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stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲

Pairing: Druig x (female) Mortal!Reader

Summary: you and Druig get doused with sex pollen whilst out on a mission. Only Druig, being the Eternal that he is, doesn’t get effected, leaving you completely vulnerable and in desperate need of some ‘help'

Warnings: bare minimum plot, lil tiny bit of angst, smut, sex pollen, enemies to fucking, tiny bit of degradation kink, lil bit of dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex (m+f), multiple orgasms, minors DNI

A/N: so when I posted about this idea you horny little bees absolutely ate👏🏻it👏🏻up👏🏻 so… here it is!! I was technically supposed to be taking a tiny break from Druig to work on my Bucky stuff but I started this and just really went for it, I basically wrote it in one sitting and then was just too impatient to keep it sitting in my drafts lmao😂 also bc I was in such a rush to just get this out I did not proof-read it so pls forgive any spelling and/or grammar mistakes🙈 I really hope you guys like it!!✨🖤💫

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

You and Druig were begrudgingly on a mission together. You and Druig didn’t get on at the best of times, let alone being forced to be in constant companionship whilst on a mission. You hated being stuck with him but you knew this mission was too dangerous to go alone.

You peer round the corner cautiously before stepping forward, your weapons ready in hand. Druig followed behind you casually, the only weapon he needed was his mind. You follow the hallway until you reach the room at the end. You peer inside, noting that it indeed seemed to be the lab you were looking for. You were taking down a facility where they’d been experimenting with a mind control serum, and looking at the various test tubes with various coloured liquids in them, it seemed you’d hit the jackpot.

“I think we’ve found it” you say, sheathing your weapons and stepping into the lab.

“What gave it away? All the science equipment hmm?” Druig hums sarcastically as he floats past you further into the lab. You roll your eyes at him. You head to the nearest table, the one that seemed to have completed samples on it. Druig wondered off more towards the back of the room, where the equipment was. You scanned over the various vials before coming across a different substance.

“What’s this stuff? It doesn’t look like a serum?” You say picking up a Petri dish filled with a burgundy dust. “It’s more like a… powder?” You venture raising an eyebrow, leaning in to get a closer look at the stuff.

“No y/n don’t!!” Druig suddenly shouts, lunging for you. His shout makes you jump, the powder spilling up and around you in the air. You cough on the dust as Druig suddenly appears next to you, grabbing your arm roughly. He pulls you both away from the cloud of dust but it’s too late, you’re both coughing and choking as the tiny particles tickle your lungs.

“Fuck!” Druig shouts after you’d both stopped coughing.

“What the hell is that stuff?” You rasp. Druig just sighs deeply in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

Suddenly a small wave of pain racks through you, settling in your lower belly. You double over ever so slightly at the sensation. You’ve just about stood upright again when another wave hits you, stronger and more painful than the last.

“What the fuck is happening?” You cry. “Are we dying?"

“No” Druig sighs again. “But that pain is gonna keep getting worse until you wish you were dead.”

“What? How do you know?"

“Because I know what that stuff is” there’s a sharp and dangerous edge to his voice. You stare at him blankly.

“It’s sex pollen” he explains finally.

“Oh shit” you cry at the realisation. Another surge of pain courses through you, causing your legs to buckle. You only remain upright by clinging onto the empty table next to you.

“How come you’re not being effected?” You whine, one hand holding onto the table, the other still clutching your aching stomach.

“Because I’m an Eternal” he shrugs. You huff in frustration and in pain, hugging yourself tighter as another wave of pain surges through you.

“It’s lucky I’m with you here at least” he muses after a second, a wicked smirk suddenly taking over his face. "I’m your only cure."

“Huh” you scoff sarcastically. "I don’t need you. I can take care of myself” you seethe through pain-gritted teeth.

“Masturbating won’t help you” he replies harshly. "The release has to come from the hands of someone else. That’s just how it works”

“Oh yeah? And how do you know so much about it?”

“When you’ve been around as long as I have you learn a few things” he muses casually. You huff in frustration again.

“I don’t need you” you repeat weakly.

“You sure about that?” He hums.

“I’ll sort myself out” you force through pained breathes.

He laughs darkly in response.

“Oh that won’t fix it, little one. You need to be thoroughly fucked to get the pollen out of your system. Your hand will never be enough. But my cock will” he leans down to whisper that last line right against the shell of your ear. His breath on your skin sends a wave of sensations through your body, the pain dulling ever so slightly with him being nearer.

Fuck. Your body knew the only way to save yourself was to have Druig. Your pride didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but your body was in so much pain you really didn’t know how much more you could take.

“You want me to take mercy on you, little one?” He cocks his head to the side smugly, looking down at you, a pained and writhing mess on the floor. Oh that smug bastard, now you really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Fuck you” you spit, doubling over in pain again.

“Mmm all you have to do is ask” he purrs.

“No” you bite out.

Just then the most intense wave of pain flows through you. It knocks you to floor completely, causing you to double over on your knees. Druig just continues to stand and stare at you. You’re in so much pain you feel yourself start to cry involuntarily. You were at your breaking point.

“Please” you whisper at last.

“Please what?” He teases. A small sob racks through you.

“Please. Help me” you sob. "Fuck me, Druig” you cry at last.

“There’s a good girl” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

Suddenly his hands are on you, picking you up off the floor and sitting you on the table in front of him. He forces your legs open and takes his place in between them. You immediately, without even really realising, begin to grind against him, pushing your clothed core against his crotch. It’s only the tiniest bit of friction but already you can feel the slightest reduction in pain throughout your body. You grab hold of his shirt, holding him in place as you grind into him. He simply watches you as you do so.

“Look at you crying, so desperate for release. So desperate for my cock hmm” he laughs. You mewl, fisting you hands tighter in his shirt bucking your hips forward into his.

“Don’t worry baby we’ll get there. For now you’ll cum on my fingers first. It's gonna take some time to coax all that pollen out your system. You’re gonna have to work for it” he whispers the last sentence hotly against your ear.

You try to glare at him but your face just twists in pain again.

“Shhh it’s okay babygirl. Open your legs wide for me” he purrs into your ear. You reluctantly oblige, opening your legs wider. He grabs the hem of your jeans and your panties, pulling them off you roughly. He leans back to look you in the eye as he spits on his fingers before shoving them down into your pants, quickly finding their place on your clit. You moan immediately at the contact, pleasure shooting through your body, slowly subsiding a bit of the pain that still racked through your body. Your head rolls forward pathetically to lean on Druig’s chest as he continues to rub your clit. But it still wasn’t enough. You needed more. But now you’re so overwhelmed with every sensation being heightened that you can barely form words. You just rut your hips harder against him, pulling tighter on his shirt again.

Lucky for you Druig gets the message. He moves his fingers from your clit to circle your entrance a few times before inserting two of them inside you. You moan loudly again as he begins scissoring them open inside of you, stretching you out deliciously. But he can still see how desperate you are and so he takes pity on you. Enough with the teasing, he begins pumping his fingers quickly inside you, curling them to hit your sweet spot. He places his thumb on your clit, restarting his circle movements again.

“Ah fuck. Yes!” you moan involuntarily. You hate the cocky chuckle that rumbles through his chest at your words.

You hated that you needed this. Especially from him. But fuck he was doing a good job.

You’re both looking down, watching his fingers pump in and out of you. You moan at the sight, and so does Druig. You continue to rut against his hand, helping him fuck his fingers deeper inside of you. You can feel a tension building in your lower stomach. It hurts, but it also feels so good. Your moans increase as the sensations build inside you. You can feel another wave about crash over you, but this time it’s one of pleasure. Pathetic whimpers leave your throat as you clench around Druig’s fingers, your climax flowing through you. You gasp at the relief. The pain definitely wasn’t gone but at the very least it had lessened slightly.

“Shhh, there’s a good girl” he coos, his lips against your ear again. He pumps you a few more times, prolonging your orgasm, making sure he coaxes every once of pleasure your body had to give in the hopes of it replacing the pain.

You barely have a second to bask in your climax before another surge of pain rolls through you, doubling you over into Druig’s chest as you cling to him desperately. You cry out from the pain, it’s ever so slightly less intense than before, but it still really fucking hurt.

“Druig...” you cry into his shirt. “It still hurts..."

“I know, little one, I know. I’m gonna take care of you” he whispers fervently into your hair.

The next thing you know Druig is sinking to his knees in front of you. He can see how much your suffering, all of his cocky attitude from earlier melting away. Now he only wanted to help, to get rid of your pain.

He holds your legs open with hands, spreading you even wider as he submerges his face between your thighs. His tongue connects with your clit and you cry out instantly. He doesn’t start slow, instead he goes right for an intense pace of lapping and flicking at your clit with his tongue. You instinctively grab his hair with one of your hands, holding him against you. Your hips begin to buck against him again, grinding your cunt against his face. Before long his fingers return to your dripping entrance, pumping, scissoring and curling inside you just as before. You can feel the pain start to lessen even more as the pleasure from Druig’s mouth on your cunt starts to overtake you. You feel your thighs start to tremble as your second climax approaches fast. You arch forwards, this time as pleasure racks through your body. Your moans are pathetic and ragged as you cum for the second time, convulsing against Druig’s mouth and fingers. You’re gripping his hair so tight you’re sure he must be pain, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just continues to lap at you, once again prolonging your orgasm. You feel your body start to relax a bit, your hand dropping from his hair.

“There’s a good girl, you’re doing so well” Druig praises as he stands back up again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Another wave of pain courses through you as you look at him. He surprises you by suddenly tipping your chin with his fingers, angling your face upwards so he can place his lips on yours. The kiss is surprisingly soft, tender. His lips move gently against yours, it’s reassuring, comforting. You suddenly forget about everything. About the pain. About the fact that you usually hate this man most of the time. About the disastrous situation you were. Suddenly all you cared about was keeping his lips on yours. You felt like you could stay like this forever.

But you couldn’t as yet another wave of pain crashes over you. You break the kiss as you double over forwards again, the only thing stopping you from falling to the floor being Druig’s body in front of you. He holds you for a second as you gather your strength enough to sit back up. Once you’re able to hold yourself upright again Druig immediately begins undoing his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. He pulls his hard and leaking cock free and you involuntarily bite your lip at the sight, a mixed wave of pleasure and pain rocking through you. It was like your body knew that this was the solution, the cure: Druig’s cock.

Druig grabs the base of his dick, angling it until he was lined up with your entrance. You feel his tip breach your cunt and you whine, greedily wanting more. Druig obliges, pushing himself all the way inside you. He groans at the contact, you moan at the sensation of being so deliciously full, again feeling the pain start to dull even more.

Again Druig doesn’t bother with starting slow. You’d asked him to fuck you and so that’s what he was gonna do. He thrusts into hard and fast, setting a brutal pace. You can feel how sensitive you are already but you didn’t care, you knew you needed this, needed the pain to be gone. You needed Druig to absolutely ruin you.

You wanted to be as close to him as possible and so you place your hands on the back of his neck, holding him against you. Your head is limp against his shoulder, dizzy with exhaustion. He turns his head towards yours, using the angle to place hot kisses on your neck, biting your skin before soothing over each mark with his tongue. The added sensation of his lips on your neck make you whimper even more. You were borderline crying again, but at least this time it was from pleasure rather then the gut-wrenching pain from before.

“That’s it little one” he purrs.

“Stop fucking calling me that” you bite out. He laughs darkly.

“Well clearly you’re starting to feel better” he slams extra hard into you on the last word, extracting another moan from you.

“Gods I really hate how much you’re enjoying this” you seethe between your panting. He laughs again into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t” he whispers smugly, biting and pulling on your earlobe.

“I’m not!” But your lie is quickly made apparent when another moan rips through you immediately after. You can feel Druig smirk against your neck as he starts to suck and bite your skin again. He’s quick to fuck the attitude out of you as he pumps into you so hard you see stars. You once again feel the pressure build in your lower belly. But it’s different this time, it’s no longer a mixture of pleasure and pain. This time it’s pure pleasure. You cry out loudly as you finally cum again, this one being the most intense of them all. Your entire body shakes and convulses as you clench around Druig.

He keeps moving inside you, making sure to prolong your orgasm, drawing out any last traces of that dreaded pollen. Then Druig's pace slows as he fights for control of himself. You can see the strain on his face as he battles not to cum as your pussy squeezes him tightly. You can see he’s about to pull out of you and you let out a pitiful whine.

“No, no please” you grab onto his shoulders, keeping him in place. "Just keep going. Please” you plead, rocking your hips, sliding yourself along his dick in desperation.

“I can’t. We didn’t use protection” he rasps. You shake your head pathetically, practically crying again.

“I don’t care. Druig please. Just cum inside me. Please” you plead, peppering open mouthed kisses across his throat as you rake your nails down his back. A growl escapes him as he makes the decision to toss caution to the wind. He picks up his pace again, fucking into you roughly. His cock hitting your sweet spot sends you right into another orgasm, your whole body shaking as your fourth climax rips through you. Your clenching cunt finally sends Druig over the edge as well, he grunts as his hips still against you and he spills inside you.

You’re both breathing heavy as he lifts his head to look at you. Before either of you really realise what’s happening his lips are on yours again. Just briefly, another soft and tender kiss, as if his lips were telling you that you were okay, that it was over now.

...

You’d both gotten yourselves dressed again but decided it was best to give yourselves a bit of time before moving anywhere. Your legs were to weak and shaky to take you more than a few steps anyway. So for now you both sat on the floor of the lab, leaning against the wall, far away from all the serums and powders.

A kind of calm silence had settled between the two of you. You’d expected the aftermath of this to be painfully awkward, but somehow it wasn’t.

“How are you feeling now?” He asks after a while, a gentleness in his tone.

“Better. Exhausted, but better” you breathe.

“Good” he states simply.

“Thank you” you mumble softly after another short while. He shifts slightly to look down at you, a sudden sincerity and softness in his eyes.

“Don’t mention it” he smiles warmly.

Masterlist

A/N: whoops this was longer than I intended it to be, but oof this was a lot of fun to write!!🥵👀 I’m low-key thinking of naming my followers my little bees, or my horny little bees when y’all act up, what do we think??😂😂

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

traitor

Summary: It was only one night, no strings attached, just two friends working through their grief together. Steve went to live his life with Peggy and within two weeks of returning, he peacefully passed. Unimaginable things happen everyday, jokes have negative consequences, and protection doesn’t always protect from the possibility… the possibility of carrying a child. He would have stayed if he knew, everyone agrees with this, so why is the world calling Steve Rogers a traitor?

One-Shot (with a happy ending)

Pairing(s): Avengers x Fem Reader; brief Steve Rogers x Fem Reader

Warnings: Unexpected pregnancy; serious talks about abortion; brief mention of suicide (if you squint); mentions of Endgame deaths; strong language; minor descriptions of actual birth; ANGST but with a happy ending! This is purely fanfiction.

Word Count: 6,600+

A/N: So, Olivia Rodrigo’s album just came out and dude, jfc every song is magical. like... wtf. This is essentially a ‘song fanfic’, but ehhhh not quite. The lyrics don’t match the fanfic lmao but the melody does??? idk this is a shit ton of angst, be warned. It was from a request I got a while back, so this is kind of a request fanfic.

Up until the moment Steve pressed his soft lips to yours, you were certain you had never experienced such a wonderful sensation of magic. You had been witness to actual magic, to beings from other worlds, and yet Steve’s gentle touch was enough to erase any other image, to completely overpower your senses, a kind of magic that dug deep into the trenches of your heart and settled in its new home.

No, you and Steve were not a couple. There were some flirty remarks over the years, some fantasies that lay dormant, but there was never the craving to actually act upon them. But when half the world disappeared and the remaining Avengers came up with a plan five years later, the loss of a teammate prompted the sudden push of two touch-starved individuals. The rest of the team had gone to sulk in their own corners of the compound, some hard at work at constructing the final piece to the puzzle, and you and Steve ventured off to the kitchen. Two cups of tea each, silent but heavy tears mixing in with the sugar and milk.

You were the first to break, shoulders crumbling and knees rocking under your weight. You fell to the floor, sobs and hiccups forming into a full-blown attack, your hands scratching at your neck. Steve fell beside you, pulling you into his chest and rocking you back and forth. He cried too, the final words of his best friend ringing in his ears like a dreaded song on repeat. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. See you in a minute.

Time was irrelevant, you had enough of counting time, estimating it, time-traveling through it. If you could sit there all night, all week, another five years huddled close to Steve Rogers, then so be it.

‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ you had sobbed.

‘I can’t believe it either. I can’t,’ he had cried back.

You had simply lifted your head and turned his face toward yours, searching his eyes for any hesitation before you had leaned in first. He had returned the intimate gesture almost immediately, gripping you tightly. Tears dripped in between your moving lips, sobs caught inside breathy moans, grips becoming tighter and tighter as each of you shared your first time together. No other partner up until that point had ever pulled such a pained but grateful cry from your throat, no other human being had ever made you feel so safe and peaceful.

The final battle was over, you had lost yet another teammate, but the world had a chance to start over. And Steve had pulled you aside a few days before he returned the stones, letting you know that he wasn’t coming back the same man. He had been so scared of telling you, of possibly betraying you, but when your palms cupped his cheeks and you gave him a kiss on the lips with a soft whisper of ‘Be with her. Cherish her. Be happy. We’ll meet again’, his worries instantly shattered. He could only rapidly nod his head, grabbing your hands that were soaked in his tears, and kissing them until he said his final goodbyes.

And he returned such a different man, but with a smile you had never quite seen before. Yes, he was older and you only had a few seconds to actually process that, but he was happy. He had been happy. He finally lived the life he deserved.

Sitting in that pew two weeks later, both sad and happy tears streaming down your face, you felt at peace for the first time in a long time. You simply gripped Wanda’s hand as they carried the casket down the aisle, a sad melody drowning the church.

The first round of sickness hit you the day of the funeral, but you obviously didn’t think much of it. It was the fits of sadness and grief, the hot coil in the middle of your stomach, you thought. It had to be. It wasn’t until your breakfast was regurgitated into your toilet only a few minutes after enjoying it that you were suddenly worried.

You sneaked to some liquor store a subway ride away, careful of not leaving a trail. This was embarrassing, it was insane, it couldn’t possibly be real. You gave the cashier your money and ran to the stall provided, peeing on the stick the best you could before placing it on the dirty sink in the corner. You patted your hands on your thighs repeatedly, careful to not touch any other thing in a goddamn liquor store bathroom.

‘Friday?’ your voice was so defeated, tears already stinging your eyes.

Your little bluetooth sprang to life, ‘Yes, Y/N?’

Your bottom lip was trembling wildly, hands now shaking. ‘Can you stay active with me while I read the results? I can’t… I can’t be alone right now.’

‘Yes, Y/N. Anything you need, I’m here.’ You sobbed openly, thanking her under your breath. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to contact anybody else?’

‘I can’t face them. I can’t face them if it’s positive, Friday.’

‘Okay, it’s alright,’ her voice was so delicate, so quiet and reassuring. ‘Just keep talking to me, Y/N. I think the results should be ready now.’

You inched closer to the test. ‘I’m scared, Friday.’

‘I know,’ Friday sighed, ‘But you will get through this. No matter the result.’

Grabbing the small device from the sink, you swallowed so much saliva that it actually hurt. The plus sign was so clear, so evident in its visibility, and your ears only registered the loud cries escaping your painful lungs because Friday was practically yelling in your ear.

‘Please, calm down Y/N! Your heart rate is too fast-” she was stuttering, an AI was stuttering. ‘I’m calling for help. You need someone to be here with you. I’m sorry.’

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of banging outside the bathroom door from the cashier, ten minutes of blurry vision and a strep throat. Sam broke through the door as quickly as he could, eyes flying around the small bathroom until he saw you huddled in the corner, a pregnancy test clutched in your small hand. He crouched down beside you, hands extended but not exactly touching you, and eyes trying to lock with yours.

‘Y/N, Y/N?’

Just the sound of his voice, the voice of someone who didn’t need this added pain in their lives, it was just too much. Another weight added to your shoulders.

‘I don’t know why,’ you choked out, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Sam’s face contorted into a pained expression, eyes brimmed with salty tears. ‘What are you talking about? No one is blaming you for anything. You’re safe, I’m here.’

You shook your head violently, ‘I didn’t mean to.’

But as quickly as those words left your mouth, the pounding in your head had become too unbearable. You collapsed into Sam’s arms.

You woke to a single doctor who was monitoring your vitals. She was just sitting beside your bed, clicking random buttons on the screen in front of her. You whimpered slightly, the bright lights temporarily blinding you. The doctor quickly stopped what she was doing and removed the tube from your nose, allowing you to breathe on your own. You ignored the weird scratch that caused, and asked her the question you needed to have answered by a true medical professional - not a liquor store device.

She confirmed what you already knew. There were no ‘congratulations’ or even ‘I’m sorry’s’, just the fact that you were pregnant and it was very early on. There were still options for you, it was healthy so far, you were healthy so far-

Wait, options?

The team were all huddled outside, nerves all over the place. They didn’t know what was going on. Sam knew but it wasn’t his information to pass on. It wasn’t until Bucky’s angry demeanor actually turned violent, a hole forming through the hospital wall. You were all on a private floor, completely displaced from the reality down on other levels, so any freak-outs were only slightly justified. Slightly.

‘Sam, you gotta tell us. I made a promise to Steve, Sam! I promised to take care of her!’

Bucky’s words gripped Sam’s heart in a metaphorical vice. ‘She’s gotta tell you guys, man. It’s not my place.’

You had curled in on yourself, the doctor’s words echoing louder and louder.

‘Abortion is an option. At this rate, it would be quick and safe. I can promise you that. It’s your choice.’

You wanted to die. You wanted the world to swallow you up and bury you alive. You wanted to disappear. If you had died in the snap, this wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened.

The ride back to the compound was a quiet one, with Sam driving you and the radio on low volume.

‘Are you going to tell them?’

You bit your lip, ‘The doctor said I had options.’

Sam’s breath hitched and he tried to mask it, but you had heard it. You felt guilty, disgusting, like you betrayed Steve and the rest of the team. They had just lost him, you had just lost him, and you were carrying his child. And if Steve would have known, he would have wanted it. He would have encouraged you to have it, he would have been so happy, he would have been such a great fa-

‘The choice is yours, Y/N.’ He glanced over at you, ‘Can you at least tell me who the father is?’

The wrecked sobs were like second nature now, choking you with their strength. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Sam pulled to the side of the road and quickly took off his seatbelt, sliding over in the connected front seats to pull you into his chest. ‘Shh, hey. We are not going to be mad at you. Everything’s going to be okay. It may not seem like it now but-’

‘Sam!’ you cried, clutching his shirt in a tight fist. ‘I swear it was an accident! Steve didn’t know! He didn’t know, I swear he didn’t know!’

Sam’s mouth dropped open, an almost embarrassing noise of surprise sounding from the depths of his soul. He ran his hands through your hair, eyes rapidly searching for a single viewpoint. But he couldn’t focus on any one thing, not when you were shuddering against him and apologizing nonstop.

Steve didn’t know.

The team had reacted in a similar manner. They so desperately wanted to wish you a congratulations, it was the norm for this kind of thing. Especially with such a rough few years - bringing life into this world could be considered an ultimate blessing. But this was Steve’s child, his baby, his only baby in this timeline. It was a part of him, something he had unknowingly left behind.

The team took a few days. The pain of losing Natasha, of losing Steve, of losing Tony. The gift of life. It was just too much.

And you found yourself in front of Wanda’s bedroom door, hands clutching your night robe closed and knees wobbly. She brought you tea, she laid underneath the covers with you, she spooned you until you stopped crying.

‘We weren’t together.’

‘You weren’t?’

You sat up, muscles straining due to your thousandth crying session that week. ‘No, it was one time. It was a mutual thing. We just… felt safe. And we made love.’

Wanda shut her eyes briefly, only to open them for two parallel tears to slip. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

‘We used protection. It really was an accident.’

Wanda interrupted, ‘No, don’t try and justify yourself. It happened. It’s done.’

You whimpered, reaching out to grab her hands. ‘I feel so guilty for even talking to you. I don’t know how you did it. I’m so selfish to be pouring all this on you-’

‘Hey, hey,’ she whispered, ‘But I am the only one who can truly understand. I have lost more in my lifetime than anybody ever should. But I am going to help you get through this, Y/N.’

You pulled her into a hug, ‘I missed you so much. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.’

Wanda slowly pulled away, eyes cloudy and touch of red twinge flying in her irises. ‘Alright. I won’t leave your side. No matter what you decide.’

The chair was cold, the room was cold, no matter how inviting the hospital tried to make this room. It was decorated in the most neutral colors, so delicate in its designs, pamphlets and books scattered on every available surface. It was made to make the pregnant person feel secure, to feel comfortable in the hands of their doctor, but it just made you sick.

And when the doctor asked if you would like an ultrasound first, that it wasn’t actually necessary for you to view it, you found yourself saying yes. You were at six weeks, it would be there. Wanda clenched her eyes shut, because even if you were strong enough to do that, she wasn’t. But she was here to hold your hand. She would hold your hand no matter what.

It was the size of a grain of rice. That fuzzy, white figure off a little to the right of your uterus was the size of a grain. A literal grain of rice. The monitor shifted and the doctor cleared their throat, the slimy device absentmindedly being circled around your lower abdomen.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered, eyes locked on the place the doctor had their finger. Wanda brought her hand up to her mouth and looked away.

That’s when you heard it.

The steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat.

Your chest started heaving, tears staining your cheeks as you listened to the beautiful sound.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor mumbled, ready to pull the monitor’s plug to end the live video but you gripped their arm before they could.

‘No, no!’ you yelped, the heartbeat still sounding, so early in its actual life that this was for sure Steve’s child.

You turned to Wanda, face contorting into one of agonizing regret. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Steve.’

Wanda gulped and took in a ragged breath, ‘Y/N, Steve’s not here.’

‘No,’ you whined, head turning back to look at the monitor. The monitor with yours and Steve’s child on it. ‘This is the only real part of him we have left, right?’

Wanda opened her mouth but shut it again, unable to formulate a proper response.

‘This is Steve’s child,’ you stated, sucking in a breath through your sobs. ‘This is my child.’

The team was alerted of your decision the minute you walked into the common room. They had known what you left for, dread itching in their souls and morals twisting greedily, but they hadn’t stopped you. They couldn’t do that to you.

‘Hi,’ you mumbled, placing your things on the counter. Everyone kept their heads down, lumps growing in their throats as each second passed. ‘I’m okay.’

Clint was the first one to speak. ‘Did everything go well? Did they hurt you?’

You smiled with your teeth for the first time in weeks, ‘No, they didn’t hurt me. They didn’t even touch me.’

For a few seconds, no one caught on to your words. But Bucky was the first to register them, to etch them deeply into his brain, to stand from his seat and walk to you cautiously. ‘You decided-?’

You smiled wide now, happy tears falling over your strained cheeks. ‘I’m having a baby.’

The team erupted, cries and cheers deafening you. Bucky stumbled over and hugged you close, arms wrapped over your shoulders and face buried in your neck. He had to bend his knees to keep that position. He weeped into your shoulder and thanked you repeatedly, his own body rumbling with broken sobs. You held him close, fingers digging into his shirt and the skin of his back.

‘We promise, Y/N,’ Sam said off to the side, waiting for his turn to hug you. ‘We promise to take care of you and this baby.’

A few more long-awaited congratulations were shared. ‘Guess I’m on desk duty for the next nine months, huh?’

Bucky held you tighter.

The first four months were certainly eventful. Wanda insisted on taking pictures of you every few weeks. She had you model with a nice tight shirt to show off your growing stomach, different props in your arms as the weeks passed on. Flowers, sporting equipment, random Avengers inventions, signs that read the number of weeks you were at. You even did couple shoots, with your teammates posing behind you with their hands on your stomach and an equally bright smile.

She had them printed out and framed, the compound common rooms now littered with random photos of you and your growing child. It was like a timeline, a museum considering you would catch someone inspecting the photographs. This time it was Scott, casually eating his cereal and balancing it in his hand as he walked the hallway. He had this silly smile on his face the whole time, milk dripping from his bottom lip. In his photo, he was posed behind you with a giant smile, back arched and head thrown back while you were trying your best to arch your back as well. And then he saw you watching him, eyes falling from your face to your stomach, and that silly smile growing wider.

Happy insisted on doing yoga with you every other morning, his chosen playlists actually Tony’s. Half expecting the songs to only emit the essence of rock and roll, you were surprised when the playlist only contained acoustics. Happy winked at you, ‘He was a man of taste, Y/N. He, too, had those sad driving songs.’

Peter was hesitant to visit at first. He was still mourning Tony, as you all were, and seeing everyone again was certainly a hard thing to do. But he managed, and the moment he saw you there, trying to balance a plastic bottle on your tiny stomach, he burst into a fit of giggles.

‘Oh, oh! I almost got it!’ you encouraged yourself, stomach not yet protruded enough to quite get it.

Peter rushed over and caught the bottle as it slipped, ‘You’ll get there. How do you feel?’

You grinned at the kid, ‘Like I’m pregnant.’

Peter chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t know, so.’

‘It’s weird,’ you admitted, turning back to your abandoned bowl of fruit. You popped a piece of pineapple in your mouth, ‘But I just remind myself that they’re gonna be an angel when they come out.’

‘All slimy and angelic.’

You swatted at Peter, ‘They’re healthy. That’s all that matters.’

Peter placed his hand on your stomach, half-expecting something to happen. ‘I can’t believe you’re having his baby.’

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to cry. Steve should be here experiencing this. ‘Me neither.’

The next month had come so quickly. Your friends - your family - made sure to keep you occupied. Whether it was to shop, to nap together, to eat together, to exercise together, anything, they were by your side. It was so overwhelming at times, but not wanting to scare anyone, you took time for yourself whenever you could. You’d settle in your room, in a nearby cafe, in Natasha’s room, and just sit and breathe. With one hand on your stomach, you couldn’t possibly fathom the luck on your side. It always tore your heart in two when you realized Steve would never meet his child, absolutely mutilated it. But the realization that this child was going to have such a massive family, your family, uncles and aunts who would die for the kid - that realization was sometimes too much.

The thunder from outside startled everyone. The quiet night everyone was having was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a certain god, hair now cut and beard trimmed, running into the common area. He was practically hyperventilating, his quick pace halting as he scanned the room. ‘Is it true?’

‘You got my message?’ Wanda asked, shutting off the water from the sink.

‘I’m sorry, I was away. I just got the message and-’

Thor lay his eyes on you, your obvious stomach, and he started crying softly. ‘It’s true?’

You smiled at him, opening your arms for an embrace. But Thor fell to his knees in front of you, forehead resting on your stomach. ‘This is a miracle.’

‘It really is,’ you laughed, wiping away a few stray tears. ‘The condom broke.’

Laughter sounded almost instantly.

Thor looked up at you, eyes red and eyebrows furrowed. ‘He didn’t know?’

You shook your head, ‘No, Steve didn’t know. I promise.’

Thor nodded, believing you. He stood slowly, encasing you in a tight squeeze. He hadn’t changed much since you last saw him, but he did seem to be drinking less. ‘After so much loss, the Heaven’s send us a gift from a beloved friend.’

Bucky seemed to be the happiest. Although he shared your beliefs that Steve should be here to experience this, to cherish this, to be the father he had deserved to be, Bucky couldn’t help but feel grateful that you decided to keep the baby. He knew he needed to stop relying on Steve to fix his mind, this he had to do on his own, but the bundle of joy inside of you just added to his undying love for his best friend. This was a piece of him, a true half of Steve’s heart that would soon be breathing air and opening its eyes.

He was currently laying beside you, just woken up from a nap and lazily drawing circles over your clothed tummy. You were still asleep, deep breaths a little ragged since you were twisted slightly to your side. You had given up trying to sleep on your back nowadays.

‘Hey there,’ Bucky whispered, a funny smile forming on his face because he can’t believe he’s talking to your literal stomach. ‘You know you’re a miracle, right?’

There was no response, obviously. But Bucky just positioned himself to lean on his elbow, temple resting in the palm of his hand. ‘We’re going to love you so much. Steve would have loved you so much.’

He placed his metal hand on your stomach, careful not to apply so much pressure. He was hesitant though, the metal hand now from Wakanda but still something he didn’t entirely trust. Still, he rubbed smooth circles on your side. ‘I already love you so much.’

Kick.

Bucky widened his eyes, a hitch in his breath. Was that real?

‘Did you just respond to me?’ Bucky asked, a little laugh escaping his lips. ‘Should I say it again?’

Nothing happened for a long while. He switched hands, rubbing a little deeper now. It was a free massage for you, anyway.

Bucky bit his lip and looked up at your face, still peacefully dreaming. He leaned closer to your stomach and repeated his earlier confession. ‘I love you.’

Kick.

Bucky shot up from his spot on the bed and covered his mouth, a loud laugh accidentally escaping and startling you awake.

‘W-What?’

‘They kicked! They kicked!’

‘Seriously?’

Bucky was shooting through the stars, because even though it was a long shot, he felt like somehow Steve was telling him he loved him back.

Sam’s leg bounced madly as he watched the doctor slick up the generator. You repeatedly tried to calm him, tell him that it would be quick and simple, and there was nothing to be worried about.

You were six months now. Belly now protruding to the point where you could only see the tips of your toes when you glanced downward, and the baby was positioned farther into your back. If anything, you were having a giant freaking baby. He was a product of a super soldier.

You remembered having that scary conversation with the doctors, your whole family beside you as they heard and relayed the information.

‘Your baby is perfectly healthy. The serum isn’t affecting it. His lungs are forming less quickly than the other organs but there’s no serious worry.’

Bucky had literally cackled at that, confusing everyone in the room. ‘Steve and his shit lungs.’

But now you were finding out the sex. Only one person was allowed in the room this time, and Sam had literally begged you with his eyes to choose him.

‘Are you two ready?’

You each nodded at the doctor, waiting for the monitor to spring to life. After a few seconds, the heartbeat was detected. You gripped Sam’s hand in yours, a quiet ‘thank god’ passing through his lips.

Then the giant image of a literal baby appeared on the screen. It was so surreal. It resembled a quick sketch, like one Steve would have casually drew, and you couldn’t help but imagine him drawing that very image from memory.

‘Y/N, I-’ Sam cleared his throat, smiling at you.

‘Would you like to know the sex of the baby?’

‘Yes, please,’ you answered, gripping Sam’s hand harder.

The doctor moved the generator a few times more, hitting the spacebar on the computer to capture the image. ‘Congratulations, you’re having a boy.’

You shuttered a tiny laugh as Sam flew out of his seat, arms extended upward for a moment before he brought his hands down to kiss them over and over.

‘I’ll print this out for you,’ the doctor smiled, leaving you and Sam to celebrate.

Everyone had gathered later that night to find out the news. You had printed enough copies for everyone who wanted one. Bets were placed, a multitude of gifts already mounted in online shopping carts.

‘Don’t keep us waiting!’ Rhodey shouted, champagne bottle at the ready and propped up on his thigh for when you made your announcement.

Sam was standing beside you, a massive grin plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes at him and urged him on, telling him that you were fine with him saying it. Sam didn’t need to be told twice.

‘It’s a boy!’

Pop! Drinks were poured and hugs were shared, with even Friday coming over the monitor to congratulate you.

Even in the midst of all the excitement, you felt a little empty. But you enjoyed your pre-baby shower, happy that everything was so unbelievably working out.

It was midnight when you alerted Friday to call Happy to your room. You needed a ride.

Happy was slightly irritated at being woken up, but once you told him where you were heading, he obliged. The ride was silent, comfortable, with Happy glancing at you once in a while to make sure you were okay.

You walked across the grass slowly, hands resting on your stomach and just a little waddle in your walk. You flashed your phone light over the headstones even though the headstone you were looking for was in a secluded area. Happy trailed you, keeping a respectable distance.

You stopped in front of the small building, the fence somewhat blocking your path. But there was no security around, and even if you were caught on camera, your face let everyone know who you were and your connection to Steve. You had no worries.

You broke the lock easily and opened the door. It was almost entirely marble, a good deal of Steve’s actual aesthetic. So simple, not overly patriotic, and secluded. He had refused to be buried in Arlington.

You sat on the bench provided, the three names in front of you standing out like they were begging to be read out loud. So you complied.

‘Sarah,’ you muttered, smiling as the name rolled off your tongue. ‘Thank you for sending everyone a literal angel.’

You muttered his father’s name as well, but felt no personal connection to it. You spent at least ten minutes building up the courage to utter his name, to say his name in front of him again. He was buried right underneath your feet, his name the only thing for you to see.

‘Steve,’ you sighed and rubbed your stomach. ‘Steve.’

You sobbed silently and watched as the tears fell on top of your resting hands. ‘I don’t regret it.’

You were met with silence. ‘I don’t regret any of it. God knows why he did this. But you lived your life, and I just can’t believe I have to bring life into this world without you here.’

‘It’s a boy, Steve. A lovely little boy.’

You brought your hand up to your mouth to bite the side of it, throat clenching. ‘Everyone is so happy. I am, too. I promise you.’

You lowered your hand back to your stomach. ‘I just wish that you could feel that happiness.’

The moonlight moved slightly, shining on his name brighter now. ‘He’ll know about you, don’t worry about that.’ You laughed.

You didn’t want to keep Happy waiting. You stood from the bench slowly, feet sore. You walked closer to him, wishing you could easily bend down and give him a kiss. But you physically couldn’t right now, so you blew him one instead. ‘Thank you.’

Somehow the rumor got out that an Avenger was pregnant. And when Wanda was seen outside without a large stomach, all fingers were pointed at you.

The news went ballistic, most positive and raving, while others pondered just who had gotten you pregnant. You had been seen with everyone in paparazzi photos, so no actual conclusion had been made.

Until a picture of you at Steve’s gravesite was leaked.

It was constant bombardment, timelines were stitched together, magazines and their headlines were having a field day. Rhodey had tried to cancel these news stories, to threaten lawsuits, but to no avail. The world was now cursing Steve’s name - ‘how dare he leave her while pregnant?’, ‘how could he leave her pregnant and for another woman?’, ‘did he even know?’

The team had done everything in their power to try and clear yours and Steve’s name, but no one was having it. Steve’s love story was now tarnished, with many calling him a traitor and a deadbeat. It was no use.

You struggled to climb the stairs, inwardly cursing the staff for not installing a ramp instead. The flashes were blinding, the lights were hot, and the various microphones placed on the stand were comical.

Everyone hushed, looks of sympathy and pity slapping you in the face.

‘I know what you’re all thinking and what you’ve all been saying,’ you started, eyes wandering to the far corner of the room where your team were huddled. ‘But I need to clear a few things up.’

‘Steve didn’t know.’

The crowd erupted, questions flying at you like fast bullets. They were silenced after a few moments. ‘We shared a moment with each other before we brought everyone back. I didn’t know I was pregnant until after his funeral.’

The crowd murmured amongst each other. ‘He told me he was planning to stay in another timeline. To live his life. I encouraged him. He did not leave me alone and pregnant. He truly didn’t know.’

You finished, they didn’t deserve a deeper explanation. You ignored their calls for questions, some even trying to crowd you at the doors. But you pushed through them, cradling your stomach with a newfound sense of pride.

It was time.

You sat up in your bed and quickly wiped away the hard crusts from the corners of your eyes. You sat there for a few seconds before you felt another harsh twinge. ‘A-ah!’

You didn’t know why you paused, legs now thrown over the side of the bed. They felt like menstrual cramps, it could be false labor. You let out a heavy breath and pushed yourself up, legs wobbly. But the moment you did, it was like something snapped. Your legs were wet and a tiny puddle had started forming on the floor.

‘Friday!’

The lights in your room turned on immediately, ‘Y/N, is it time?’

You moaned at the uncomfortable cramping, ‘Yeah, I think it is.’

‘I’m waking and alerting the team right now, Y/N. Sit back down, please.’

You listened to Friday, sitting at the edge of your bed for a few moments before you realized you had to pack a bag. You shuffled across your room and grabbed the duffel bag Scott had left for you a few days ago. You packed a pair of socks, sweats, underwear, vaseline and your toothbrush, hairbrush, and phone. You zipped your bag just in time for both Bucky and Sam to throw open your door, Sam struggling to put his shoes on and Bucky slipping on a jacket inside-out.

‘Y/N, is it really time? Are you ready? Are you okay?’

You ignored the cramping in your back and laughed at them, ‘Yes! My water broke, I’m in pain, it’s time.’

With both Sam and Bucky at your sides, they held onto you as you all stumbled down the hallway. Thor was already waiting with the elevator open, the biggest smile on his aging face.

‘Wanda and Bruce are preparing the room. Scott already called the doctor. Clint’s in route,’ Bucky reassured. The three men huddled into the elevator with you, all instructing you to breathe and to squeeze them if you needed to.

But even though you were in pain, albeit not as extreme as it was going to inevitably get, you were so incredibly happy. They were all so loud, so chaotic, and you were as calm as a cucumber.

The elevator dinged. ‘Good luck, Y/N,’ you heard Friday call after you. You pinched your eyes closed, the thought that Friday was ultimately a part of Tony’s consciousness - Tony was wishing you good luck.

The pressure in your hips was starting to build and you didn’t know how long this would actually take. Some people had quick births, some people lay in labor for hours, some for a day. But it seemed like this was going to be pretty quick, because your next scream was completely involuntarily.

Bucky winced, leading you to the bed Wanda had just lay sheets on. ‘You’re doing great, Y/N. Absolutely perfect.’

You laughed at Bucky and gripped his hand in silent thanks before slipping into the bed and trying to get comfortable. Before you could truly feel like you made it, like the first hard step was done, you sat up quickly.

‘Wait, wait! Nat’s sweater! I was gonna wear Nat’s sweater!’

Thor was already out the door, ‘I’ll get it! Don’t worry!’

You smiled at the ceiling, beads of sweat now rolling down your forehead. ‘Oh, this hurts!’

It was an hour. Once you shimmied into Natasha’s purple knitted sweater, you lay there trying to control your breathing. Everyone had piled into the room one right after the other. The room was big enough, spacious enough for even Bruce to roam freely. Although you were in an immense amount of pain, you still focused on your team.

Scott was on his third cup of coffee, sipping excitedly as he conversed with the others. Bruce was constantly checking your vitals and wanting everything the doctor was saying repeated. Wanda was beside you, a hand gripping yours and the other running ice chips along your lips. Bucky was on your other bedside wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts because it still smelled like him. His logic was that if he was wearing something of Steve’s the first moment he held your baby, then the first thing he smelled would be the remnants of his father.

And Thor was practically speechless, silent in his own little corner and feeling like the god’s really did bless everyone in this room after such turmoil.

Clint arrived with Peter trailing behind him just when the doctor instructed you sit up - you were at ten centimeters.

‘You gotta push, Y/N! You gotta push when the doctor says push!’

You yelled until your lungs gave out, head almost rolling back but Sam held it in his palm. ‘C’mon, Y/N! You’re doing great!’

You usually had perfect pitch when you sang, never faltering when it was time to hit a high note. But your voice was cracking at the most unusual times, throat rubbed raw as you felt your hips splinter open.

‘He’s crowning!’

Wanda traded places with Sam real quick, deciding that she wanted to see the baby when he was finally out. Bucky had a death grip on your hand, tears flowing freely and a smile to match Thor’s.

‘Push, Y/N! Push!’

‘I’m-I’m! I’m sorry! I can’t!’

The doctor was working her hands around the head, trying to ease the baby out easier. ‘Trust me, Y/N. One more big push and the shoulders will be out. That’s the hardest part.’

The doctor’s words were starting to drown out, and your head lolled back again. You felt tiny smacks on your cheeks, ‘C’mon, Y/N. You can do this. Everyone believes in you. You’re so goddamn strong, Y/N!’

That was Bucky’s voice. Bucky.

You opened your eyes, delirious for a second. ‘Steve?’

Bucky whimpered and nodded, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing kisses all over. ‘He’s here. I feel him, Y/N. You can do this.’

And you could feel him. You could see your family but you could feel him. It was so light, like a gentle whisk across the cheek, a promise that this truly was a miracle.

You screamed as you pushed under doctor’s orders, feeling numb and abused but satisfied. His shoulders slipped out and along with them came his arms and torso, legs and all ten toes. The doctor caught him quickly, lifting him up vertically to let you see him. He was already crying.

‘He’s here!’

You sobbed and smiled widely, laughter rattling your chest as the team bombarded you with quick hugs. Sam remained at your side, his eyes motioning for Bucky to go see the baby.

‘Who’s cutting the cord?’

You looked around the room but you knew. You answered the doctor’s question. ‘Bucky.’

Bucky was truly confused. Not because of your decision, but because he couldn’t possibly be worthy of this. His hands, those hands that had killed so many people involuntarily, had almost killed Steve, those hands were now gripping a pair of medical scissors to cut the symbolization of new life entering the world. He turned to you for permission one last time, before he gripped the cord in his hand and cut where the doctor pointed.

His shoulders felt a million times lighter. Like he was set free all over again.

They cleaned the baby up quickly and swaddled him. The doctor placed him in your arms, all warm and utterly safe, to look back up at you with the same blue eyes as his father.

You sobbed happily, brushing your fingers delicately along his pink cheek. ‘Hi. Hi there.’

He was no longer crying, just staring up in pure astonishment at the various faces staring back at him.

‘Y/N, he’s beautiful,’ Clint said, tissue already in hand.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you spoke softly.

‘Do we have a name?’

It was like everyone said it in unison. ‘Steve.’

You snuggled into the bed and Natasha’s sweater, somewhat aware of the doctor still fixing you up down there. You would try feeding later, but for now your newborn needed to be passed around the group and be awed at.

You carefully guided him to Bucky, holding his head gently in your palm. Bucky took him, arms instinctively curling in the correct position. Once Bucky had him in his arms, it was like everything that happened in the world was worth it. Absolutely everything.

Bucky watched in fascination as the baby curled deeper in his chest, little fist clutching Steve’s sweatshirt. He took the sweetest little intake of air…

xxMoni

#steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #angst fanfic #happy ending #avengers x you #captainsimagines #platonic relationships #pregnancy fanfic #marvel fanfiction #by Moni #one shot #avengers oneshot #trigger warnings listed

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downfordiluc · 3 years

Text

Albedo x G/N reader.

No warnings needed. Just pure fluff.

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Synopsis // you always felt as if Albedo's work was his priority, and yet, in a room full of experiments and results, all he sees is you.

Author's notes // My obsession with Albedo grows every day, send help. He's too beautiful for this world.

All works are entirely my own - downfordiluc (wattpad & tumblr)

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Albedo had never been one who attached a tangible value to relationships with other people. Obviously, he valued professional relationships and cared about his family, but romance and friendship were never bonds he really sought after or felt a need to maintain. Any friendships he did consider himself to have were purely circumstantial and didn't venture past the boundaries of his workplace, and he was content with that; content with being alone. That was until he met you.

"Alone and lonely are not synonymous", was something he caught himself saying to Kaeya one time, who had pointed out that he was often the only person in his laboratory for hours, if not days on end. Truth be told though, Albedo quite enjoyed being by himself and even relished the time he spent being the only heartbeat in the room - unless his experiments ventured into living organisms. He tended to drown out anyone talking to him while he was concentrating regardless, preferring to communicate with people like Sucrose and Timaeus through paperwork and statistics, rather than sentences. And yet, right now, there were two heartbeats in the room, as well as a slight whining sound, as he got nudged in the shins.

"You said you'd be done with this an hour agooo!", the dig in his leg was so soft that he didn't even glance upwards from the test tube he was concentrated on swirling in front of him - bright aqua slowly fading to a crystal clear liquid, sparkling as it spiralled.

Without warning, a warm hand was placed upon yours, his thumb running along the top of your wrist, leaving a trail of warmth as it traveled. For a man who wasn't very fond of socializing, he knew how to say a thousand words with just one movement, and you knew he was sorry for taking so long. His work was what you always considered his priority in life, and keeping realistic about this and knowing you could probably never take that place was what kept you sane on nights like this. Nights where he promised to watch the sunset with you, but the stars were now twinkling in the night sky through the small window of his lab.

The way he watched the colours whirl and merge into one was an alluring sight, his eyes transfixed on the liquid, scanning it inquisitively, and you noticed the colour of the substance was almost a direct match to that of his beautiful, twinkling irises. It was the way he looked at you. The curiosity and fascination flickering behind his eyes, burning in his brain, made your knees weak, as he would scan you up and down. Feelings of doubt and anxiety would always follow in tow, but he stopped them in their tracks.

"You look beautiful today."

Fingers intertwining with yours pulled you delicately out of your daydream, as your eyes flicked up to his own, giving you that exact, disarming look, as you noticed his work pushed aside. Alchemy is purely scientific and has no real link to matters of the heart, and yet you could swear he had cracked the code of love too. His gaze felt calculated and precise, melting you in an instant like one of his experiments. You were an experiment to him in a way - an experiment in romance - and you really hoped he was satisfied with the results.

You knew you were.

Heat spread itself across your face, a pale pink hue dusting across the bridge of your nose and cheeks, as you registered his spontaneous compliment. It wasn't often you saw Albedo smile, so you cherished the fleeting moments when his lips curled up and his eyes glittered that little bit more. Just like that, any lingering frustration you had with him for taking so long faded out of existence, leaving only your infatuation with the one you could proudly call your own. He truly was captivating, and the best part was, he had absolutely no idea. He had no idea that he was beautiful too.

"I made you something, [Y/N].". You pouted slightly as his hand left your own, missing the warmth, as you watched him rummage through the draw on the left of his desk. In his hands, he produced a crystalline bottle. The was glass a pale hue of yellow, reminiscent of his vision glowing faintly under the star on his neck, a mystery you were yet to solve. The way it refracted light scattered little flickers of light all over Albedo's face, like luminescent freckles, and yet they were gone as quickly as they appeared, as he placed the bottle into your turned out hand. The liquid in the bottle glistened similarly to his experiment from earlier, as everything clicked into place.

Holding the bottle up to your nose, you smelled the fragrance of what was inside. Until that moment, you didn't know it was possible for something to smell like warmth, and yet that was exactly what this bottle seemed to encapsulate. Maple, cinnamon, and the smell of autumn captured you lightly, lulling you into an almost drunken sense of happiness. It smelled like cuddles in front of an open fire, but also early morning walks, watching the dew glisten on browning leaves that were slowly cascading from the trees.

September 22nd was the first day of autumn last year, and the day you met Albedo. Light brush strokes adorning the canvas in front of him as he merged hues of orange into hues of pink, perfectly capturing the sunset decorating the sky in front of him. Most people would rush to finish before the sun laid to rest for the night, and yet he took his time, a level of preciseness in each flick of his wrist that you couldn't help but watch, following every movement he made.

"Can I paint you?", the blonde man was now returning your stare, his face void of emotion but his eyes full of eagerness, as he pushed past any defences you had, leaving you with no other response than to say yes.

"How would you like me to stand?" you queried, panicked thoughts darting around your head as you thought you would do nothing but ruin his beautiful artwork. Had he simply pitied you?

"Just like that, you look perfect as is."

At the time, Albedo had no romantic intentions behind this sentence, and yet it had you mesmerised. On this crisp, Autumn evening, you became besotted with the man in front of you, and from this moment on, you would be his muse.

Soft footsteps circled the desk, the sound barely filling the room, as Albedo stood behind you, trapping you in your chair, as you could faintly feel him pressed against your back.

"Albedo?" you questioned, as you felt his breath on your neck, an involuntary shudder following in suit. His presence was short-lived, however, as he trailed his fingers down your arm, goosebumps forming on the tracks he left, as his fingertips landed on the bottle he had given you. He was ethereal.

"Do you like it?"

His enchanting voice hummed against your skin, as you could feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his lips hovering just inches away from your ear. It took every inch of your willpower to not turn your head and kiss him, and yet you stood your ground, relishing the feeling of being this close with him, knowing these moments were often transient.

"I love it." You spoke softly, controlling your voice that threatened to waver due to his affectionate manner. You had been watching him for hours, as he barely paid notice to you. You had analysed his every feature time and time again today alone, watching every shining hair that had slipped out of his braid and fallen into his face, wanting nothing more than to brush it behind his ear. Luckily this was one of your favourite ways to spend your time, watching him work, and admiring his devotion. He was dedicated, loyal and committed, and these qualities went farther than just his work, which left you feeling secure and loved every night that you slept alone, the other side of the bed growing cold without his presence.

Without warning, a light mist fell upon your exposed neck and collarbone, yet again eliciting goosebumps, as the scent of the perfume he had created made its way up to you, softening you instantly as a sigh of pure euphoria escaped your previously smiling lips. This smile only widened, as he placed a delicate kiss behind your left ear, stroking your hair lightly as he did, reminding you of how much you longed to do so as the hours passed. The spot his lips had rested felt as though it glowed almost as brightly as the vision on his chest did, as it radiated heat long after he had departed.

"I love you." softly escaped your lips, as you turned to face him, looking up at the man who made you feel as though you were floating on delirium and bliss. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, and yet again, he gave you that stare. The one that made you feel like the results of an experiment, every small feature being perused. You wouldn't be surprised if he had facial expressions down to a science, knowing exactly what every movement of all 42 muscles in a person's face meant. If that was the case, he could see just how in love with him you were at that moment.

"You didn't think I'd forget the anniversary of the day we met, did you?"

Like a deer in headlights, your eyes widened and your lips parted ever so slightly in shock, as Albedo gave you a soft yet sultry look, a smirk creeping upon his lips. How could he read you like a book, and yet you couldn't decipher a single thing he was thinking?

"You didn't forget, did you, [Y/N]?"

Most people would have looked offended, or more light-hearted individuals might have feigned said offence, and yet Albedo's face didn't move an inch, as he kept his gaze transfixed upon you.

"N-No, of course I didn't. I just didn't want you to feel bad if you had.", you stuttered when you were nervous, and this man had left you nothing but a ball of anxiety, as you had almost forgotten to give him his own gift. From your pocket, you produced a small pin of Prithiva Topaz, the shape identical to the star on his neck that you adored so much; a testament to how much of an enigma this man was to you. Slowly rising from your chair, you placed one hand on his chest, grasping at the belt that crossed over his body. Where the black leather of his belt met the gold embellishments that came over his shoulder, there was an empty circle, and so you pinned on the brooch, directly in the centre, your hands lingering ever so slightly, not wanting to take them off of him.

"I love you too." he whispered above you, which led to you looking up at him, your eyes full of endearment for your one and only. A lock of his hair hovered just above your eyes, and so you gave in to your day-long wish, reaching up and tucking it lightly behind his ear, stroking along the strand as your hand left. And yet he caught it, holding it lightly in his own, and kissing it lightly, just above your knuckles. You could not get enough of the feeling.

"Now, I hate to do this to you, but I really must finish this research, but you're free to do whatever you want with my hair as I do.".

Your lover quickly transformed back into the alchemist he prided himself in being, as he sat back down in his chair, pulling your own next to his. Once again, you found yourself wondering how he could read your every thought and emotion with almost frightening accuracy, and you settled on the conclusion that his genius was simply immeasurable by your own standards. All that mattered to you was that if he truly had the power to decrypt your every thought, he was fully aware of the overflowing feelings for him that filled your beating heart daily.

And so, for the rest of the night, your hands brushed through his hair, braiding it once, twice, thrice, as he leaned ever so slightly into your touch, giving you reassuring hums as he shuffled the papers below him. Suddenly, watching the moon rise wasn't so bad, as long as this moment lasted until the sun came up, and you could watch the sunrise together.

#albedo #genshin #genshin impact #genshin oneshot #albedo oneshot #albedo fluff #albedo fanfiction #reader #fluff #gn reader #klee #diluc #kaeya #genshin imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #sucrose

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years

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Jewel of the Sea: Chapter 6: The Castle

Chapter 5

JotS Taglist: @5-falsehoods-phonated, @vindicatedvirgil, @starlocked01, @viva-la-pluto-dam-you, @pan-immortal-jefferson-starships, @acetatertot, @silvarraven, @logan-positivity, @virgil-positivity, @luella-the-homosexual, @positivitykitty

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01 @spoopy-turtle @lizluvscupcakes @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo

Word Count: 2,435

Virgil woke to the sound of knocking on the door. Sitting up, he swept his hair out of his eyes. “Come in.”

Patton’s head peeked in, light from the outside making it seem like he was glowing. “Sorry to wake you, Virgil. I was sent to let you know that it’s half an hour ‘til dinner.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll be out as soon as I’ve changed.” Patton smiled and shut the door.

He stood from the too different bed, head pounding from the crash of adrenaline as well as the lack of proper sleep from the last few weeks. His eyes were already adjusted to the dark so he had no trouble finding the dresser and the clothes that lay atop it.

He picked up the pile, the fabric different from what he was used to. He dressed quickly, almost falling over as he tried to put the leg coverings on but he managed to do it. The shirt was a soft plaid the color of a purple sunset over the ocean. The pants were a deep blue that made Virgil think of the ocean floor.

A knock sounded at the door again and Patton’s head returned. “Are you ready?”

Virgil nodded, exchanging the dark room for the brightly lit hallway. He turned to Patton, arms out slightly as he spun slowly. “Do I look presentable?”

Patton frowned. “Your hair is a mess.”

Virgil reached up to feel it. “I have no idea what it’s supposed to look like.”

Patton moved back into the room Virgil had vacated and gestured for the mer to follow him. Virgil sat on the side of the bed, curious as to what the manservant was planning. Patton opened the dresser and picked up an object that resembled a sea urchin attached to a stick. He turned around and held it up. “Do you mind if I brush your hair for you?”

Virgil shrugged. “If that is what is presentable.”

Patton smiled and came to sit behind Virgil. The mer felt fingers tangling with his locks, quickly followed by the urchin like part of the object. It was a strange sensation but not an unpleasant one. Patton was quick and efficient. Soon, his hands stilled and retreated, leaving Virgil’s hair feeling smoother.

Virgil stood, making his way to the looking glass set in the corner of the room. His hair was lying flat against his skin, not wild and flowing like it was in the water. He turned back around to face the manservant, who now stood by the door. “Does it look better?” He had no way of gauging human beauty standards so trusted Patton’s judgement.

Patton smiled. “You look great!” He led the way back down the hallway and to the first floor, moving through other hallways with barely any hesitation, completely at ease in this large building. They quickly made their way to a large dining room that already had the table set.

Patton stepped off to the side and Virgil noticed that, even though the head of the table remained empty, other seats were filled out with Logan and two other people, a place next to Logan left over for Virgil. He sat, once again curling his legs around a chair leg, not exactly sure what to do with them.

The other adult at the table, who Virgil guessed to be Thomas, caught his eye with a smile. “So, Virgil, was it?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Logan tells me you were captured by pirates.”

The small child sitting next to him, who could be no older than ten, lit up at the sound of that. “Pirates?! Really?”

Virgil nodded, smiling slightly at the enthusiasm. “Yes, the farthest back my memory currently goes is to waking on the pirate ship and running for my life.”

The child almost stood from his seat but Thomas pushed his shoulder back down gently. “Real pirates? Oh, boy!”

Thomas sighed. “Roman, please just eat your soup.”

Virgil looked down at his place setting to find a round, shallow dish filled with a liquid. To his right was a utensil that seemed to be designed to carry the liquid, the soup. Glancing at the child, he observed how he was scooping the soup into the utensil and bringing it to his mouth, blowing gently on it before eating. Virgil copied him to the best of his ability, having never encountered either soup before.

The table conversation went on, Thomas interrogating Virgil while trying to contain the rambunctious ten year old. Whenever Thomas wasn’t questioning Virgil, Logan was trying to see how bad his amnesia was. That was difficult as Virgil was unsure how similar their societies were or how much Virgil would have to bluff. It seemed that they were similar enough that Virgil was able to at least pass the childhood aspect of the test, failing the rest of the test as he tried to keep up the amnesia façade.

Over the course of the meal, Logan and Virgil’s conversation ventured away from what Virgil remembered and veered toward getting to know each other. Virgil was fascinated by Logan’s enthusiasm for the stars. He spoke of going late at night to gaze at them through his telescope, the tube he only ever used at night. Logan talked about his ventures into painting, the stand and white rectangle, saying how it helped him calm down after a stressful time.

Virgil really couldn’t talk about his own interests as he wasn’t supposed to remember them. So, he just observed the happy family, the way Logan always spoke nicely to Roman, always on his level of knowledge, not Logan’s. He saw the way Thomas tried to engage Roman in the conversation, even if it meant using smaller words. He smiled, knowing this family was loving and strong.

Once the meal was over, Roman jumped out of his seat and asked Thomas if he could show Virgil around the castle. Thomas laughed and said it was fine as long as Logan went too, confessing he still had some work to complete or he’d be joining them. Logan agreed and the group was off. Roman tried to narrate what they were seeing and where they were going but quickly got tired. Logan picked him up, settling him on his back, and took up the narration, giving a better explanation of things. Soon, they passed through a hallway that was filled with paintings of people on their way to the library.

“Who are those?” Virgil asked, his eyes lingering on each individual, some looking similar and others completely different. He’d never encountered anything similar but guessed they were like what Logan did with the stand and canvas.

“Ah. Those are the generations of Ackroyd’s that came before us. They are our ancestors and, one day, we will join them.”

Virgil frowned. “Forgive me if I sound stupid, but you surely can’t mean that you actually trap souls in paintings, can you?”

Logan laughed, a melody of sound that traveled the length of the hall. “No, we don’t imprison souls in art. The paintings are simply the likeness of the person. Their painting is done when they come of age but it is not hung until the subject either ascends to the throne or dies.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. Thanks for the explanation.”

“It’s no trouble.” Logan shifted, settling the now sleeping child into a better position. “Although, I do believe that I should get this bug to bed. If you would wait here a moment, I would be glad to show you more of the castle when I get back.”

Virgil smiled and nodded. Logan walked down the hall and Virgil turned to look at the different paintings. He wandered the corridor, eventually coming to stand in front of the last picture on the wall. He was admiring it for a few minutes, picking out the resemblance in features to Logan and Thomas and, to a lesser degree, Roman.

“That’s my father, the current king.” Logan’s voice said behind Virgil, causing the mer to jump.

“I didn’t hear you return.” he chuckled, turning slightly, allowing Logan to stand beside him. “You mentioned he was away, do you know where?”

“Yes, he and my younger brother, Orville, are away dealing with a business deal that could secure safe trading routes for centuries to come. While he is gone, Thomas and I are splitting the day to day mundane tasks that Father would normally oversee. One of such tasks is to send a battalion after that pirate ship you mentioned. If all goes well, they will no longer be able to cause anyone else harm.”

Logan’s voice had started out as smooth while speaking of his family but changed to a harder, passionate tone when he brought up the pirates. Turning to look into his eyes, Virgil found a similar passion there that caused him to simultaneously want to look deeper and turn away. He chose the second option, heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of the first.

Virgil cleared his throat. “Should we continue the tour?”

Logan nodded. “If you wish. I’ll take you to the library but I’m not sure how much longer you should be about, you need your rest for your injuries to heal properly.”

Of course. Because that was the main goal right now. Healing the injuries before getting the crystal and getting back to his blessing. That was what mattered right now. Virgil shook his head almost imperceptibly, needing to do the action to clear it. His hand reached to fidget with the other sleeve as they continued their walk, the silence almost deafening now that Logan wasn’t narrating everything in sight.

When they entered the library, Virgil’s jaw was almost on the floor. He spun in a wide circle, trying to understand that so many books could exist in the world, let alone in one room. If he’d been paying attention to Logan, he would have seen the small smile that crossed his face at Virgil’s wonder.

The walls seemed to go up at least three stories, bookshelves lining each of them and filled with enough pieces of literature of varying sizes to keep Virgil entertained his whole life. He almost wasn’t sure if he would ever see this many books again. His eyes trailed up the cases, marveling at the intricate carvings he’d only seen ruins of. When he got to the top of the room, he found windows at the very top that allowed for light to fill the room while still preserving the books.

“Would you like to take one back to your room for some light reading before bed?” Logan’s voice once again startled him back into paying attention to his surroundings rather than his wandering thoughts. He spun back around to face Logan, mind still going a mile a minute but he was now in the eye of the hurricane instead of the brunt of the storm.

“I don’t think I’d know where to start.” He confessed, a blush dusting his cheeks in embarrassment.

Logan just chuckled and took a few steps forward. “What kind of books interest you?”

Virgil shrugged. “All of them. I’d honestly try to read everything I can get my hands on.”

Logan nodded, moving to the nearest bookshelf. “Well, then how about staring you off on the history of the nation. Would that be agreeable?”

Virgil almost jumped for joy but remembered at the last second that he couldn’t do that in human form in a way that would satisfy the movement he wanted to make. Instead, he simply squealed softly and nodded.”That would be great.”

Logan smiled and handed him a large tome. “This should be enough for now. I suggest getting some sleep now as your wounds will benefit from that.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s a good idea. Are you heading to bed as well?” Part of him wanted to spend more time with Logan, even if it were spent in silence walking down a hall.

Logan shook his head, a regretful smile playing on his lips. “Unfortunately, I still have some work to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Then I shall bid you a good night.”

“Do you need me to call someone to escort you back to your room or do you remember the way?” Virgil wondered if that was genuine concern or if Logan was trying to figure out what kind of amnesia Virgil had. Either way, it was sweet.

“Just down the hall, up the stairs, and my room should be the third on the left. I think I’ll be fine but I appreciate the offer.”

Logan nodded and started in the opposite direction, heading to his personal study. Virgil went back to his room, changing into the pajamas he found waiting there and crawled into the too different bed. He read for a bit but soon fell asleep again, the run through the woods finally catching up to him.

He woke to the same tingles in his legs and sides as he had the previous few weeks. He didn’t want to shed scales on the bed, nor did he want to spend the whole night trapped in the bed. So, he quickly scrambled out of it and his pants, unsure how the transition would take fabric being between the legs when they fused back into a tail. He found the door to the bathroom, managing to fill the tub and slipping in just as his tail took shape, his fins sprouting from his sides.

He sighed in contentment, finally in sustained contact with fresh water again. It curled around him, thanking him for the simple act of freeing part of the tank water. He smiled, knowing he would be able to cash in a favor but deciding to save it. He sank deeper into the tub, grateful for it being deep enough that he could almost submerge himself in the water. Feeling comfortable in his own scales for the first time in a few weeks and the sound of the water moving acting as a lullaby, he quickly drifted into a deep, healing sleep.

He woke as the sun came through the window and his tail began to tingle once more, signaling the change. He waited until it changed back to legs, mourning the loss of his fins already. He inspected his injuries and found that the bandages that wound around his legs were still intact. He stood from the tub and drained it before making his way back to the bed, slipping under the covers to drift until woken by someone else.

Chapter 7

#virgil sanders #adhd!virgil #mer!virgil #logan sanders #the little mermaid au #analogical #ace writes

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greytoiletpaper · 4 years

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Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the Street Siblings au by @a-sketchy-character | @streetsiblings without which I may not have had the motivation to write this much.

Drizzle | Deluge | Squall | AO3

Chapter 4: susurration

The world is dark.

Somehow, she knows how many marks and cuts criss-cross her body; how many bruises decorate her like a canvas. But she can’t feel them, not even one.

Instead, all she can do is listen, tuning in to the rain as it pours, as red droplets fall in time off of Mad Dog’s blade. If she really listens to the sound, it almost sounds like a different boy’s laughter.

She focuses on the noise and it alone, her body so perfectly still.

Mad Dog thrusts his blade to her chest, and Cassandra’s eyes open.

They’ve only been in Gotham for a week, yet, it feels like he never left. At least for Park Row, the “Crime Alley”, the city has never changed. Slowly, the Red Hood and Ravager make the area their own. He does everything to make sure that the Bat never catches a whiff of what he’s doing. He knows it is pointless; even if Bruce knew, he would be too much of a coward to venture into the evil heart of the city.

It infuriates him, the remnants of the old argument. If Batman was ever truly needed. It would be - no, should be - here. In the black, beating heart of Gotham, where crime and cruelty channel through its citizens as if it were in their own blood. Yet for all he prattles about his crusade of justice, Bruce will never set foot into Crime Alley; too hung up on the ghosts of his past to banish the ones that haunt others.

It’s why he’s wearing the original persona of the man who murdered him. Jason had lived these streets, born and raised and died because of them. Deep down, Jason understands what Bruce simply refuses to believe. Some people simply want to watch the world burn, and they can never be stopped, only carefully controlled, managed or otherwise taken out. He never wants what happened to him to be inflicted on someone else. Not if he can help it.

Now, Red Hood is here, slinking through the darkened hallways of Arkham. Past every guard and camera until he arrives at one particular cell. He knocks on the door, and a mop of neon green flips upwards.

The madman beams; his eyes are whirlpools of chaotic energy.

“What’s this? Birdy clipped his wings!” The Joker begins, guffawing like a howling hyena. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me, little Jay.”

To his credit, Jason doesn’t react. The pneumatic seals of the helmet hiss as it comes off. The Joker never takes his eyes off his face.

“There you are, my boy. Just like your uncle Jay” The lunatic says without tone, feral grin seeming plastered. “Say, you seen Cass anywhere?”

That makes him shift uneasily on his feet. The Joker leans in close, almost conspiratorially.

“You think the Bat ran her out? That he…” Something morbid flashes in the eyes of his monster. “Killed her just like I did you?”

Jason wants to drive his fists into the man’s back. Stamp on his legs until the bones shatter. Bludgeon him over and over with whatever is on hand until the madman’s flesh is nothing but paste. Instead, he stands frozen as the cackling echoes around the room and in his ears.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Is what he says. “And I’m not doing this for me either.”

His hand lifts the pistol from its holster.

“I’m doing this because someone has to do what Batman can’t.”

The Joker takes the words in stride, nodding to himself. To Jason, it’s the calmest he has ever seen him.

“Not a fan of the whole motorcycle fetish style, but to each his own,” The madman’s eyes, still rotting in their own insanity, meet his. Something about the gaze seems so clear despite the instability. “You’re going to be wonderful for the Red Hood name.”

He sighs.

“When you do it, boy, make sure you get as much of the colour out of me.”

Jason nods and presses the barrel into Joker’s forehead, closes his eyes, and everything is silent.

He presses his hand to the glass, the rain sliding down the pane on the other side, its streams the same lengths as the rivers that flow from his red crown.

Fact One, a statement: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with connections running deeply in the underground drugs and weapons trade.

Fact Two, an amendment: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, arguably one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with sizeable connections in the weapons trade.

Fact Three, a truth: He is absolutely livid with the Red Hood and the Ravager.

Roman stares at the text on the notepad; he picks it up and throws it across the room.

In the space of two nights, the new duo had taken over his entire drug operation and cut off every tie Roman had to Crime Alley. Internally, he thinks ‘cut off’ is still too lacking a description. Half of his thugs breathing through tubes for days. Pimps found castrated and dangling from lampposts. Drug dealers with their mouths frothing as they dissociated. If the rumour mill among villains is anything to go by, Red Hood had killed the Joker in his own damn cell. Roman shudders. He’d seen the images from the crime.

The pair are definitely a threat, and Roman needs him gone as soon as possible. Hiring the Joker would have been one of the best choices: effective, relatively cheap and definitely motivated to take on whoever dares don his previous mantle. Alas, reality disagrees.

Black Mask picks up the phone, ready to dial the more expensive alternative. He sighs and hopes they don’t call Deathstroke the ‘Terminator’ for nothing.

Cassandra dives away at the last second, adrenaline flushing through her body and lifting the fog from her mind. Her opponent’s blade impacts with the ground, firmly planting itself the whole way. Mad Dog, clearly thrown off, becomes an easy target with her renewed energy.

She does not hold back, unleashing a flurry of blows to the assassin’s chest, even as he tries to hold his defence together. With renewed focus, she redirects every strike he makes and strikes him back thrice as hard.

It is not long until Mad Dog is at Cassandra’s mercy, nearly a bloody pulp under her hand.

“Finish it,” Shiva calls suddenly, and she almost complies. But, with her hazy vision, the images of Faizul and the assassin blend together. The vertigo Cassandra is feeling becomes sharper, and she’s drowning in it.

In her hesitation, Shiva tuts and stabs her own blade into Mad Dog’s heart, crimson fluid spraying in all directions.

Cass doubles over, desperately heaving, and liquid green purges from her body.

Bruce stares up at the readout on the Batcomputer. There are new players in Gotham, but there’s something that makes them stand out from the others. They make headway faster than he’s ever seen it, clearing out and claiming Park Row as their own territory in a week.

Twenty-seven confirmed kills and thirty-four hospitalisations. He would have stopped with his investigation then and there. Yet, the detective in him tugs the back of his mind. He checks through the names again and finds that each one is attached to a laundry list of crimes that become more appalling the further he reads.

Then Red Hood killed the Joker; and for the first time since the madman’s debut, Gotham is quiet.

Bruce rubs his face in his hands and turns to the screens entirely dedicated to monitoring his daughter Cassandra. (The memorial makes itself known in his peripheral vision.) Her work in Hong Kong as Black Bat had been phenomenal so far. Every story he can find of her weaves the same story: Black Bat, hero of the Forgotten. Of the waylaid and the oppressed.

What would they think? Bruce finally turns to the statue, mouthing the words on the plaque to himself.

“Can you promise something for me, Bruce? Just one thing?”

“Anything for you, Jaylad.”

He tears his eyes away.

Damian becomes cagey whenever either of the three vigilantes come up in conversation. It is suspicious, but he has had the lesson very solidly ironed in his mind how unconducive to understanding he can be. So, he gives his son his space.

Despite the child's refined nature, little pieces of him remind him of Jason, far beyond the boy's temper, pride, or even his cursing. Bruce had seen Damian in the library once, his fingers tracing the spine of a newer copy of Huckleberry Finn.

Red and orange flash by his primary monitor, and Bruce pulls himself from his thoughts.

Batman rises, ready to confront whatever ghosts will taunt him in the shadows.

The world roars in her ears, and no matter how hard she tries, Cassandra can’t stop the erratic sequence of deep breaths that claw out her throat. For once she’s glad she’s not wearing her old costume. The mask reminded her too much of smoke inhalation and chains and-.

“Why?” She rasps in a throaty, breathless voice that has not escaped her for years. “Why would you do this?”

“Can’t a mother test the progress of her daughter?” Shiva replies coolly. Her stance gives off nothing, so Cassandra does not deign her a response.

“He went looking for me, you should know.”

Her head snaps up.

“He was curious. A unique girl who can read the body as if it were a book and a unique woman who can do the very same? An unlikely coincidence,” Shiva turns her head away, ducked down as if she had already admitted too much. “He asked me, if it was my choice to leave you with your father.”

“It wasn’t.”

Sandra nods.

“He told me that was, and I quote, ‘a load of shit’.”

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass mutters under her breath. A hush falls between them, not comfortable but not unwelcome either.

“It is not me you came here for,” Sandra says with such conviction that Cass can’t help but gape in her disbelief. Of course, she did. Shiva gave birth to her.

Before she can voice her thoughts, Sandra grasps her shoulder and wraps her arms around Cass.

“You’ll find your brother soon. I can promise you that.”

Gotham rumbles, her shock snaking through the crown of her scalp. She knows that tonight is the night; when events will pass and tear the whole city asunder. For better or for worse, she cannot tell.

But she is eager to find out for herself.

“Think that’s a wrap for tonight?” Jason asks quietly, almost inaudible over the Gotham rain. It’s the only coherent sentence he’s made in days, so Rose takes what she can get.

“Probably, you’re not shanghaiing me into grabbing groceries, right?”

“Maybe,” He chuckles, but even though his voice is filtered by their comms, she can tell it’s forced. “Anyone ever tell you how similar some of our problems are?”

“Really? You realised this just now?” Rose rolls her eyes because, honestly. “I mean, at least your dad isn’t some psycho assassin supervillain.”

“Aww, Rosie, making your old man sad. Truly, I’m hurt,” Hues from orange and blue armour melt from the shadows as Deathstroke emerges, eyeing her. “You don’t wear the uniform like Grant did.”

“It’s not meant to and either way, I barely knew him or Joey.” She draws her blades, trying to hide how much her arms are shaking. It doesn’t help. “No thanks to you.”

“Is that Slade?” Jason’s voice is like music to her ears, relaxing her muscles in the ways she needs.

“I made your brothers stronger,” There’s an edge to Slade’s voice, sharp as the glistening blade he brandishes. Ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. “I suggest you come with me so you can be the same.”

“What, dead because of problems you caused?” She laughs shakily, grimacing under her mask. “I suggest you fuck off.”

“I’m coming, Rose.”

“No can do. There’s a hit on the two of you, and its fait accompli,” Deathstroke makes a ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture and Rose darts forward, her tears faster than the raindrops that dance on her skin.

Batman has followed the Red Hood for hours now, and he has no idea what to think. He expected someone wielding the Joker’s former identity to be as insane as the Clown Prince himself. Yet, the red helmet only bobs up and down as if it were in conversation rather than rotating listlessly.

Despite how antithetical the new face in Gotham is to his beliefs, some actions catch him off guard about the man.

While he has seen no deaths on this patrol, with every bone the criminal breaks, the same hands offer food to street children and escort working girls to their homes. Bruce is thrown, viscerally, into a memory of the bird that flew beside him to do the very same.

The Dark Knight watches him stalk through Park Row, freeze and then take off in another direction.

It is time.

He pursues the criminal, sprinting across the rooftops of Gotham, gliding above catwalks and fire escapes. Within minutes, he overtakes and blocks the path ahead of Red Hood, who curses and vaults over his body.

Or at least, he tries to as Batman grips the man’s ankle and slams him back into the pavement. Hood never misses a second, drawing a knife and swiping at his limbs. He lets go; the man faces him again, twirling the knife round and round.

“B,” A modulated voice hangs in the air, but there is a quality to it that tickles his conscious, like an old ghost whispering in his ears.

“Red Hood, I suggest you surrender peacefully, or I –.”

“Cut the act, alright? You think that just because you’re Batman, nobody can be above you,” Red Hood laughs. Through the modulator of his helmet, it comes off as hollow. “The truth with a saying like that –.” The knife is stowed away. “– It just means nobody is beneath you either.”

The criminal grapples him; kick, jab, punch, kick again in a rapid dance of attacks that Bruce can barely keep up with. Some of the criminal’s movements are achingly familiar yet so foreign that the composite form nauseates him. Red hood strikes over and over until he actually has him, the Dark Knight, pinned.

“And some of us can’t wait to drag you all the way down.”

Jason had always had a gift for speaking. His sister’s hands may be knives, but his words were bullets.

Breaking out of the Red Hood’s hold, that is what Bruce muses in his mind.

They’ve been at a game of cat and mouse for so long now. Locked in a chase of diving and darting around a maze of alleyways and rooftops. Jason drops on one of them and turns to face his pursuer, who draws short away from him.

“What, can’t work it out?” He triggers the seals on his helmet as he lifts it off. Without the lenses he can see, even in the rain, the second Bruce recognises him. “You really didn’t care enough to remember my name or something?”

“Jason,” Bruce’s tone gives off nothing and everything. “W-Why are you doing this? How are you –.”

“I’m doing this because you refuse to do what needs to be done.” Jason snarls, venom laced in every word. “You want to rule them by fear, but you never go any further with the ones who aren’t afraid.”

“Jason, I don’t under-.”

“I died for your cause, and in less than a year you shove some other kid in the uniform so he can die too!” He is raving now. He also doesn’t care. “You let my murderer run wild and slaughter thousands and when someone finally steps up to do what needed to be done, you cut her out?”

“I had to –.”

“Had to what? Isolate her? Run her out of the only family she’s ever known? She was my sister, my whole fucking world; who believed in you and you left her like she means nothing to you! Cass is gone now, and that is your fault!”

“If you would –.”

“Do you even remember? That the only thing I ever made you swear to me, that you vowed on your life, was that you’d never let her down?” For once this night, his voice isn’t angry or vicious. It is a void, detached from any feeling. “Guess I should have known better.”

He knows, almost intrinsically despite the years, that if there is one thing that Jason has said tonight, those are the words that pierce Batman’s defences. It’s why he lets Bruce rush forward like he wants to. Allows the chase to continue. When he jumps, Jason lands in an apartment that carries the same bloodstains that leaked down his mother’s arms a lifetime ago.

Black Bat arrives in Gotham, and superficially, it is empty. She almost hails Barbara when bright flashes shine in her peripheral vision. Lo and behold, Deathstroke and an unknown are locked in a duel below her.

Cassandra drops from above, and at that moment, she kicks Deathstroke into a wall hard enough to knock him unconscious. His opponent, she notices, stops immediately.

Before her is a girl, hair silver under the moonlight, garbed in orange and black.

Then the Batmobile rounds the corner, a small figure rising from the hatch.

"Black Bat," Robin says, "You have not responded to Oracle, she was-."

Damian's eyes bug out once he notices the girl beside Cassandra. She fully expects him to snarl or draw his ridiculously long katana. Instead, uncharacteristically rushes forward and embraces the girl tightly instead.

"Wilson. A-are you finally assisting us in Gotham?" Damian says, even with his head buried in a shoulder. "Drake may be intelligent, but his incompetence with the sword is impossible to rectify."

"Missed you too, D-man," The girl chuckles and ruffles the boy's hair. "I would help, but what’s up with tall, slim and broody over there?"

Cassandra crosses her arms expectantly at Robin, who obviously only just remembered her presence when he unlatches himself immediately. His cheeks may be red, but Damian still raises his chin proudly.

"I found her, Rose," His body language and eyes seem to sing. "I found his ukht."

The girl spins sharply, wolfish eyes drawn wide. “You’re her,” Rose breathes, awe rippling off her body. “You’re Cass.”

She would have flinched, but the body language is so familiar. Cass tilts her head.

“Yes.”

Rose grabs her arm so hastily that she almost rips it back in shock. But something is so honest about her body language that Cass relents, letting the girl lead her where she is needed.

He kneels, tracing the dark stains. Behind him, Batman pauses. Not even he would dare to disturb the sanctity of this room.

“Jaylad, please -.”

“Don’t call me that. That isn’t who I am,” Jason rounds on Bruce. He gestures to the shattered window, the ripped upholstery, and the bloodstained floor. “This is what I grew up being, what I never wanted anyone else to.”

He taps the insignia on Bruce’s chest with his pistol.

“That, right here, was your promise to people like me. People that needed help and protection,” He spits. “And you couldn’t even do it for the ones closest to you.”

"I just want to-."

"Want to what? Parade your antiquated sense of morality to hide, while the rest of the world suffers for what you refuse to do? Or cast out others from taking it in their own hands?"

Tears are building in his eyes, but he wipes them away while Batman stands ramrod straight.

"I don't think you understand. That you've never understood," The man begins, and Jason gapes because what the hell does that mean? "If I let myself cross that line, even for Joker, I won't ever come back."

"You know what I think about that, Bruce?" Jason breathes deeply, feeling the whispers of the Pit roaring with the heavy rain in his ears. "I think that's a huge self-aggrandizing load of bullshit."

He charges forward, knocking Batman's legs from under him and ramming his face into the ground. Batman is down to his knees before either can even blink.

"And I'm so fucking tired of hearing it."

Jason levels the barrel at Bruce’s forehead, torbernite lining the edges of his vision, engulfing him in an absence.

“What’s the use of you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right?”

Then, her voice shatters the tension in the air, gripping his heart and silencing the susurrations of the rain that suffocated his ears.

“When it ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same.”

“Cass?” The boy in the alleyway says. A gun. An apple in his hand. The girl falters in the doorway, her fist tongue clenches, and she nods.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years

Text

alpha - drew m / roman r. [m]

Note:

Okay, so I’ve seen a few of these floating around now and then and I know that as a reader, I personally enjoyed the experience. And that little showdown between Roman and Drew really... Got to me and lives in my head rent free. My original idea for this was so much different than what this is going to shape up to be, but honestly, I feel like it works better this way. As much as I dislike even thinking Randy Orton’s name. Adding that particular variable into the mix made this a lot smoother than my original idea.

I’m actually really excited about this. It’s a choose your own smutty ending. I think the first person I saw trying this was @glowrioustrash and it was last year, for Halloween, I think? I enjoyed reading that, so I kinda wanted to try my own hand at it then. I just never got around to it. I even asked them if it was okay if I did it, back then, I think? Anyway... Last night’s Smackdown just gave me ample inspo to FINALLY get off my ass and try it, and make it a part of my year-long smut one shot series. Bet ya’ll thought I completely forgot about those, huh? Well I didn’t. So... here we are.

This part is the beginning to both of the smutty parts I’m going to write for this, so it’ll be linked on either post and either post will be linked here, once I have them all done and posted on the blog.

LIFE EDIT: Eventually, loves... I’ll get around to posting the smutty conclusions to both men. When I do, those will be linked to this post.

Enjoy this teaser, hopefully?

HUGE SHOUTOUTS TO : @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure and @schizoauthoress (your suggestions and that helpful input at the end, ahhh.. i owe you my life) as well as @wardl0w because I have probably bugged the living hell out of all three of them as I attempted this and they were seriously huge helps to me with this.

Characters / Pairings:

Drew McIntyre / Female!omega reader - version 1, coming soon

Roman Reigns / Female!omega reader - version 2, coming soon

Warnings:

This is an attempt at me, writing alpha/omega again. So there will be knotting, mate bite marks, etc. In addition to that, there will be smut in the second part of these, whichever man you guys choose. There’s also hints of unwanted confrontation between Orton and Reader to start this off with and it gets... handsy, ewwww. But I had to have a way to work in both guys and make it work, so.. here we are. There’s also gonna be swearing. If I need to issue any other warnings those will be on the follow up posts.

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee @rampagewriting @writertoo18 @thatnerdwriter @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure @chasingeverybreakingwave @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sassymox @champbucks @hungmanhorsecarriage @wardl0w @ryantaylorgirl @dilfmoxley @hotyeehawman @darbysallin @gabbynorth98 @bec0m

@linziland13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Other Stuff:

[ about my writing - masterlist - tag list doc ]

[ Roman ] or [ Drew ]

The scent was absolutely intoxicating. So understandably, when it filled my nose for the fourth time that night, I found myself standing. Making my way out into the hallway. Shoving people out of my way. Now, I wasn’t running or anything, because my grandma always told me it’s better to be chased than do the chasing but… I was power-walking.

And, as per usual, not paying a lick of attention to where I was going or my surroundings. I was solely focused on this mysterious scent because deep down inside, I knew exactly where it was going to lead me and damn it, I might put up one hell of a show about being independent, but heat cycles are hell and yeah, maybe I get lonely as of late. Maybe I’ve been longing to find my Alpha. Maybe I want the comfort of knowing that I’m not doomed to be forever alone and I do have a mate out there, somewhere...

It hit me then, around the same time that my thighs absolutely flooded with slick and I started to feel all woozy. I hadn’t taken suppressants. In fact, I had somehow managed to completely forget about my heat cycle’s speedy approach.

I mean, between moving and getting called up to the main roster, life has been a whirlwind for me lately. And tonight I hadn’t taken them before I came to the arena because I was excited. Tonight was my first night on the main roster. And in the excitement of that, I’d forgotten my suppressants… again.

To be fair, I haven’t ever really adhered to taking them steadily to begin with, so there you go...I never really had anyone constantly riding me to do so growing up. I was mostly left to my own devices, free to do what I wanted and make my own choices. So, yeah, this isn’t my first rodeo with a surprise heat cycle.

I shoved all the thoughts out of my noisy mind, pausing my walk to attempt focusing. Centering myself so that I could really fix on the scent and the direction it came from. And in my distraction, that gave Orton the perfect opportunity to slither up and corner me before I even had a chance to properly respond.

“Doll.”

“I have a name, you prick.” I rolled my eyes as I shrank away, nose wrinkling at the oversaturation of his scent as it invaded my nose and momentarily drowned out that heavenly aroma I’d been attempting to follow before I got distracted like a dumb bitch.

He chuckled, putting himself closer to me. Leaning down a little. And the audacity of this fucking man, he even had the nerve to reach up and move my hair away from my neck, his nose burying there as a lewd growl rose up from the depths of his chest.

I shoved at him and cleared my throat. “I was kind of in a hurry, do you mind knocking it the fuck off, jackass? Go sniff someone else, ew.”

“C’mon now, hon… You know what’s happening to you. You know you need me.”

“Like I need a bullet wound to the head, Orton. Fuck off.” I tried to duck beneath his arm but his other hand caught on my hip, keeping me pinned between him and the wall. By now, the scent of him was so overpowering and gross that my stomach was lurching. My consolation thought as I began to panic a little and tried to think of a quick way out of this confrontation was that maybe if I just threw up on the asshole, he’d get away.

Somehow, I didn’t see that happening. Orton doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who picks up on cues, verbal or non-verbal. Likes to assert that dominance he fancies himself to have.

He chuckled again.

Then suddenly, the scent was back and it was overpowering his stench. ,, Thank God.” I thought to myself, daring to mutter the words under my breath. I found myself peering over Randy’s shoulder, waiting on whoever the intoxicating scent I’d been following originally to show themselves.

And when he stepped out behind Randy and into view… If I thought I was wet before, whew… I was absolutely flooded beyond all hope now. I swallowed hard, biting my lip, locking eyes with him. Randy seemed to realize that my attention was wandering and this of course, only made him up his game.

His hips brushed boldly against mine and I cringed, pretending to gag when I felt the way Orton strained at his trunks. At the moment, Randy was completely and blissfully unaware as to what fate awaited him if he were stupid enough to turn around and honestly?

I’m enough of a bitch that I was hell bent on not alerting Randy to it, either. Instead, I took a few shaky breaths and stared up at him defiantly. “Why do I need you, Orton? They make vibrators bigger than that fun sized Tootsie Roll I’ve heard you’re packing every day of the week. I don’t need you. Or anyone.”

I knew that part was a lie because as all this was going on, my body was in a literal frenzy at the sight of my Alpha. My skin was tight, I could barely breathe. I was doing good to think straight and form words, honestly. I was a split second away from being overwhelmed. Because thanks to my Alpha showing themselves, my heat cycle went from a mild annoyance to almost intolerable within a split second.

I needed to get away from Randy. I needed to get somewhere and calm down. But I wanted to stay exactly where I was, curious to see if my Alpha was here for the reason I’d ventured out of hair and makeup in the first place.

So far, all he was doing was standing there. Watching my little confrontation with Randy. The tension in his body quickly gave away his feelings on the matter, however. And that’s what kept me quiet. Allowed me to let Randy keep digging his own damn grave.

Because it amused me.

And I needed to know that my Alpha was actually a good Alpha. I needed to know he’d protect me, no matter what. I also needed to know that he knew when to fuck off and allow me to handle things on my own.

I wanted to test his boundaries too, if I’m being perfectly honest.

Randy bit his lip, staring down at me as if I were food and he was a starving man. He raised a hand and rubbed his chin in thought, eyes not leaving mine for a second. “Why do you need me? Well, it’s like this, doll. I want you. And you’re not in the mindset right now to turn down any Alpha who offers himself up, just goin off of that sweet little scent you’ve got yourself right now. Just drop the act, princess. You and I both know that if you don’t find an Alpha, things are going to get real messy back here. Real fast. And I don’t think you want that now, do you hon?”

,, what I want is for you to back the fuck away. Find a tube of toothpaste or some cologne or a shower, something… anything to rid yourself of the stench you’ve got yourself.” the thought came but I was treading carefully, so I kept it internal, choosing only to give a soft laugh and roll my eyes at Randy instead.

“You know exactly zilch about me and my ‘delicate state’, first of all. Secondly? I wouldn’t choose you for my Alpha if you were the last one on earth.” I managed to get the words out. I managed to keep my eyes off of my actual Alpha, who still stood by watching intently, fists clenched tight now.

When he gave a quiet growl and started to approach, the flood in my panties only got so much worse.

And naturally, Randy thought this meant that something he’d said was getting through and that I was just playing hard to get… He pressed me against him, a hand going to my cheek as he gave a smug grin and let his gaze settle on me thoughtfully. “I knew it.”

“Like I said, Randy, you really don’t have a single fucking clue.” I tried to squirm free from his grasp but the fever raging in my body and the overwhelming scent of my true Alpha as he grew angrier and angrier combined with the slightest panic I was feeling at being fucking cornered like an animal by Orton, those were all working against me and I couldn’t extract myself.

His answer was to smirk and chuckle again. “You realize I can scent you and I know exactly what’s on your mind right now, right?”

“Good, then you know I want to stab you in the eyeball with my stiletto. Or reach down, grab that little shrimp dick of yours and twist til it comes off in my hands?” I quipped, a sweet smirk on my face as I boldly met his gaze. When I picked up on him, slowly inching his face closer to mine, I swallowed hard. It felt as if my throat were closing up and it was quickly becoming clear to me that if I thought I had this under control, I really didn’t. Randy wasn’t going to stop or go away. And he wasn’t going to let me get away either.

Desperately, I found my gaze shifting over Randy’s shoulder. I locked eyes with my Alpha and mouthed, “Any day now?…” almost impatiently. I wanted Randy the entire fuck away from me. And I was really starting to realize that I couldn’t achieve that on my own. I was fully in over my head.

Typical of me, I’m afraid.

I have to admit, the fact that my Alpha had yet to actually do anything had me in an internal uproar. It had me thinking that maybe I’d gotten the wrong read on him when I watched an earlier promo in the night.

Before I had a chance to consider it fully, that my Alpha might not be a good guy either, two things happened. One, Randy’s hand left my cheek and his mouth closed in even more, rough lips almost about to brush mine and disgusting stench for a moment blocking out the scent of my Alpha. His hand settled on my hip and he was pulling me against him.

I planted a hand firmly against his chest, palm down. “What the--?” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence because from behind Randy, my Alpha’s throat cleared.

Randy grumbled to himself, picking up on the presence of my Alpha. But it was too late.

My Alpha locked eyes with me and nodded, indicating that I needed to move now, while Randy was distracted, and trust me, I wasted absolutely no time doing that. I extracted myself from between Randy and the wall I’d had my back pressed against and not even a split second later, my Alpha’s fist went smashing into Randy’s face and he had him pinned against the wall, a forearm across his throat.

And I didn’t think, I just ran.

I ran until I was out in the parking garage and then I stopped, catching my breath. It passed through my mind that maybe I should go back inside and at least attempt to be there when the brawl taking place in the hallway was over, but honestly?

I needed to get myself together. To get calm. To process and catch my breath and try to puzzle everything out.

And yeah, maybe parts of me were curious. Wondering if my Alpha would seek me out, or whether the incident in the hallway was just him stepping in because I asked…

The door to the garage flew open a few feet away and I rose up slightly, eyes darting around. The scent of my Alpha filled my senses and I bit my lip, taking a few shaky breaths right as he started to call my name. I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came. His footsteps were getting closer and closer.

My heart was racing and his scent hung heavily in the air around us, making me dizzy as the heat took over in my body. He touched me, and almost the instant I felt his hand on my shoulder, I could feel my body cooling down. This wave of relief washed over me and all I could think was that if this is what his touch felt like, I’d absolutely love more of it.

I inhaled deep, preparing myself to turn around…

[ roman ] [ drew ]

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter 26 Final

A special thanks to @statell for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Twenty-six

Claire popped her head up after examining Porcelain, “we have pre-ovulation Jamie, she is ready…today.”

“I’ll call Jason and get him back here.”

Claire smiled to herself because she could hear Jamie’s excitement. He was on pins and needles being so close to the big reveal, is Runner fertile? She brought Porcelain into season early by using lights for an extra five hours each day. The lights above her stall were timed to go on at two o’clock in the morning. That and hormones worked like a charm, it was finally time.

Jason strode into the breeding room and pulled the leather neck cover from a cabinet. He put it over Porcelain’s neck for protection from biting. Her tail had been wrapped for the same reason. She was washed and ready for her prince. Jason looked at Rupert holding her halter, Angus ready to capture leaking semen, and Jamie biting his nails.

“Everybody relax!” He quickly composed himself, “please, is what I meant to say, please relax and pretend like you do this every day. This is something new but please don’t let it show to the horses.”

Jason had almost completed his month of training at a nearby stud farm where he was hands-on in the breeding barn where things sometimes go catastrophically wrong. The stress was palpable today and that is when people make mistakes.

Jamie looked at Jason and appreciated his authority. He chose the right man for the job.

Claire walked in with Runner and handed the lead to Jason. He coaxed him forward as Runner smelled Porcelain’s honey pot raising his head in the air and curling his lips back. He was more than a little interested and tried to mount her immediately. He slid to her side, basically falling off. Jason was reassuring and backed Runner so his nose was in Porcelain’s butt again. This time Runner was spot on and entered her for a total of one minute if that.

When Runner moved off her, Angus shoved his penis into a collecting tube and looked the other way, blushing crimson.

Jamie congratulated everyone on a job well done as the horses were being led away. He took a double-take at Claire’s face and had to cough several times so he didn’t laugh. She would need him right away, so he quickened his pace to put Runner away.

“Well, an exciting start to our new venture. That went well, don’t you think?”

Jamie put his arm around her waist so he could direct her to his office, on the double. With the door closed and locked he turned into a purring panther and his eyes bored holes into Claire’s body. As he circled her his hand felt her gorgeous ass and then her breast.

Claire giggled nervously. Watching Runner cover Porcelain shot her arousal into a new stratosphere. She needed to get Jamie home for an hour and fought to control herself this close to him.

“Let me see them, Claire,” he breathed into her ear. “Please lass, make them bounce for me for just a minute.”

Jamie had her shirt unbuttoned in thirty seconds and unclasped her bra. Her naked breasts, now bigger due to the pregnancy, were out and proud for her man. He closed in on her holding one of them in his warm hand. Squeezing and caressing, pinching her nipple until she grasped at him. He held her bra out and then clasped it back to her body. He re-buttoned her shirt while her chest heaved from the contact.

“I…I am going home to rest a bit before my afternoon appointments.”

“Let me drive ye lass, I could use a nap myself.”

When they were safely away from the barn Claire attached herself to Jamie making him stretch his neck to see around her. She ran her tongue up his neck to his ear and circled it, warm and wet. Jamie made a land-speed record getting home and lifted her out of the truck.

“Why Misses Fraser, ye look positively done in by what ye saw.”

Claire’s half-lidded eyes sent a clear warning that he was not to dally and tease because she needed hardcore loving this instant. Jamie laughed and carried her up to the bedroom.

“How would the lady like to be loved today?”

“I need a brute.”

Jamie chuckled at her intensity, “Well then, one brute coming up.”

The first scan to test for pregnancy is scheduled fifteen days after live cover, and the whole barn seemed ready to explode with the waiting. On day fifteen, Jason assisted Claire with Porcelain’s scan while Jamie waited outside the stall. Claire knew he was pacing and smiled to herself. She could already see the bump of a tiny developing horse. She was overcome, “oh Porcelain.” Claire laid her head on the mare's neck and Jamie mistook her action for an empty uterus. He stopped pacing and stared at her.

“You are going to be such a good mother sweetheart.”

“Is she or not Sassenach?”

Claire smiled and shook her head yes. Jamie exhaled the breath he was holding and whoops went up throughout the barn. Runner was fertile, Porcelain was pregnant, and the fanciest mares in the nation would start coming in next week. Those that were from Kentucky would be transported to the compound for breeding and returned home. Those that were flown in would stay for at least twenty days, some longer if they did not conceive on with the first cover.

It was a glorious time at Highland Brothers Farm.

As spring came to Kentucky, the wildflowers bloomed, the rain came, the fields and pastures were blue-green and lush, and new babies practiced using their long legs to run and leap.

Jason walked into the breeding barn every morning and reviewed the mares to be covered with Claire. They had to work very closely to schedule them and with Lulu’s help made sure each mare was covered as many times as necessary without exhausting Runner or depleting his sperm count. It was a revolving door of mares into and out of their facility that kept Claire on her feet all day and sometimes all night with a foaling dam. Night watch was shared between Rupert, Angus, Jason, and Jamie, to keep the mares calm and call Claire when a dam was in labor.

When Steve graduated from the academy, he joined Jamie’s crew because they needed another set of hands. He pitched in with breeding through may and took one night a week to sleep in the barn. He loved being at the compound but still dreamed of racing to a fire almost every night. When he was hired by a local fire station Jamie and Claire threw him a party with the whole crew and Steve’s friends from the academy. Claire was so proud of him.

Jamie worried constantly about Claire. She had stepped back from her practice in mid-July because she was exhausted from the workload of the past six months. She could rest more now that the foals were all born, and the breeding season was over. She was back to cooking sumptuous meals every night and created a magnificent nursery with Jamie.

“Sweetheart, Molly is here to drive me to town for supplies. We will stop for coffee or something so two hours tops.”

She leaned over his shoulder and kissed his cheek and then she was gone. Jamie was on his phone the second the front door closed and shortly after, Rupert, Angus, and Steve, joined Jamie on hands and knees as they assembled the track and narrow shelf that would go completely around the nursery. Jamie kept looking at his watch as the shelf was installed and then the track. When the train pieces were pulled out, they all started playing with them as Jamie rolled his eyes.

When Claire came home, she found Jamie sitting in the same chair with the same work in front of him. She smiled, so happy he could relax a bit and just sit while she was gone.

“Wait Sassenach, let me carry those bags upstairs. Come with me to point to where these belong.”

Claire reached for the switch, but the light did not go on. Instead, an adorable train, five cars long, with multicolored lights underneath it, was rolling along a track that had not been there when she left. She was mesmerized watching it. Bubbles poured out of the smokestack and the rhythmic noise was almost hypnotizing.

“That is the cutest little train! How did you do all this while I was gone?”

“The lads helped.”

Jamie screwed the light bulb tighter into the lamp and the room flooded with light. “I wanted ye to first see it like the bairn will see it .”

Claire walked around the room looking at the mitered shelf that was attached to the wall without visible means of support. She looked closely at the train, so cute, and gender-neutral.

They had opted out of ultrasounds through Claire’s pregnancy unless medically necessary. She was sure it was a girl, but poor Jamie was completely in the happy-dark. She hugged her husband moving the beach ball to the side.

“You are already the best father, sweetheart.”

Jamie’s chest tightened with that compliment and he hugged her as close as he dared. One more month was going to kill him, but manage he must.

Claire slowed down during the next week. Under the watchful eye of her husband, she had plenty of time to rest up for the big event. Jamie worried about the distance to Lexington hospital, but they were prepared for a long labor and would leave with the first contraction. He had devoured four books on gestation, childbirth, and emergency procedures during labor and delivery. The latter he requested from Steve and read it three times when alone in his office. He was prepared for any eventuality and presented a composed and strong demeanor to Claire for which she was grateful.

Jamie’s head popped up from his work when he heard Claire coming into his office.

“Sassenach! What a nice surprise. Everything okay love?”

She seemed timid when she sat down on his office couch with a sigh. “Yes, I am right as rain, maybe a bit lonely in the house is all. Can I help with anything?”

Jamie kept her busy with the build-up of tasks while Lulu and Jason were on vacation. Anywhere he went in the barn, she was right behind him. He had to turn slowly or run her down. Something about that neediness was a warning sign to Jamie and he put his arm around her to lead her back to the office. She moved from the couch to the chair across from his desk and sighed a lot.

“I think a nice drive to Lexington is in order Sassenach. Please don’t move, I’m tellin the lads we’re leaving.”

Jamie hoped she would stay seated and ran through the compound whistling for his friends. While he explained he was taking Claire to the hospital they heard a blood-curdling scream from his office and started running.

“Claire! What’s happened?”

She was on her hands and knees on the floor, breathing heavily.

“My water broke and I want to push! It feels like she is right between my legs Jamie!”

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. With the emergency procedures forgotten at the moment, Jamie called the fire station and asked for Steve. He described the symptoms and heard the one thing he dreaded.

“Get her to the couch, on her back, get several clean sheets, a pillow, a stack of towels. I bring the rest, be there in five.”

The line went dead in Jamie’s hand and he stared at the phone until Claire screamed his name. He held out house keys to Angus, told him where the linens were kept, and told him what to bring. Angus ran for his truck to gather the supplies.

Claire was barely hanging on through the painful contractions and bit down on the pain to stop the scream that threatened to come out. She heard the wail of the sirens coming and vaguely recognized the sound of a fire engine. She wondered where the fire was until another contraction gripped her and she told Jamie she had to push. He asked her to puff with him, but she couldn’t hear him anymore. Her body was responding to the ancient call to bear down and she could not stop.

When Steve came rushing into the office, he was carrying two large cases that were quickly opened as monitors were attached to Claire. The sheets were delivered, and Steve covered the couch and Claire’s lower half. He talked to her the whole time, explaining what was happening. When he looked under the sheet he almost fainted. The baby was crowning and on her next push, he could see much more of the head.

Two other EMT’s came in, one had an open line to the hospital, the other was checking the monitors. Jamie felt so helpless and terrified. Steve asked him to sit at Claire’s head and hold her hand, encourage her to push when she got too tired. He gently held the baby’s head and pressed back on Claire’s tissue as someone handed him a bulb aspirator to clear the airways.

Steve never stopped talking to Claire who was struggling to find the energy to keep up the constant pushing. The next contraction pushed one shoulder out and Claire laid back on the pillow and panted. Jamie caught a tear that squeezed out the corner of her eye and kissed her cheek before resuming his prayers. He was white with fright.

Steve looked at the monitor and saw another contraction coming, he hoped this would at least get the other shoulder out, it was the hardest part for Claire. When she was gripped with the powerful pain, Jamie helped her up as she groaned, red-faced, into the pushing. It went on longer than the others and it panicked Jamie until he heard Steve’s excited voice telling her to push, it was almost over.

“Jamie! Come here and see your baby girl be born!”

Another EMT slapped gloves on Jamie and Steve pulled his hands to support his daughter’s head and back placing his own hands over the father’s. When Claire groaned through another contraction, the tiny body shot out into her father’s hands. In a single heartbeat, Jamie fell in love with the tiny creature before she was whisked away.

Jamie had tears streaming down his cheeks as he kissed Claire’s face and told her how brave she was.

“Ye did it love. Ye have a beautiful daughter. She is beautiful, but she has red hair. Sorry.”

Claire laughed out loud as Jamie picked her up and laid her on the gurney. Steve laid the bundled baby on her chest and she was loaded into the ambulance for the trip to Lexington. Steve was still connected by phone to her doctor. He read all monitors to her and smiled when she told him, “excellent job, the mother was in good hands.”

Jamie just watched his two girls and hardly heard a single sound except the baby grunting a bit and Claire cooing to her. Time and space fell away for him until the doors opened in Lexington and he jumped out. As the gurney was rolled away Claire shouted for him and her fright was replaced with a smile when he walked by her side.

“Always and forever Jamie?”

“Never to be parted, love.”

Steve ran up to Jamie and pumped his hand saying what a beautiful daughter he had. Jamie watched him run back to the ambulance kicking his heals three times. It was his first delivery, of a dear friend, no less. He was a very happy EMT today. Jamie ran to catch up with Claire.

The hospital was very pro father so Jamie was able to stay with Claire and baby while her doctor stitched up the tearing and verified her uterus was empty. Jamie liked the female doctor because she was direct and left nothing to the imagination.

“Well, you defied the odds that predicted a long labor and ample time to get to the hospital.” She looked at Claire, “are you alright after such a scare?”

Like music to Jamie’s ears, she stated she was perfectly fine with a new daughter and a devilishly handsome husband, making the doctor laugh.

Later, in the early evening, Claire was napping so Jamie sat next to his daughter and stared at the remarkable tiny human. His heart rate shot up when she stretched and grunted. Jamie so wanted to hold her, but the grunts became louder and her little chin started to quiver. Jamie was completely undone when the wailing started.

“Will you bring her to me, Jamie?”

He had read all about how to hold and transport a newborn. He slipped his hand under her head and lifted her into his arms. She went quiet suddenly and opened her eyes making Jamie’s heart nearly stop in his chest. The wailing resumed and baby was laid at Claire’s breast. When the baby latched onto a nipple Jamie watched with new tears stinging his eyes. He pulled out his phone and clicked pictures of mother and child.

Claire put a fresh diaper on her baby girl and looked closely at her, now sleeping peacefully with a belly full of milk.

“Nothing we have will work, Jamie.”

“Sassenach, I dinna ken they even make what er we lack.”

She felt her heart melt with the return of his contracted speech and never loved him so much.

“None of the names we have will work. Her name is Faith.”

Jamie looked at the baby, “Faith.”

Claire and Faith were asleep and Jamie smiled at the now-forgotten nipple inside her open mouth. He changed her and bundled her tightly before setting her in the bassinet on her side. It was three o’clock in the morning and he couldn’t wait for her to wake up again, wailing, so he could pick her up for a few magical seconds. He wanted to hold his wife so badly and looked at the cold Lazy Boy, moving toward it.

“Jamie, can you lay with me, please. I’m cold and I miss you.”

When he pulled her against his chest she sighed in his warmth and protection. He is such a good man she thought.

“I love you is woefully short of the emotion I feel Jamie. It is my life’s mission to find a way to express my love.”

“Ye already have lass, and she sleeps not three feet away.” He kissed her temple and cuddled her to his warmth.

The miracles came daily for the Fraser’s as they settled into parenthood. Molly and Lulu could not stay away, and it seemed one of them was always with Claire during the first three weeks. Jamie would rush home to find everything done, his wife and daughter sound asleep giving him peace of mind to return to work.

In October, when the leaves were in full color, Claire bundled Faith into her carriage for a walk around their favorite lake. Jamie was telling her about the race results of the yearlings when Claire squealed with delight and pointed at the baby. Jamie decided she was just as cute as always and continued his discussion stopping abruptly when Faith smiled at him. Jamie stopped in his tracks and looked closely at the dimples that punctuated her face. He had never seen them because they only appeared when she smiled. After that, he lived for Faith’s next smile.

Near the end of November, Claire received a package from Sports Illustrated. She ran for a knife and pulled out a large softcover book. It was a coffee table book, with hundreds of HD pictures of her and Runner. There was text running through the pictures that told the story of a miracle baby horse and the woman he chose to make him a champion. A separate page was dedicated to each of his races and Claire turned the pages reading every word. She was jolted by the close-ups of her winner’s tears laying tracks in her dirty cheeks, and looking up at Runner with her hands on his face. A close up of her face set in calm determination in the Belmont gate just minutes before she won the Triple Crown.

When Claire turned the page to the Kentucky Derby, Nosh had captured her salute to the governor and Claire felt the damn break behind her eyes and the tears gushed. She held a towel under her nose and read the tribute to the first woman to win that distinguished race.

Jamie stood frozen at the door watching Claire cry. He looked at the book on her lap and smiled at his darling baby.

“Are ye alright Sassenach?”

She looked up through watery eyes and shook her head yes. “May I leave you two for a bit? There is someone I need to see.”

“Of course love.”

Claire walked to the pasture gate searching for them and decided to walk the bluegrass until he smelled her. In under a minute she heard a whiny and saw him galloping toward her, tossing his head in a bouncy gate. Coming up the rear was a fat Porcelain, looking fit and pregnant. Claire threw her arms open wide and walked into his chest locking her hands around his neck.

Runner sniffed her all over and nickered to her showing mental images of her hugging him. There was static in the images and she really had to concentrate to see them. Runner was obviously happy to see her but quickly bolted away to chase Porcelain. Claire was thrilled to see Runner, but she no longer felt the deep connection with him.

Over the next week, the images that he used to communicate could no longer be seen. At first, she struggled not to lose them until she saw Runner, so happy in his new life, a champion forever.

When the first snow fell in January, Claire and Jamie were at the gate to bring Runner and Porcelain in for the night. She saw them through the heavy snowfall, heads tossing and kicking back legs into the air. It was horse nirvana. Claire took a deep breath and opened her soul, letting go of Runner, feeling him blow away from her while she watched him play. It was an intensely private moment, just she and Runner saying goodbye.

Claire later explained what happened in an email to Nosh, saying she no longer heard animals talk.

Nosh replied with his infinite wisdom.

‘My dearest Claire, the odds have not been so heavily stacked against a horse since Sea Biscuit and here he is, a champion for the ages. Your gift made it possible. You can focus on your loving family now but stay alert. I expect you will converse with animals again someday. When he needs you. Love Nosh’

Claire whispered, “thank you, my friend.” She felt closure from his words, infinitely better deep inside where she missed Runner. Her sadness was replaced with knowing she would ride him through the volumes of history yet to be written. They would never be forgotten.

As the days turned into months and then into years the breeding and foaling season came and went as they all waited for a superstar to be born from Midnight Runner. Lulu kept diligent records of the offspring and how they did racing. Porcelain was bred three times in four years, the first two colts were sold at Keenan. The third was a filly, such a light grey she looked pure white. She was a beauty and Jamie kept her to race, and then breed.

He was partial to the little filly because she was brave and funny and big. After she was weened he turned her out with Runner every chance he got and was blown away by her speed when they chased each other. She was registered Midnight Love.

Claire kissed her daughter’s cheeks a dozen times while Faith giggled and counted to twelve. Jason tapped his horn outside, and Claire handed her new son to his father with a kiss. He held her to him.

“Ye promised no more than three hours lassie, do ye remember?”

She looked into crystal blue eyes, “I’ll be back in two.”

Jason chatted on about his upcoming wedding glancing at the top folder and staring at the name of the facility.

“Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Claire looked at him like an afterthought, “hmm?”

When she jumped out of the truck, she noticed a distinct shift inside of her and wondered if she could be pregnant again so soon.

Later in the day, Jason walked the last yearling to the cross ties.

“My leg hurts.”

Claire looked up at who was talking and saw no one. “My leg hurts.” She was getting annoyed at someone playing tricks on her. She investigated the nearby stalls and around corners but found no one. When she turned around her mind filled with an image of her limping in pain with every step. She looked down at her boots taking deep breaths to steady her nerves. When she looked up at the one-year-old colt she felt him cry.

She put her hands on his cheeks, “my sweet boy, what has happened to you?”

She felt the stabbing pain in her own shoulder and pulled out her portable x-ray machine. Jason looked at his watch and suggested they get going so Jamie didn’t have his private parts in a vise.

“Are you referring to your balls Jason?”

Claire laughed at his deep blush. “Ah, yea.”

Claire handed the x-ray to the owner and explained the issue with his limping.

“He has a malformation of the shoulder causing pain when he moves that leg. If he’s to start boot camp this year we must fix it now. Let me know when to schedule the surgery.”

Claire joined Jason walking to the truck when she called to the owner, “who is the sire of that colt?”

“Midnight Runner!”

Claire felt her lungs evacuate and the blood race to her toes. She moved to the truck while a big shaggy dog jumped into the air in front of her.

“Hi! Hi! You want to play? Hi! Here, throw the ball! Watch how high I jump! Throw it! Now is good, throw the ball, throw the ball!”

Jason came around and held her arm into the truck. He was worried about her ghostly pallor. “You alright Claire? What happened back there?”

“Runner’s son just asked me to help him.”

Jason’s head whipped around to stare at her. Suddenly a smile broke across her face and seemed to light up the inside of the truck.

“That colt is our new project Jason and things are gonna get dicey in a couple of months. He won’t want to run because each time in the past the pain has been terrible. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

Jason’s mouth had dropped open and his head shook slowly side to side.

She continued. “You know Michael is miserable in his faculty position, maybe I should introduce him to the owner. A season on the track might be just what he needs.”

“Claire, Midnight Love starts boot camp this summer, isn’t the colt a conflict of interest?”

“Certainly not. I love them both and will help each of them on the road to the Derby.” Claire got quiet and looked out the window. “If by some miracle they both have a gate position next May, I hope Midnight Love wins. The first filly in history to win the Kentucky Derby.”

Claire looked up at the twin spires of Church Hill Downs and was flooded with memories of racing Runner on this track. She and Jamie were VIP’s with the best table where Claire signed eight by ten glossy photos of she and Runner crossing the finish line of the Kentucky Derby five years ago. They were treated to the best food and whisky all day and a great time was had by both of them. The party atmosphere swept them away.

The loudspeaker announced the parade of competitors was about to begin and Claire stretched her neck to see the track below. Jamie pulled her out of her seat and headed for the exit door. This was too important to be cooped up here in this finery.

They watched the horses being ponied and Claire searched madly for Midnight Love, exhaling a breath when she was found, bringing up the rear, just like her father. They found a place to watch on the rail and Claire thought she might stroke out waiting for the horses to load into the gate. The seconds turned to hours. When the gate slammed open twenty-one horses made a mad dash for the track. Midnight Love was unimpressed with the males crashing into one another but as soon as they were away, she cantered out like it was a ride in the park. She was dead last causing Jamie to jump up and down yelling for her to run!

Michael pushed in between Claire and Jamie with a big smile looking from one to the other and laughing at Jamie having some kind of fit because his horse was in last place.

“What kind of crack-pot trainer are ye Michael, look at her, I expect her to wander into the infield and start pickin daisies for Christ sake.”

“This is your chance of a lifetime sweetheart, it’s time to win,” Claire said to no one in particular. But her eyes were closed so she could mentally tell the filly it was time to fly.

As if a firecracker went off in her butt, Midnight Love burst into a gallop and shot forward like a white bullet and the crowd went wild. She ran up on the outside and overtook the pack with ease setting her sight on the lead horse, her brother. When Love decided it was time to win the race there was little that could stop her. Claire held her breath watching Love extend into each stride with the jockey barely able to hang on. As the two horses barreled down the home stretch Love inched forward just before they crossed the finish line. It was a photo finish and the announcer’s incredulous voice finally told the world Midnight Love was the winner of the one hundred forty-ninth Kentucky Derby, the first filly ever to win the race!

“That’s my girl,” Claire said out loud. She opened her eyes to Jamie and Michael doing a chest bump in pure male glee.

When Jamie looked at his wife, he hugged her tightly. Another Derby win for Highland Brothers Farm. The future could not be brighter.

The End

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years

Text

My Love

Chapter Seven

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Series Summary: After losing the love of his life, Liam is left with a newborn daughter and a council that demands he endure another social season quickly. Not wanting to move on, he gets help from an unlikely ally – his late wife.

C/N: This story is going somewhere different from how it originally started. I had said from the beginning I wasn’t sure how this fic would be taken because it would be so out of the ordinary. And while the first four chapters could be stand-alones, I always intended for it to continue on in this unconventional way. If you no longer wish to be tagged in it, just let me know and no hard feelings.

T.W.: Mention of a previous rape and examination. Mental health.

Thank you to @burnsoslow for beta reading, all of my snippet readers, and those who have messaged me several times about this story.

If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have not heard, I would still know you. –Lang Leav

It is said that the purest kind of love has the power to overcome any obstacle, break through any barrier, to make miracles happen where none existed before. For Liam and Riley, it was fate that brought them together in a New York City bar, and it was love that carried them through many, dark trials.

A passioned romance that started between a prince and a waitress became the epic love story legends were made of. After defeating every enemy that stood in their way, they married in front of the world, ruled side-by-side, and created the most significant symbol of their absolute devotion to one another – a daughter. Neither one ever imagined living in this life without the other … it wasn’t possible. They existed solely for the purpose and betterment of the other.

In what took an act of God to bring them together, took only the evil of man to separate them.

Liam had spent the weeks following her untimely death in a grief-stricken state of misery and torment. He never knew a heart could feel so much pain, nor a body experience so much affliction, missing the one who was the greatest part of himself. Riley was his joy, where none existed and comfort in every sense of the word. Ellie’s presence could only numb a portion of the sting, but not enough to fill the void his soulmate left behind. When Liam spoke to his wife each night, he never questioned whether his messages of eternal love and ’missing his girl,’ fell on spiritually deaf ears. Even with a vast abyss that divided their worlds … somehow … someway … Riley heard every tear he had shed and every expression of sorrow he spoke.

He needed her.

Where time no longer existed, Riley’s soul saw a tiny window of opportunity and literally moved heaven and earth to get back to her one true love. She knew she was the only one who could save him now.

____________

A broken, battered body laid motionless on a cold emergency room stretcher, surrounded by the hustle and hurried activity of doctors and nurses. In and out of consciousness, the woman’s eyes flickered open when a gloved hand prodded the open wound on the side of her head. The sensation of flesh being ripped away with each poke elicited a scream so chilling, a startled, first-year nurse dropped a tray of metal instruments that crashed and clanked to the floor.

The patient felt a chilly draft of air as the tattered remains of her shirt and bra were cut down the middle, exposing her marked and bruised breast. EKG electrodes were attached to her chest, and the tangled web of wires that were connected to the monitor came alive with erratic lines and buzzes. Her long brown hair that clumped together in sanguineous knots was swept to the side to remove her gold hoop earrings. Tweezers pinched and bore into the delicate skin of her murky palms, extracting deep thistles and thorns. What seemed to take hours while portable x-rays were shot, lesions stitched and bandaged, and several infusions of liquids and blood being attached to the tube that ran into her forearm – she was given clear and concise information about the intrusive examination that would soon follow.

A kindly hand held onto hers as another one gently rolled up the sheet that draped over her legs and nudged them apart. Questions were lobbed at her from all directions, but she had no answers. This woman didn’t know what happened, why she was in the hospital, nor the description of who did this to her. The only thing she remembered at that moment, before waking up on the bristly ground of the park, was Liam crying out for her in their bedroom.

Her gravelly voice went unnoticed when she begged for the examination to stop. It was clear from her feelings of utter filth, the kind that made her skin crawl, this body had been through quite an ordeal. She was told to remain still and relaxed; after what had happened to her, this would provide the evidence needed to ensure justice was served. The truth was, it wasn’t her that experienced what the former personal assistant-turned-nanny to the Cordonian Princess had gone through. What happened to this body took place before Amanda Talbert died, and the spirit of Riley Brooks took over it.

Riley flinched, and her fist gripped a little tighter to the sheet that covered the upper portion of her body. The first of several swabs and probes to her most sensitive areas made her stomach squeamish with nausea. An astute nurse noticed the greenish color that pooled into Riley’s face and thrust an emesis basin next to her cheek to collect the contents of the excretion she expelled. With tears pricking her eyes, Riley eased her throbbing head back onto the pillow when she was finished; the earlier words of a physician telling her ‘how lucky she was to be alive,’ playing over and over in her mind. If Riley didn’t feel like she had just returned to hell-on-earth, she might have found this ironic statement amusing.

A female officer scraped a wooden applicator under her fingernails, collecting debris, and dropped it into an evidence bag. “Miss, can you tell me your name again?” she asked while labeling the contents with a black marker.

Riley moistened her dry lips with her tongue as she blankly stared straight up at the ceiling. “Riley Brooks,” she whispered hesitantly, keenly aware of the low snickers her answer had drawn from everyone in the room each time the question was asked.

“Very well, Miss … Brooks.” Riley heard the officer reply with a loud exhale and a clipped voice before labeling the bag – Jane Doe.

This wasn’t the reunion Riley had anticipated. She knew her work would be cut out for her considering she didn’t know who she had become or how she would even get to Liam. Just that the perfect person and the perfect opportunity came along, that made it possible for her to be in his orbit. She would worry about the complexities of the situation later, but right now, Riley wanted to find Liam before he destroyed himself.

__________________

Drake poured another glass of water and handed it to Liam, who was sitting up in his hospital bed. He thanked his friend and took a long drink before handing the empty cup back. Liam rolled his head in an attempt to get the tension and knots that a month’s worth of stress had set in. His eyes glanced up to the doctor who paced silently at the foot of his bed, flipping through a chart full of test results and nodding his head in assent while he scrutinized each page.

Feeling frustrated by several minutes worth of silence that was then followed by faint mumblings from this doctor, Liam tapped his finger over his pursed lips with a peculiar expression he hoped the older man would recognize as impatience from his King. He finally scratched the back of his head when his antics hadn’t garnered the attention he had hoped for and decided to express his displeasure over his wait through other means. He let out a heavy sigh and flopped back boisterously into the stacks of pillows that were positioned behind his back.

Drake nudged Bastien in the arm and leaned into his ear. “What the hell did they give him?

The doctor gave a sideways glance before removing his wire-rimmed glasses and placing them back into the pocket of his lab coat. He stood a little taller and turned to face Liam with the opened binder that he had just analyzed cover-to-cover. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I wanted to be thorough in your care and ensure I had a complete understanding of your … situation.”

Liam bolted up at the chosen words to describe him and cocked his head. “What is my … situation … Doctor Ganos?” He asked with an embittered tone. Liam already knew the answer to his question. He had lost his wife, there were still no leads in her murder, he had been betrayed during that morning’s council meeting by Neville, he was now expected to take part in another social season he wanted nothing to do with and twice heard the voice of his late wife.

“Your situation - ” Doctor Ganos, replied nervously as he walked around the bed to Liam’s side. “you’re severely dehydrated for one. I would venture to guess you are also physically and mentally exhausted.”

“That is what caused him to lock the door, toss his clothes around the damn bedroom, and then collapse onto the floor?” Drake asked skeptically.

The doctor turned to Drake, not sure if he should answer his questions, but figured the King would speak up if he didn’t want anything pertaining to his medical records mentioned in front of him. “It’s certainly a huge part of it … yes.” His gaze turned back to Liam with a thoughtful expression. “Based on the very public knowledge of what you have been through since Queen Riley died and the symptoms you described experiencing just before collapsing in your room, I would surmise you had a panic attack. A complete mental breakdown.”

The conversation was interrupted by Bastien’s phone, who then apologized, excused himself, and walked just outside the private hospital room. Another guard took Bastien’s place in the room, and the doctor cleared his throat to continue the basis of his diagnosis. Liam may have felt some trepidation over the words, complete mental breakdown, yet wasn’t surprised by them in the least. He knew he wasn’t the same man he was before and had felt the excruciating toll his body and mind had undergone. He wanted to get back to Ellie, but Doctor Ganos insisted on keeping him through the night to rehydrate him through I.V. fluids and to observe him more closely.

Drake called the palace and checked in on Ellie for Liam, passing along to him that no one knew where Amanda was, but Hana was staying with the baby for the night, and she was fine. Drake crooked a finger through the closed blinds of Liam’s hospital room and peeked out, noting the orange and pinkish hues that colored the horizon as the sun started to make its descent over Cordonia. It had been one hell of a day for everyone. He knew when he woke up this morning that Neville’s call for a council meeting would turn into a shit-show, but never guessed his sworn enemy’s actions would cause his best friend to end his day in a hospital. He knew Neville wasn’t the only reason Liam was so broken, but he sure as fuck had an unnecessary hand in making things worse for him.

Drake slumped into a plush chair in the corner of the best room in the hospital – the one reserved for nobility. The last time anyone occupied this room, he reflected, was the night Riley died. It seemed almost cruel that Liam had to be subjected to such a memory, but the medication that was shot into his veins had somehow caused his friend to not even notice.

“I heard her voice, Drake.”

Drake lifted his tired head from the back of the chair and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Riley … I heard her last night. Then again in the bedroom before … you know.” Liam glared at Drake for a moment, attempting to read his body language for a skeptical reaction, but felt relief when there was none. Curious to know what Drake thought and what others may be thinking as well, he let out a low sigh. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

Drake chuckled lightly. “Considering you let Maxwell have access to the palace armory, I think that makes you certifiable at this point.”

“Drake.”

“No, I don’t think you’re crazy. If you say, you heard her … I believe it.”

Truthfully, Drake didn’t know what to believe. If Liam was comforted in some way by what he thought he may have heard, then who was he to tell him otherwise. Inwardly, however, he was worried about his friend.

Bastien slipped back in and placed his phone in his pants pocket. A look of sheer shock entangled across his face. He nodded anxiously to Liam, who shifted in his bed towards his guard. In all of his loyal years of service to the Crown, he had never felt more like he was about to face a firing squad than he did at that moment. “Your Majesty, I just received a call on a breakthrough in the investigation of the Queen’s death.”

Drake rose to his feet, and Liam pushed himself up higher in his bed, his heart raced impatiently. He had been waiting for any development and was becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of any leads. He insisted he continues.

“The guards working the investigation received an anonymous tip earlier. It seems -” Bastien paused knowing the implications of his reveal would be huge and unsettling for his charge, but also he felt a great deal of remorse for not finding this information out earlier. “it seems your nanny, Amanda Talbert, was in possession of the exact same cyanide capsules found in your wife’s body. Our guards were summoned to a local park where they found the pills in her purse. And … a more thorough look into her background revealed her name isn’t even Amanda Talbert, but that of Victoria Cirillo, a Monterissan citizen of birth and first cousin to …”

Drake dropped his head and groaned. “Amalas.”

The air became thick with an eerie silence. The sharpest sword and blade in the world, couldn’t have cut the tension that absorbed that room at that moment. After mulling over the intelligence he had just received, Liam sat up calmly … almost too calmly, and tossed the sheet off his body. He rose to his bare feet at the side of the bed.

Liam eyed Bastien with a merciless gaze. “What the fuck am I paying you for? How was all of this missed by the guards? I mean, this woman has been caring for my daughter, in my home, for weeks.” Feeling the dizzying effects of the medication he had been given, Liam sat back down on the edge of his bed, kneading the sides of his temples. “Is it too much to assume they have her in custody, at least?”

Bastien let out a shaky breath. “About that, sir … there is something else you need to know.”

______________________________

Riley woke to a cold, dark room, having slept off a good portion of the pain medication she had been given before being wheeled to a room. A sharp, stabbing pain ran across her head from the now bandaged wound at its side, into her throbbing, swollen eyes. Her shaky hand bounced on her bed, searching earnestly for the call button while she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the agony to go away on its own. A few minutes later, after pressing the button repeatedly, a nurse filed in with the relief she sought. It took longer than she anticipated to feel its effects, but once it finally kicked in, she was able to relax.

A warm flush came over her body, and she lowered the sheet down to her waist to cool off. She was tired still, but couldn’t sleep, and there was nothing to do, but lay there and wait. Wait for what exactly, though? She didn’t know.

Her mind began to wander to Liam and Eliie. She had no idea how she would be able to get to them, to see them, to be able to hold them both in her arms again. It would undoubtedly be a shock to him, yet in her mind, maybe, just maybe, he knew her well enough to be able to see through outward appearances.

A memory suddenly came to her about visiting a friend in the hospital several years ago. Riley lifted her hand and placed it on top of the tray table that sat next to her bed and rolled its top over her torso. She lifted the lid of the table and was relieved to find precisely what she was looking for. A small, rectangular mirror was pulled out, and Riley held it in front of her face. Even in the darkness, she was able to turn her head just enough to catch the moonlight shining through the window.

She looked closer, not sure she saw who she actually saw and then gasped. “Oh my god! Amanda?”

Riley was taken aback and couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. Even with the cuts and bruises that littered this face, she couldn’t believe it was her personal assistant who had died so that she could return.

She had considered her a good friend, and they had grown quite close in the weeks before Ellie’s birth and following her delivery. Riley felt a sudden ache in her heart, knowing the hell her friend must have gone through before her soul left her body. It was clear from the wounds that covered her skin and the excruciating rape exam Riley had undergone earlier, Amanda’s ending was brutal and traumatic.

The lights from the hallway suddenly cast brightly into her room and caused Riley to squint her eyes and look away. She placed the mirror on top of the tray, knowing another nurse was most likely coming in to check her vitals. Glancing back at the doorway, that's when she saw his face. Her gleaming, brown eyes widened when it met his wrathful, blue ones.

“Liam!”

“Amanda.”

#king Liam x mc #king liam #liam x riley #the royal heir #My Love #liam x mc

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permanentcrossfics · 5 years

Text

Blurred Lines Part 3 // h.s.

This kinda just keeps… growing. Think this is the last of their forward moving journey for now, but never say never. I’ve struggled to find time and energy to tie this up for a few weeks now – sorry about the delay. Enjoy x

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Harry cleared his throat. “You busy?”

“Just got in.” Your keys clattered in the background. “What’s up? Good day?”

Yeah, but that wasn’t why he was calling. “Know I should’ve checked with you first, but turnabout’s fair play.”

You were silent and he swallowed before continuing, “Booked a flight today. Was wondering if you’d mind if….”

Silence. For as long as it lasted, he wondered if he’d fucked up.

“When?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged and he exhaled. “A month,” he said. “I was thinking maybe two weeks. Stowaway in your flat, f’you’ll have me. Can always kick me out.”

You laughed and he wound the hand that wasn’t holding the phone into a fist. “So, you’ll let me?” Harry’s face screwed up, bracing himself for your answer.

“What am I going to say?” you asked. “‘No’?”

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The short time you’d been in London had, poetically, been the best of times and the worst of times. For the first day after you left, Harry kept finding proverbial footprints of your presence — the tube of toothpaste you’d left on his counter, the knife that wasn’t in the spot he would’ve put it, some of your hair on his jumpers to go with the smell of your shampoo that seemed to be part of the fibers of the yarn at the collars. When he first got back from the airport, he’d held his favorite one in his hands and stared it down, weighing the decision of whether to throw it, his sheets, and the rest of the traitors that reminded him you weren’t there in the washing machine before sighing heavily and tucking it away undisturbed.

It was at least a week before the smell rubbed out of the collar, and no longer than one month and eleven days until he was sitting in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and a lump for an Adam’s apple, listening to the ringing and calculating what time it was for you. You should be done with work, so—

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Harry cleared his throat. “You busy?”

“Just got in.” Your keys clattered in the background. “What’s up? Good day?”

Yeah, but that wasn’t why he was calling. “Know I should’ve checked with you first, but turnabout’s fair play.”

You were silent and he swallowed before continuing, “Booked a flight today. Was wondering if you’d mind if….”

Silence. For as long as it lasted, he wondered if he’d fucked up.

“When?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged and he exhaled. “A month,” he said. “I was thinking maybe two weeks. Stowaway in your flat, f’you’ll have me. Can always kick me out.”

You laughed and he wound the hand that wasn’t holding the phone into a fist. “So, you’ll let me?” Harry’s face screwed up, bracing himself for your answer.

“What am I going to say?” you asked. “‘No’?”

If the month between when you’d left and when he’d made the call had been long, the month until he flew out of Heathrow and landed in Philadelphia to avoid the city airports was even longer. His leg shook the whole drive to Manhattan, and by the time he got out, bags over his shoulder and under his eyes, he was so exhausted he could be knocked over with hardly a huff or a puff.

Stil, though, when you embraced him, he managed to stay still long enough to squeeze you close, nose buried in the scent of the shampoo that had long since faded from his jumpers.

“You must be tired,” you mumbled against his neck and he nodded wordlessly but didn’t make a move to let go of you. You stepped back first and pulled the strap of his bag from his shoulder. “Do you want to shower before dinner?”

“Might be nice.” It would be, and it was sorely needed, but he wrapped his hands around your forearms again. “C’mere….”

One kiss. Just one to say hello and to make him feel like his two months of penance for a crime he couldn’t name were over.

“Go,” you said into the kiss. “Before the food gets here and cold.”

“What food?”

“I ordered.” You pushed his chest. “Go!”

He always had to crouch awkwardly under your shower to wet the top of his head, and it always took him longer to wash up and rinse off with all the extra maneuvering he had to do, but after the flight, he couldn’t care less, and when he got out, he rolled his neck while drying his hair with the towel. Sweats, bare feet, and a hoodie to bear the frigid temperature of your air conditioned studio was the uniform for the night, and he tapped the light off before shuffling out and sniffing.

“Tacos?” he asked.

You nodded from your counter, unpacking a paper bag. “Two tacos, two quesadillas, nachos, guacamole….” You lifted out the final container. “And churros.”

Harry groaned weakly, hand on his stomach. “After my heart, you are.”

You smiled softly and he picked up the remote for the Roku. “Forget how your buttons always stick a bit,” he said, jamming down hard with his thumb.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, turning this way and that. “Where’s the—?”

“You’ve been watching without me!”

“Hmm?”

He gestured towards the television.

“I didn’t know I was waiting for you,” you said. “How was I supposed to know you’d turn up?”

“Gonna have to pick up where we left off,” he said, tapping your ass with the remote when you skirted by with plates of food, making you yelp.

“Ass,” you said and he grinned, bending to grab a quesadilla triangle.

Pick up indeed — it was like the last two months apart had never happened and you’d both been asleep for a very long time and woken up in a different city on the other side of the ocean. You snuggled into his side and the sense of urgency was at absolute zero. There was time — all the time in the world for you, and just you, and you could take your time to eat, and chat, and watch television, and clean up, and crawl into bed at the end of the night. Yours was smaller than his, but he found himself not minding at all in his dizzy delirium when you were practically half on top of him, legs linked and torsos wedged just so.

“See you in the morning,” he whispered.

You nodded against his chest and scratched it lightly with your blunt fingernails.

***

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper holiday, let alone one where he was on his own. This, he reasoned, must be what Dotty felt like waiting for his mum to get home from her outings. Every weeknight, he waited for your text that said you were leaving the office, and he busied himself with either cooking you dinner or picking up a takeaway. Cafe Habana was his first stop — a bicoastal taste test was how he explained it when you’d arched an eyebrow at him — but he also treated you to one of his curries and a roast that lasted for days. He got used to gauging your mood and determining if he should pop open a bottle of wine to pour you one a glass, and on nights he did, it took all of two sips before you were spilling your frustrations. He couldn’t keep up with the nameless, faceless people of a world he didn’t know, but he nodded and interjected his agreements appropriately, and when you slumped into him at the end of the night, he crossed his fingers that he’d done his job well.

The weekend was reserved for both of you together. It rained on Saturday, and he spent the morning peeling you out of your pajamas to fuck you slowly as rain pelted the glass panes that thunder shook. Not urgently going at it like time was running out, but there was a definite air of making up for lost time. It wasn’t until the storm cleared in time for the sun to set that you brought up the idea of venturing out.

“We could go to the park,” you said.

“Now?”

You shivered when he stroked your bare arm and curled closer. “Not now,” you said. “Tomorrow. We could bring a board game or some books. Make a few sandwiches for brunch….”

“People might think m’your boyfriend or summat. F’we do that— oomph.” He grunted when you pushed down on his solar plexus.

“Don’t be a dick,” you groused.

“M’not!” he said. “They would, wouldn’t they?”

You scowled and a slow grin spread over his face.

“Shut up,” you said.

“Didn’t say anything,” he said.

Every weekday, after you’d dressed and gotten yourself together and escaped his kisses, he stood in your place and absorbed the silence, entirely at a loss for what to do.

Mostly he went to the markets — Chelsea Market, the Farmers’ Market in Union Square, and back again — and the parks. Those were riskier than the markets because people didn’t have their noses in goods to try to get the best for their money, and he rather liked being in the city without streams of people trickling after him, but with a pair of sunglasses on and his hood up, he was more or less innocuous. Galleries were another favorite — they were empty in the morning, and he’d walk the highline after popping into a few to see the trends. Restaurants were out of the question unless he was picking up to take back to your place, and he usually did this at about 2:00 in the afternoon, which left him with a chunk of time during which he had absolutely nothing to do and he flitted between television, writing, and dropping off for a nap. It was, he told you, the laziest he’d been since the sleepy summers of his adolescence before he was old enough to work.

“That’s the point,’ you whispered, tangled up with him and the duvet pulled up over your shoulders.

“M’twenty-five!” he slurred indignantly. “Got more t’do with my life than—”

“It’s good for you to relax,” you said. “Stop worrying about doing it all — it’ll be there when you go back.”

God help him he loved you dearly, but that was easier said than done.

No work — he’d promised you — but he cracked one afternoon and opened his laptop to log into his work email. The window was open on the first cool day the entire time he’d been there, and he was tapping away at the keys when your lock clicked and he froze. Seconds later, your door open and his head snapped up just as you slipped through the door. You were casual, timeless, and summary in jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and, bag in hand and sunglasses on your head, you set your keys down before kicking off your flats.

“Bit early, innit?” Harry asked, hastily clicking out of his draft and shutting his laptop. You smiled almost nervously with shining eyes while setting your sunglasses down, and instantly he sat up some. “You ok?”

“Yes,” you murmured short of breath. You strode towards him, popping the button of your jeans, and you pulled his laptop off his legs and set it on the table before straddling his lap and his hands fell to your thighs to steady you.

“That’s alright, then,” he mumbled just before you kissed him. Deep, warm, he leaned into it and groaned his offense when you broke away.

“I couldn’t focus.” You took a deep breath and he gulped. “All I could think was I didn’t want to—” You kissed him again— “mmph… leave this morning, but I did, and I just wanted to come home, because I—” Another kiss, deeper and longer, and you sighed. “I don’t usually have someone waiting here.”

“S’a good thing,” he said. “Might have a few questions f’you did.”

You ignored his cheek and continued. “And I couldn’t think why I’ve spent the last two weeks you were here at work,” you moaned. “And you’ll be going, and—” You swallowed and shook your head, thighs squeezing around him. He was hyper aware of your weight and the solid feeling of you on top of him, and he was listening to you, he swore he was, but he was also doing his damnedest to try to keep his blood flowing instead of funneling to a head.

So to speak.

“Still here for a bit more,” he said.

“But only a bit.”

You plucked the buttons on your white button-down and his mouth went dry when his eyes dropped to watch the tantalizing bit of skin he’d had his eye on this morning become more exposed. “And you—“ you swallowed. “You came here for me.”

“Came to London for me, didn’t you?”

Whimpering, you shook your head, face crumbling, and pulled your shirttails out of your jeans. “No, that’s not… that’s not the same, that’s not—“ You whined and covered your face.

“Ok, hey,” he breathed. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s… s’alright.”

“I just—” You tugged your shirt half heartedly down one arm and he licked his lips, trying to will himself to stay focused where it mattered, but…. “I’ve been waiting all day, and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“K,” he said dumbly and your chest heaved when you laughed. You cupped his cheeks and tilted his head back to force him to look you in the eyes, but rather than looking cross, you were glowing. Your throat bobbed and your mouth moved soundlessly before you got it out.

“I love you.”

Harry let out a breath like you’d taken a pin to his lungs. “Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s… Yeah, me too.”

Giggling under your breath, you shrugged your shirt off the rest of the way and, weak as he was, his eyes dropped again.

“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you, I—“

“Love me, yeah,” he said, drawing you in by the back of your neck to kiss you properly again. You groaned, fingers digging into his face, and the kiss grew increasingly heated when you pulled his T-shirt. Once you’d gotten it over his head, you stood and pulled your zipper down before shimmying out of your jeans while he struggled with the knot he’d tied in the drawstring for his joggers. “Shit,” he whispered, fumbling and plucking. “Shit, please… there.” He forcibly pulled them down his hips just as you dropped your underwear and kicked them from around your ankles, and his feet his the ground with a thud when he sat up and leaned forward, reaching for you.

“C’mere,” he said, holding you steady when you swung one leg over his lap.

“Wait… wait…” you panted. You nearly toppled backwards in an effort to hook your leg behind him, and you pulled a face when you attempted to do the same with the other.

“What’re y’doing?” Harry asked, fumbling with you on top of him. “Watch it, watch—”

“I’m trying to—” You grunted when you finally managed to lock both your legs behind his lower back and he held onto you for dear life, keeping you precariously balanced on his knees. “There,” you breathed triumphantly, looping your arms around his shoulders. “There,” you repeated, leaning in to press your mouth to his in a slow kiss, moaning into it. Harry exhaled shakily through his nose, cock on your stomach, hard, but growing harder. The selfish part of his brain was clamoring, wondering when he’d get to get in you, and the valiant part of him pushed back weakly because he could stand to take two minutes to kiss you, couldn’t he? Despite that, relief flooded him when you wrapped your hand around him and pumped slowly before lifting up a bit. A groan died halfway up his throat when you first pressed his head against you before the whole tip of him slid inside.

“Easy!” he rasped when you squeaked and nearly fell back. “Really making this difficult, aren’t you?”

“You can take it,” you slurred and he barked a single laugh and grit his teeth when you shifted forward. “There!” you gasped. “There, see? Oh God….”

Harry’s lip curled. Yes, there. Chest to chest with him and balls deep, pelvis pressed tightly against his, his knees shaking from how hard he was tensing his thighs for you. Not that he’d mind terribly if you took time off for him, but he’d prefer not having to explain to the doctor how you got the concussion. When you first rocked forward, a look of pure bliss on your face, he wound his arms tighter around your torso, hands spread wide across your shoulder blades.

“God, you feel good,” you whispered between pants, grunting when you ground against him more forcefully. “Ah!”

“Yeah?” He nudged upwards once, twice, and a third time, and legs locked around his back and arms hanging over his shoulders, your head tipped and you let out a throaty call close to agony.

“Harry! Oh!”

“Got me up to my balls, don’t you?” He grit his teeth, hand slipping against your back. “Shit! Got me.. got… oh fuck…”

“Please!” Your hips undulated quick, hard, mindlessly in their reason, and he could swear he was getting a cramp in his glutes from the force he was using to meet them. “Please, please, please, please--”

“M’here!” he groaned. “M’here, I’m here, I’m… I’m....”

His eyes rolled up when you leaned forward, chin on his shoulder and nails digging in hard, shuddering and panting wetly against his skin between incomprehensible mumbles. Pressing his own mouth against your skin, he held you close with one arm while his other hand slunk between you both. “Lemme help,” he muttered when you hiccoughed and your thighs tightened. “Lemme help, love, lemme….”

Chest heaving against his, you grappled his back as he stroked your clit, and after a few strong pulses of your cunt around his cock, you tensed and trembled, contracting quickly around him and sucking in sharp breaths.

“HarryHarryHarry…!”

“Christ!” he ground out, eyes burning from the flood of wetness. He picked up his thrusts, the sloppy sound of it music to his ears. He had the fleeting thought to not let go of you no matter what before he squeezed his eyes shut and he let out a shout against your shoulder, toes curled, thighs shaking, and balls tight as every rope of cum spurted high and deep inside of you.

“That’s it!” he said, voice reedy. “Oh, s’my girl!” Harry fell against the sofa, wincing when your ankles dug into his lower back. “Ouch!” He laughed under his breath and you apologized under yours, squirming before slumping against him in defeat.

When breathing had slowed and limbs had goose bumps from the chill of dried sweat, untangling yourselves was a chore. His heart about leapt from his throat when you nearly fell sideways on wobbly legs. “Watch it!”

“I’m ok.” You gulped, grabbing him to steady yourself. “I’m ok, just—“ You laughed and teetered again. “Let go,” you said. “I’m f-fine, I’ll be fine….”

Stumbling like a foal, you made your way to the loo and he sat there, a dopey smile growing increasingly broader. He’d heard it, hadn’t he? What you’d said? Hadn’t made that up when he was lost in a daze staring at your tits?

The shower turned on and he lay there listening until it shut off. Moments later, you strolled out wrapped in a towel and he watched you cross the room to his duffle bag.

“Why is it I’m never allowed to have a shower after?” he asked. Wordlessly and paying him no mind, you unzipped his bag. “What d’you need?”

You answered him by pulling a jumper out and burying your nose in it before scurrying back to the toilet. When you reappeared, you had it on, hood up, and you shuffled towards the sofa to settle in next to him.

“What f’I wanted to wear that?”

You looked at him, eyes wide, and his heart twinged. “Don’t look a’me like that,” he muttered, throwing his arm around your shoulder and drawing you in close. He kissed your temple and you slung your arm over his midsection, turning your nose into his skin and taking a deep breath.

“It’s early still,” you said.

“Yeah, it is.” He stroked your arm through the jumper and you shivered. “Could watch something.”

“We could.”

Neither of you made to move, and it was several minutes later when you said, “Harry?” and pulled him from his doze.

“Yeah?” He smacked his lips and looked at you, momentarily seeing double. “What is it?” he asked when you didn’t say anything.

“Nothing.”

He grunted and his eyes drifted shut again.

“Harry?”

Without moving, he answered with, “Yeah?”

“Do I have to say it? For you to know how I…?”

He opened his eyes and braced himself before asking, “D’you have to say you love me?”

“Yeah.”

Swallowing, Harry said, “No… s’pose not.”

You grunted softly and settled against him again.

“But it’s kinda nice,” he added. “Innit?”

“You didn’t say it back.”

Small, unassuming, and not at all accusatory, but it stung the worst and made him cower.

“Sure I did,” he said. “Told you ‘me too’, didn’t I?”

You shrugged.

“Said it first, too.”

“Said what first?”

“You know.” His mouth was dry and he cleared his throat. “That I love you.”

“So, what does that mean?”

Harry bristled. “Means I said it, and I said it first,” he said. “I won.”

You gasped. “You did not!”

“Don’t remember it another way, do you? Ouch!”

You pinched his hip and made to sit up but he pulled you back. “Quit it, I’m leaving aren’t I?”

“Not for a bit,” you echoed him but settled down. “I hate you.”

“Thin line, innit?”

“Shut up.”

Smiling, he pressed a long kiss to the top of your head, lips smacking when he stopped, and he smoothed his hand over the spot. “Some of us are trying t’have a kip, y’know,” he murmured.

“You should get clothes on.” Still, you didn’t move, and his mouth twitched.

“S’just my dick. You’ve seen it before.”

***

“Don’t go.”

Harry’s face screwed up and his hands fisted in the plain t-shirt he was rolling up to stuff in his bag. Your arms were locked tighter than a python around his waist and his back absorbed every one of your choked breaths. This was the question he’d been fearfully waiting for with each passing day, and now they were both here.

“Baby, please....” he uttered weakly in a single breath.

“Please,” you repeated back to him. “Please, please, please.”

With stiff fingers, he peeled yours back and gripped them tightly to keep you from fastening even tighter to him, and he turned until he was face to face with you. It was worse looking at you, and with your eyes closed, you seemed to agree.

“Don’t do this t’me,” he moaned, throwing his shirt behind and smoothing his palms over your cheeks. Your mouth twisted.

“You could stay,” you said. “You could—”

Heart squeezed tightly in his chest, Harry kissed your forehead hard.

To say it was a breakdown would be putting it lightly.

“Not sick of me yet?” he asked as an attempt to patch the situation with humor and you shook your head. “I can come back,” he said.

“When?” you asked flatly.

“As soon as I can,” he said.

“You’re doing things,” you said. “You’re about to—“

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll be back here then, won’t I? Just like old times? Could meet you at that dodgy spot after.”

You sighed, eyes wet when you opened them and mouth trembling, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know,” he said thickly. “C’mere.”

You tucked your head into the crook of his neck and he squeezed you tightly to him.

“It didn’t used to be this….”

“Be this what?”

You grunted and he chuckled. “Yeah, well… things change.” He paused, heart thrumming in his ears. “And… they could change again. You never know.”

“Change how?” you asked, voice muffled.

Harry licked his lips. “You know,” he said. “Depends on how much y’liked London. Did you?”

“Yes….”

“Yeah, so. F’you liked it, then… I dunno, s’just a maybe, innit? I like it here, too. Or maybe we could like--”

“What are you talking about?”

Harry huffed. “M’saying we might not always have to travel f’we wanna see each other -- d’you get it now?”

“Maybe.”

Snorting, he kissed the top of your head.

“Shut up.”

#harry smut #harry fanfic #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry x reader #original writing #permanentcross #blurred lines part 3 #blurred lines

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

Text

Mad Love - Chapter 20 ( The final Gotham fic)

After Gotham was cut out off from the mainland, Emerald starts to learn that three’s a crowd and Jeremiah soon shows his true colours. Will she stick around like she did with Jerome or will she finally get some sense to leave and reunite with her true love.

The fourth and final instalment in my Gotham/Emerald series.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. It really helps me out as a writer, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist as well :)

Warnings: Language, Scars, Injury, Medical stuff

Chapter 20

Emerald’s P.O.V

Slowly I awoke, groaning softly at the dull throb of pain across my body. Yet there was the softness of sheets beneath me. It took my brain a moment to remember what had happened. Looking around, I tried to make sense of my surroundings. The room was bright but not hospital levels of bright. There was a steady beeping noise from somewhere beside me. I could feel medical tubing across my arm, likely feeding my various fluids to keep me alive. I was probably lucky to be alive after what Ecco did.

This place really didn’t strike me as somewhere that Ed would stay. Eddie didn’t care for luxury or how a place looked, so long as it was a roof over his head and secure. So, where was I? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to take me to a hospital where we’d both be arrested and thrown in Arkham. And Eddie had plenty of medical knowledge to save me like he had. Slowly my vision came more into focus and I could make out my surroundings better. There was a fireplace built into one wall, the fire controlled and small but enough for me to feel the warmth of the room.

The wooden floor was adorned with various rugs and the bed I was on was a double, with a wooden headboard. A blanket was over my naked form for warmth and my modesty. Slowly, I sat myself up against the headboard. The door to the room opened and in walked in Eddie. He noticed that I was awake and smiled, quickly coming over. “I’m so glad your awake,” he spoke. So many questions were running through my head. Where was I? How long had I been out? Where was Jeremiah? Had he tried coming looking for me? Was Ecco okay? Taking my hand in his, Eddie leaned over and kisses my cheek.

“I know you have a lot of questions, but the main thing is your safe and alive. I’ll explain everything soon. But for now, you need a bath,” Eddie explained. Whilst a bath sounded good, I didn’t like the idea of Eddie seeing me naked. My body was littered with scars made by Jeremiah, and now Ecco had left her own set of scars too. I didn’t even like looking at my body anymore, if Eddie saw it, he probably wouldn’t find me as attractive anymore. Hopefully, my body had recovered enough that I could bathe myself. Eddie removed the one remaining needle from my arm that had been drip feeding me fluids.

“Can I have a robe?” I asked. “Of course. I’ll be right back.” Eddie left, and I breathed a sigh a relief, wrapping the surrounding bedsheet tighter to hide my tainted skin. He returned a few minutes later with a black and gold robe. He handed it to me and opened another door that led to a bathroom. Eddie filled the bathtub with water and I quickly wrapped myself in the robe that was many sizes too big for me. Swinging my legs over to the side of the bed, I then forced myself up. Thankfully, my legs held me up, and I made my way to the bathroom.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watched as Eddie was testing the water temperature, his shirt sleeve rolled up halfway. Lavender scented bubble bath was added to the water. Eddie turned the water off and Eddie turned back to me. “Do you want to me to help?” He asked. “I’ve got it. Thanks.” He smiled and nodded understandingly, leaving the bathroom without another word. If my body wasn’t a mess of scared flesh, I would have let him stay, I would have gladly accepted his help.

Removing the robe, I assessed the damage in the mirror. The first noticeable injury was the red scar across my shoulder. Gently I ran my fingers over the neat stitching, noticing the next wound across my lower arm. More stitches held it together, although it seemed to be healing well. I found another three wounds, one across my stomach, the second on my thigh and then finally my palm. My palm still had a dull throb of pain across it and had a lot of stitches, meaning that wound had been deep. I turned, checking my back, which had a series of stab marks. Swallowing thickly and fighting back tears, I turned away from my reflection and climbed into the warmth of the bath.

Hugging my knees to my chest, tears rolled down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if they were tears of happiness or sadness. I knew I had finally done the right thing and left Jeremiah for good…but there was still a weight on my shoulders. There was no relief yet, like I had expected. I doubt I would feel that until I knew Jeremiah was dead so he could no longer come after me. Because this was the only beginning. Now that I was considered his enemy he’d probably work twice as hard to kill me or ruin my life. Or both. Once I was strong enough, I’d leave, find my own place and lie low for a long time. It would be difficult, but I had to keep those I cared about safe.

Anybody that helped me through this next stage would have a giant target on their back. The best thing I could do for everyone is just disappear for a while. Carefully, I washed my body and hair before draining the tub. Once I had dried myself, I wrapped myself in the robe again and exited the bathroom. On the bed were fresh clothes for me to change into. The bed had also been made and most of the medical equipment had been removed too. Changing into the jeans, lose t-shit and jumper, I ventured out of the room to find Eddie and whoever had been kind enough to let us stay.

Navigating the hall, I heard voices up ahead. Eddies voice and another familiar one. The smell of cooking drifted down the hall. “Whilst I tire of her stubbornness, she will be distant for a while. You can’t just expect her to forgive you for cheating because you saved her life. You waltzed in after we had been worried and declared your newfound love without regard for her feelings,” Oswald argued. Stood in the kitchen were Oswald and Eddie. Eddie stood over the stove stirring something in a saucepan, whilst Oswald was snacking on a particularly large slice of pie. I should have known it was Oswald who had let us stay. Who else would Ed go to with such a problem?

Eddie seemed irritated by Oswald’s words, even though Oswald was right. But Eddie and I had moved past that. It was nice that Oswald had taken my side on it, though. “Your starting to sound like you’re the one still not over it, Oswald,” I smirked. Both of them turned their attention to me, looking pleased to see me. It felt like we were back at the Van Dhal manor, back when things had been good between the three of us. I leant against the kitchen counter, smiling at Oswald. “But it’s nice to know you’ve had my back about it all these years,” I continued.

“It’s nice to see you’ve finally come to your senses on that lunatic,” Oswald replied. Forcing a smile, I thought about my first question to ask whilst Eddie dished up dinner. We moved to the dining room, the smell of chicken soup making my stomach growl. Quickly finding a seat, I ate. I was the first to finish the first course, my stomach barely satisfied. “How long was I out?” I asked. “Two days,” Eddie answered. “And you patched me up?” “Yes. Luckily your blood and Oswald’s blood was a match.”

So now I owed him my life. He’d let me stay and given me his blood. Maybe Oswald was a better friend than I had previously given him credit for. “Thank you, Oswald,” I said sincerely. Oswald waved me off, “you don’t need to thank me for that.” “I do. I haven’t exactly treated either of you the best in recent years. And…I’m sorry.” Oswald placed a comforting hand on my shoulder whilst Eddie took my hand in his, squeezing it gently. “He manipulated you against us. We understand. Besides, we didn’t exactly make things easy back then,” Oswald added slight humour to his voice at the last part.

Leaving the table, Eddie tended to the second course. He came back a few minutes later, balancing three plates. Goulash. And likely Oswald’s mother’s recipe. Halfway through the second course, I asked the much harder questions. “Has Jeremiah come looking for me?” I queried. “No. Your safe here, Emerald,” Eddie reassured me. I nodded. He would come looking for me soon enough. “And what about Ecco? Is she…alive?” I asked.

Oswald and Eddie exchanged a glance at each other, and I prepared myself for the worst. I’d killed her. “We dont know. Neither of them have been seen since that night,” Eddie answered. “Why would you even care? She tried to kill you?” Oswald frowned. Eddie glared at Oswald as if he was being insensitive, which he was. I put my knife and fork down, sitting back in my chair. “Why did you care after Ed shot you and left your body at the docks?” I spat, “Ecco’s been manipulated by him for years, now that I’m not there as his punching bag he’ll likely hurt her more now.”

Eddie took my hand in his again, making me focus my attention on him, “that is not your fault. That does not make you selfish. You cannot continue to think of and protect everyone else. Now, you need to focus on you and healing.” Nodding, I did my best to fight back tears. I knew he was right; it was just hard to put that way of thinking into practice. At least now I would protect the right people. Eventually we finished dinner, and I helped with the washing up. Eddie and I were left in the kitchen alone, silence falling between us. He dried his hands after emptying the sink and turned to me.

“You know I’m here for you right? That you don’t have to go through this alone. I know this will be a difficult adjustment period, but I want to help. Oswald and Barbara want to help too,” he explained. Forcing a smile again, I nodded. He wanted the best for me. And I wanted the best for him. And right now, I was not the best thing for him. Yawning, I said goodnight and headed back to my room. Searching the room, I found more clothes that I could take with me. I also found a few empty duffel bags. Oswald likely used this room as storage when he didn’t have guests. Quickly, I filled two bags with clothes and waited for the right time.

There would be armed guards on the door, but they wouldn’t stop me from leaving. Yes, they would inform Oswald and Eddie by morning, but I’d be long gone by then. And they would be safe for when Jeremiah finally came looking for me.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years

Text

Lost Weekends: Chemo Progress Report

Hi friends,

I'm writing you from my sofa, where I spend an increasing amount of time (much to the delight of the cat), at the end of my second post-chemo weekend. My last update was a month ago, right after I had done the considerable work of enrolling in the clinical trial at Penn that looks at treatment with chemotherapy and the immunological agent atezolizumab vs. just chemotherapy. My first session was on January 30th and I had a bit of good luck (for a change) and was randomized to the arm of the trial that got both the chemotherapy agent and the immunological agent, rather than the control group! (That's why I look improbably happy about my IV infusion in the attached photo.)

So far, the side effects are pretty tolerable. They don't really show up until days 2 or 3 which, since I go on Thursdays, pretty much means a Lost Weekend to symptoms. There's nausea, but I'm able to manage it with medication, and then there's very intense fatigue. I said to a friend at the outset of this trial that I consider myself a connoisseur of fatigue, having suffered chronic fatigue for years that was bad enough for them to do a bone marrow biopsy to verify that I didn't have cancer. (That's how I know I didn't have it in 2016.) This particular strain of fatigue is both familiar, in that the physical effects are undeniable and demand immediate rest, and unfamiliar because I get foggy-headed in a way I didn't before. Some folks refer to memory and concentration problems they encounter as "chemo brain," but I think this is less intense, more like being sleep deprived or a little sick. Honestly, the whole package is like having a bad flu. It lasts about 5 days and the symptoms are pretty similar. So, not great. But also not the worst. On this study, I go to Penn for treatment every 3 weeks. It takes all day, in part because when you get treated with a drug that's in trials they have to release it from the "experimental pharmacy," a process that can take multiple hours (as it did last Thursday). I'm really glad I only have to go every 3 weeks (plus visits for scans) and not every week, as I was doing before, both because it gives me the opportunity to recover from the side effects and have a bit more of a normal time in between visits. Also, they are a huge pain.

I know that may seem obvious, since chemo is clearly a terrible way to spend a day. But the truth is that it's actually less bad than the exhausting apparatus surrounding the visit. I tend, as usual, to minimize the more distressing aspects, both to myself and others, because it's just what needs to be done and, in a situation as colossally unfair as this one, the inconvenience or annoyance of actually going to the hospital pales in comparison. But, if you're curious, here's what it's like.

A day going to chemo for me starts pretty early since I live about 45 miles from Philadelphia and since I-95 is always terrible. Driving can take anywhere from an hour and ten minutes (without any traffic) to 2+ hours (if there's an accident). So if I'm supposed to check in at 8:30am I have to leave the house ideally by 6:30--which I NEVER manage to do because I have a lifelong hatred of mornings--but definitely before 7:00. This means getting up around 5:30 or 5:45. Again, I know people get up this early all the time, but if you know me you know that I am basically incapable of falling asleep before 1am (unless I'm very sick).

So I set out on this early venture, but not alone. I have an intrepid and sleepy friend with me to drive, both because I'm not allowed to drive myself home and because parking at the hospital is such a nightmare that often I have to hop out at a corner or intersection to make my appointment time. I did, however, learn that you get completely free parking if you get chemo! (This isn't true for other kinds of appointments.) My intrepid friend will meet up with me again in the cancer center and, usually, work remotely throughout the day while we sit in a series of chairs and check in with a series of doctors. I'm really grateful for this company because something that no one tells you about cancer is how incredibly boring it is a lot of the time.

The first medical thing that happens is that the nurses at the "infusion center" (which always sounds more pleasant than it actually is, as though it should come with scented oils) access the port through which they draw blood (usually about 10 tubes of it) and through which I'll receive chemo later. After they collect blood samples, I head to the waiting room for my oncologist, who I have to check in with before I can receive treatment. We have to wait for my blood tests to come back to prove that my body is functioning well enough for me to poison it. That sounds kind of backwards, but basically I have to have baseline body functions that are good enough for me to withstand chemo. (Oh, at some point they also do my vitals--height, weight, blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation--which they'll collect again several times.) I also consult with my oncologist and the study coordinator about any side effects or questions and have a physical exam of the palpable tumors.

Next, assuming my numbers look good, I can check in for chemo. Penn has private rooms, which is different from the infusion center in Princeton. Some of them have lovely views of the city and some are windowless prison cells. I've had one of each. It's just luck of the draw. But I can certainly confirm that having natural light makes a big difference. By this time I've been at the hospital for 2-3 hours. The next phase is the most frustrating, which is waiting for the experimental pharmacy to release the immunological agent, which I have to receive first. The first time it took about 90 minutes, the second almost 3 hours. Once they get that, they can finally start the infusions. I get the immunological agent, followed by pre-meds for chemo (a long-acting anti-nausea drug, a short-acting one, many others to make the process less awful by controlling my reaction), followed by chemo itself. Together, all the infusions take about 3 hours.

My total time at the hospital is something between 6 and 7 hours. The driving, total, is about 3 hours. So, all in all, it's a 9-10 hour day. I often manage to use this as a time to enjoy the company of the friend who goes with me, since how often do you get to spend that much concerted time together? Often one or both of us is working, though increasingly I get spacey enough that I prefer to read, listen to a podcast, or just nap. Once I get home, I usually nap and, hopefully, see another friend who brings by dinner. These little acts of company make the biggest difference to me. I feel somewhat bad, since my exhaustion means I'm not often up for long visits, but just having another person around is tremendously reassuring. Dropping by, or being there while I nap or read, does a lot to break me out of the isolation that I can feel by being trapped so much in the physical symptoms of my treatment experience.

Illness is very isolating and makes you very vulnerable. No one else can endure the treatment for you and, in a way, the pain and discomfort is fundamentally incommunicable. Yet the emotional experience doesn't have to be similarly incommunicable and company (or well wishes) is a major antidote to that risk. So, as I wrap up this post-chemo weekend, I'd like to say thanks for reading and sharing it with me.

Love, Bex

#my life as a cancer patient #medical update #health update #clinical trials #stage 4 #bex writes

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writerfromtheshore · 4 years

Text

Kraata Hunting

“So what was it?” asked Matau, impatient for answers. The other Turaga looked at Whenua with similar expressions, anticipating his answer.

“The Matoran said it was some sort of ship,” said the Turaga of Earth.

“Like the Vahki transport we drove?” asked Vakama.

Whenua shook his head. “No— as in an actual ship. Some sort of warship. I have not been out there myself, but from the descriptions my scouts gave… definitely something used in war.”

“What did they find on there?” Nokama asked.

“Weapons, charts, all sorts of things,” Whenua said. He placed a parcel on the Amaja Nui storytelling circle. A series of very thin tablets, very flexible in nature as compared to what the six of them were used to. Paper. Passing it around, each of them looked through it, eyeing the peculiar text on the pages. Nuju clicked and whistled incessantly as he squinted at the contents of the parcel. Any attempt by Nokama with her mask of translation provided to be useless. None of them knew what the writing could mean.

“Takua ranted about weapons when he returned to Ta-Koro,” said Vakama. “Something about wielding a sword with what seemed to be the power of a Toa.”

“He does not even know what a Toa is,” the Ko-Matoran Matoro said, translating for Nuju.

“I have never whisper-heard of power-charged elemental weapons before,” said Matau.

“What super Toa could possibly have these?” Onewa asked.

“I do not think what the Chronicler encountered was from a Toa,” Whenua said, the unease apparent in his voice. “Unless some other society south of Metru Nui that we did not know of which immigrated to the surface, it seems as if these weapons, this ship, all of it— comes from somewhere else. We may not be alone on this ocean up here.”

“I second our earth brother,” said Matau to everyone’s surprise. Pulling something from his pack, he placed a mask on the table alongside the notebook log Whenua produced.

“What kind of Kanohi is that?” asked a bewildered Nokama. Vakama, the only one familiar with masks from the group, shook his head. The shape was totally alien to him.

“That is the thing, teacher-sister,” Matau said. “This is definitely not a Kanohi. I can think of all the masks I have spot seen in my life—add-including the ones the Toa Mangai wore-sported— and this resembles nothing I have seen.”

“This isn’t even protodermis,” Whenua agreed upon closer inspection. “Where did you find it?”

“A Matoran brought it to me,” Matau began. “The last time Nokama and I potion brewed, when Makuta spurred a sickness upon us— I sent my Gukko Force into the jungle for one of the ingredients. They said they ended up in the Fau swamp, and found a figure buried under the mud. This was what it was wearing.”

The six of them sat in silence for a moment, each feeling uncomfortable in their own way. All were certain the figure Matau spoke of was not a Matoran.

“This place was never on any maps of the universe, was it?” asked Vakama. Whenua shook his head.

“There could be others, south of the sea gates, who came up through the Great Barrier as well,” said Whenua. “But no language like this— to my knowledge— was ever used in the history of the universe. Skakdi, Vortixx… nothing comes to mind when I look at this journal.”

Onewa frowned. This discussion was getting them nowhere.

“If there is someone out there coming to this island, let them come,” snapped Onewa. “We will deal with them then. There is no need to get worked up about something that may simply come to pass. We can sit around Amaja Nui all day telling ghost stories, or we can discuss more pressing matters. There was something else you brought us together for, Whenua, was there not?”

The Turaga of Earth nodded. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a long cylindrical container. The other Turaga leaned in, but could not identify the contents of the container. “You may want to step back for this,” he suggested to the group.

The rest of the Turaga looked uncomfortably at each other before heeding Whenua’s advice. Twisting the lid of the stasis tube, he unscrewed it and placed it on the circle before all of the Turaga.

A chilling hiss came from the tube as whatever was in there woke up. Onewa, Vakama, Nokama, Matau, and Nuju all peered suspiciously at the opening, only to withdraw in disgust when the creature within slithered out into the sand of Amaja Nui.

The snake like thing peered groggily at each of the Turaga. Then it gave a hiss, recognizing what it was that stared at it. The creature coiled up and lunged at their masks. It only got its head in the air before it jerked back to the sand— if not for Whenua’s badge of office pinning the creature’s tail, it would have latched itself onto the Kanohi of one of the elders.

“Seven levels of Karzahni!” Matau swore, brandishing his Kau Kau staff. The little buzzsaw on the Turaga of Air’s badge of office began to whirl. “What is that thing?”

“Do not kill it!” insisted Whenua. Matau looked at him incredulously, buzzsaw whirling, before lowering his staff.

“Kraata,” growled Vakama. “Where did you find it?”

“In a mine, trying to corner one of the workers,” Whenua said. “As soon as I captured it, I knew the six of us had to talk.”

“Another ugly Rahi beast,” Matau said. He watched the Kraata scream as it tried to writhe out of the grip of Whenua’s drill. “So what?”

“These are not just Rahi, Matau,” Whenua shook his head.

“Remember the Rahkshi from the Fikou Web, brother?” asked Nokama. “These are what pilot them.”

“So they are Makuta spawn,” the Turaga of Air said. “Have any Rahkshi been spot-seen on the island?”

Four of the Turaga shook their heads. Vakama, on the other hand, stared at the Kraata with an empty eyed gaze, his mind elsewhere. The Turaga looked at each other, familiar with this expression.

“No, they are not here,” Vakama said. “But one day they will be. Makuta has made Rahkshi with several Kraata before, in one of his lairs between here and Metru Nui. One of his thousand contingency plans.”

“Another vision?” Onewa asked. The Turaga of Fire nodded, frowning at the creature.

“And that is not the only concern with these Kraata,” said Whenua. “Vakama, you brought the mask, as requested?”

Vakama nodded, producing the requested item from his own pack. Even though he did not have his forge anymore, he did still produce masks, on the off chance they did run out of the cache they had retrieved from Metru Nui.

He placed the Kanohi within the sand circle, near the still struggling kraata. The painful screams changed as the Kraata noticed the nearby mask. Whenua looked at his cohorts, and then lifted his drill. The Kraata squirmed free, slithering in a beeline for the mask. The grey silver sheen of the unworn surface became rusted and pitted where the creature touched it, infection coming over it as quickly as a passing shadow.

The Kraata slithered though and around the mask while it changed, the screams a moment before now gentle growls. It was almost as if it were cuddling it. The Turaga watched this happen, repulsed— the perverse affection the infectious creature had for the mask made the elders feel uneasy.

“Just as I thought,” Whenua whispered.

“Is that—“ Matoro said, translating for Turaga Nuju as well as asking of his own accord.

“That is how the Rahi here have come to serve the Makuta,” Whenua said. “Kraata can corrupt the masks they wear. I believe since these come from Makuta himself, it gives him the ability to assume control over the mask and the Matoran wearing it. Or in our cases, the Rahi.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” asked Nokama.

“Look for them in and near your Koro,” said Whenua. “I have more than enough stasis containers to store these things in.”

“And just leave stasis tubes laying around for the Matoran, or even the Makuta, to find?” Vakama asked.

“There are several caves in Po-Wahi, far enough away from where any Matoran would venture,” said Onewa. “We can store them there.”

Whenua nodded thanks to the Turaga of Stone. “We need to find and capture these things before they infect the entire island.”

Several of the Turaga nodded in agreement, accepting their new mission.

“Why can’t we just kill these things?” Matau asked, raising his buzzsaw in confusion.

“Because we need to study them,” Matoro said over the clicks and whirls of Turaga Nuju. “Like Turaga Whenua just said— I am not calling him that, Turaga Nuju—we need to figure out what they can do to the island.”

“If they can corrupt Kanohi with just a touch, who knows what other havoc they can wreak on the island,” Whenua added.

“It will be messy if we do just kill them, brother,” Onewa said. “We can’t leave our mess for the Matoran to find.”

“There is still a lot we do not know about these things,” Whenua said. “The records in the Archives exhibits were vague at best. Aside from cutting them up, how else can they be killed? Can they infect masks even if they are dead? What other powers do they have?”

“It sure seems you are skip-missing an opportunity-chance to experiment-test,” Matau grumbled, crossing his arms and nodding at the Amaja Nui circle before them.

“The more we can capture, the more we can study,” Nokama advised.

“Matau, this is more than Whenua wanting to play Archivist,” Vakama said. “The Kraata pose a danger to us. These are the Makuta’s creatures. After all we did to escape him, his Visorak, and all the other stuff he threatened us and the Matoran with, we are just going to let another one of his creatures slip into our villages and ruin all our hard work?”

Matau looked down at the creature. “You’re right, firespitter,” he said. “Whenua is right. We’ve collect found the Great Disks, homes for our village people; what’s another scavenger find-hunt?”

“Thank you Matau,” Whenua smiled. “May each of you go back to your villages with a sharp eye. I will have stasis tubes sent out to each of you. For now, Onewa, you can show me some of your caves on the trip back north. May your villagers be safe from the Kraata’s reach.”

“And the Great Spirit watch over us all,” added Nokama.

***

Matau swung through the trees of Le-Wahi, grabbing vines as he travelled back to his village.

The meeting was on the forefront of his mind, very much annoying him. But why? He had collected a lot of things over the years on this island. Various fruits, types of bark, all little knick knacks in nature that caught Matau’s attention. What was one more scavenger hunt? he thought to himself.

This collectible you cannot leave lying around your hut, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. That was the uncomfortable part. Matau enjoyed collecting fun things… but this was business. More serious business than just an ivy that made his organics itch from time to time. And on top of all the Rahi attacks they had to look out for, this was just more than a simple challenge.

The Turaga of Air forced himself to stop thinking for a moment and enjoy the jungle around him. Rahi could be heard in the distance, but for the most part, it was quiet. The sun shone from some hole in the jungle canopy. The day was good.

Perhaps he would go food hunting to lighten his mood. Collect something fun, and ease into it. There had to be some bush, some tree, something around here which grew some food for him to collect. Matau swung, grabbing onto each vine as he looked around for crop…

Look up— no one ever looks up, he thought to himself. Matau looked up, eyeing the vines he grabbed. Each line was tough and firm, but coarse, the outer skin of the vines like a hard leaf. He grabbed them skillfully and he swung through looking for fruit—

The next thing he grabbed was definitely not that. Instead of the firm, rope like texture of a vine, his hand closed around something soft and slippery. Matau’s eyes lit up with shock as he looked up to see what he had grabbed.

You have got to be joke-kidding me! the Turaga of Air thought, as the yellowish Kraata screeched under his grip.

The initial shock of grabbing something living made Matau jerk back, letting go. His momentum carried him forward though, and having let go of the previous vine, he fell fast toward the grounds of Le-Wahi.

***

As a general rule, Onu-Matoran did not take well to brightness. Spending most of their time underground left their eyes weak in sunny circumstances— having adapted to seeing in the dark, daylight was almost painful.

Their Turaga was no exception. Whenua's eyesight was terrible in comparison, if not worse than, his villagers. And having used a Ruru during his time in the caves of Onu-Wahi made his tolerance for the desert sunlight almost unbearable.

Much to Whenua’s dismay, the journey back to his home in the Great Mine ventured through Po-Wahi. He and Onewa ventured on Mahi steeds over the desert, looking out onto the very sunny horizon.

Onewa had said there were caves he knew of where they could store the captured Kraata. Whenua was eager to see them, so they could begin this new project. The brightness did not settle well with him, but nevertheless, he followed atop a Mahi steed. The Turaga of Stone led the way, dead set with a particular destination in mind. The majority of the venture through the canyons had passed almost wordlessly. Onewa hardly stopped to check for direction or rest.

“You know Po-Wahi well, brother,” Whenua remarked. “Is this near where…?”

“No, but I first ventured out this way when I looked for a way back,” Onewa said. “There were a few spots where I wanted to settle Po-Koro. When we returned with all of the Matoran, I spent a lot of time surveying the land. Spent the better part of ten years figuring out which tunnels connected to below, and which were just caves. Helped me figure out where exactly to settle Po-Koro— far away from anywhere a Matoran might figure out a passageway to below. I know this entire region better than the Makuta knows even his own shadows.”

Ten years. Whenua raised his eyebrows. They had already been here on Mata Nui for a few centuries, but ten years in of itself…that was a long time to be cave exploring. “So this cave, for the Kraata… where exactly is it?”

Onewa turned on his steed and smiled at his brother. He could see the Turaga of Earth’s eyes were straining in the bright light.

“Not far now, Whenua,” Onewa smiled.

Whenua spent the rest of the ride staring narrow-eyed at Onewa’s back.

***

The Turaga of Earth was more than relieved when the canyons rose around them, shade finally falling onto their path. Whenua glowered for a bit as his eyesight adjusted, almost able to see Onewa’s smirk from behind him.

They dismounted after maybe an hour of riding, somewhere deep in the winding crevices of the canyon. The two of them looked around, seeing the empty area around them. No Matoran was anywhere close to here. Besides their steeds, no Rahi roamed around the place. This was not somewhere one would roam to by accident. Definitely somewhere where you would go to hide something, Whenua thought.

“Not even Takua could find this place,” Onewa said, satisfaction in his voice. Petting the Mahi, he nodded for Whenua to follow him just a little further.

The cave mouth yawned open for them, a veil of deeper shadow hanging over the entrance. Whenua nodded his approval of the place. Isolated, protected from the elements, it could be the perfect hiding spot.

Small little lights wandered over the walls of the cave, but Onewa dismissed them. Electric spiders. Natural guards, he insisted, in case the Kraata found some way to escape their tubes. Whenua nodded, remembering his Archival days where he put Electric spiders into stasis. Even after several transformations, he could still feel the shock on his fingertips.

Whenua took his drill and traced it along the cavern walls. Just as he did in Onu-Koro, he sensed the walls for empty pockets, places unwelcome guests could nest in. The drill, combined with his connection to the element of earth, could sense tunnels and cavities in the walls. But here, he found none.

“Well?” Onewa asked. “Do you approve?”

Whenua withdrew the stasis tube from his pack and set it down against the wall. He was more than satisfied with the place. Smiling, the Turaga of Earth shuffled to the entrance of the cave. Raising his drill to the canyon wall, he carved in a quick sketch of the Kraata.

***

The sound of chiseling was practically music to Whenua’s ears. After wandering with Onewa to Mata Nui knew where in the Motara desert, he finally had a sense of where he was. The pair had almost reached to Po-Koro— and better yet, in Whenua’s opinion, a tunnel that led back to Onu-Koro.

After years of excavating for raw carving material, the area surrounding the Po-Koro Quarry was riddled with cavities, the result of years of Po-Matoran mining material for their statues. Little alcoves littered the open pit mine, as Matoran over the years would pull from anywhere and everywhere for stone to use. This had caused quarrels between carvers every so often, some Po-Matoran accusing others of toppling their greatest creations for material. (Hafu was a frequent complainer, to which a time came where Onewa was given him his own private section of the quarry-canyon.)

The Turaga dismounted for a rest from their ride, having been traveling on the Mahi for the better part of the day. Onewa took a moment’s leave from the Turaga, going around to inspect the carvings his villagers were producing. Whenua watched as the Turaga of Stone dolled out advice to the craftsmen. He would point here or there on a statue, gesturing with his hammer to show how they could carve out the details they desired.

Whenua surveyed it all, feeling satisfied with his day. He had traversed a good part of the island, and more importantly, accomplished something with the other Turaga. Other than the matters of the ghost ship, he felt as if they finally were competent overseers of their Matoran. Setting his staff down, Whenua smiled.

A reverberation alerted Whenua. Looking around, he could feel something in the earth, something moving through the ground around the carvers. It was faint, it was small, but still, it was something. The Turaga of Earth looked over at his guide, whom was still occupied in teaching a Matoran.

Another Matoran caught his eye. The carver was standing back from his creation, tools held up in a menacing manner. His carving however, looked far from finished. Whenua, curious at the observation, made his way to the carver.

“What goes wrong with your creation?” he asked.

“There is something— something coming out of the stone!” the Matoran said. “I was chiseling a detail on the lower part of the Kanohi, and my chisel went through the rock. Then dust came out— a lot of it— and something popped out! But it ducked back into the stone, and another hole formed!”

Upon closer inspection, the Matoran’s confusion was clear. The carving, a larger rock, was slowly falling apart. The Turaga looked over the carving, concerned. There was something inside, slowly eating away at the rock. He placed his staff on the stone. The drill of Onua was not best when inspecting a stone removed from the ground, but it was still able to pick up some things.

By this point, Onewa had come to the Matoran’s side, equally concerned as Whenua about the rock. Putting his hand to the rock, he nodded.

“There is definitely something in there,” he said. “I am sorry carver, you have done wonderfully on this piece. But whatever it is, I need to do this.”

“By all means, Turaga,” the Matoran said, stepping back.

Onewa nodded, appreciating the Matoran’s understanding, and kicked the mask. With a solid blow, it crashed to the floor of the canyon. The stone rolled over to its side, where several holes bore into the back of the statue. Whenua’s eyes lit up as he saw the tail of… some sort of creature… slither into the back of the statue. He frowned, not liking the look of what he saw.

“Get your brothers away from their carvings,” Onewa ordered the Matoran. “Who knows what this is, and what others may be in the stone. Turaga Whenua and I will deal with it.”

The Matoran nodded, running off to his nearby cohorts.

“It’s one of them,” said Whenua. “A Kraata.”

“You act scared of them, brother,” Onewa said, brandishing his hammer. “I can take care of them with this.”

Onewa concentrated hard on the stone, feeling the structure of the carving. With his hands on the structure, he could feel the space inside, the stone being eaten away from the inside out. He listened to the holes, listening for slithering noises coming from out of it.

And before he knew it, two of them popped out of the structure. Two slimy, screeching Kraata, baring their mandibles at the one who disturbed their new home. Onewa pursed his lips, bringing his hammer down on the yellow and metallic colored one. The second, sand blue one sunk back into its hole as it listened to the hammer come down on its brother.

But the rock rang as he missed his target. “What?” Onewa asked no one in particular as he raised the hammer. No concussed Kraata was underneath as Onewa lifted the face off the carving. “My aim never misses!” he cried out angrily.

“Try again, brother,” Whenua urged. The Turaga of Stone did not look his way, simply focusing on the holes in front of him. Hand on the rock, he felt the Kraata slithering, coming up to check if it was safe…

This time a light grey one poked its head out, before sneaking back into the stone. Onewa slammed the hammer down on the spot where it had been, completely missing the window in which the snake poked its head out. A second too slow to capture this one.

“Your drill,” Onewa barked at the Turaga. “It can sense the changes in the stone?”

Whenua nodded, noticing Onewa’s curt manner.

“Place it on the side,” Onewa told him. “And tell me when they are coming up. There are three of them.”

“Three?” Whenua asked, barely hiding the joy in his voice.

Onewa frowned. “Yes, you lucky archivist you. You’re getting your Naming Day presents early. Just let me know where they are coming out. I will take care of the hitting.”

Whenua nodded, standing to the side of Onewa with his own badge of office. He could feel the Kraata within as they forced away the stone, trying to find a new way out of the rock to avoid the hitting menace.

“Ready?” Whenua asked. “Left!”

“Down!”

“To your right side!”

“Up!”

Whenua barked each time, and Onewa swung, but each time the Kraata dodged his attacks. The Turaga of Stone grew more frustrated with each miss, becoming more curt and erratic with his strikes. Soon he was not even hitting a hole, just wacking the stone at any point he could. Whenua noticed the carvers had gathered in a group not far off from them, watching the show.

“You know what?” Onewa said, throwing his hammer to the ground after several dozen attempts. “Forget this. We are going a different route.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“ Whenua tried to caution. Onewa ignored him, his Komau beginning to glow. He stared at the rock hard, until almost as if on a string, each of the three Kraata slid out of the structure. Staring at them with an intense hatred, he smashed his hammer on each of them, knocking the first two unconscious. Whenua watched wordlessly, wincing as his fellow Turaga hit each of the specimens.

The last one however, Onewa’s hammer froze just inches above. Whenua looked at his brother, then at the Kraata.

“Why are you hesitating?” asked Whenua. Onewa gave no answer. Instead he just stood there, in a trance, hammer hovering over the creature.

A moment passed, and Onewa brought the hammer down on the creature. The final Kraata went limp, and Onewa lowered his tool, using its staff for support. He breathed heavily.

“Are you alright?” asked Whenua.

“The Makuta,” Onewa panted. “He has a telepathic link with these creatures. One is stronger than the others. But he can feel their thoughts.”

Whenua’s fingertips suddenly felt tingly. It was moments like these he wished he had archival tablets to write on. “What did you see?” he asked.

“A bunch of things, things I couldn’t describe even if I wanted to try,” Onewa said. “But then I heard his voice.”

All joy from the moment before flooded out of Whenua, leaving him with a sense of dread. “What did he say?”

“He knows we are hunting the Kraata.”

Whenua swore.

***

He didn’t know how long he was out, but Matau jerked awake with a shock. Sitting up he gasped, and then immediately groaned. He was limber for a Turaga, yes, but sometimes he forgot that he was not a Toa anymore—despite how briefly he had been one— and that his current body did not take to impacts as well as a Toa did. Still getting used to this frame, even after a century or two, he thought to himself.

As the pain subsided the Turaga of Air looked around, momentarily forgetting why he had fallen to the forest floor. He fell from vine swinging! Oh, how the Le-Matoran would laugh at him if they ever heard of this…

He had been swinging, and grabbed onto a vine. Except it wasn’t just a vine, he remembered, the incident coming back to him. There had been… a Kraata on the vine. And if he remembered correctly, the Kraata had fallen off of the vine to the jungle floor with him.

But his mask… with a cursory inspection, Matau took off his Noble Mahiki to see that it was fine. A few dents and scrapes over the years, but it was otherwise perfectly uninfected. No Kraata had touched it.

If the Kraata hadn’t touched it, was the creature still around?

Putting his mask back on, Matau looked at his surroundings. The snake like creature he had grabbed on the vine was a handful of hues of yellow, yet he only saw green around him.

Picking up his Kau Kau staff, the Turaga looked around. But more importantly, he listened. The area around him was quiet.

He could hear his breath and the sounds of the Rahi in the distance. But the sounds in between the two… There was faint breeze that blew through the jungle, and Matau stood attentive as it rolled over the plants. Yes, there it was, rustling much of the plant life, lightly but slightly… and the sound of shuffling on the underbrush made by a creature trying to stay hidden. Oh yes, it is still around. Matau smiled as the sound reached his audio receptors, his eyesight sliding towards where the sound came from. He raised his staff noiselessly to the brush, and gave a quick whirl of the buzzsaw to scare the creature.

The Kraata shot out of the brush, frightened. In a blur, it snaked toward a tree. Matau lunged after it, swinging his badge of office at the creature. Hold on, he thought as it slid under another bush. The creature spawn I grabbed on the vine was yellow. This one… this is green?

The Kraata had slipped through the bush, and was making a beeline for a tree a few bio away. Matau darted after it, swatting at the creature with his staff. He watched it as he chased, amazed that now the Kraata was taking on the color of the tree stump.

Never mind what color it is, just grab the forsaken thing.

Reaching the tree a few seconds ahead of Matau, the thing began to climb up the tree to allude capture. Matau was faster though, grabbing the thing by the tail. It hissed as it was pulled back towards the ground, the Turaga yanking hard at the creature. It hissed and looked back at Matau.

“Get— back— here— you—slimy— piece— of—“ he grunted.

The Turaga was unable to finish his sentence. The Kraata, not taking too kindly to the tug on the tail, forgot about its ascent on the tree and lunged at the Kanohi of the green one.

Matau fell on his back for the second time that afternoon. The Kraata was in his grasp fully now, albeit an arms length away. It writhed and screamed whilst trying to wriggle free. The Turaga grabbed the creature with as much of a vice grip as he could, trying to keep the thing away from his mask. The Kraata refused to submit, resisting any attempts to be subdued by Matau’s hand. What was he going to do with the thing?

“Don’t you ever tire?” He yelled at it. Getting to his feet, the Kraata still thrashing around in his grip, Matau went over to the tree it tried to climb and did the only thing he could do. Giving a solid swing, he swung the thing’s head at the tree it so desperately clung to moments before.

That did the trick. The snake went limp, suddenly stopping its struggle. The brown hue of the creature’s skin changed, until it was back to the yellowish color Matau had originally seen it bearing.

“So, you can camouflage-change,” the Turaga of Air said. He thought back to what Whenua said about the Kraata possibly having powers. “Well, earth brother,” Matau said aloud, “looks like you were right about that.”

Kongu wandered through the village square of Le-Koro, helping transport goods from one end of the village to the other. He looked very surprised when Turaga Matau came bursting from the trees, swinging in to land on the platform. For his advanced age, it was always impressive to see the Turaga performing acrobats as if he were one of the Matoran.

“Turaga Matau!” Kongu cried, excusing himself from the transport for a moment to greet the Turaga. “You have returned! Did the council-meeting with the other elders go well-fine?”

The Turaga nodded, but there was clearly a sense of stress on the noble Mahiki the elder of Le-Koro wore. “As well fine as it could have gone, vineswinger,” Matau said. “Can you get a Gukko and a carry messenger ready? I have something to ship-send to Turaga Whenua.”

***

Far beneath the Po-Koro Quarry, Makuta brooded.

In the brief moment Onewa had tried to control the Kraata, he had glimpsed Makuta’s mind. In reciprocation, Makuta had sensed the Turaga’s simple thoughts, and seen what he and the others were trying to do. Now he contemplated the information he had gained.

“The Turaga wish to eradicate my Kraata from their paradise,” rumbled Makuta. “They seek to capture the seeds of my sons.”

“But Onewa,” Makuta said as he looked upwards to the ceiling of his lair. “Turaga of Stone… for being such a solid leader, your understanding of the situation is like the rocks you strike. Very hollow.”

Makuta approached a control panel deep within the recesses of the Mangaia. The lair was his, yes, but the cavern predated him by many millennia. This panel, an ancient piece of technology, was one of the mechanisms original to the cavern. It allowed him to manipulate the island above, in ways that his powers could not yet achieve. Makuta now tapped into it, preparing to counter the elder’s plans.

“I wish for the same things you do, Turaga,” Makuta rumbled as he activated the systems of the panel. He had great powers on his own, yes, but devices like these had power on another level. “The Kraata… they allow me to control the Rahi, and I do so in our best interest. They guard the tunnels, the ways back to Metru Nui. I keep the Matoran far away, in their villages, until the time is right— a time that I have chosen— for you to return to the City of Legends.”

The panel whirled to life, and Makuta manipulated the controls with glee.

“So, Turaga, you wish to hunt,” Makuta said. “But how can you capture what you cannot see?”

#Mata Nui Hauntings #mata nui #bionicle #bonkles #turaga #kraata #wack a mole #turaga adventure #hauntings #very long #im sorry #Po-Koro #Makuta

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thewhumpstuff · 4 years

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Backfire

@badthingshappenbingo [Original Characters and content for - Dehydration] Whumptober Day: No. 4 - Running Out of Time - Failed Escape [Art+Drabble] Ten Trails: Death Trap (9) - Burning Building [@yuckwhump]

CW/TW: Reference to captivity and tortrure. Drugging and Fire. [Let me know if I missed something, I can’t think of anything] Art under ‘keep reading’ (attempts to) feature a woman stuck in a burning building and guy outside.

The day was just fluorescent lights and the night the pitch darkness of her cell. In between that white and black - Was the dull grey blur of text, test tubes and the torment etched on Jared and copied onto her. At least she had more freedom than Jared. She was convinced Red wasn’t himself anymore and she feared he was never going to be. No matter how many times she tried to tell herself that she was only doing what she had to… That she was doing her best to keep Jared alive, to buy time, not compromise the mission and navigate Zachariah’s expectations, she couldn’t help but blame herself for… Everything.

A soft cradle for his chin and an apologetic and concerned whisper forced him to stir, “Jared…? Red? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Sunken eyes, stared up at her vacantly, from underneath the thicket of shaggy, dishevelled hair. He held her wrist in a tight grip, which despite his best efforts was much weaker than it had once been. It didn’t hurt, not physically, but she recoiled because it felt like a fearful attack by a cornered animal. He pushed her away and she let him. She repositioned and knelt at arm’s length. Akira couldn’t blame him, on instruction, she had used the affection they had shared to attempt pretentiously disarming him before… He had no reason to trust her and she desperately needed him to. Simply because she selfishly hoped she wouldn’t be forced to use plan B.

She blinked away guilty tears as she scanned the scars, the cuts and bruises she had been forced to leave on him. Not unlike the ones that she bore, except hers were covered by the lab-coat. Worse than the visible evidence, was all the pain and anguish she couldn’t really see, except in his tired eyes. There was a flicker of hope in them, perhaps because she called him Red. She had made sure to never do that through everything they’d endured over the last few months… Maybe more, maybe little less… “Shira?” Yes! Akira cleared her throat to stabilize a quivering voice, so she could assuage the fear she knew had to be bubbling up inside him. “Yeah… It’s me. I’m not here to ask questions or to hurt you, okay?” But the spark died and was replaced with the same, dead and wary caution. He hissed, “No! Stay the fuck away from me...” He curled into the wall he was already pressed up against. She didn’t have the time to haggle with him. Not if she was to succeed in saving him. Time for plan B. It took so much from her to swiftly break the promise she’d just made. Aki stabbed him with the tranquilizer. He wasn’t really in a position to put up a fight. The drugs… the lack of adequate nutrition and the repeated exposure to Akira’s power had left him quite weak and vulnerable. After he lost consciousness. Akira dragged his form to the fortified underground lab. A lab within a lab is both genius and hilarious. This was left off the blue-prints. Very few people knew of its existence and luckily Zach wasn’t among them. The only friendly she’d seen was Mark’s, who had been guiding her. He was the one who provided her with this knowledge. The rest was up to her. There weren’t as many people monitoring them. Zach had kept this whole thing underwraps… So Akira had exploited the freedom she had to sneak and survey the hidden lab on a midnight excursion. The underground lab was equipped with a single D.P.S.C - Damage-proof-stasis-chamber. Now, her shaky hands, prepared Jared and put him in it. The hope was that he’d be presumed dead after the explosion she was about to set off. The lab was unlikely to be found unless someone knew where to look. The chamber would keep Jared alive… and in time they’d be able to go back for him. All she needed to do was get out of there after the accidental explosion… They had to let her out. None of this was her fault. At least not in any verifiable way.

All she had to do was convince Caius. -

[Credit: A shot from the movie Om Shanti Om, is used as a reference for the art and inspired the fic] It was Zach who noticed that the surveillance footage from the lab was on a loop. So he made his way there, only to witness an explosion. He had been losing patience with the two of them steadily. While Jared was just a little more than a husk, Akira still had her wits about herself… And he had not gotten anything significantly useful from them. Their deaths would not be a favorable outcome, but it was a fitting consequence for their continued lack of cooperation. Afterall, Zach couldn’t risk anyone else finding them either... He dismissed Caius and waited for Akira at the locked entrance.

The fortified door and the thick laminated glass between them, muffled Zachariah’s question, “So... You finally gave up on trying to save him? Gave him the death he’s been pleading for?” Not enough for her to feign deafness. She responded in a cry that sounded foreign to her. Her shrill plea was desperate and panicked. Akira didn’t typically allow herself to get this way. She had not expected Zach to stop her from leaving the damn building, “No! Zach…” “Ok, go fetch him then.” Even with the panic clawing at her, she still had the sense to lie… After all, even if she couldn’t make it out, he’d survive. Mark would wait and he would know where to look. “I don’t know… I don’t know where he is.” But even the sheer fear was not enough to cloak that fact that she had to know something. There was no way that there wasn’t some foul play here. An out of commission lab, didn’t simply explode. And security footage didn’t scramble itself. Zach would have to look into that later. Someone had tried helping them. At least the list of suspects was a short one. Not many people knew about this venture, “I’d say this is overkill, the building didn’t deserve this...” She lied again, “I didn’t do this. Please! Please let me out!”

He watched with disinterest as Akira slammed her flattened hand against the glass. He was safe on the outside. But it’d be unkind to let her flirt with death alone… So Zach drew a cigarette and lit it, which was as uncharacteristic for him as screaming for help was for Akira. It felt like a fitting way to honor Jared… Given he had to still be somewhere in the building that was slowly getting consumed by flames. The Knight deserved a better death... A part of Zach wanted to save his friend. But that cat had run out of his nine lives… and all the second-third and several chances that Zach had given him. Aki left bloodstains on the glass. But she could barely register the sharp slices of pain that ran through the cut on her palm. Another accident… Like the explosions were meant to be. The flames roared and cackled behind her, she turned with a snap, as an explosion on the first floor forced heat and fire to billow into the grand reception lobby. With one final question, “Did you actually think I’d let you live?” Zach walked away.

She held her breath. Her lips were already chapped and her eyes stung. A sputter, followed a helpless surge of hacking coughs that wrecked through her. She stumbled her way to the back. Her lab-coat caught a lick of flame and soon it’s arm was ablaze. She screeched as she swiftly tried getting rid of it. She succeeded, but not before it seared her elbow. She used the charred coat to bat away the flames in her way with her uninjured arm, as she headed back towards the underground lab. Stuck between death by active fire… or presumably by dehydration… Akira couldn’t help but buy herself a little more time.

She dropped into the lab with barely a minute to spare. Within moments, the exit was buried in rubble. Her breathing was laboured, she was certain soot lined her throat… Aki crawled towards the stasis chamber, as a futile attempt to prevent feeling the stab of loneliness. She sat against it, chuckling at one small silver-lining- that at least she wasn’t claustrophobic. She sat up, till she couldn’t hold up her weight any more. And fading into unconsciousness felt like a gift.

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #failed escape #dehydration #burning building #rescue #badthingshappenbingo #tentrails #tempered grace #oc akira #oc jared #oc zachariah

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