#and Blade Part is half comedy and half hurt/comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lemonietrinket · 5 years

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Dinosaur ||| Doyoung x Reader

Summary: Doyoung was worried to meet your family, but he needn’t have been. Genre: Fluff, Comedy, heated elements bc who doesnt want to make out with doyoung Warning(s): None Word Count: 2133 Theme Song: Fade Into You - Mazzy Star AN: December 17th prompt, meeting each other’s families (credit @songi-writes) Sorry this one is so much shorter than the others, I’m working on some bigger oneshots so needed to get this one done and dusted in a short period of time :(( EDIT: now I’ve edited I have realised how bad this was in places I’m so so sorry

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You lay on your bed, taking in the sight of the man you loved. A single beam of light shone through the ajar door, falling in a golden haze at the strike of his jaw and gently illuminating the rest of his face for your eyes alone.

God he was so beautiful.

You stroked your hand across his cheek, thumb caressing the smooth skin there, slightly puffed in his sleeping state.

Relief washed over you like the waves on the beach of a calm summer’s day, sinking into your breath, steady and paced. He’d been so worried that morning, so tense throughout the whole drive there, and to see him finally resting let you finally allow yourself some peace.

You were staying round your parents’ house for the weekend, and he’d been absolutely terrified. They’d never met him before, and though you’d told them a fair bit about him, you’d tried to keep the details as unobtrusive as possible, knowing Doyoung was quite a private person—you preferring your relationship to remain that way too.

However, it meant your parents had no idea what to expect, and he was afraid they were going to struggle with his blunter energy.

Or, in his words, loathe him with every fibre of their beings and banish him from ever laying eyes upon you ever again.

As you tempted your eyes to stay open by taking in the shadows of his features, your lips spread into a smile remembering his panicked ramblings, and at how misguided they were.

You knew they were going to love him. Even if your parents rambled on about things you should watch out for and things that make a man a keeper, and even if they pestered you or seemed blissfully ignorant of your choices, they still retained that it was your decision, deep down. Even if they made a fuss about it first.

Nevertheless, Doyoung checked many of the boxes your parents required. Smart, polite, respectful, who was undoubtedly in love with you, with no eyes for any other. There was no doubt that they’d make a fuss about how good of a choice he was.

Still, your encouragement had proven little use, as the man—ever the pessimist—wouldn’t quite believe he was the perfect choice until he could see it for himself. And even then he would never admit it. You just worried for what this did to his heart, as he inevitably paced around, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched and lips pursed before you left.

Now he was peaceful again, and unbearably adorable as he twitched a little in his sleep. You pulled your hand away and let him nestle into a more comfortable position, content with just tracing the lines of his fingers instead.

When you’d entered through the door, you knew instantly that your mother recognised him. You knew it wasn’t a deep recognition, only that she’d seen his face before, and she’d questioned you about it while your dad spun Doyoung away to give him a tour of the house.

“Y/N, I swear to you that I’ve seen your boyfriend before,” she said, “is he a model? I-in one of the magazines?”

You’d chuckled, explaining that he was handsome enough to be, that she’d been more likely to have seen him on TV.

“Oh,” she’d said, “well I’m not sure about that, we don’t watch TV as much anymore, we only really have it on to watch the news, or big shows.”

Laughing, you asked her if Doyoung looked like he could be a big name to her.

She’d replied with a strong shake of her head. “No! No no. He’s too nice and gentle for big showbizz, hun. Why? He isn’t is he?”

You’d merely smiled in an effort to hold in your laughter, as well as slight pride, as you walked off to bring the bags in from the car.

Doyoung rolled over to face the other way in his sleep, and you shifted a little closer so you could still garner some warmth. You slipped your arm over his waist gently in order to not wake him, and rested your head against his shoulder blade. A sigh left your lips at the mere feeling of his being, as he existed, and he was here with you. You couldn’t even believe it sometimes, and he was one of the more down-to-earth members of his group. The thought led you to stifle a chuckle at the thought of who was going to end up dating Jungwoo, or Yukhei, or god forbid Ten or Donghyuck—they would all be hard work in different ways, but those two really required something extra. Still, they were all such catches. Nuzzling your cheek into his skin, you breathed in the scent of Doyoung, fresh and unintrusive, unable to hold yourself back from softly pressing a kiss into his back.

The truth had come out at the dinner table, when your father had asked too much detail about Doyoung’s career.

He just wanted to know how much he earnt, but it ended up being a full on presentation of how all of the NCT units worked. Eventually your boyfriend had multiple pieces of paper with in-depth diagrams placed upon your grandmother’s old easel in the corner, using a bread knife as a pointer.

Throughout the entire thing, and bless it took your parents a while to get it, you were laughing so hard that by the end that you felt lightheaded. You had to give your family credit however, for paying so much attention to him—the fact that they stuck with it proved to him somewhat that they didn’t hate him as much as he feared, and consequently you found his words coming together much smoother afterwards. Though you had to admit it came as quite a surprise to you. You hadn’t expected them to behave in such an interested, genuine and determined manner, even for one that they held in such high esteem.

Before you could dwell on the complexities of your parents’ behaviour—something that you would much prefer to leave in the past—Doyoung sat up in your bed, taking half of the blankets with him.

Ignoring the sudden cold across your torso, you lazily joined him, propping yourself up on an arm and gently holding his shoulder concernedly. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

He turned to you in the dark, the sliver of light from the hall barely showing his face and leaving you to search his bleary eyes in the shadows. “I’ve met your parents, haven’t I?” he asked hesitantly.

You watched him bemusedly glance around the room, wanting to hold him closer and console him but not being sure if it was what he even needed. “Yes, you have.”

“Do they like me?” His voice was stronger this time, still grappled by sleep but no less worried about some part of his fate.

“Yes! They certainly do.”

There was a relieved sigh, as your boyfriend slumped back onto the bed. “Thank the world for that.”

“Why?” you enquired, shifting your weight so you could see him better in the dark. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” he reassured, turning over to face you, “no, just a... really weird dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It may help,” you suggested, though as you leant in you saw how his sweet features twisted into a sheepish smile. You caught onto his train of thought, “Or do I not want to know?”

“Probably not.”

You hummed, resting your head on your hand as you sent him a playful grin. “I don’t know, I’m kind of curious now... Give me five words.”

He peered up at you incredulously from the pillow where his dishevelled hair framed his face perfectly. “You...? You know why am I surprised.” He sighed, biting the inside of his lip as he thought. “Let me see... ‘your mum was a dinosaur’?”

You mouth fell open in giggly shock as you gasped and playfully kicked his leg. “Excuse me, sir! My mother does not look like a dinosaur!”

“I know! She doesn’t! Of course! But she like,” he searched for the words desperately as he tried not to laugh while you gave into them yourself, “she-she was like half a dinosaur in my dream and it was really weird, I told you that you didn’t want to know!”

“What the hell, Doyoung?!” you questioned aimlessly with a cackle as you joined him back on the mattress, a hand reaching out for his. He accepted your hand reluctantly, playing with it surprisingly petulantly, thumping it into the duvet. “Genuinely only my boyfriend would worry so much about his girlfriend’s mum not liking him that she would appear as a dinosaur in his dreams to... what,” you took a wild guess, “eat him because she didn’t like him?”

He faked hurt, his cheeks puffed out which only made the urge to pepper him in kisses stronger. “You better be proud of me, then!” he insisted, before shaking his head, leaning in a little closer to you. “And no, she just sat down with me beneath this big, shiny tree and just lectured me for what felt like hours—it was actually much, much worse than being eaten.”

You laughed a bit too loudly at the image his words provoked, which incurred Doyoung to hush you. “Keep it down...!”

“Or what,” you snickered, rubbing your eyes, “I’ll wake the real dinosaur and then she can lecture you for real?”

“Aish, shut up!” he whined at your childish teasing, but this time your giggles didn’t stop. Rolling his eyes, he decided to take the opportunity and rolled over so he could press a kiss to your lips. Chaste and quick, he’d hoped it would do the job, as he feared what a deeper kiss would do to his system—he could get lost in you so easily after all. For a few moments you settled into a amused silence, and he smiled in relief, hovering above you.

Unfortunately, it didn’t quite last.

“Is that all you’ve got? For the love of your life?” you pestered, smirking proudly. “A tiny peck to make me be quiet? When I know you’re capable of much more? Doyoung, quite frankly, I am ashamed!”

He guffawed, his lips smushing together in humourous indignance, before he let himself take revenge and tackle you into a deeper kiss. Your noses brushed as you met his lips, this time much hotter and deeper. Practically straddling you, your body was engulfed in warmth as Doyoung reached up to hold your cheek with a cold hand. The contrast made you squeak at the sudden iciness, but it only led him to sink into the kiss more.

Clutching at his shirt, you felt your laughter die down and a more comfortable haziness settle into your bones. You slowly slipped your hands up across his lithe waist, across his torso, toned yet supple beneath your fingers, finally knotting your hands behind his neck. He shuddered at your caresses of his chest, dropping onto his side so he could rest but hold you closer—his predominant aim, as he couldn’t sink into you how he wished with space between you. And so his hand slipped to the small of your back, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt and traced calligraphy into your skin. The movement was so tender, but it did startle you, leading you to hum into his touch as you instead wrung your hand in the soft tresses of his hair.

Gradually you pulled away, your breathing slightly laboured and your lips plump from his ministrations; despite how he presented himself, Doyoung knew exactly how to steal your breath away, and he didn’t fail to do so. You gazed at him lovingly in the dim light, the auburn from the lamp beyond you revealing his flushed cheeks—reminding you of what you could do to him no less too. Slowly dipping in to kiss him once more, your touch ebbed with lethargy, he murmured as he pulled away, “Are you a little more tired now?”

“A little,” you admitted, letting yourself fall away from him and into the pillow. He nodded, feeling successful and proud but nonetheless exhausted himself. Reaching across he dipped into kiss your cheek, coming to rest just beside you. Meanwhile necessity implored you to seek cooler air to finally settle into sleep and so you rolled to face away from him, eyelids already feeling heavier again.

He hummed in acknowledgement, satisfied with the results he’d earnt, and joined you, his arms wrapping around you as he took the role of the big spoon. Nestling his nose into your neck, he whispered, “Goodnight love.”

“Goodnight,” you replied, closing your eyes and willing yourself into the world of sleep at last.

~~~

AN: I don’t like it. I don’t think it ended well. I’m sorry, I had to write it fast, I’ll edit it one day I promise.

I also just realised this isn’t very christmassy. That being said, I wasn’t in a very christmassy mood when i wrote this so it’s no surprise really Sorry :((

Check out my other stuff it is undoubtedly much better lol

EDIT: ok so, this was pretty bad when I first wrote it, but like, now it’s much much better. I think? I feel the tone is very different though.

still don’t feel the end is amazing but I’ve got bigg bois to write so this will do for now I think. hope this does doyoung a better service than the original did

[edited: 12th April 2020]

Masterlist

#doyoung #nct doyoung #doyoung fanfic #doyoung fluff #doyoung x reader #doyoung christmas #nct #doyoung oneshot #im so sorry doyoung i dont want to let you down

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Side Effects ch.1 (baon)

Summary: In the aftermath of from the events in 'Internal Disputes' and 'Bedside Stories', the fallout has an effect on everyone and they all have their own issues to deal with.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Waking up alone was not unusual in the scheme of things. That was most days and even on weekends the bed next to Stretch would usually be empty by the time he was ready to roll out for the day. Which wasn’t to say he’d never been awakened early by an amorous and handsy Edge, ready for a different kind of wakeup call, but Stretch tended to fall back asleep afterward. In his humble opinion, it wasn’t worth getting out of bed until there was some form of light outside and that was a fact that Stretch was willing to stand by, with plenty of Twitter polls on his side.

So when he reached out sleepily to sweep a hand over the sheets, he wasn’t exactly surprised when the only thing that greeted his touch was 1000-thread count sheets. A little disappointed, yeah, a smidge grouchy, absolutely, but definitely not surprised.

Stretch sighed and rolled over to give the ceiling fan a good stare. It only stayed in place innocently, the fan blades not pausing one whit at his mood. Which, to be fair, Stretch wasn’t exactly sure he could even classify his current mood; right now it was more a jambalaya than any single ingredient. What a week.

After the kitchen crisis, once Edge got his fill of groping Stretch’s soul, they’d gone upstairs, Stretch helping Edge to hop along for once rather than gathering up his crutches. That’d been a comedy of errors right there, they’d probably looked like some kind of tortured three-legged race, hobbling along. They’d gone right to bed, do not pass go, skip the two-hundred, and lain there wrapped around each other, Edge still petting his sternum even though his soul was no longer visible. Stretch really had no idea when he’d fallen asleep or when Edge crept out of bed, but it must’ve been a fun trip downstairs without his crutches. Hopefully not a literal one.

Stretch gave up on his contemplation of the ceiling fan to glance at his phone. The time made him blink. After using so much magic to heal Red, he’d been expecting to sleep in ‘til noon before guiltily creeping out to feed the ladies. But unless he’d accidentally changed the time zone, it was only nine o’clock. Huh. Magic drain was exhausting and he hadn’t eaten so much as a piece of burnt toast afterward and yet, he didn’t feel tired. Honestly, he almost felt energized, ready to get up and face the day.

Was this how Edge always felt in the morning? That was kind of terrifying. No wonder only half of the brotherly teams got to be energetic, hell, just thinking about Red waking up with his battery fully charged was giving him the creeps, he’d probably try to take over the world.

Thinking of that little pain-in-the-ass goblin made him wince. He really hoped Red was doing okay. There were no text messages waiting for him, but maybe Edge knew.

Welp, may as well get up and go find out. Maybe they’d be going on with the shitty continuation of opposite week, where he got to be the protective one, Edge got to lay around all day, and both of them would be a lot happier when things got back to normal.

The bedroom was a little chilly outside the toasty warm blankets, enough that he scrambled over to where his bathrobe was hung on the back of the bedroom door. Stretch slipped it on over his bare bones. Real clothes could come after coffee. He opened the door and that was when he heard muffled voices that were definitely not from the television. Kinda early for reasonable visitors and Stretch tightened the belt on his bathrobe, no point in giving a free show, and peered downstairs to see what sort of nefarious characters decided to drop by this time.

Honestly, they needed one of those prohibited door signs, except they could cross off ‘solicitors’ and write in ‘drama’. Stretch had pretty much had his fill of that sort of excitement, thanks.

But nefarious probably wasn’t the best way to describe the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monsters who were standing at their kitchen door with Edge. Familiar Monsters, actually, Stretch thought they worked at the Embassy. In their hands were mops and carriers loaded with cleaning supplies. Their pointed ears swiveled in his direction and they looked up in unison, both giving him a wave as they went into the kitchen, although what the hell that wary look was for, he wasn’t sure. Usually he wasn’t considered the scary skeleton in the closet in this relationship.

Usually.

Edge was leaning on his crutches and as soon as Stretch got a good look, relief flooded his soul. He was looking pretty bright-eyed himself even minus the tail, and his smile was warm.

“Good morning, love.” Edge called up. There was no sign left of his near-breakdown the night before, so maybe a snuggly night’s sleep did him some good. Firmly competent looked like the phrase of the day and Stretch was down with that, he really was.

30 seconds on the stairs seemed like a criminal waste of time this morning and Stretch shortcutted down instead, very nearly right on top of Edge. He happily ignored his husband’s exasperated sigh, stealing a kiss before he murmured, “mornin’. what’s going on?”

Not that he couldn’t guess, they probably weren’t using the mops to whip up a five-course meal.

Once Edge was finished shaking his head in fond resignation over unnecessary teleportation, he pulled him close, trying to work out a way to hold him around the crutches. It took him a minute to whomp up a strategy that let him lean a little weight on Stretch, the rest on a carefully balanced crutch, and none at all on his casted foot, and only then did Edge offer up a lingering return kiss of his own.

By the time, he drew back, Stretch almost forgot his own question and Edge’s satisfied smirk meant he knew it, even as he said, “Sans sent a team over to check on our kitchen. What’s left of it. He explained to them about how the experiment you were doing went wrong and they’re going to handle the mess. I’m sure he would have brought them himself, but Red is still sleeping off that hangover.”

Coded message received, Red was doing okay. But it was the previous little tidbit that cut through his relief and brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. His mouth dropped open, excuse me, his experiment? And he couldn’t say a damn thing, not with those guys working in the kitchen with the satellite dishes they had for ears all prepped to listen in on some sweet gossip. All he could do was glare at Edge, whose eye lights glittered with obvious amusement.

Dude, not cool. That was going to be all over the Embassy and probably topple the whole ‘showing up naked in a sheet’ as his highest rated fiasco. What a dick move, he liked to come up with his own disasters, thanks, he didn’t need help. Except, of the two of them, people would buy him blowing up the kitchen over Edge at about a thousand to one ratio. Which was probably why Sans came up with that scenario to begin with.

Stretch sighed. Welp, the cover story was out there and now they had to roll with it. Yeah, okay, he could take one for the team, but if he was taking the heat for this, it better have a reward, sexual favors preferred, and not from Sans, either.

He and Edge could discuss a payment plan later.

“that was very nice of sans,” Stretch gritted out. He jerked his head towards the kitchen. “are they even going to be able to clean it all up?”

“Possibly, but I’m not going to try.” Edge gave him another light kiss around his scowl, then let go and headed for the sofa. His small groan of relief as he put his foot up was a pretty damn big clue that he’d probably been standing too long. “I’ve decided with the amount of damage, I’d like to do a full remodel, instead.”

“yeah?” He knelt down to help Edge get his casted foot settled on the pillows. Most of the red paint on it was cleared away, leaving the drawings and signatures underneath tinted pink but it didn’t look too bad. Which meant Edge was probably up way too early if he’d gotten that cleaned up, the brat.

But back on subject before his brain train rattled off the wrong way. Huh, kitchen remodel. Edge had been living here for a few years before Stretch, and the kitchen was definitely his personal territory so if he wanted a makeover, totally his choice. To be honest, he’d sort of expected Edge to be distraught over his kitchen, but right now, he seemed pretty damn serene.

“i mean, yeah, you should. treat yourself.” He gave Edge a sour look, adding dryly, “not like i can complain, since i did ruin your kitchen and all. with my ‘experiments’.” Since their cleaning crew could hear but not see, he went ahead and gave it the whole finger quotes treatment. Probably needed to get Sans to give him the details about ‘the wreckening’, unless his plan was to go all ‘we don’t talk about science club’ with it.

A gloved hand smoothed over his skull, ripe with silent apology. Stretch leaned into it and let it mollify him, for now. “Today they’re only handling basic cleaning up. I’ll contact the building team and see when they’ll be available, and we can work out a plan. Did you want to help me pick out new tile?”

Uh. About as much as he wanted to install a few chalkboards around the house and give ‘em a good scratch whenever he walked by.

Edge must’ve read that off his face like a headline, because his mouth curved in faint amusement. “Then I’d like to ask a favor.”

“anything.” Seriously, picking out tile with Edge sounded as entertaining as weekend plans to watch paint dry. No pun intended.

“Someday, I will teach you all to ask for terms before agreeing so readily,” Edge murmured, almost to himself, then louder, “I have a couple pairs of trousers that I’d like you to take into the tailor for alterations. I’ve already spoken to them and given them measurements, but I need for the pant leg to fit around my cast for when I go back to work next week. I’m afraid my current attire doesn’t exactly fit with dress code.”

Edge looked down at himself in distaste and Stretch had to agree; it’d been pretty weird to see Edge lounging around in shorts all week long. Not that Stretch was complaining, he was fine with bare bones, even put up a good argument for it, which Edge successfully disputed with a firm ‘no’. Of course, he’d paired those shorts with plain t-shirts, no sweaters or button-ups even if he was chilly, because Angel forbid he doesn’t match, seriously, Edge might lose his membership to ‘Sharp Dressed Monthly’. But yeah, if he went into the Embassy dressed like that, they might arrest him as like, a spy or a clone or something.

“yeah, you gotta follow dress code. you don’t want janice to have to punish you for being a bad boy,” Stretch said, slyly, just to see if he could get Edge’s socket to twitch. “that’s my job.”

Edge ignored that because he was boring that way. “A sense of normalcy would be much appreciated as well.”

That had a certain weariness layered beneath it and Stretch tossed his playfulness on a mental shelf for later use. He settled a hand over Edge’s gloved one, squeezing gently as he asked softly, “babe? you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” His firm tone of voice was pretty convincing, but, maybe he wasn’t quite as okay as he seemed? Hard to tell and there was no way Edge wasn’t going to put up a good front with anyone else in the house. “I did want to ask, have you considered allowing me to speak with your therapist for my assessment? I’m not trying to rush you, there’s plenty of time, I’m only working on planning out my week.”

“i--” Stretch sank back on his heels, swallowing hard. He hadn’t considered it, honestly, he’d mostly forgotten about it with everything else going on.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but it made his soul feel weirdly tight and itchy. If Edge spoke to his therapist, she’d be talking to him knowing all the things Stretch had told her in confidence, all the things he hadn’t even been able to speak of to Edge. Those were the sessions he was speaking more to the carpet than his therapist, but it was still a relief to get it out, lancing mental wounds he’d had for so long he barely noticed the pain anymore. But, so what, did he really think she’d be blabbing it to Edge? Her experiences with him and Sans probably made her the most qualified Human on the planet to help Edge through any problems or trauma. She’d take good care of him, and suddenly the choice was an easy one.

He reached out and cupped Edge’s face in his hand, fingertips grazing the crack through his socket. “you know what, yeah. call her. i trust you both.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him with quiet sincerity. He took Stretch’s hand in both his own, drawing it over to press a light kiss against his knuckles. “For trusting me.” Then he promptly betrayed it by shifted his grip to Stretch’s wrist and pulled, toppling him into his lap. He yelped, trying to keep most of his weight off Edge before he hurt his fool self, but it was useless with Mister Grabby Hands holding on tight. “And I’m sorry, what was that about me being a bad boy? I think you’re the one who gets into the most trouble in this relationship, hmmm?”

“you’d think, but i ain’t the one with a broken foot...edge!” He squealed a laugh as Edge gave him a poke in the ribs, right where he was most ticklish. He let up for a second, letting Stretch catch his breath, only to double down, tickling madly while Stretch squirmed and shrieked. One leg kicked out without his permission, narrowly missing a lamp on the side table, and Stretch gasped out through laughter, “stop! haven’t we broken enough lately?”

Before Edge could offer his opinion on that, heck, maybe he was hoping to remodel the living room, too, the kitchen door swung open and two burly Monsters bustled on out, mops in hand and just in time to catch a front row seat.

“Okay, so we’ve got the worst of--whoops, sorry!”

The tall guy took an instinctive step back, right into the shorter one, who hastily turned to try getting out of the way. Only he forgot about the mop in his hands, and it turned with him, smacking his companion in the face with a wet slap. That sent his buddy reeling, swinging around to give the mop treatment right back.

While they were working on their Stooges impression, Stretch hastily scrambled out of Edge’s lap to his feet, barely avoiding the fingertips that tried to snag onto him again, not this time, brat. That didn’t stop the heat of a blush scalding across his cheek bones as he yanked his robe down modestly, yeah, there was more gossip for the Embassy, if Tall Boy and The Short One ever stopped sputtering through their facefuls of dirty mop.

A glance at Edge didn’t help, either, his face was schooled to calmness already, not even cracking a smile at the comedy gold in front of him. How was it he managed to look cool and professional with one foot in a cast and gym shorts? He probably didn’t even need to modify his trousers, one sharp look would shut any complainers right up. Even his damn t-shirt looked freshly ironed. Meanwhile, Stretch was feeling kinda sweaty and unwashed in his bathrobe, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. A mop in the face might even feel refreshing right about now, but that seemed like a thought best kept to himself.

“Thank you for your help,” Edge said evenly, sitting as regal as a King on his…uh…sofa. The two Stooges paused, and the power of Edge’s gaze seemed like enough to straighten them out, both of them turning back to Edge, nodding and smiling.

“Hey, no problem!” Tall Boy said heartily. “Anything to help out you and Sans.”

“Yeah, no problem, anything to help out,” The Short One agreed. “If you have any other...erm...” He slanted a knowing look at Stretch, like he hadn’t been re-enacting an entire slapstick routine two minutes ago right in their living room, “…experiment issues, give us a call.”

”oh, i sure will,” Stretch muttered darkly. “for all my ‘experiment issue’ needs.” He stalked over to the front door and held it open, forcing a smile, “but thanks guys, really appreciate it.”

Took a few more head bobs, but eventual Stretch managed to herd them out the door, mops and all. When he turned back to Edge, his head was dropped back against the sofa, his sockets closed. That stoic mask faded back a bit, leaving behind weariness.

Yeeeah, that disguise was slipping more by the minute. Stretch sat back down next to him. “babe, are you sure you’re okay? lotta shit went down yesterday.”

Edge opened his sockets and offered him a faint smile. “Yes.” He reached out and ran his thumb gently across Stretch’s cheek bone. “I’m only a little tired.” His smile turned wry. “I can guess some of what you’re thinking, you know. Yesterday was difficult, and yes, my kitchen is important to me. But I’ve been very recently reminded that nothing is as important as the people in my life. You’re safe, my brother is safe. Your brother, Sans, Papyrus, Jeff and Antwan. Everyone I care about is safe. It’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?”

“yeah, it is,” Stretch agreed slowly. It was, but it didn’t mean Edge could turn off his emotions about it like a water spigot or even that he should. Maybe it was a good thing Edge was gonna be talking to his therapist; if nothing else, she was damn talented at finding the X marks the spot to dig at. Stretch knew that from personal, and painful, experience. “we’ll get the kitchen taken care of, so long as no one gives those two hammers.”

“Cleaning duty is probably better for everyone involved,” Edge agreed.

Understatement. “it’ll take me a little while in town, why don’t you take a nap while i’m gone?”

It was mostly a rhetorical question, so he was surprised when Edge nodded. “I will, love. And I won’t touch any work until you get back.”

Good enough.

By the time he fed the chickens, got dressed, and headed back downstairs, Edge was already asleep, his foot propped on the sofa arm and the rest of him hidden beneath the fluffy blanket from the back of the couch. That was good, let him rest, let him find his balance again. Tempting as it was to straightened the blanket or give that much-loved skull a pat, Stretch kept his hands to himself. Better not to take the chance of startling him, Toriel wouldn’t be happy if he voided her warranty, but damn if he didn’t want to.

For all his doubts, the Stooges actually did a pretty good job of cleaning up the kitchen. The remains of the table were cleared away and so was the worst of the paint. Stretch poured himself a travel mug of coffee before heading out to the bus stop, garment bag in hand.

A stop at the tailors to get his baby some real pants would help him get back in the direction of the normal Edge was craving. He hoped. Looked like Opposite Week wasn’t quite finished yet but that was okay. Stretch didn’t mind getting to be the protector, for once.

-fin

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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hookaroo · 5 years

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Vocivore, Ltd. (32 of 41?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1 and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*****AMAZING AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING COVER ART!!!!! MY POOR BOY, HELPLESS AND SCREAMING WHILE HE SLOWLY LOSES HIS GRIP ON REALITY… D: COCOHOOK38 IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL!!!!*************

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Two days ago (continued)...

David. Detective Jones.

"Killian?"

His... the Master, watching, listening.

“Killian, it’s me. I’m here.”

His own blade flashing down, plunging into the prince's back, striking off the detective's chest. Smoke and flame, sparks of blue lightning, orders to kill growing stronger, overcoming his battered reason. That was then. Now…

“Can you hear us, Hook?”

Pain, that familiar companion, muted and fuzzy. And words half-remembered, half-commanded. The last thing he wanted to say, obliged.

"I must return."

The grating growl sounded almost as bad as he felt.

"I must return to my Master."

Did the ragged quality of his voice do enough to disguise his utter terror at the very thought? Or did his audience hear lack of conviction? How he would rather perish in that hospital bed than spend one single second more in the Master's presence?

Somehow, Emma managed to keep up a false front, even though she was undoubtedly just as tempted as he was to fling herself at him and express her love after such a long and difficult separation. The story demanded that she turn her questioning to the subject of their supposedly missing daughter. Killian displayed exhaustion and confusion: not much of a stretch, although the drugged haze did not let him forget the fact that they may be under observation. But when Killian reached up toward his throat, he was pleasantly surprised to find the dreadful collar gone. He and Emma could talk freely… if it weren’t for the crowd of onlookers surrounding his bed.

Emma must have shared his urgency to have a real conversation, for she immediately got to work bargaining for time alone with him. Fighting the persistent pull of narcotic slumber, Killian gladly allowed her to handle the details. Bloody hell, the pressure between his ears was intensifying, voices in the room sounding like they were being filtered through stacks of wool. His damaged stump pulsed with pain despite the drugs pumping into him; he vaguely remembered using it in battle and must have reinjured partially healed flesh inside. But the measured tone of Jones' voice alleviated a small amount of guilt: he would be in a hell of a lot of pain for awhile but would evidently make a full recovery.

Killian listened dully to the negotiations taking place. 15 minutes would be pushing things; 10 was nothing. But it might be his only chance, if bloody Whale insisted on more sedation afterward. Gods, that sounded like nirvana. The drugs would hardly even be necessary; Killian felt as if he could sleep for a month, and dammit, he did not have that kind of luxury.

“...Mr. Zombie Universe…”

That about summed it up. No matter that he looked the part; he felt even worse. While he was on some kind of opioid--he knew that for a fact--the simple act of breathing made some hurt or other fire up in a never-ending carousel of complaint. His arms were doing their blasted skittering again, and choking fog kept swirling behind his eyes. Getting up, he could maybe handle. Escape without alarm, doubtful. As for a long trek… back there…

Killian didn’t realize he was panting, tense and desperate, until Emma leaned over and began caressing his face. She placed a light kiss on the tip of his nose, whispering,

“It’s okay; they’re gone… Killian?”

Through the vise constricting inexorably tighter within his throat, Killian whined,

“I have to go back.”

He couldn’t open his eyes. He would see his wife there, fraught with worry and determined to detain him. Not understanding. And he would relent, and they would lose their only advantage, and all would suffer and die and it would be his fault for being a cowardly weakling--

“Killian, no.”

Choking back a sob, he struggled to detach himself from the fear. “My Mas… the… the monster, it… it’s starting to trust me, that’s why it sent me here, as a test, but it… it knows things, Emma, it can sense things and if I don’t return we’ll never have this opportunity again--”

“Rumplestiltskin lied to us.”

Emma’s quiet statement brought him up short, and he could not help opening his eyes then. An icy shiver of dread shot down his spine.

“Hope? Is she...?”

“No, she’s okay.”

He couldn’t even allow the automatic wave of relief, or his Master would feel it. Killian deliberately swung his bandaged stump against the bedrail, cringing as the spike vibrated within his flesh and ground glass pressed against raw nerves.

“Then what?” he growled. Emma blinked, started to reach for the injury, but grabbed his fisted hand instead.

“Your immunity. You were asleep, but they did an MRI, and Whale confirmed: you’re starting to show the same symptoms as all the others, the ones who…”

Who had died. All of them; they’d all died.

But it didn’t matter. If he failed his mission, the whole United Realms--hell, the whole world--would face that same fate.

“Bollocks. Whale is a damn fool; I’m completely fine.”

“I can hear you.”

He stared at her blankly, and she touched his shoulder.

“Did you forget? I’ve been listening.”

Killian swallowed, sickened by the reminder. The last thing he wanted to think about was subjecting his beloved to his torment. “Aye? What of it?”

Her lips tightened, revealing the struggle to contain her emotions. It’s so hard, she seemed to say. I can’t keep listening to you fall. Bleed. Scream. Suffer. “So you win his trust. Then what? You need to tell me that you have a plan. ‘Cuz I’ve gleaned exactly zero from this guy. And it has to be worth it.”

Killian drew as deep a breath as he could muster. He had to make this convincing.

“I do have a plan, Swan. And I’ll need your assistance to pull it off.”

“I’m listening…”

He thought for a moment, willing his sluggish brain to gather all of the pieces into a coherent thought.

“You… may have gathered that the Master feeds off of negative emotions in addition to the… the screams?”

Emma’s response was drowned out by echoing memories of his own cries of agony, trumpeting loudly in his skull. He hissed and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets, begging the noise to stop.

“You okay?” asked Emma quietly, full of concern. With a final shudder, Killian nodded. “I hate to rush this, but we’re running out of time.”

Mumbling as he massaged his forehead, Killian continued. “Well, it’s weakened by positive emotion--that’s why it sends its slave army to wreak random havoc. The worse the morale around its hideout, the stronger it gets.”

“Kinda got that already, when the bastard was sending you out on your mission.”

“Aye, well, suppose we could turn that to our advantage?” He lay his hand at his side once again, tremors causing his fingers to twitch uncontrollably.

“How? Even if we sent the most annoyingly cheerful and optimistic beings in the Realms, the guard slaves would kill them all before they ever got close.”

“Its camera network,” slurred Killian. An inexorable weight pressed down, the feeling of disconnectedness, of floating through half-reality with nothing to grip. His heavy eyelids at half mast, he struggled out, “Turn all camera feeds into positivity channels--uplifting music, comedies, silly cartoons and the like--at the right time…”

Emma managed to look simultaneously thoughtful and skeptical. “Defeat the scream-eater with laughter? Pretty sure I've seen that one.”

Killian shuddered. “How Pixar managed to come so close with that Waternoose fellow, I’ll never know.”

“Another one to permanently take off the Netflix queue?”

Killian restrained himself from reaching for her hand. He couldn’t allow the comfort, not now. His Master would sense it. “So? Can I count on you to arrange the details?”

“Tell people to add a laugh track to their home security systems… but without letting the cameras see.”

“Precisely.”

She blew out a breath. “Not difficult at all.”

“Remember, you’ll have the advantage of knowing when the creature is… occupied…” He smiled bravely, and perhaps the early stages of neurological degeneration could explain the quaver in his voice and the flicker of reluctance on his face.

“But, hold on, in the movie, didn’t the laughter produce more energy? For the… monster city or whatever?”

Shifting off of an intensifying throb in one hip, Killian squeezed his eyes shut in brief concession to the pain. “You, of all people, should know not to put too much stock in those things.” He worked to settle, to absorb as much rest as he could before it became impossible once again. “I’m certain it doesn’t work that way in this case. The Master has every reason to be forthright with its slaves. And it has been very clear about its need for negativity.”

“Okay, but… hell, why do you even have to go back? The camera stuff can easily be managed without you in the mix.”

He shook his head once. “It will have to be an exceedingly powerful dose to get past all of the despair the Master has cultivated in its slaves. Someone will need to tune each of the monitors to a positive channel, all at the same time. I managed to do some scouting last night; I think I know where its surveillance equipment is kept. And then, if the positivity isn’t enough... I’ll be there to finish the monster off.”

There was a beat, punctuated only by quiet beeps and the whir of the IV pump at his bedside. Then Emma grimaced.

“It’s a terrible plan. I hate it.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I concur. But it’s all we have.”

He could tell she was thinking furiously, searching for alternatives, brain turning things over and over so fast it hurt. Her pained scowl could attest to that. He also knew the moment she gave in: her spine sagged in brief defeat before straightening along with a deep breath. Brave determination.

“It’ll work. It will. And then you’ll come back, and magic will come back, and I’ll be able to heal you.” She settled her hand along his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek. “Promise me you believe that?”

“I…” He averted his eyes, unable to watch her face. “I dare not. Optimism is a dangerous thing to bring into the Master’s presence. I’m sorry, love. You’ll have to carry enough for the both of us.”

She did not speak for the longest time. But then she wrapped his hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze. “Okay, Killian. Consider it done.”

He looked back at her, and saw that her eyes glistened just as much as his. Desperately, she lunged forward and possessed him with her kiss. And this one, he was allowed to feel. Because this was goodbye, and goodbye could mean forever, and that hurt so much worse than any stab of a knife or pinch of a claw ever could.

Emma was the first to break away. She startled back so fast that Killian sucked too deep a breath and found himself clutching sore ribs. Then he heard the faint buzz of her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the screen with dismay.

“Crap, we only have like thirty seconds until the ten minutes are up. How are we getting you out of here?”

Killian’s sense of time was undeniably muzzy due to the drugs in his system; he would have sworn that no more than three or four minutes had elapsed. “You’ll have to stall them, Swan, unless you care to carry my unconscious self to the forest’s edge.”

Emma cursed again. “Pretend to be asleep.”

Well, that wouldn’t be too hard; the challenge would be remaining alert enough to pay attention to whatever she devised as cover. Closing his eyes, he settled back and worked to slow his heart.

He heard footsteps and then a quiet,

“How’s it going in here?”

Detective Jones. Emma sighed.

“Seemed like we were starting to get somewhere, but he was just so tired. I told him he could rest for a little while and try again later.”

One set of footsteps drew closer, and then the IV tubing lying across his arm was jiggling slightly.

“What’s that?” Emma asked casually, but Killian could detect a note of alarm.

“Dr. Whale prescribed a sedative,” explained the nurse, and Killian cursed inwardly. Maybe it really would come down to Emma having to carry him out.

“Hold on a sec. Please? Could you come back in, say, an hour? He’s sleeping without it right now, and I need to be able to wake him up in a bit to finish his questioning.”

“This isn’t like anesthesia,” soothed the nurse. “He’ll have periods of wakefulness still; it just helps him to sleep more soundly.”

“Yeah, but… he’ll be… super drowsy when he is awake, right? Couldn’t that make it harder to think clearly?”

The nurse paused. “I’m sorry, but it’s doctor’s orders… he's really most insistent.”

“Would one measly hour make that much of a difference?”

During the long silence that followed, Killian waited with bated breath, trying to continue the charade of slumber. Finally, the nurse said,

“I can give it IM, which takes longer to metabolize. He’ll get the required meds, and you’ll get your questioning time.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back--have to get a different needle.”

Killian heard her shuffle away as the IV swung to a halt. He felt Emma brush her hand along his arm, probably in silent apology. The drug would complicate things, for certain, but wouldn't truly be anything his Master would be suspicious of. It knew of his capture, and probably even his arrival at the hospital. It would likely be pleased at his escape and return, even if he did have to collapse and sleep it off halfway back to its lair.

“Has he said anything of value?” wondered Jones.

“Well… not really. Nothing we didn’t already know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gently, trying to appear as if she didn’t want to wake him, Emma wriggled her hand beneath Killian’s. Then she sighed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Detective, but you look awful.”

Killian heard a familiar, rueful breath of laughter.

“Who would believe that nearly all of it could be attributed to that man there?”

Emma snickered back. “He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

Over the sound of the nurse’s returning footsteps, Emma added,

“Look, I appreciate the support, Killian, but you don’t have to stay. Go home; get some sleep. I’ll pass on any information I get here.”

The nurse folded back the blanket covering Killian’s right leg, and he growled faintly in feigned, sleepy annoyance, while truly wondering what the hell she was playing at. When she’d said ‘IM,’ he’d been expecting a jab in the arm. Meanwhile, Jones was responding to Emma’s suggestion.

“Thank you, Emma, but I’d like to stay. An extra set of ears can sometimes make all the difference in a case like this.”

Emma was thinking furiously; Killian could tell. Startled by the cold touch of an alcohol wipe on his outer thigh, his grumbling flinch was not at all an act.

“Sorry, Killian,” murmured the nurse. She pinched the muscle with one hand, adding, “Quick little mosquito bite, and you can go back to sleep.”

Emma squeezed his hand in solidarity, placing the other hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. The long needle stung his thigh, the sedative drug forming an aching pool within the muscle.

“At least go have something to eat,” Emma urged Jones. “I’ll call you and you can listen in if he starts talking.”

Plucking the needle from Killian’s throbbing leg, the nurse spread a Band-Aid over the sore spot. “All done.”

While she rearranged the blankets, Emma asked casually,

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra Band-Aids with you, would you? I've got some hangnails annoying the hell out of me right now.”

“Lemme see… yup, here you go!”

“Thanks.” Emma’s hand left his shoulder, presumably to take the proffered bandages.

“I’ll be back in probably an hour to check on him,” promised the nurse. “In the meantime, if you notice anything unusual, don’t hesitate to press the call button.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She bustled out of the room, taking her damn needle with her. Emma patted Killian’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Suppose I might at least get something to drink, if I can manage my wallet with numb fingers.”

Killian could hear the sheepish smile on Jones’ face as he said the words, and he tried not to cringe. He’d done his best not to injure the other man too severely, but still felt remorseful about what had been necessary.

“Good luck,” Emma replied. “See you in a bit.”

As soon as Jones’ footsteps had retreated, Emma sat back with a sigh. “Well, that sucked. Sorry, Killian.”

Killian stretched gently and dragged his eyes open, blinking. Emma winced at him.

“Are you still going to be able to make it?” She seemed to be doing what he was: acting as if they didn’t know anything about what lay in store for him at the end of his trek. He nodded unenthusiastically. In truth, if he ignored the drug side effects, he actually did feel stronger than he had in weeks, which he credited to whatever volume of replacement blood he’d received so far.

“Hopefully at least beyond the point of rediscovery.”

Emma pulled back his blankets. “I’ll do what I can to put ‘em on the wrong track.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving her keys. “Why don’t you take the Bug? You’ll get farther. Just… you know. Pull over well before you start to fall asleep.”

Fighting the sudden chill, Killian accepted the keys as he gathered the strength required to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. His head was spinning alarmingly and he wondered for a moment whether he would need to reassess the distance he had in him. Emma studied the machine controlling the flow of donor blood and saline into his arm; after a moment, she was able to decipher how to pause its program. Setting aside one of the Band-Aids she’d begged off the nurse, Emma reached for the tape securing the catheter to his forearm. Then she stopped.

“Emma?”

A sudden sob ripped through her; she put a hand to her mouth as if stifling a cough. She couldn’t look at him.

Grim, Killian glanced a the door. “We don’t have a lot of time, love.”

She scrubbed at her eyes with one hand while picking at the corner of the tape with the other. “It’s… it’s just different, you know? Talking about it versus actually doing it. Actually helping you ditch the hospital and go back to--”

Choked by another sob, she didn’t finish the thought. Killian reached up to clasp her wrist briefly before allowing her to continue to work.

“I know.”

She managed to get one side of the tape undone with the minimal amount of arm hairs as casualties. “It just feels like… if you don’t come back… this is me, killing you, right now. Taking out this IV that could be saving your life, it’s just the same as…”

Emma shuddered, and Killian knew she was picturing that awful night with Excalibur, on the banks of the river. How it felt to run him through with her own hands. As if trying to purge the memory, she violently stripped the remaining tape from his arm, pulling the catheter right along with it and spattering small droplets of blood everywhere. Killian sat passively, allowing the outburst. For the moment.

In anger, Emma crumpled the sticky tape and tossed the wad onto the floor, then used the bedsheet to scrub at the smear of blood gathering around the puncture site. She tore open a Band-Aid and pressed it in place with a shuddering sigh.

“Don't be concerned about the silly IV; my good friend Z seems to have an unlimited supply of the damn things.”

It wasn’t about the IV, of course. Nor even the concept of proper medical care as a whole. Killian pulled his arm away from her attempts to apply pressure over the Band-Aid and reached up to stroke her face. The rough brand scar on his palm caused a tiny wince from her as it brushed her cheek.

“It isn’t you,” he murmured. “It won’t be you.”

Silent, she watched his face. Unconvinced. Unplacated. She pressed his hand deeper into her flesh and raked him with her gaze, as if burning his features and new, unfamiliar scars into her memory. He saw the moment of surrender. The light left her eyes and they became cold, tired points of vacuum. Outer space without stars. At last, her voice came through the death mask, low and flat.

“Why us?”

A shade above bitter, Killian said,

“We’re the heroes.”

A somber, unsurprised nod, and then Emma was back in motion. But with inexplicable intent. Killian couldn’t contain the elevating eyebrow as she shed her jacket and prepared to lift her t-shirt. She waved her hand in vague explanation.

“I don’t know how most of this crap works. But if it turns off suddenly, or loses input, it might alert the nurse’s station, and we don’t want that, right? So we switch, as fast as we can. Hopefully we can set it up reading me, and they’ll think you just rolled over or something.”

Glancing down at the EKG leads attached to his chest, Killian’s skeptical expression didn’t change. “And I’m meant to have thought of this myself, am I?”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He missed the normal playful tone with which she would have teased him. But she was still stiff, heartless, carefully on guard. Ready now, the t-shirt rolled up and tucked under her chin but with her arms still in their sleeves, she sat beside him. Testing the slack in the wires, she took a breath and frowned in concentration.

“Lemme do it,” she instructed quietly. “You just keep an eye on the door.”

Killian nodded and did as ordered, but watched out of the corner of his eye. Emma dug her nails beneath the first EKG lead, and he knew she was attempting to take as much of the sticky conducting gel with it to ensure a solid connection. She paused to estimate the proper placement on her own chest--right in the center above the sternum--then brutally ripped the pad off of him and slapped it on herself. The loss of a few chest hairs left stinging patches behind as Emma repeated the process twice more. Successfully, by the sound of it: the machine behind them beeped a couple of queries as the transfer took place, but no obnoxious alarm rent the afternoon stillness.

“Not bad, Swan,” Killian praised. He ducked out of the way of the gathered leads while Emma adjusted her shirt back down and checked the monitor for functionality.

“The question will be whether I can stand pretending to be unconscious until someone discovers me.” Emma reached up, unclipped the pulse oximeter from his earlobe, and clamped it onto her own. She made a face. “Think I prefer the fingertip one.”

“Aye, well, it does tend to get in the way when one has only five fingers at one’s disposal.”

The last piece of equipment was the blood pressure cuff, which was easy enough to slip off and then adjust to fit her bicep. And then Killian was free.

He stood with appropriate caution, but still nearly fell--twice--as vertigo, generalized weakness, and drug side effects played havoc with his balance. Emma watched with clenched teeth, no doubt struggling with the urge to tackle him and wrestle him back into bed, the rest of the world be damned. But she contained herself, he clung stubbornly to his equilibrium, and they were again faced with the reality of the moment. Cautiously, Emma got up, holding the EKG sensors in place. She assessed him briefly, cracks in the emotionless mask allowing both tender concern and raging terror to leak

“You gonna be okay, hiking in that?”

Killian glanced down at his gown with a shrug. “It’s no worse than the sackcloth.”

“And… your feet? What about…” She trailed off, and against his better judgment, Killian stepped forward and wrapped her in an embrace. For the sake of his Master, though, he kept his mind on the goodbye, on his concern for Emma. On that disturbing mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead... Muffled into his chest came the words they both dreaded:

“You’d better go.”

Emma was dry-eyed and tight-lipped as she stepped back from him. He turned toward the window. And neither of them said what was foremost in their hearts.

I love you.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #wish realm killian #hospital #injured #transfusion #injection #sedation #deception #angst #not really a cliffhanger but doesn't resolve the one from last week either sorry #Vocivore ltd #medical nonsense #just go with it okay?#hehe

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not-close-to-straight · 7 years

Text

IronHawk (Part Thirteen)

MASTERLIST HERE

*********************

Six Months Later

“Play it again for me JARVIS.” Tony sat back in his chair, sipping from a bottle of wine, various pieces of his latest attempt at a project scattered around him.

“Sir, I don't think this is very conducive to your mental health to watch this yet again and I really must insist--”

“Play it anyway.”

The video feed appeared in front of him, the scene from the common area six months prior.

“I don't need to be a genius to understand how heartbroken you are, Tony.”

Tony cursed and took another drink.

Six fucking months without a word from Clint. Tony had called Coulson the very next morning after their fight, begging him to put him through to the Alpha. The Agent had calmly explained that while working for SHIELD, Hawkeye wouldn't be available for idle chatter, as they planned to keep him very busy. Then, in a shockingly snarky tone, the agent had suggested that Tony talk to Bruce if he was bored.

Six months.

Natasha barely even spoke to him anymore, even going out of her way to avoid him. She was furious with him for turning to Banner instead of Clint, for breaking Clint's heart and didn't even try to hide it. And it's not like Tony could blame her.

Pepper, bless her sweet perfect heart was a constant, comforting presence in his life. Even Banner, especially Banner, was always there when he needed him. He knew the team disapproved of how close he and Bruce were but Tony didn't care. He was barely making it through the days without his Alpha and was coping as well as he could. If that meant that he drank all day and slept next to Bruce at night then so be it.

“All I ever wanted was you-”

“Tony!” Banners voice cut into the audio, and Tony waved it away quickly, straightening up in his chair.

“What's up Brucie bear?” He wiped his mouth and put the bottle on the corner of his desk like it wasn't completely obvious he'd been drinking straight from it.

“Have you seen this?” Bruce was carrying a tablet, and with a flick of his fingers, threw the newsfeed up on the big screen.

Explosions and mayhem filled the screen, the sound of women and children screaming lost behind the booms of grenades and rockets. People were scattered, running, tripping and falling in the rubble as armed commandos all in black advanced through what remained of a village. “What the hell is going on?” Tony leaned forward in disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

“This was live this morning, at some undisclosed location in the Middle East. JARVIS found the feed and brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit, no location is ever undisclosed.” Tony stared at the screen. “And even if it is, why did JARVIS--”

“It's SHIELD.” Bruce said grimly. “Look.”

Darting around through the smoke was the clearly recognizable figure of Hawkeye. He was firing arrows as fast as he could at whatever targets were on the ground, then diving and disappearing into the smoke. Tony held his breath, until Clint reappeared with two kids clinging to him, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

“What the fuck is this? Where the hell is he?” Tony couldn't help the panic crawling up his throat at the thought of his alpha in the middle of that.

“I don't know. I've got the Captain searching for answers. Can't figure out why we weren't called in on something like this. Been trying to call Fury for the last half hour.”

“Captain!” Tony grabbed the tablet and took off up the stairs, Bruce on his heels.

In the common area, Steve, Natasha and Thor were staring at the big screen, where the same horrifying footage was playing.

“What do we know?” Tony demanded, skidding to a stop.

“Absolutely nothing.” Steve replied in frustration. “I can't get any intel on where this is happening, much less why Hawkeye is there or why we aren't.”

“Sir, Director Fury is online.” JARVIS interrupted.

“Fury! What the hell?” Tony called, and the director's voice came over the ceiling speakers.

“What is it Tony? I have better things to do than call you back all the time.”

“Why is Hawkeye somewhere in the Middle East and why weren't the Avengers deployed?”

“You will have to take that up with Agent Coulson. I know nothing of that matter.”

“Right.” Bruce snorted. “Because you don't know everything that's happening at all times on this planet.”

“Oh I didn't realize I was on speaker with the entire comedy troupe. Dr Banner don't you have some city to destroy so you can sit and mope about it later?”

Bruce growled, actually growled, and the team looked around nervously. In the months following Hawks abrupt departure, Banner had become a lot easier to anger, and actually had to stay at the tower the last mission because they couldn't risk him going wild.

“What SHIELD does is none of your business, whether your ex boyfriend is there or not, Stark. Now stop bothering me, I have a country to save.” There was a click as the director hung up and they all turned back to the TV, avoiding Tony's eyes.

He stepped back, hand over his bonding mark, watching his mate dive through the smoke, rescuing children.

“Wait. Wait. What's…. that….?” Eyes drawn back to the screen, Tony watched as a figure on the ground darted around, seemingly slicing its way through anything in it's path and disappearing into a crumbling building.

“There it is again!” The figure seemed to walk right out of a second story wall, carrying one full sized man in each arm before-

“By the Norns.” Thor put his hand over his mouth when the mysterious figure smashed into the ground, using the two men as a cushion. When it leapt up, seemingly unscathed, and walked away, Tony spoke up.

“JARVIS! Save that shot, bring it up on a different screen.” The video segment appeared on the television set, minimizing the main action for a moment. “Thanks buddy, slow it down for me? Annnd zoom in.”

Tony leaned forward over the couch, not believing what he was seeing.

The figure, now blown up enough to obviously be a man, sliced through the second story wall with a set of blades, and took the two men down with him. After slamming them into the ground, he calmly pulled off and went after another group of commandos.

“Good god. Tony is that guy holding SIX knives?” Steve pointed at the man's hands, where six curved, bloody, metal blades rested between his knuckles.

“Um, I think the knives are coming out of his hands.” Tony zoomed in further, than further again. “He’s not actually holding anything.”

Natasha finally spoke up, green eyes wide as she nervously chewed her thumbnail. “Who the hell does SHIELD have Clint hanging around?”

************ An Undisclosed Location in the Middle East ************

“Hey. Did we save them all?” Clint was furiously washing blood off his arms and hands in the small washroom of an early destroyed grocery store.

Another man entered, taller than him by nearly five inches, and just as broad across the shoulders. “We lost two.” his deep voice sounded nonchalant, but Clint had been working with him long enough to know how badly the man hurting, not being able to save everyone.

“Sorry, man. We tried.”

“Hell yeah we did. It's just…” the man joined him at the sink, ripping off a long sleeve, and the blood stained wife beater underneath to show huge shoulders and arms. “They’re just kids, Barton. Doesn't fucking matter how many assholes I tear apart if the kids are still dying.”

“I know man.” Clint dried his hands on his jeans, watching the other wash carefully, running scarred hands over worse looking knuckles. “How do those feel? You sore like you were last time?” “Nah. If I just slice right into people instead of trying to carve them up it's easier on the ol’ claws.” He laughed at the morbid joke and Clint grinned. Yeah it was a little twisted, but in situations like these, any bit of laughter was good.

“Well cover up those mighty pecs of yours.” Clint tossed him an extra shirt from his pack. “We don't want to terrify these little old ladies in the village.”

“Speak for yourself, Wing Boy. I could use a swooning lassie or two.” His voice dropped into an exaggerated Scottish accent before he pushed past Clint, running thick fingers through thick hair. “Seriously. You were pretty impressive out there today. No way we would have saved all those kids. Not without you.”

Clint smiled. “Thanks Logan.”

************* *************

“Good job today, men.” Agent Coulson's voice came over the speaker of Logan's shitty phone. “That could have gone a lot worse.”

“Yeah well, just get me out of this fucking desert and we will be fine.” Logan grumbled, pulling a hat low against the hot wind. “I'm Canadian. Not made for this shit.”

“I'm Canadian.” Clint mimicked after they had said their goodbyes and boarded the plane heading back to the states. Logan grinned at him from around one of his obscenely large cigars.

“Don't knock it till ya try it bub. Ever been up where it's cold? Cabin in the hills? No people for miles?”

“I got some land, yeah.” Clint leaned back against the wall of the plane, trying to get comfortable. Flying in a cargo plane wasn't the easiest way to travel, but it was the best way to get around at a moment's notice. Considering most of their missions were a ‘wheels up in an hour’ type of situation, cargo planes always worked out the best.

“Upstate?” Logan asked, interested. Clint shook his head.

“A piece in a national park. Homesteaded.” Logan nodded and they lapsed into silence as the plane roared through a take off and altitude climb. Clint closed his eyes, feeling the effort of the last several days catching up to him.

Coulson hadn't even given them the usual hours notice this time. Just walked into their shared dorm and snapped that they were needed. He and Logan had grabbed their gear, and in very little time considering the distance, had been dropped off outside of nowhere, in no particular Middle Eastern Country. Clint still wasn't sure where they were, if he had to be honest. They had just been tasked with saving the children, and getting rid of the bad guys.

So they had. Clint had saved the children. Logan had all but obliterated the bad guys.

A smile flitted across his face when Logan crossed his mind. The man was an animal, but Clint refused to call him by his mutant name, Wolverine. It was just… hard to call him such a brutal name after months of sharing barracks and missions. Months of heart to heart talks after long days. After watching the way he had held one of the little girls who didn't make it, with such grief on his face it had made Clint’s chest ache. The children loved Logan for some reason, even though adults were drawn more to Clint’s friendly face and approachable manner. Despite the cigars, outrageous sideburns and growly voice, kids saw something in Logan that adults couldn't get to.

Clint saw it though. He knew Logan very well.

The mutant was...funny, in a sarcastic, understated way. His deep voice rarely changed pitch, and most people rarely saw him smile, but he smiled at Clint all the time. Logan certainly couldn't be called friendly, but the first time they had met he had been so impressed by Hawkeye's wings he had forgone his usual asshole swagger and posturing and promptly asked for a ride. Clint had just shrugged, only to be knocked flat when the adamantium laden mutant had jumped on his back. Struggling to breathe, Clint had managed to rasp that he had been kidding, and that Logan needed to get his overly heavy ass off.

That was the first time Logan had laughed in front of him. A friendship had grown quickly from that moment, and now they were practically inseparable.

“So when did you mutate?” Logan asked as they climbed into their beds. Clint groaned, the days heavy training leaving no energy for conversation.

“Uhhh this isn't a mutation.” he shook his wings for emphasis.

“Bull shit. Unless they've been grafted on in a government lab?” Logan propped himself up on his elbow.

“Would you believe a Viking God gifted me wings in exchange for saving his son during a battle to save Asgard from a band of renegade Titans?” Clint replied with raised eyebrows.

“You’re shitting me. No way that happened.” Logan was genuinely floored and Clint burst out laughing. Logan joined him after a minute. “So what like, Valhalla gave you wings?”

“Valhalla is heaven, you dumbass.” In between fits of laughter Clint managed to get the story out, and when he was done Logan had given him a slow, sarcastic clap.

“Impressive, Wing Boy.” Clint thought maybe he imagined Logan’s soft smile, imagined the mutant spending a long moment staring at him, maybe imagined him licking his lips.

But he wasn't about to ask. Instead he had rolled over, falling asleep smiling for the first time in weeks.

“So I got a place upstate.” Logan interrupted his train of thought nearly an hour later.

“Yeah?”

“Farther north than the school.” He said and Clint nodded.

He had been to the school once with Logan and the short visit had opened his eyes to a whole other type of person beyond the Alpha/beta/omega genes.

Mutants were just…a whole other thing. The professor, a wheelchair bound man who had the unnerving ability to read minds, had simply smiled at the sheer astonishment Clint was showing. He had always heard of super humans, but Professor Xavier had explained to him that mutants weren’t super humans any more than Alphas and Omegas were. They simply had changed before the rest of the human race. In fact, he believed that the omega gene itself was a mutation, evolved to ensure the continuation of the human race from a time when we were in danger of dying out. Clint had listened to everything the man said, partly from respect, partly from plain curiosity.

“So I was thinking if we get some down time after this, maybe we go visit my cabin.” Logan was still talking, and Clint shrugged, pulling himself from his drifting thoughts. It was hard to stay focused after such a hard day.

“Can't see why not. I am all about wide open spaces and places to stretch my wings these days.”

“It's nothing big. Couple room cabin. Small town. Few mutants live there but it's mostly loggers. So maybe no wings for you while we grocery shop, but other than that it's fine. Feel free to fly to your heart's content.” he cracked a small smile at the idea of Clint even thinking about hiding his wings. These days the archer wore them out 24/7, and if Logan was admitting things… he definitely liked to see them.

“Sounds good.” Clint said casually.

“Yeah?” Logan looked up then, fighting to hide his smile.

“Sure. It sounds like a Native American legend.” Clint stretched out as best he could, closing his eyes to try and nap. “Wolverine and Hawk go up to the mountains to pray to the gods. Which one comes down, and what have they learned about themselves?”

Logan laughed, then quieted as his dark eyes traced Hawkeyes strong frame. “Yeah.”

**************** The moment wheels touched down in the states, Agent Coulson was waiting for them.

“Welcome home, boys.”

Logan grunted a hello, swinging his huge bag up and over his shoulder easily. Clint slipped his strap over his chest, between his wings, and followed his friend down.

“Agent Coulson.” he reached to shake the man's hand.

“Your rooms are ready.” Coulson nodded to the dorms, where the men shared a two room apartment. “Agent Barton, Agent Romanov has been waiting to talk with you, so she is queued up inside.”

“Hey thanks!” Clint picked up the pace, jogging to the dorms, and tossing his stuff on the bed. He hadn't talked to Natasha in weeks. “Tasha!” he exclaimed, pulling her up on the computer screen.

“Hawkeye.” her greeting was much more reserved, but her eyes were light. “Glad you made it back safely. Seems like this last mission was intense.”

“Yeah it's good to be home. Don't care for the desert much.” He stretched his wings and shook them lightly, eyeing the dust that fell out.

“The tower is your home.” she said just a tad sharply, and looked away for a minute to compose herself when Clint raised an eyebrow.

“How are things there?” He asked, not really wanting to ask, but still needing to know. Even though he and Tony hadn't talked at all in the months he’d been gone, his bonding mark kept him fairly in tune with his mate. Anytime Tony was upset or anxious, Clint got an answering twinge. Any sharp burst of happiness, and Clint got it as well. Really any strong emotion could be felt through the bond. He almost felt bad, knowing the last months had mostly been adrenaline on his part, constantly reminding Tony that Clint was definitely to busy to be pining over the Omega.

“Pretty much the same. Have you ever heard of Matt Murdock?” when Clint shook his head Natasha continued. “Some hot shot lawyer. Also happens to run Hells Kitchen under the name of Daredevil. Blind as a bat. Tony's been inviting him around. Also some little web slinger kid. Calls himself Spider-man.”

“Man they are just coming out of the shadows every day aren't they?” Clint laughed and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“At least the Tower is mostly full these days. Thor has been gone for a while now, and Captain is chasing down his old buddy. The Winter Soldier has been popping up on radar but not doing any killing so Steve is trying to track him down and bring him in.”

“So has the rest of the team been pretty busy? I don't understand how Coulson juggles both SHIELD deployments and keeping track of the Avengers.” Clint moved positions, sitting up against his headboard to get more comfortable.

“Well we certainly aren't as busy as you have been, apparently.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “We managed some footage of you saving some kids in the desert. Looked like the footage was live.”

“Uh yeah, Just got home actually. Back I mean, we just got back.” Clint corrected hastily when Nat's eyes turned frosty.

“Who was the guy with you? With knives in his hands? He was just… murdering people. Is he working with you all the time?” she demanded, and Clint shrugged a little uncomfortably. It wasn't really any of the team's business who he was working with these days. And he was pretty sure Logan wouldn’t get along with any of them, so why even bother with an introduction?

“He's- just a guy I run missions with. He’s legit. Canadian though, so you know.” he laughed but she didn't even blink.

“He seems unstable. We watched him use two men as cushions when he jumped from a second story wall.”

“Well, not all of us are as clean cut as the Captain, Tasha.” Clint replied, a little irritated. “Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to save someone. We saved forty-three kids today.”

“I'm not trying to--” Natasha sighed. “I'm sorry. It's just weird it knowing everything that's going on in your life, I guess.”

“Barton.” Logan's deep voice interrupted from the doorway and Clint watched Natasha’s eyes open wide in surprise and suspicion.

“Is that him?” she snapped. “Let me see him, is that the guy with the knives?”

“Who wants to know?” Logan shot back, purposely staying well out of visual range of the computer's camera. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Down, you two. What's up, Logan?” the big man just tossed a shirt at him.

“To replace the one I ruined.” Clint cocked an eyebrow.

“What one you ruined? Just fucking wash it!.”

“Oh it will be well beyond washable when I'm done with it.” The mutant sent him a suggestive leer and Clint laughed out loud, throwing a shoe at him.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Logan ignored him, choosing instead to collapse across the bottom of the bed, letting his full weight settle, and nearly bouncing Clint off the bed in the process. “Logan!” Clint laughed again, kicking at the unmovable weight. “You weigh like six hundred pounds!”

“Hawkeye!” Natasha snapped, irritated with being ignored, and Clint righted the computer on his lap.

“Sorry Tash. We just got back like I said. Just blowing off some steam. So keep talking, how are things?”

“Everyone's worried about you.” the pretty woman frowned. “Tony is so stressed out he barely even leaves the lab. We have to almost hold him down to eat. And he hasn't even had a heat since before you left.” Clint winced and touched his bonding mark.

“Yeah I know.” he would have absolutely felt when Tony went into heat, because the resulting hormones would have forced his body into a rut. Even though he felt badly that Tony was so stressed, he was more than glad to not have had a rut while taking these missions. “But I'm sure Bruce is helping lots.” He couldn't keep the bitter out of his voice, and at the end of the bed, Logan sat up a little.

“He is.” Natasha didn't lie. “Tony needs an Alpha around to keep him sane, and since I refuse and he has no rapport really with Steve, Banner is his other option.”

“You refuse?” Clint asked cautiously. He hadn't heard this yet. “What do you mean, you refuse?”

“He hurt you, Clint.” she stated calmly. “Badly. And I tried to be understanding, I really did. I know that his situation and--” she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “--and my situation aren't all that different. But I-- you know I'm loyal to you, Clint. And it's hard to be around him and Banner right now.”

Clint swallowed, glancing down at Logan, who was watching him steadily. The mutant sent him a questioning look, then casually wrapped a strong hand around Clint’s ankle. And damn if Clint wasn't relieved to have the physical contact when his emotions spiked a little high.

“Are he and Banner still--”

“I know they spend most nights together, but you would know better than anybody if they were--” she didn't finish the sentence, just motioned to his Bond mark and Clint nodded quickly.

“Yeah, no, I haven't um, haven't felt that at all. And Tasha, I appreciate you being on my side in this, but don't… don't take it out on Tony. He is coping the best he knew how.”

“You're a better person than me, Hawkeye.” She said with a short smile and he chuckled.

“Yeah well, I won't tell if you won't. Look, I got to go. Tell everyone hey for me okay?”

“I miss you, Clint.” she said quietly.

“I miss you too Tasha.” he touched her image on the screen and smiled, before shutting his laptop down.

“She sounds hot.” Logan squeezed Clint’s leg before letting go and sitting up all the way to light a cigar.

“You know, when we opted to share a dorm, the other guys assured me you didn't talk a whole lot. And for gods sake put that cigar out. Don't smoke in my room.”

Logan just shrugged. “The other guys didn't have hot girls call and video chat or weird wings to talk about. And you knew about my smoking when we starting rooming together so don't start complaining now.”

Clint rolled his eyes and kicked at the mutant again. “Get off my bed.” ******************* Natasha left her laptop open for a few minutes after the video call ended, frozen on a picture of Hawk laughing at whoever the hell was sitting in front of him. She hated the spike of jealousy, hated that she felt guilty, talking to Clint and not letting anyone else know. But Clint had been hers before he had been anyone else's, including Tony's, and those feelings of possessiveness were hard to let go of.

Not that Tony really deserved Clint these days. Letting fucking Banner talk him through things, and hold him, and sleep with him when nobody but Clint should be anywhere near the Omega.

Speaking of Omegas, things between her and Pepper were absolutely strained these last few months. Pepper had demanded that Natasha step up as a surrogate Alpha for Tony, and when Natasha had refused, Pepper had blamed her for Tony running right back to Bruce as if it was her fault Tony apparently needed two Alphas pining over him.

Granted it was a little hard to be mad at Banner, who was just doing what any Alpha, especially an unbonded one, would do, and comforting the Omega as well as he could. And as far as Natasha knew, and apparently Clint as well, the two weren't romantically linked, even though Bruce spent an inordinate amount of time touching Tony. But then again, Tony was an inordinately needy Omega. So she supposed it all balanced out.

Natasha touched the picture of Clint on her screen, smiling softly. Then she touched the almost completely faded bite mark on the right side of her neck. She missed him. Some days she missed him more than others. ****************** Clint woke up from a much needed nap just long enough to eat dinner, then made a beeline back to the dorms, seeking the relative quiet and comfort of his and Logan's rooms.

“Hey.” Logan greeted him from the couch where he was sprawled watching some old war movie with a cigar lit, thick, sweet smelling smoke filled the living room. Clint wanted to hate it, but he really couldn't. Logan without a cigar just wasn't quite Logan.

“How can you stand watching those things? Knowing what really happened? Doesn't it bother you to see war turned into…. entertainment?” Clint asked, opening the fridge for a beer. Logan just shrugged.

“Not all the memories are bad.” He inhaled deeply, and Clint watched his lips form a circle as ‘O’s of smoke formed.

Most of their initial long talks had consisted of Logan telling Clint about his overly long life. Clint hadn't even believed him at first.

“You are not seriously over two hundred years old.” He had insisted, until Logan had started pulling dates and places out of the air, teasing him with knowledge only first hand eyewitness could know. Something about Barton made it easy to talk, and Logan talked about things he had never shared before.

Like his brother, and how devastating it had been to watch him turn into more of an animal than a man. About the endless killing and when he’d finally had enough. About finding Marie, who later was Rogue, who led him to the School for Mutants, which had changed his life. Clint had just listened, wings rustling at appropriate times, head propped up on his elbows.

They talked for hours into the night.

In fact, they spent so much time talking that they ended up moving their beds into the same room so one of them wouldn't have to leave when the other fell asleep. Every single time they left on a mission, Agent Coulson had the beds moved back to their respective rooms, but now, as Clint walked into his room and grinned, Logan had already rectified it. They had never talked about their decision to share a room, it just happened. Both queen beds pushed to separate sides of the room, lamps plugged into the closest outlet.

It worked.

“Tell me about the whole Alpha/Omega thing.” Logan instructed, following Clint into the bedroom and stripping off his shirt.

“Like what?” Clint glanced away from Logan's chest and dropped his pants, climbing under his covers, stretching an arm behind his head. “What else do you want to know?”

They had already talked about how mutants didn't have subgenders, and how the pheromones played such a huge part in the interactions. One extremely awkward morning on a mission, Logan had walked in on Clint changing, looked him over casually, and had asked if he’d been checked for penis cancer, because of the tumor at the base of his dick. Clint had cracked up, and told him it was his knot, which was still visible as a lump even when he was soft. Logan had just clapped his hands over his ears and left the room.

“Are you gay?” the question seemed to echo in the room and Clint hesitated before shaking his head.

“I don't consider myself gay, no. It's not like that when you’re an Alpha. It's all… chemical. And bonding and pheromones. Not like, I only look for male omegas or female omegas. Secondary genders kind of make the whole Hetero/homo thing unnecessary. If something is right…it's just right.”

“But you have a male one, a male omega? Tony, right? The one that hasn't had a heat since you left?”

“Right.” Clint sighed. “Right. Tony is my omega. My bonded omega. And yeah, he's a guy. But it's not like that. I didn't want him because he was a guy, or even an Omega. Just because he was...Tony.”

“I get that.” Logan was sitting sideways on his bed, head against the wall so he could watch Clint. “So not gay. Just happen to have a male omega. Could have been a woman who caught your interest just as easily.”

“Sure.”

“And before you bonded? You were still...not gay? You ever do it with that girl Natasha?”

Clint grinned, the memory washing over him. “Once or twice.”

“Hm.” Logan was silent for a long time after that. Clint had just started to drift off to sleep when the mutant spoke again. “Well, I know that being bonded is basically marriage for you guys. And I'm sure I'm very different from Tony...” Clint lifted his head at this, staring at his friend.

“Yeah?” Where the hell is he going with this?

“But I'm just saying…” Logan turned to get under his covers. “If you ever need something, I'll play Omega to your Alpha.” He reached a long arm to turn off the light, dropping the room into darkness.

Clint bit his lip bloody trying to hold back a sudden moan, nearly tearing the sheets in an effort to keep himself silent. Logans mouth, fingers, body. Logan beneath me. Logan begging for me.

“The only thing is…” in the dark, Logan's voice sounded impossibly deeper. “Probably not face to face. The claws tend to make an appearance, and it can get messy. You'd have to take me from behind. Against a wall maybe.”

Clint did groan then, his whole body responding to the mutants words, his long neglected cock filling with interest.

On the other side of the room Logan gave a lower, answering growl and Clint swore silently.

This isn't good.

*************************

#ironhawk #clint barton #tony stark #logan #wolverine #clintxlogan #abo dynamics #alpha clint #omega tony

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