jordanstrophe · 4 years ago

Text

Be a Good Guest, 12

Gabriel getting his rescue arc <3

CW: Held captive, conditioned whumpee, manipulation, *inhales *parental creepy possessive overprotective intimate whumper, rescuing whumpee, drugging implied

masterlist

The day finally came; the day he was dreading.

That morning Gabriel awoke to a new pair of clothes on a hanger strung from his doorknob waiting for him. It was a navy blue shirt, soft black jacket and dark jeans, the outfit Walter loved on him the most.

He had them washed and ironed just for today, the day his sister came just so he could show him off. He shuttered at the thought as he roughly tugged the shirt over his head. Hopefully, his sister wasn’t as monstrous as Walter was...

Right?

He nervously crept into the kitchen, Walter was cooking and baking like a madman.

“Son!” He cheered when he noticed Gabriel. He shied away, but his arm was quickly grabbed as he was pulled over to the large chipped rusted mirror. Walter took both his shoulders and pushed him down onto the stool, mercessly running a brush through his hair.

He was normally very gentle with the brush, but he wasn’t today. He bit his lip with every rough stroke until he quietly whimpered “You’re hurting me...”

“Sshshh, now now, be tough. I want you to look perfect today.” Walter smiled, pressing the cold palm of his hand against Gabriel’s chin to tilt his head up to look at himself in the mirror.

“Just look at you, so young, so sweet. You look wonderful, son.” He smiled, stroking his fingers through his hair once last time with a kiss. Gabriel tensed and cringed, but didn’t dare pull himself away.

I'm not your son.

“We’ve got an hour, be on your best behavior, mmkay?” His arms wrapped around his chest as he rested his chin on his head with a smile.

“Yes sir..“ He shook with a murmur.

Walter set the kettle while Gabriel nervously paced around the kitchen. He tried desperately to control his trembling legs, taking deep breaths and walking slowly, but his terror only grew with every minute that ticked away.

“Don’t be nervous, dove. I’m probably more nervous than you! I haven't seen my baby sister in ten years.” Walter chuckled.

I doubt that.... You’re safe and life isn’t on the line...

There was a knock on the old wooden door as Gabriel froze. Walter practically jumped for the door with excitement.

Life was moving in slow motion, he could feel his pulse pounding in his head as his legs threatened to give away.

Please... Leave me be... Don’t hurt me...

“Come, Gabriel!” Walter had snapped, but his voice sounded far and distorted.

‘I can’t do this’ Gabriel rasped beneath his breath. His hands fumbled for the doorknob to the basement, unlatching the cold iron lock. He curled up in his usual “timeout” corner on the cold floor as he draped his body over a forgotten rolled up rug.

He hid his face in his arms as he let his sleeves soak up his tears. He would rather be left alone down here, then up there. Soon, angry stomps stormed down the stairs as Gabriel shrunk further into the darkness.

“Gabriel! What on earth do you think you’re doing down here!? Get up!” He snapped.

“No!” Gabriel shouted, poking his head up just enough to see him.

“Let me stay down here, please! I’ll stay here as long as it takes to make you happy!” He cried.

Walter’s face fell from anger to concern as he knelt by his side.

“Gabriel, what are you talking about?” He asked. He let out a sigh as he thumbed away his tears. “You’re not in any trouble, this isn’t a trick, this isn’t a test. This is family coming to see you.” He smiled.

He should have seen this coming, his dove was just too fragile for something so sudden. It was his own fault for not easing him into a big change. He was so small and helpless. He should have done a better job at caring for him.

"Just... Come meet her? Please? For me?” He gave his best innocent face as Gabriel sniffled, slowly nodding his head

“Atta boy.” He grunted, wrapping his arms around him to pull him to his feet. “Try to behave. And smile.” He encouraged, leading him up the stairs as Gabriel clung to him by his coat.

Malady’s eyes scanned the old living room. It was well kept at least, not a speck of dust nor stain. There were odd metal loops embedded into the floors and walls but nothing attached to them, just an old rusted metal loop.

How odd.

She heard muttering and shuffling coming from the basement, Walter had just said Gabriel was being shy and ran off to go collect him.

Even more odd.

She shook her head while shaming herself, she shouldn’t always think of the worst of him. She had painted him as a monster in her head all these years, she was here to give him a second chance.

She plastered a sweet smile on her face when Walter finally returned, a figure hiding behind him.

“I’m so sorry for the wait! He’s not used to guests. Come on out now, Gabriel. I really want you to meet my sister.” He coaxed.

Gabriel slowly came out from under Walter’s arm, looking up at her with nervous eyes. She couldn’t control her smile as it slowly faded into shock.

“He’s-..”

“Adorable, isn’t he?” Walter cooed.

“I-... That’s not what I was going to-...” She was at a loss of words.

He was an adult. A clearly broken traumatized conditioned adult.

“Come! Sit down, I made dinner!” He cheered as Gabriel flinched and hid back behind him.

“Right, of course!” Her expression instantly turned soft again.

The table was set beautifully, filled to the edge with an assortment of all the food groups and dessert. They settled at the table as Walter’s eyes darted down at her shoulder brace.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good! Good, I got engaged last month.” She smiled proudly, flaunting the small ring on her finger.

“What!? That’s amazing!” He cheered, Gabriel shrunk lower in his seat at his sudden raised tone. “Ugh, whoever they are must be truly lucky. I’m sad I didn’t get to interrogate them to see if they were worthy.” He chuckled.

“So I uh... I got a hint of what happened to your shoulder.” He motioned. Malady sighed as she rested her arm on the table.

“Faulty parachute, combat medic training.” She sighed, weakly twitching the fingers of her right arm. She still wore the dog tag from the military, even though it had been three years.

“Enough about me, I want to know all about you two!” She smiled, resting her chin on her folded hands. “How’d you find him?”

“He um... It’s a funny story.” Walter chuckled. “Gabriel was in a car crash and I took the liberty of taking him in! Didn’t have anyone else so he ended up staying for longer and longer, then we made it permanent!”

That’s a lie.

“Oh! Is that right, Gabriel?” Malady’s eyes darted to him as he shot with posture.

Two pairs of eyes burned into his skull, desperately awaiting his answer. Sweat beamed on his brow as his eyes fearfully darted between the two.

“Yes mam, that’s right.” He mumbled.

Walter smiled proudly, Malady only looked more skeptical.

“You weren’t hurt too badly I hope?”

Before Gabriel could answer, Walter spoke for him. “He was fine! A busted lip is all.” He quickly interrupted. Gabriel’s mouth slowly shut.

“Huh.” She murmured, glaring at her brother.

“And where did you come from, Gabriel? You must have had a life before, right?”

“He hardly had anything! He was like a lost puppy wandering the streets.” He answered for him again. Gabriel’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.

That was a lie.

“Is that so... Well then, how kind of you to take him in, Walter.” She smiled.

That was... A lie?

She lied to me.

No one can lie to me.

“My dear! The tea is ready.” He smiled, abruptly standing up to grab the kettle. He set the golden pearly teacup full of steaming tea in front of her. “Wait... This-” She lifted the teacup, studying it until she found her initials engraved into the base.

“It was your old one, the one you left at my place, ten years ago.” He smiled.

“That’s right...” She murmured, pausing for a moment.

“Anyway, as much as I'd love a tea, it’s far too late in the day for me, thank you though.” She smiled, pushing the cup away from her. “Keep the cup.” She winked.

Walter’s face fell, twisting with disappointment... Disgust

Why didn’t she drink it?

She knows.

Doesn’t she?

“It’s the finest tea! I remembered how to make it just the way you like it. Really, you should give it a sip.” He smiled, his hand aggressively sliding it back to her.

“And I’m sure it’s divine! But I would really like to sleep tonight.” She challenged, sliding it back like a game of opposite tug-of-war between siblings.

“How about some herbal tea then! I can make a fresh batch.”

“I have a thermostat waiting for me in the car.”

“DAMMIT!” He finally snapped, grabbing the tiny teacup and smashing it on the floor as Gabriel let out a frightened yelp.

In an instant, Walter grabbed the meat tenderizer sitting on the counter as he charged her. Her left arm shot out, catching his wrist in mid swing as she wrenched his arm to the side, throwing him against the wall as the tool fell from his hands.

Gabriel bolted from the chair, knocking it over with a loud *bang* which scared him further as he locked himself in his room. Malady watched him sadly, but was relieved he wasn’t here to watch the rest.

“I know what you did.” She hissed, crouching down to his level as Walter trembled on his knees trying to get back to his feet. “I knew you hadn’t changed... But I... I had hope, Walter. I had hoped you got better. I’m sad to see I was wrong.” She sighed.

“Y-you...” He spat. “Yo-you can’t take him f-from me...” He growled as he glared up at her.

“Yes I can.”

"And I will."

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump @five-fictions-5-9 @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @thelazywitchphotographer @sophierose002 @happy-whumper @cowboy-anon

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #whumper #parental whumper #creepy whumper #possesive whumper #intimate whumper #protective whumper #conditioned whumpee #tw drugging #rescued whumpee

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serendipityunho · 6 years ago

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Best You’ve Ever Had

× genre: smut × pairing: ceo!Seonghwa x Reader (fem.) × word count: 3.2k × warnings: explicit language, consumption of alcohol, explicit sex, fingering, clit play, oral, handjob, hickeys, explicit dirty talk, neck kink, light choking, hand kink, teasing, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praising

× synopsis: Meeting Seonghwa’s parents for the first time was one thing. But keeping your lewd moans quiet in his childhood bedroom was another.

☁️: i see everyone is a sucker for ceo!seonghwa so why not jump on the bandwagon of writing dom!ceo!seonghwa lol

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“Mr Park! Welcome back, your parents are waiting inside” The door slung open to one of the bright smile of the estate’s housekeepers.

Seonghwa rubs his thumb against your hand as he held a bottle of one of his favourite champagnes in the other, a small gift for not paying his promised monthly visits to his parents. But what did they expect after handing him over the major responsibility of running their company?

“Are you nervous?” Your eyes snap away from the breathing-taking view of the large stairway with a golden chandelier hanging above it. Seonghwa gazes at you with soft eyes before flashing a comforting smile.

“No, not really. I hope not” You swallowed the lump in your throat before patting your sweaty palms down your red dress as the two of you enter further into the large mansion.

“They’re not that scary, trust me” Seonghwa’s soothing voice brought you reassurance, heart beating quieter as he held your hand down the hallway.

You could pry your eyes off the portraits of his family hung upon the walls, especially the ones with an adolescent Seonghwa staring blankly into the lens. They were encased with beautiful gold coloured frames and clean, clear glass that had you thinking about your embarrassingly dirty TV screen back at home.

“Mother. Father. It’s pleasant to see you again” Your eyes landed on the two figures already sitting at the long table with fancy looking sets of shiny plates and cutlery, all ready as the flock of maids push through the door with plated food probably worth more than your rent.

“Son, how have you been? It’s been a while since you’ve paid a visit” The husky man, his father, chuckles as he greets Seonghwa with a hesitant hug.

“I’ve been busy. Running the company like you wished” Seonghwa kept his response blunt but understandable.

The two men prominently resembled each other, it wouldn’t be a surprise to say they were father and son. His mother, however, was slowly starting to give you the chills with her icy stare up and down your body.

“I see that anti-ageing stuff has been working, mother” Seonghwa’s mother broke into a forced smile before welcoming back her son into her skinny arms as he lent down to give her a hug.

“Money can do wonders, darling-” Her feline eyes shot over to you, a sly smirk carving into her face as she steps in front of you and leans forward, gently engulfing you into her arms with her cheeks touching yours.

“- You must be the girlfriend. It’s nice to finally meet you. Come, sit down, dinner’s almost ready” Her strong scent of such unidentifiable florals lingered around your nose a bit before the four of you sat at the table.

“Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you too” It was difficult to hold back a stutter but you managed to anyways, mentally applauding yourself for not fucking it up with your first words to Seonghwa’s parents.

The soft cushion of the seat felt more luxurious than the pillows sitting on your bed. In fact, everything was, without a doubt, much better. From the coat-hanger to the crystal door knobs and high ceilings that were double the size of your small apartment.

You probably looked hopeless in front of Seonghwa’s parents as he remained unfazed at the familiar surrounding. It was his hand on yours that kept you tranquil throughout the dinner, that was until you had no idea which spoon to use for the desert.

“... the second one, baby” Seonghwa whispered, smiling as he took another scoop of his crème brûlée.

“We’ve already been told enough about you two, why don’t you tell us about you instead? What do you do for a living?” Seonghwa’s mother eyed you intensely, making your heart rate increase in beats with every second of her icy gaze.

“I- um, I actually own a nightclub downtown. It’s quite successful-”

“- successful from my son or from your own work?” She narrowed her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line making you swallow the obvious lump in your throat.

“Mother, please-” Seonghwa seemed to have noticed your anxious behaviour, interrupting his mother in hope to calm you down.

“What? I just want to know what she would be bringing to the table if, you know, you decide to throw a surprise wedding without my knowledge”

You blankly gape at her words, marriage was never thought so early upon your relationship with Seonghwa, let alone the long-term expectations from you. She sat there patiently, hands rested on top of each other as she waited for an answer from you.

“Uh no, Mrs. Park, I worked hard on my own to get it where it is” You hesitantly reach for the glass of wine with your slightly shaky hand, bringing it up to your lips before taking a small sip to heal your dried throat.

“Hm, self-made woman. I like that” A wave of relief washed over you. That was until you nearly choked on your wine when you felt Seonghwa’s hand slip from yours and slid up your dress, a little too close to the lining of your panties.

You settle the glass back onto the table a bit too harshly, nearly spilling the red drink on the white cloths of the table. The concerned eyes of Seonghwa’s parents settled on you as you subtly try to calm yourself down, tensing your thigh under Seonghwa’s touch,

“Are you alright, darling?” Seonghwa’s mother shot you a questioning glance, sipping on her own glass of red wine.

“Yes, sorry. I just drank a little too much, that’s all” You forced a firm smile at the two concerning faces before throwing a furrowed glare at Seonghwa to the side, only making him rub his fingers at the skin around the lining of your panties.

“Take it easy, babe, it’s not like we don’t have more wine at home” Seonghwa smirked, chuckling as he slyly slips his fingers under the hem of your panties, pressing the pad of his fingers firmly against your clit, making you squeeze your thighs together and shifting slightly in your seat.

Seonghwa must’ve enjoyed seeing the flustered look on your face when you finally faced him instead of giving him the side eye. That cocky smirk of his was enough to have your pussy gushing at nothing other than his sensual teasing touch.

“I’m okay, babe, maybe you should take it easy-” You nudged your head to the empty wine glass sitting on Seonghwa’s side of the table “- you’re driving, remember?”

“Oh that’s no problem, son. I can call the chauffeur to drive two you home” Seonghwa’s father boomed, raising the glass of wine for his son to keep drinking.

“Actually, I think we should stay here tonight. I don’t think there’s any meetings in the morning anyways so it wouldn’t hurt to have breakfast here-” Seonghwa shot a quick wink your way, slowly circling his two fingers around your throbbing clit “- unless you two are busy of course?”

“No, no! Not at all. I’ll have the maids prepare your room right now-” Seonghwa’s father signalled a gesture to the maid walking through the door at his call.

“Let’s hope they don’t have to change the sheets again” Seonghwa’s whisper against your ear sent shivers down your spine as you suppressed a quiet moan with a clenched jaw from the teasingly slow friction you were receiving.

The rest of the small talk only consisted of you trying not to spew such disgraceful sounds in front of Seonghwa’s parents, hoping they wouldn’t suspect anything unsettling happening under the expensive satin tablecloth of their dinner table.

Seonghwa’s fingers never made an exit out of your, now soaked, panties. You were sure he knew that your brain was pounding out of your skull, head pooled with clouds of lust as your consciousness slipped in and out of daydreaming and reality.

You were thankful for the comedic relief here and there that allowed you to subtly spew your soft moans into your laughs and forced chuckles. Your clit throbbed wildly, making you sightly roll your hips in your seat, hoping to get a quickening motion from Seonghwa.

As much as you preferred for such things to be happening in private, you couldn’t help but crave more of it despite the high risk of being caught. Your neediness only fed Seonghwa’s sadistic smirk to grow as he quickened his circular motions on your clit, rubbing it at a pace that would bring you to an orgasm in only a few minutes. Heck, even seconds.

“My darling, you must be tired. You’ve been looking sleepy since halfway through dinner-” If only she knew Seonghwa had pulled you into your sub-space “- I’m sure your room is ready by now, Seonghwa, dear, take her to bed why don’t you?”

“You’re probably tired too, mother. Get some sleep, we’ll talk in the morning-” Seonghwa flashed a smile before sliding his hand out from under your dress, pushing his seat back to stand before reaching the same out for you.

“- let’s get you some sleep” You narrowed your eyes at Seonghwa before taking his hand, dropping your napkin onto the table as you say your ‘goodnight’s and descend up the double set of staircases.

It felt almost as if your arm was being torn off as Seonghwa pulled you across the large level with walls lined with who-knows-how-many doors. It was until he reached the end of the hallway, swinging open the white double doors before pinning you against them and locking it behind you.

“What do you think you were doing down there?” You looked up at Seonghwa, waiting for a response only to have your lips shut with his and waist pushed forward against his body.

“Trying to calm you down, it obviously worked” Seonghwa groaned as he pushed his hardening crotch against your leg, squeezing your waist as your lips move with each other’s, tongue playing the other.

“Holding my hand would’ve been just fine” Your hands run through Seonghwa’s black hair, gripping it slightly tight as you push your chest against his and kicking off your heels with him fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

“You didn’t like it? Could’ve told me then” The tightness around your waist loosens as Seonghwa lets your red dress fall to the ground, immediately pinching the clip of your bra as his lips find their way onto your neck, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

“Who said I didn’t like it? I’m pretty sure I helped myself a bit too- mhm fuck” Seonghwa’s tongue swirled around your nipple as you hugged his head to your chest, playing with his hair as he fondles with your breasts.

With Seonghwa’s hard crotch rubbing against your leg, you couldn’t resist not touching him at all. Your hand fumbled with the leather belt around his pants, throwing it to the ground with a clink as you dipped your hand under his boxers before pulling it down completely, leaving him in his white button-up.

You pumped Seonghwa’s throbbing red cock as he pushed you back to the bed, making you fall onto the luscious mattress as he aggressively unbuttoned his shirt before piling it onto the discarded clothes on the floor. Seonghwa stared you down with lustful eyes as you got onto your knees, crawling to closer to him with your ass poking up and cold air from the unlatched window hitting your clothed pussy.

A low groan slips from Seonghwa’s mouth as you licked the tip of his cock, letting your tongue swirl around the base with your hand squeezing Seonghwa’s thigh and the other holding you up. Seonghwa bunches your hair into a messy ponytail as you took his cock in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down as you keep your doe eyes in contact with his droopy ones.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good like this” Seonghwa gently buckled his hips forward, abdomen tensing with each sharp exhale from the smooth motions of your tongue on his cock.

The neediness in your pussy grew painfully bigger with each time Seonghwa moaned your name, making you reach down to your clothed clit and rubbing it the same way he had done at the dinner table. You instantly felt the wetness coating every inch of your pussy, sliding your fingers up and down your slit before merely sliding the panties down for easy access.

You groaned against Seonghwa’s cock, sending vibrations to spark his nerves as you played with yourself. His head fell back in pleasure as he whispered inaudible things from his mouth, abs tensing as he slowly thrusted into your mouth.

It was until you licked the side of Seonghwa’s dick that you stood on your knees, teasingly pulling your panties down and falling on to the bed on your back, rubbing your pussy with one hand and fingering with the other before throwing your lace panties at Seonghwa to catch.

“Naughty, naughty. It’s not nice to throw things” Seonghwa crawled on to the bed, hovering over you as he pushed between your legs.

“My bad” You chuckle, teasingly sticking out your tongue as Seonghwa takes it in his mouth, kissing you sloppily before moving down your neck.

You continued to rub yourself as you bring a hand up back on to Seonghwa’s hair again, running it through your fingers as he laps his tongue on your neck and leaving purple blotches for him to admire. Seonghwa’s tongue was definitely something you cherished, only behind closed doors.

Seonghwa placed a hand on your knee, pushing it apart before hooking your leg over his shoulder as he kissed down the valley of your breasts to your quivering stomach from the hot breath coming from his mouth. A small gasp left your lips as Seonghwa kisses your clit, rubbing your thighs with his fingers as your legs sat on his shoulders.

The kitten licks on your pussy send your head falling back as you ran your fingers through Seonghwa’s messy hair. Your legs slowly contract onto Seonghwa’s head as he lapped his tongue against your folds before dipping his tongue into your pussy, making you slowly grind your hips against his mouth for more.

Your legs quiver at the sudden pressure on your clit, Seonghwa’s nose brushed against it, releasing a wave of very hot air on your bud of nerves. Seonghwa rolled his head side to side, flattening his tongue against your pussy as he left no area untouched.

“You taste so good, baby” Seonghwa smirked, eyeing you from below before crawling on top of you again with a sloppy wet tongue-tied kiss.

“Only for you” You pressed a hand against Seonghwa’s chest before pushing him onto the mattress, letting you sling a leg on the other side of him and grind your pussy onto his cock.

Seonghwa cupped your face before pulling your lips down onto his with a groan as you slowly slide your pussy up and down his dick, letting his tip poke at your entrance before sinking down on him completely. A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as Seonghwa grips your hips, bucking his hips up into you.

Your nerves spark with every thrust slapped into you by Seonghwa’s hips, making you bite down on his shoulder. His hands roamed every inch of your back, falling back onto your waist as you started rocking your hips against his.

Seonghwa adorned you from below, abs tensing as he raised his neck for a better look. Your head fell back at the sensation on your clit, Seonghwa licked his thumb before circling it on your clit, making you gasp in pleasure with your hand planted on his abdomen to keep you steady from your rolling hips.

“So beautiful, so fucking beautiful” Seonghwa lets one of his hands travel up your stomach, fondling with your breasts before wrapping it around your neck, thumb gently caressing it as you placed a hand over his.

The slight pressure against your neck made you go crazy, senses heightened to the fullest as you try to quiet your moans. You could feel Seonghwa’s piercing gaze all over your body, he praised it like a scared temple for his eyes only.

Your hips grew tired, practically grinding on him with the pace you were going. Seonghwa leant forward, cupping your face in both his hands before landing a chaste kiss on your lips, spinning your bodies around so that he was now pushed between your legs on top of you.

“Mmph fuck-” You had to bite down on Seonghwa’s bottom lip as he started snapping against you, sending your breasts bouncing up and down at the pace.

Your brain turned to mush at the addictive feeling of his cock thrusting deeper and deeper into you, making your walls clench around him, gushing at his movements. Seonghwa’s tongue played with yours as his hand found their way onto your neck, thumb pressing down on the same spot as before making your head grow hazy.

“Right there oh fuck- yesyes” Your legs twitch at the newly found sensation, knees bending as you wrap your legs around Seonghwa’s waist.

“So close, baby, so close” Seonghwa groaned, leaning back up to admire your fucked face from below as his fingers accomodate your throat.

The coil in the pit of your stomach was so close to snapping with every hard fast thrust Seonghwa’s hips did, making you clench harder around his dick. Your back arched off the mattress, hands flying to the side and gripping the bedsheets with your knuckles turning white.

You could hear the sloppy wet sounds coming from your pussy bouncing off the walls as your walls convulse around Seonghwa’s dick. You couldn’t think straight anymore, thoughts all over the place as Seonghwa’s pounded into you relentlessly.

“Yes yes ohhmygodfuckk- mhmmmph-” Seonghwa slapped his hand over your mouth, making you bite down on his hand to suppress your loud moans as fireworks set off in the pit of your stomach, hand tangled in your hair as the other held Seonghwa’s with your back arched completely off the bed.

Seonghwa didn’t stop there, his sloppy thrusts made you whimper against his hand as he was starting to chase his own high. Tears nearly brim your eyes from the rapid thrusts into your sensitive cunt as Seonghwa released breathy moans into your ear.

“Mhmph fuckk” You whimper once more as Seonghwa slammed short deep thrusts into your pussy, pooling his release into you as he moved his face up for a lazy kiss. Seonghwa released a small sigh of relief before resting his forehead against yours, eyes gazing deeply into your droopy ones.

Your heavy breathing filled the room with Seonghwa hovering over you, snaking an arm under your back to hold you close. Your body twitched with even the slightest movements Seonghwa made, causing him to chuckle a bit before sliding out from you.

“Was I too loud?” You caress Seonghwa’s cheek, rolling over to your side as he fell next to you on the mattress.

“My parent’s bedroom are in the other wing” Seonghwa swings an arm behind his head as the other hooks under your neck, fingertips playing with your naked back.

“Still. I don’t think your mother would hate me less after hearing that”

“The sleeping pills already have her knocked out at this hour, don’t worry”

“Let’s hope so”

“She doesn’t hate you, you know that right?”

“How can I? She’s been sceptical since she laid eyes on me”

“You said the same thing about me when we met”

“Oh, so that’s where you get it from”

#ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez fics #fanfiction #kpop #kpop smut #seonghwa smut #kpop imagines #kpop fics #ateez fanfics #kpop fanfics #smut #ceo!seonghwa #park seonghwa #ceo au #ceo smut #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #smut:seonghwa

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ikemenvmpire · 4 years ago

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Forget-me-not | Leonardo x Comte x Vlad

a/n: Hello beautiful ppl !!! It’s my first time writing a fic about this troublesome trio. Just to let you know there is no spoilers from Vlad’s route in this two-part series (could be three, you’ll never know). I wanted to showcase my fanon approach to their personal relationships and how they both psychologically and physically get affected by them. It’s quite rushed because of my finals and not proof-read I’m not satisfied with my writing, so please forgive me for possible grammar mistakes. Anyways, if you enjoy the content please interact! Let me know what you think, feedback means a lot to me.

Also my requests are open, I accept nsfw/sfw hcs and one-shots with any suitor you’d like

warning: angst, slight violence, true friends that stab you in the front, couple of sexual innuendos here and there.

word count: 2.1k

The good, the bad and the ugly. The subtle whisper inside of his head reminded him of a broken vinyl that kept dragging the notes of an unwanted invite from his memories.

His memories that lived inside his head as vivid as an Evening Primrose that blooms at night.

Upon hearing the silence that bled into the atmosphere surrounding them, Leonardo slowly settled the empty wine glass onto the glass table beside him.

“You’re too loud for your own good, Comte.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Comte turned towards the man that now deliberately searched for a match as he continued with his words that caused nothing but confusion.

“The violin stopped but you did not.”

Comte’s gaze dropped on the floor, meeting with the bow of his instrument laying on the polished floor of his quarters.

Still not pleased with Leonardo’s discourse he locked his eyes with his, demanding clarity.

“I can no longer hear anything other than the wheels that are turning in your head” Leonardo concluded, finishing his words with a light chuckle.

“Him-“ Comte’s words cut short by the lump that disturbed his throat and the heavyweight of the regrets he held in, for god knows how long, creating an immense pressure in his chest.

“I thought so” Leonardo continued, observing as the smoke that he held captive between his plush lips now slowly blurred his vision.

The blond leaned his back against the wall, the soft breeze of the midnight made the curtain beside him caress his hand.

“How long do you plan on keeping this up ?” the tone of his voice was stone cold nevertheless the look in his eyes warmed them up as they echoed in the silent room.

“I don’t know.” Comte murmured, he truly had no idea how to get rid of this troublesome burden. If he did, they would be enjoying their wine instead of Comte’s whining.

“Come” the man said as he placed the cigarillo on the ashtray and got up from his comfortable seat.

“Where to-“ the clicking of his shoes stopped as Leonardo turned his head to the side, not bothering to fully face the man that was intently watching him.

“Follow me and don’t worry about the rest.”

Comte, with a swift movement of his head, urged the fallen strand of his hair move to the side as he lowered himself down to the brightly lit candle.

Following his own reflection on the wax as the drop gently slid down to the remaining pile of melted wax, drowning his reflection in the hot liquid.

He softly blew on the fire to put it out. The smoke mixed with the comforting scent of vanilla danced in the air across the smoke of Leonardo’s cigarette, that suffered the same faith as Comte.

The more he missed him, the more his thoughts invaded his mind, burning through his skull. The reminiscences of the memories that were surrounded by his partner with moonlit hair and even brighter smile, turned Comte into ashes. The consequences of his thought train left him hanging like a dark cloud of smoke.

He grabbed his coat from the hanger near him as he directed his steps towards Leonardo’s spot. Pushing himself to leave his room and his worries as he reaches out to the handle of the door to exit.

“Lead the way, Leo.”

The silence brought serenity as the two of them kept walking in the beautiful forest. The sound of the autumn leaves that tremors under the vigorous darkness of the night filled the air, Leonardo held the careless man that wasn’t watching where he was heading to by the arm.

“Here we are.”

Comte turned towards the tall tree that Leonardo leaned his back against, questioning the unfamiliar feeling that had his head turning.

Leonardo lifted his fist up as he slammed it down againts the tree. His unexpected harsh movement caused Comte to wear a dumbfounded expression. It also urged the nightingales that were previously settled on the branches of the same tree to bat their wings away as they sung a song through the night.

“Hide and seek.” Comte uttered, breathlessly as the rest of the memories poured into his subconscious.

“Ah, there we go. Vlad used to pull this stunt each time.”

Comte laughed, taking a couple of steps back as he fell onto the soft surface of the grass. His childish behavior made Leonardo lose his composure, making two purebloods roar with laughter.

“...and yet you fell for it. Each time.” Upon his shameless accusation, Leonardo frowned and kicked the pile of leaves ahead of him, making them rain on the man that laughed like a maniac.

Comte seeked shelter from his own arms as he let his back fall completely flat on the moist grass. Staining every piece of clothing item he had on.

“No matter my loss, you bought the beers. Sounds like victory to me.” Leonardo responded nonchalantly.

“I am still curious to know why would you hide behind a tree again and again, it’s ridiculously obvious.” Comte continued to laugh as he seemingly couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

“Because it’s easier to hide behind it than to climb it” said Leonardo as a matter of fact.

Comte knew that his response could be interpreted with a single word rather than a whole phrase.

Lazy.

“It’s good to see you smile” he continued as he stared at the horizon.

Comte felt so close yet so far for the past couple of dawns this week. Leonardo surprised himself by being this worrisome of his friend, it was unexpected of him to act or feel this way.

“It hurts.” The painful hue of his tone caught Leonardo off guard.

He directed his gaze towards his feet as he tried to force out the appropriate words to describe how much he was hurting from within. Hoping that him spilling his guts to the only one he trusts, somehow would help lifting some of it’s weight off of his shoulders.

“Comte-“

“What did I do to make him push me away like he did back then ?”

Leonardo decided to seal his parted lips as he followed Comte’s soliloquy with absolute attention.

“I gave him all I had and all I was. My trust, respect and loyalty for him was indubitable.”

He continued, closing his eyes shut. The tension bled from his fingertips, through his soft locks. He clinged on his hair as he concentrated on the darkness behind his fluttering eyelids.

“It wasn’t enough” Leonardo added, carelessly kicking the rock in front of his feet. He knew that greed was more than welcome in Vlad’s vocabulary.

His world wasn’t tainted by useless distractions. He was either black or white, whereas those who considered him a friend lived under a gray sky.

“I wasn’t enough” Comte whispered, his words fell from his lips lighter than a feather.

Leonardo lowered himself to his level as he suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Easily picking him up and capturing him between his strong hold and the tree.

Comte’s pulse quickened thanks to the adrenaline of the moment. His warm but fast breathing felt warm against Leonardo’s cheek.

“You.”

“Look at me and listen to me carefully because I will say this only once.”

“...and I will not see you whimper about shit that you can’t fix ever again.”

Comte, nervous as he was, found comfort in his vulgar action. The harsh friction against his back and even harsher words that tickled his ears made him come back to his senses.

“What would I do without you ?” Leonardo’s brows furrowed in response to Comte’s utterly sappy words.

“Presumably, what you do without me.”

Unanticipated voice that traveled through the depths of the forest made both of them turn their heads slowly as Leonardo’s hands abandoned Comte’s collar.

“Vlad.”

His soft chuckle concealed the suspense of unsolved matters. The air that Comte inhaled now felt sharper than a blade. Vlad’s presence left a bittersweet taste on his tongue. The type he didn’t want to get rid of but also the one he didn’t want to recall.

“Long time no see” Leonardo added, emotionlessly.

“You sound overjoyed Leonardo” Vlad responded, not disturbing his calm and collected aura, not even the slightest.

Comte huffed as he patted on the expensive material of his coat, trying to look more presentable.

“Why are you here ?” He hissed, avoiding possible eye contact in any way he could.

Vlad placed his hand on the inner side of his coat and dragged out a thin velvet envelope. Nearing towards his position, Comte fixed his posture, standing tall with overpowering feeling of manifactured confidence.

Vlad offered him a delightful smile as he raised the blood red envelope between his fingers and brushed the fallen strand of hair in front of Comte’s face with it.

The sharp edge of the envelope traced the delicate skin of his face, the sensation left him almost nervous. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, covering the his body with goosebumps.

Vlad, at last, pressed the envelope on Comte’s chest, where the palm of his hand found his heartbeat.

Comte’s words deceived his true intentions, he couldn’t comprehend how everything felt like the way it did in the past.

The pain felt fresh but what tore his heart apart was the agonizing disappointment.

“Care to explain ?” He said, ignoring the dark cloud of regret that struck thunders above him as he glued his eyes on Vlad’s.

“There’s not much to say when you can just see the things the way they are.”

Leonardo threw his head back as he let out a condescending laugh, letting his tongue wander on his bottom lip.

“Are you still hanging out with Shakespeare ? Where does this literacy come from ?”

“Depends on how you interpret ‘hanging out’.” Vlad lowered his gaze towards his hands with an unreadable smirk, the hands that earlier this encounter found their way up on playwright’s neck.

Comte distracted by the mysterious item that he held, ripped the envelope as the velvet paper revealed a flower with soft purple pedals stained with crimson blood.

The sharp scent got the honey tint of his eyes leaving it’s place to the darkness of his fully dilated pupils under the shock of realization.

The same scent belonged to none other than the new resident of his mansion.

Then the realization hit him, not faster than he hit the devil in disguise.

Vlad landed on his back as his heels dug on the fresh soil with the force of Comte’s blow.

“What did you do to them ?” He spat, the pressure of his clenched teeth visible upon his sharp jaw.

Not amused by his response, that consisted of silence and arrogance, Leonardo held him by his long locks and yanked his head back with the sole purpose of looking down on him.

“He asked you a question, didn’t he ?”

Vlad hissed at his gesture, nevertheless entertained by the burst of untamed hatred.

“I’ve heard.”

He let his eyes stray on his sharp features, a flash of remembrance struck him.

“I don’t think that you would be pleased to hear what I have to say.” His smirked widened, so did Comte’s eyes.

Running out of patience and will power, Comte rushed towards him to wipe the amusement out of his face.

Unbeknownst to him, Vlad was more than ready to wrap his hand around the slender wrist that was aiming to hit him square on the face.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves shall we ?” He muttered as he pulled Comte towards him with a strong grip.

Leonardo watched the scene unfold right in front of his eyes, taking a step forward only to back down afterwards. He decided that letting Comte get trashed would help him come to terms with his unsolved inner matters.

Unsolved matters, unanswered questions that constantly fed his break-point.

Comte struggled to get out of his grip. His nails dug into his flesh, the sweet pain drove his senses wild.

“Tomorrow at 12 a.m., sharp.” He said, placing his warm lips closer to Comte’s ear.

Vlad let his wrist free and stood up, for a short instant none of them seemed to move or speak.

There was a lot to talk about but their emotions lacked words, their questions lacked answers and their actions lacked sincerity.

Vlad turned his back against Comte and directed his gaze towards the bloody flower on the floor. Recalling his memento for one last time.

“Don’t make me wait” was his last command. Cold and ruthless, no sign of mercy or compassion.

Then the farewell of his footsteps followed.

Trust is as safe as a gun afterall.

It doesn’t kill unless it’s in the hands of those who know how to pull the trigger.

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be tagged): @leonardoism @hotanekooo @ranhanabi777 @chaotic-coyote @thedollarstoresatan @justsomepersons @stardust-dreamer13 @nishtharya

Part 2 is coming

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inquisitive-june · 3 years ago

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I'm thinking about buying some feminist stickers to put on my laptop. If anyone has recommendations or wants to drop their store in the notes go for it! I don’t want anything libfemmy but I’m also avoiding stuff that’s too controversial because I’m putting them on my stuff not sticking them around town. I plan on buying some stickers with stuff like skulls, flowers, and mushrooms so I’m mostly sticking with stuff that fits that aesthetic.

I have several on my list but so far my top choices are:

the chemical structure for estrogen

"women belong in the kitchen lab" with an Erlenmeyer flask

"stomp out the patriarchy" with flowers growing out of a pair of boots. The woman wearing the boots has hairy legs which is a detail I didn't notice the first time around!

"when there are nine" (reference to a RBG quote, might be an interesting conversation starter)

"femininity is a cage free yourself" next to a bug. (I know someone I follow mentioned it but I don't remember who)

A grave that says "your fragile masculinity" (is it a bit confrontational? Yes but I also kinda wanna piss off any man who would be offended)

Ones that I'm on the fence about but really like:

"effortless estrogen excellence" with two estrogen symbols. Both are blue with pink edges. (TERF-adjacent so I might have to explain myself; tbh it would be in my top list but I don’t like the pink)

a coat hanger that says "this is not healthcare" (might be too confrontational and I don't wanna get harassed in public)

a uterus giving the middle finger (only reason it’s here is because I wanna avoid curse words and middle fingers)

"WARNING: Objects in mirror may be distorted by socially constructed ideas of 'beauty'" (A little too wordy but I like the message)

"sisters in science" with an image of Rosie the Riveter as an astronaut. (She looks suuuper feminine for no reason but I love the idea so much it might win me over)

Two suffragettes holding a "votes for women" sign (doesn’t really fit my aesthetic but I like it. Might stick it on something on its own instead of with the others)

"smash the patriarchy" written on a hammer (too similar to the stomp out the patriarchy sticker but I could stick it on something else)

#stickers #feminist stickers

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer. Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

“Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear. “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.” Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face. “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse. “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student. “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal. “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.” “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised. She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other. “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

“Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door. “Sam?” The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks. “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters. “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas. “Get in,” she tells him.

Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

“Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.” Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package. Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs. “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness. “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch. “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade. She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

“One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening. The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror. “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door. “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

“Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

“Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.” “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm. Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.” “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.” Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

“Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again. “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again. “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder. “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling. “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act. “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away. He nods, swallowing hard. “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him. “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?” “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed. “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

“Zo?” The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say. “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--” “Don’t mention it.”

Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon. “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.” “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down. “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination. “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be. “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse. “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point. “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression. “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.” “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.” She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back. “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.” “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans. His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?” Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him. “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.” “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side. “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests. “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled. “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.” Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?” Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.” “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

“You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time. “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?” “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies. Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place. “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends. Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.” “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders. Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up. “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully. “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern. “Complicated case?” Dean comments. “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.” “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures. “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes. “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time. “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

“Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her. Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time. “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.” “Be careful,” Sam offers. Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

“I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue. Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself. “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night. Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

“Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong. Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street. “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition. “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off. “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.” “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back. “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind. “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.” “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago. “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.” The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.” Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?” “I am,” Same confirms. “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead. “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?” “Waco it is,” Dean agrees. Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too. “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage. “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware. He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

“Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!” “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him. “Calm down?! She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode. “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator. Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

“For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.” “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions. “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural OFC #Supernatural #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #dean winchester x ofc #Sam Winchester x ofc #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #STSS #In Bad Waters #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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darkromanceblackburn · 5 years ago

Note

A bit of Fluff and NSFW of a frustrated Touch-Starved!Collector coming back to his hotel after a long day at work just so he can push the shy Touch-Staved!reader-who is his favorite-against the wall so he can 'hold' her.

The Collector x Reader- Vespula squamosa

If Asa hated something, it was for his schedule to not go according to the plan, creating chaos in his mind and making his brows furrow all day; and of course, there had to be someone who had to make some smartass comments.

"Stop furrowing, Emory. You're gonna get wrinkles."

Asa refrained himself from throwing a sadistic comeback at that man, and choose to go on with his day, ignoring anyone who could become a pest and distract him.

Extra work didn't bother Asa, but he would appreciate the headmaster of the university had told him with a day prior so he could rearrange his schedule. It was almost getting dark outside and the brown-haired male let out a frustrated sigh as he finished all the mountain of paperwork, cleaning up his desk and putting everything into place.

He hated to come the next day and see a mess, so he prefers to leave everything in immaculate perfection; taking off his lab coat, he neatly put it on a hanger by the door, loosening his tie a little. He put on his denim jacket and took one last glance at his office, before exiting and locking the room.

Walking down the hallways, he debated if he should go home; there was none waiting for him, he was all alone and truthful, Asa preferred it to stay that way. At his age, most were either in a serious relationship or married, but not him. The idea to change himself and make compromises for the sake of someone didn't appeal to him, especially when his life was complicated, to him not, but to most yes.

If he wasn't at the university, then he would be at the hotel, and if neither, he chooses to stay at home and bask himself with a book of history or entomology, or simply working on his normal collection. People weren't that attracted to someone who enjoyed spending time with bugs.

Either way, Asa liked his current situation, he could go home whenever he wanted and none would question him, he could make his own agenda without having to ask someone if they wanted to spend today watching a movie or going to dinner.

Entering his car and starting the engine, he drove off to the hotel, noting that tomorrow it was his day off and staying the night working on his real collection wasn't going to bust his plans.

As he reached the building and entering it, he was greeted by the two german shepherds who only gazed at their master, not even jumping on him of happiness; they knew better than to act like love-sick puppies. He got his 'work' attire, enjoying how comfortable the turtleneck was, unlike the white button-up that was constricting movements.

The hotel was deadly silent, the alive ones of his collection didn't dare to scream or even make a sound, afraid that their tongues will be cut off. Asa had a habit of putting on punishment demonstrations for acting like brats.

He was walking down the maze of hallways, his destination very much known and he wanted to see how his favorite specimen was doing. As he reached his desired location, he unlocked the door and opened it slowly, his gaze straight at your form, one leg chained for you to not even reach the door, despite always locking it, the Collector knew better than to underestimate.

You were sitting down, back against a wall, and looking straight at the opposite one, not even sparing him a glance. After so many weeks, perhaps months, you decided that it was better to shut your mind when he came, protecting yourself more so mentally. You learned that despite how many times he cut you or hurt you, he will always patch you up, so physically you were out of the deadly zone.

At first, you were a spitfire; screaming, kicking, cursing him out, only for him to sew your mouth shut. It hurt like hell, but in time you learned better and decided that you needed to survive, so you played obediently. Freedom and life were more valuable than pride, that you learned after you were tortured. You earned his trust, somehow, and got your mouth free, but the holes that he pierced with the needle to sew it shut were ugly, at first until they healed.

You heard his steps, he was coming closer to you, but you gave no reaction, even as he was in front of you, his black-clad legs and combat boots.

"Up." It was a simple command and you complied, not in any mood to disobey and find yourself in another torture game that he wanted to play with you.

Getting up, your eyes were now on his broad chest, face an emotionless mask. His nitrile hand grasped your chin, a bit too rough for your liking, but it wasn't like you could tell him to fuck off, although the idea was very much tempting.

It made you wonder why you were his favorite; he told you that one time. You didn't consider yourself something special and you didn't give him any ideas that you might like him, if anything you hated him.

The Collector considered you his favorite of many reasons; for started you were a fun one to break. The first two weeks at the hotel were a nightmare for you and an annoyance for him. Your mouth and words could put a sinner to shame, always spitting and cursing, showing that you weren't scared, even when he spends hours torturing you, that acidic glare was straught set on his masked face. He had to give you credit for managing to put on such a brave facade, but you came to a breaking point and finally lowered your head.

Obedience, you began to listen to him, although at first, you had your slips, but nothing that whipping and chains couldn't correct. His gloved hand moved down from your chin and grasped your neck, pinning you up against the wall, showing how easy he could over-power you, using just simple brute strength.

Your gaze locked onto his, and you felt a chill run down your spine as his glinting black eyes bore into your skull, almost like a drill piercing your frontal lobe.

If Asa didn't like something it would be the dull look; he didn't like to have his authority being questioned, but ignoring? Especially from his favorite? That wouldn't do.

"Well? You don't have something to say?" he asked, his voice raspy and deep, not being used to speak so much when he was his Collector persona.

"What's the point?" you replied with a question of your own, biting on the inside of your cheek, not being used to make conversations with him.

"Don't you want to live?" another answer with a question.

"Why are you doing this?" There weren't answers, only unanswered questions.

That was a good one. Why was he intrigued by you, normally he would associate such humans as yourself with butterflies, so easy to break, but you were no butterfly. If he had to compare you with an insect, he would say you were a Vespula squamosa or better known as a yellow jacket.

You were fierce at first, but as soon as he broke your acidic needle, you were left completely helpless, a shy and quiet mess. The ones that were hard to crack were the most fascinating, the satisfaction of taming someone like you was making his chest swell with pride.

The Collector tilted his head to the side, looking into your eyes for some kind of emotion, but your face was like a closed book. He moved closer to you, until his chest was pressing against yours, bodies flush together. He felt your breath hitch and your heartbeat pick up your pulse quickening.

The look in your eyes was something else, it wasn't fear, no. He knew what fear looks like, this was an embarrassment, noted by the slight pink dust on your cheeks. You weren't used to this close contact, especially by an adult male that could crush your skull if he wanted to.

"Are you nervous?" the Collector asked, close to your ear, his voice very calm, but that didn't help your anxiety.

"P-Please..."

He raised an eyebrow behind his mask, a little surprised by the word. You never begged and the way your voice was shuttering, he knew these signs, he had seen them by females at the university when males talked to them.

Attraction. You were attracted to him.

This time he smirked, something unlike Asa, but very much like the Collector. This was too priceless, his thumb stroking the skin of your neck as the grip remained there.

This new-found information, he could use it to destroy you, from the inside, something that blades, drills, and chains couldn't do. He felt a rush of blood run down to his groin at the new idea to torment you.

"My little yellow-jacket...I'm gonna have so much fun with you." he whispered into your neck, your eyes widening as his teeth sunk into your skin.

None could hear your screams.

#the collector x reader #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #asa emory #Asa Emory x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies

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just-the-mage · 4 years ago

Text

A Return from Dark Waters, Part III

Part I / Part II

Written with the lovely and talented @iris-ymir! <3

Iris picked up the fork, holding it between her thumb and middle finger. While poking the pie lazily, she kept rubbing her temple. Her head was pounding, like something was trying to force its way out through her skull. Purple eyes followed Eva, as the woman was working around the kitchen. Iris had never seen this side of her. Maybe it had always been there, but she had never paid attention to it, while toying around with the poor girl. She saw Evangeline in a completely new light. Was this because Blacksoul had taken her in, and given her a job? Or was this because of Irene? Iris did not know what to think of this Irene-person yet. Evangeline seemed to enjoy the company of the foxy creature, but there was something about Irene that Iris could not get a hold of. Compared to Lareine, she was completely different... There was something sinister in Irene.

“Where do you keep your cigarettes? I can fetch one for you…” Evangeline had walked up to Iris, while she had been lost in thought. The pale viera raised her gaze up to the woman, giving her another uneven blink. Eva still had her towel around her, and another wrapped around her long, red hair. The towel was the same Evangeline had when she first took a bath in the manor. It was way too small for her tall, muscular form. It took a moment for Iris to notice she was staring, and she quickly turned sideways on the chair, gazing towards the hallway.

“...Heck... Dere should be a pack in da drawer, ‘aight next to tha damn coat hangar... At least dere was... Another should be in tha pocket of mi leather jacket...

...Danke, Evangelin’.”, Iris sighed out, as the woman headed towards the doorway, leading into the hallway. The scent of fresh coffee started to fill the kitchen. Iris picked up the glass of water Eva had given to her, and held it to her lips. It was weird being here, after such a long time. In this kitchen, where everything seemed to be as it had been...long ago. It was like the whole world around had frozen in place for two years. Iris tipped the glass, taking a long sip, and then it happened. As the water ran down her throat... as she tasted it on her tongue, it suddenly returned her to the bottomless sea. She gasped for air, ending up only breathing in the rest of the water that was in her mouth. Cold fingers of terror ran up Iris’ back, and the glass dropped from her fingers and onto the floor, shattering into pieces with a loud crash, echoing through the manor. She curled up, coughing, and finally threw up onto the floor, where the remains of the glass were resting.

The viera’s hands were shaking as she grasped her upper arms, digging sharp fingernails into pale skin. The image of the white beach faded, and she was in the kitchen again.

“I... Im not comin’ back...”, Iris muttered to herself, as tears ran down her cheeks. “... Ye ‘ear mi, motherfocker?! Im n-not comin’ back!”, she broke into a shrilling giggle, rocking back and forth on the chair. The coffee pot was boiling alone on the stove.

The shattering of glass broke the night-time silence that sat heavy in the air of the manor, piercing Evangeline’s reverie as she approached the jacket hanger near the large oaken double doors that led out into the courtyard. Eva turned on her heel, the cigarettes forgotten, her instincts kicking in immediately. She dashed back down the hallway, all manner of decorum immediately thrown from the window, unwanted and unneeded. Was Iris okay? Had someone broken a window? She knew she shouldn’t have left her alone...even for a second. Iris was severely traumatized...Eva should have brought the girl with her. Cold raced through her body as she turned the corner, skidding on the hardwood floors of the passage leading to the kitchen. She felt something drive into her foot, but paid it no mind. Bursting through the doorway to the kitchen, she scanned the room in one swoop, noticing the windows were intact, but Iris’ glass most certainly wasn’t. The pale, slight woman sat, rocking back and forth in her chair, weeping uncontrollably. The floor underneath her was littered with shards of glass, topped off with a puddle of vomit-this time neither black nor bloody. Evangeline swept towards her, taking Iris in her arms without a second thought.

“Iris? Are you still with me?” She said softly, cradling the woman gently against her.

A shiver traveled through Iris’ corpse-like body as Eva held her in her arms. How did she always end up being carried by this woman? The feeling was not completely unpleasant, but she still felt tied down...On the other hand, the warmth of Evangeline’s body tore her free of the remnants of bone-white beach’s grip.

“...Damn, Cinnabun... Y-Yer gonna c-carry mi over tha frickin’ doorstep or whut..?”, Iris tried to laugh, but it came out as yet another cough. From the corner of her eyes, she thought she saw a figure, sitting on a top of a cupboard, but as she turned her gaze, it was gone.

“...Seriously though.. C-Could ya put mi down? Tha... heckin’ coffee pot sounds like its about to blow up... D-Did ya find mi cigs..?”

Evangeline finally noticed the coffee pot.

“Oh! Shite! Shite, shite, shite…” Still holding Iris, Eva stepped quickly across the floor, caution to the wind again. Transferring Iris to one arm, she moved the coffee pot off of the burner, spun surprisingly gracefully, and deposited Iris in another chair, well away from the glass and the sick that was slowly starting to seep in all directions, running along the cracks between the tiles. That would have to be cleaned up soon.

“I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have picked you up like that. Instinct, I guess...I don’t have too much control over it. I didn’t get to your cigarettes before I heard the glass break...I’ll run back out and get them in just a moment. Would you like to come with me? I don’t want you to have to be alone…” Evangeline said, suddenly realizing her towel had slipped quite a bit running back to the kitchen. She adjusted it as surreptitiously as she could manage, and turned away. She took the coffee pot and poured a mugfull of it for Iris.

“What would you like? Cream? Sugar?” Evangeline intoned over her shoulder. As she placed the coffee pot back on the stove and turned off the burner, she glanced at the floor, upon which she had left a few bloody footprints. She sighed internally. Arsene wasn’t going to be happy about this...not one bit.

“Uhh... Just sum cream... A-And a heckin’ whisky shot... Gramps used to give mi one wid mi coffee...” Iris leaned over the table, and could just reach the plate of pie, still resting on her former seat. She pulled the plate to her, and her eyes catched something on the marble flooring. Bloody footprints, leading towards Eva. The woman did not seem to even notice, while working with the coffee, going through the fridge, most likely searching for the cream, and struggling with her too-small towel. “’Ey!...Yer bleedin’ Evangelin’... Did ya step onto the frickin’ broken glass or sumthin’? Dat should be looked at... Yer gonna mess up tha carpet, if ya run around like dat... Come ‘ere, sit yer fine arse on tha chair, and let mi look at it... ‘aight?”, while talking, Iris waved her fork towards the chair next to her. ‘Even healed the burn on your arm’ Evangeline’s words about the fox haunted in Iris’ mind. She noticed she hated the creature already. The hate was different from the hate she felt towards Lareine though. Different like night and day... Lareine was basically a child. Annoying, yes, but in the end, rather easy to deal with. Irene though?

‘...Why are you afraid?’, the inaudible whisper in her ear.. an invisible, clawed hand on her shoulder. Iris winced, almost dropping the fork. She felt the hair on her neck standing up. The medication... Had anyone given her the medication during these...what...? Four days, Evangeline had said? In the middle of her train of thought, a cup of fresh coffee was placed in front of Iris. The scent was otherwordly... She raised her gaze up to the woman next to her. To those purple eyes, much like her own. With the color of her eyes, Evangeline could have been her sister.

“Forget dat cig for a moment, Cinnabun, and take a heckin’ seat... I’ll see whut I can do with yer foot, but just payin’ mind to tha amount of frickin’ blood on tha floor, I dink we might need sum bandages or sum shite ‘ere... Whut are the fockin’ chances dat once when I could actually use Blacksoul, tha man has left da buildin’..?” Iris tapped the chair with the tip of her fork, waiting for Evangeline to take a seat, before the woman could mess the floor any further. She picked up the cup of coffee, brought it to her lips, and took a sip, focusing on the taste... on the scent... trying to ignore the whispers in her ear... chase away the creeping feeling of someone, or something, standing right behind her... a looming presence...

Evangeline sat down with a sigh, propping her feet up so that Iris could look at them.

“Ugh...I didn’t even notice. Thank you, Iris. I’ll clean the floor in a moment...I appreciate you looking at them. I don’t have much feeling on the bottom of my feet anymore...you’re probably right. It must be some of the glass. Honestly though? I could have a nail in there and I’d have a hard time noticing.”

Evangeline glanced at Iris, who was carefully inspecting Eva’s foot. This was certainly not how Eva had expected, or wanted to spend her evening...she had been hoping for some relaxation, but she had been given a situation that was anything but relaxing. She was still surprised, though, at just how much better Iris returning had turned out. Eva had been dreading it in more ways than one...the shouting match that she had expected. The damaged feelings, the cold shoulders, the incredible awkwardness that would ensue, fallout from an earth-shattering argument between the two of them. And yet...despite the truly terrible breakdown she had just experienced, or...maybe...because of it? Everything had turned out well.

It was hardly a pleasant evening, but Eva found herself breathing a sigh of relief. And with that sigh of relief...she realized just how tired she was. The nightmare had taken its toll on her body...one that wasn’t obvious to the naked eye. Her limbs felt leaden, her eyes heavy...she felt like there was a stone tied around her neck, dragging her down. It wouldn’t be long before she fell asleep...she hoped Iris would stay with her. Sleep next to her as she had said she would.

Melancholy weighed upon her mind as she wound down, pent-up tension releasing as she felt the light pressure of Iris’ fingers on her foot. It would probably be improper for her to sleep next to Irene in the future. Especially once Silke got back. The two of them seemed truly meant to be together...despite whatever it was that was holding them back. The last thing she wanted, though, was to let go of that friendship...whatever her own needs were, she felt a pressing need to maintain her friendship with Irene...and perhaps even create one with Iris. She winced as Iris touched something. There it was...whatever was plaguing her foot.

“That’s something...ah...what did I step on? I can actually feel that.”

Iris leaned forward, while turning Eva’s foot as much as it was possible with the woman sitting down, to get a better look. There was definitely something in there. By running her fingertip gently over the wound, she could feel something sharp in there. It was a big one, and had sunken too deep for her to get a grip of it. Even less with her long claw-like nails, which in this case, were more in the way than helpful.

“Dere’s definetely sumthin’ okai... But dis arse’ole is a big one... Let mi just try to...”, she placed her thumb onto the side of the wound, and while pressing onto it, rubbed her other thumb down from where she thought the little piece of shite was hiding in. As she did this, Evangeline’s leg twitched, making Iris lose her grip.

“...For fock’s sake... Do mi a favor, Cinnabun... ‘Aight? Try to stay still... I almost got it... May need sum tools though, but... Lemme try it one more time!” The blood was slowly dripping out of the wound, running down on Eva’s foot, and falling onto Iris’ pale thigh, like an injured wolf’s lifeblood dripping onto fresh snow. With a long sigh, Iris returned her attention to the wound. After some time, and a couple of failed attempts, she got a grip of the end of what appeared to be a splinter of wood, instead of glass. She bit her lower lip, and pulling down carefully, got the splinter out, holding it up for Evangeline to see.

“Now look at dat frickin’ bad boy! Dis is a damn ‘alf o’ a log right ‘ere! Damn... Dis fockin’ ‘ouse is fallin’ apart...”, she gave a quick glance towards the wound, while placing the rather sizeable splinter onto the edge of the table. The wound was not bleeding badly. The splinter had gushed out some blood on the way out, but without it, it was hardly dripping. This was good.

“Now stay dere... I’ll see if... I can find anythin’ to tie tha wound wid.. Its not bleedin’ much animore, but ya cant walk on tha hallway carpets wid it aniway.. Blacksoul would frickin’ kill ya..”

Supporting herself with the back of her chair, Iris got up, only to almost fall face first onto the marble flooring. Her head was spinning. The room changed in front of her eyes. Hard, cold marble under her feet turned into soft, bone-white sand. The walls around vanished into thick fog, rising from the pitch-black sea. She fell onto her knees, breathing quickly... breathing in the thick air which reminded her of cold winter graves... and rot.

“No... Nonononono!”, a wail escaped her lips, as she held her head, trying to make the vision disappear, but it was no use. Evangeline? Iris turned around quickly, but the woman had disappeared, with everything else. There was something in the mist though... Further away on the beach, near the waterline... A figure, dressed up into a grey gown, which almost made her part of the fog. What stood out though, was her face... Lips had been painted black, against almost white chin. And the eyes... The area around the eyes had been smeared with black, like soot, and from that darkness, two empty, dead eyes stared towards Iris. Dead, soulless eyes. Iris opened her mouth to scream, but no voice came out.

Suddenly the world turned again, turning her stomach upside-down, and throwing her back into the kitchen. She was sitting back on the floor, the towel had dropped, and was now laying next to her feet. Evangeline was back... and for the second time, during a single evening, Iris was happy to see that face... those eyes like purple pools. Eyes that were alive. Visibly shaking, Iris got back onto her feet, picking up the towel, and wrapping it around her form.

“...W-When’s B-Blacksoul comin’ back, Evangelin’..?”

Iris rose from her chair, remarking that bandages would be a necessity if Eva ever wanted to leave the kitchen again. The muscular woman nodded in agreement, her crimson locks bouncing as she did. The sooner they could bandage her foot, the sooner they could fall into bed, something Eva was quickly finding that she needed desperately. Iris hadn’t been standing for more than a second before she tipped over like an expensive, fragile glass vase. She didn’t hit the floor immediately, but hung in the air for a moment, wobbling, her eyes searching the room wildly for something that wasn’t there. Before Eva could untangle herself enough to catch Iris, though, the other woman had collapsed to her knees, quietly wailing and clutching at herself. Evangeline sprung to her side, decorating the floor with another splatter of blood. Again? Crossed her mind. The mental toll this...dark sea must have taken on Iris’ mind seemed immense. She wondered if there was a trigger...something to be avoided that might help Iris stay grounded. Or maybe...something to be said?

“Iris? Iris! Listen to me, okay? You’re right here, not anywhere else. I’m right here next to you.” Evangeline knelt down next to the kneeling woman and took Iris’ chin under her hand, tilting it up so that she could look into the other woman’s eyes.

“Look at me...focus on me. Hear my voice, and stay with me.” Iris’ eyes...they weren’t Irene’s, that much was certain. But she almost looked through Evangeline...her eyes locked to something that wasn’t there. In a moment, though, she seemed to snap back to reality, her eyes no longer drifting, focusing in on the woman who was directly in front of her.

”W-When’s B-Blacksoul comin’ back, Evangelin’..?” Varg hadn’t said specifically when he would be returning. A month, or two perhaps. He may have been vague because he himself didn’t know how much time he’d need to be away for. This wasn’t particularly good...especially given the way Iris’ condition seemed to be straining her. Hadn’t she...hadn’t she had some medication? Something she had taken days before? Evangeline remembered Varg making some sort of comment about Iris working at the hospital…

“He said...a month. Two at most.” Concern was clear on Evangeline’s face.

“Wasn’t there some sort of medication you had? Were you supposed to take it daily? Irene never took anything, to my memory.” Eva placed her hands on the shoulders of the now shaking viera.

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.” Evangeline stood up. She’d have to get a bit creative for now...fetch some proper bandages later once things had settled down. She stepped over to the sink, leaving a still-noticeable but less severe pattern of blood along the kitchen floor. From a drawer underneath it, she pulled a dishrag, and, crouching over, wiped her foot and tied the cloth around it. Hopefully this would be enough to staunch the bleeding, at least enough for her to move around the house. She returned to Iris, coming back down to her level. She took Iris’ hand in hers, and looked into those deep purple eyes. The eyes she had loved, lost, and that had come back...not at all in the way she had expected.

“Do you think the medication will help you? If it will, I’ll come with you...and we can find it together. You’re not alone.”

Iris took hold of Evangeline’s hand, letting the woman help her back onto her feet. Her head was still spinning, and she felt like her legs would give in, but she managed to stay standing. She gave a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. Bloody footprints traveled back and forth across the floor, like an echo of where Eva had been. The puddle of almost colorless puke was still resting at the foot of the table, but had stopped from spreading further. Leaning onto Eva, Iris took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of someone constantly watching her from the shadows of her heart. Two months until Blacksoul would be back? For once, Iris would have actually needed the man, and on the moment like that, he was gone. This was like a bad, universal joke…

“Tha medicine, yeah. I... should take it daily. It should be in mi room... At tha heckin’ nightstand.. a small wooden casing. ‘Onestly though? Im frickin’ tired.. Could just head off to bed and take it den...”, while still talking, she glanced towards the pie and fresh cup of coffee, that were left on the table.

“...Shite... I-I can make it into mi room on mi own.. Im not a fockin’ grandma to be carried around. But... could ya bring tha coffee and pie wid ya? Damn I hate to even ask, but Im afraid I might drop dem on tha way...”

“Absolutely!” Evangeline’s lips curled up into a warm smile, as she made sure pale woman would stay standing without support. She took couple of steps to the table, and picked up the plate and cup of coffee.

She would need to clean the kitchen floor, but first she would see Iris into her room, and get her the medication. Meanwhile, Iris was waddling her way towards the door, and into the hallway. She glanced up towards the stairs, bit her lip, and started to climb. At this point she realized just how tired her whole body was. The dream... hallucination.. whatever it had been, had taken its toll onto her body, and she felt like she had not slept in days, while truly, it was almost all she had done for the past week or so. After a climb that felt like a dozen floors, Iris arrived at the second floor of the manor, where her room was. She could hear Evangeline’s steps in the stairway behind her. Every second step sounded damp, because of the rag she had wrapped onto the wound. Iris placed her bony fingers onto the handle, and opened the door, stepping into her room, which was filled with dolls of all shapes and sizes. Everything seemed to be as she had left it. She fought her way to the wide bed, and fell back onto the black, velvery sheets, partly sinking into soft cushions.

Iris’ usually confident stride had been fully replaced by a half-awake stagger. Evangeline wanted to support her...help her along...but Iris’ pride, even in this state, probably wouldn’t allow for it. She had already picked the woman up once tonight...might as well let her maintain her independence in getting to bed. Eva padded along behind her, uneven in her gait as she stepped on the rag again. Hopefully it wasn’t soaked through yet...she just needed a bit longer until she was able to slip away to the bathroom. Loathe as she was to leave Iris alone, she felt a pressing responsibility to clean up as much as she could...and she needed to bandage her foot if she wanted to get into bed. Bloody sheets were the last thing that anyone wanted to wake up to.

Iris rounded the corner into her room, which had remained mostly, if not entirely, untouched throughout the other woman’s absence. Now all that remained was injecting her medicine, a task that Eva wasn’t fully familiar with. She hoped Iris would be able to manage it. Administering medication was far from Eva’s strong suit, and though she could apply a bandage as well as the next person, she would be hard pressed to find a vein with how tired she was.

Evangeline slipped into the room just in time to see Iris throw herself onto her bed, as if she were a fox plunging into a snowbank in search of prey. The bed looked incredibly comfortable. Iris being in it...an added bonus. Evangeline thanked all twelve gods that she wouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight. Even if it wasn’t Irene...having someone else there would be a lifesaver. She approached the bed, and set the coffee and the pie down on the nightstand next to the side Iris lay on, wreathed in dark sheets. Looking to a wooden box on the same nightstand, Evangeline picked it up and opened it, revealing a syringe and a bottle of light green liquid. It looked like what one would expect poison to look like…

“Can you inject this yourself? I’m not...not really a professional with a needle, unfortunately.”

"Yeah, I can do dat miself... Not dat I even like anyone else doin' it. Just... fill tha syringe to one third and 'and it to mi, will ya?" Iris replied, her eyes full to the brim with exhaustion.

“Of course.” Evangeline smiled softly at the small, slight puddle of viera lying in bed in front of her. She filled the syringe, at first halfway, and then letting enough out to be right around one third full. Handing it to Iris, she asked:

“Will you be okay if I run and get bandages? I’d like to keep your bed as clean as I can...and I feel a bit obligated to clean up as much of the floor of the kitchen as I can manage. I’ve left the pie and the coffee here on your nightstand.”

Iris nodded and gave Eva a slight wave, shaking hands trying to find a vein with the needle. Evangeline struggled mentally for a second, before uttering:

“Can I...would you like me to...can I help at all?” Iris shook her head, still concentrating on placing the needle. Eva let out a light sight and withdrew. She wanted to help, but at this point it would be better to get everything sorted with the kitchen then to try and help Iris with something that Evangeline herself had no idea how to do. She’d most likely just make the situation worse.

Stepping away from the pale viera, Eva unevenly retreated out of the room, her every other footstep muffled by the rag that was luckily still tied around her foot properly. Over the next few minutes she first made her way to the bathroom and found a roll of blissfully white bandages, thoroughly wrapped her foot, and carefully taped it together with a few lengths of medical tape. That would hold her until morning...at least. She’d need to air it out tomorrow, and try to take a better look at it, but hopefully it would start healing on its own. Holding up the rag she had removed, she sighed disappointedly. It was fully dyed crimson at this point. Very little of the original grey of the cloth remained. She hoped Arsene hadn’t been particularly fond of this rag...it was basically useless now. Eva balled it up and stood, now properly bandaged. One task down...now on to the next one.

To Be Continued...

#ffxiv #evangeline cross #writing #rp #mateus rp #iris ymir #the coils of d'espair: irene #viera #rava viera #veena viera #crystal rp #ffxiv rp #a return from dark waters

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