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charmingturkeysandwich · 6 years

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Lost By Choice (2/3)

Here’s the second chapter of the Naked and Afraid AU that no one asked for! This was going to be the end, but I decided a third chapter was necessary. For... science.

Chapter 1

AO3

crrreeeaaaaak

snap!

squeeeeaaaaal

THUNK

fuck.

Killian's bare feet pounded the Earth at a rate that far exceeded his current capabilities. Exhausted and still pissed and without any real nutrition, he shouldn't be doing more than lying against a tree and drowning his sorrows in dirty rain water, but those sounds that just practically echoed through the jungle? That was definitely his maddening, headstrong, obnoxious, broken, brave, idiotic, beautiful partner falling out of a goddamn tree.

He'd heard her climb it. She hadn't actually gone far after she'd stormed off and scrapped together her own shelter. They didn't really have enough energy in them to be wandering, so it made perfect sense. And she'd probably been hungry. And pissed. And decided to go hunting.

And it's not like he could have offered to help. Noooo, that was the problem to begin with, wasn't it? She wanted to go it alone. (On a show designed for two fucking people; god he was never going to stop fuming over that.) So he left her to herself. He trusted her. Why wouldn't he? She absolutely was capable of surviving on her own, of that he was sure.

But you can't predict the accidents that happen when your brain is muddled and your heart is on fire.

Speaking of accidents and brain-muddle, maybe running wasn't the best idea? Nah. Walk. Walking was less dangerous.

"Swan!" Though her fall had been audible - she was definitely close - it wasn't clear in which direction. And the fact that she wasn't crying, moaning, screaming... well, that was concerning.

"Swan!" His voice was cracking like a twelve year old lad's but the seconds ticking by were only further convincing him - and the medic staff behind him it seemed - that Emma Swan was going to be the show's first fatality.

"SWAN!"

"God, shut UP, Kilian," a strained voice whined from a few yards ahead.

Thank fucking Christ.

"Emma, what the bloody hell were you - "

"Mr. Jones, please step back while we assess your partner," one of the producers so diplomatically requested.

"I'm fine," Emma practically growled, her teeth clenched and the deepest scowl he'd ever seen marring her now very dirty face.

"The blood would suggest otherwise, there, Swan."

And boy was there a lot of blood. Her torso and legs seemed to get the brunt of it, scratches and scrapes covering the left half of her.

"It's just - groan - superficial," Emma groaned as she tried to steady herself to stand.

"Miss Swan! Lie back down!" the medic shouted in a thick accent. "You need to be assessed."

"UGGHHH!"

She probably used three quarters of her remaining energy on making that sound of disgust, but Emma.... Emma was a stubborn one. And she apparently was going to make her distaste unknown, even at her own detriment.

"You two might make for good TV, but I swear if you die and we get sued..." the producer half-ranted near but not at Emma. It wasn't clear if he even realized he was speaking aloud, but whatever. It was offensive. Especially because "make good TV" was definitely a signal that they were going to do some heavy editing on this episode, and god knows what exactly that would end up looking like. One of them would be cast as the villain, and with Emma bleeding, it was certainly going to be him.

Though she was the one yelling more often. So maybe her? No. It couldn't be. That definitely was not something he wanted to see.

And didn't want to know how that would affect her. Not well, for sure.

That's the problem with signing up for an event like this to work through your personal issues. It's effective, certainly. But at what cost?

More personal issues, probably.

"Ouch!" Emma shouted, the medic's hands now running down her left side.

"The cuts, they aren't deep. But you do run risk of infection by staying out here. The choice is yours."

The medic was speaking to Emma - at first - but turned very pointedly at the pacing producer once he got to that 'choice' part.

"You can't risk infection, Swan," Killian offered, his voice quiet as if to show he was speaking to her on a personal level and not as part of this ridiculous reality show.

Emma's eyes were closed and she was breathing hard through her nostrils, almost like she was trying to center herself. Or maybe imagine she were anywhere but here.

"... I can't quit, Killian. I just - I have to do this."

There was a brief pause, a heaviness in the air as all parties (save for the howler monkeys) were silent.

Then: "You heard the woman. All right, let's get out of their hair. Camera 1 - come in close. Emma, you'll need to film a confessional on your own camera once you're back to camp. Preferably your original camp."

Just as quickly as the team had descended, they disappeared into the jungle, leaving a worried Killian and a still-bleeding Emma to figure out how they were going to last until Day 21.

(And how they were going to address - or pointedly ignore - the blowup that occurred less than a day ago.)

"Fuck everything!" Emma screamed, the cameraman chuckling just enough that he knew there'd need to be an audio edit on top of a very long BLEEP to mask her profanity.

How much of this stupid show's budget went to blurring their frustrated words and their private bits? Probably all of it, since the accommodations weren't exactly 5-star.

He reached his hand down to help Emma to fully stand and kept his grasp on her elbow to keep her from slipping as they trudged through the thick vegetation around the tree that felled her. Once they reached the camp, he helped lower her against a rock, leaning with her right side against the dirt to avoid further contamination of her wound. It being a brief intermission in the marathon of a storm they're experiencing, rebuilding a fire might not be totally impossible. So he set out to do just that, gathering small pieces of tinder that had been buried under other stuff, hopefully shielding it enough from the wet in order for it to burn. He reassembled the pump drill and got to work on the friction part, praying to any God that might listen that he get something to catch.

"Why aren't you lecturing me," Emma whispered after what had probably amounted to 30 minutes of silence.

(She was really the only thing that could break his focus.)

"Why would I lecture you?"

"... because I'm an idiot?"

Hah.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the club, Swan. Though, to be fair, I think we were both branded lifetime achieving idiots when we shed our clothes and traipsed into a jungle with a stranger. Don't you think?"

For the first time in days her lips twisted upward, just a hint of a smile tugging at her features.

"OK but I went a little extra on the idiot. A little."

"Only because I snapped. We're a team and I should have done better at... I don't know, being your partner and not your keeper."

She scoffed and ran her fingers through her messy hair (it would have been so much more convenient for her to have cut it before this adventure, but he found himself appreciating the fact she didn't). "I think sometimes I need a keeper. I don't exactly... play well with others. Or others don't play well with me. I don't know. Things go bad. I don't know whose fault it is. But I'm ... I'm not letting this be one of those things that goes bad."

"You mean, aside from the shredded thigh you've got going on there."

"Yes, Captain Obvious, aside from that."

"Ooooh, I quite like when you call me Captain." He tried to wink, but there's no way his protein-starved muscles made any kind of attractive expression.

She still laughed.

Thank fucking Christ that it had stopped raining. The fire was going again. The mosquitoes were... less. Not gone, though, and her usually very creamy pale skin was pocked with angry red dots that itched like you wouldn't fucking believe.

And, oh yeah, there were those other angry red marks from where she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

On the way down I saw you, and you saved me from myyyyself. And I won't forget the way you loved me.

Dear god, she was singing mid-00s emo-pop in her head and yeah, she really needed some fucking food.

She'd tried some gathering again and got them some fruit. And Killian had chopped down a tree like the lumberjack saving Red Riding Hood and they got themselves some heart of palm. So it's not like they were going to die.

But, god, did she just want to die. Mostly of embarrassment at this point. Between the flipping out, the falling, and the over-confessing, she was drained of things to be embarrassed of.

(And don't forget the nudity. The on-camera nudity. Yeah, the wiggly bits would be blurred, but that didn't mean the cameramen, the producers, the medics - and Killian - didn't see all the unedited goodness. And badness.)

Not being able to pull her weight was driving her mad, though, so she set to weaving a basket for a fish trap that Killian might be able to place (no way she was getting in that water and dying of some crazy grossness getting in her yet-to-be-scabbed-over scrapes).

"Ah, Swan! Busy at work, I see!" Killian shouted, his way of announcing himself as he returned to camp from gathering firewood (he'd scared the metaphorical pants off her just the day before - you could have been a jaguar! - worried I'd pounce, love?)

His innuendos and flirt behavior were getting more frequent, but it made for a good distraction. A distraction from her pain, from their hunger and strandedness, and - most of all - from the fact that she didn't hate this whole partner thing, after all.

With her not at full-speed, they've been more forced to divide the labor, to talk things out, to let Killian do something that Emma very much had the capability in some way to do, but chose not to.

Just because you could didn't mean you should.

(Or that you had to.)

Sleeping had been hard the night after her injury. Training herself to not roll where she shouldn't was difficult, especially because she preferred to sleep on her left side on a normal night. But it was thankfully dry and Killian's fire was roaring, and they were able to just have some pleasant conversation until they drifted off to the lullaby of the monkeys and the bugs.

She'd probably only slept an hour total but that hour had been legitimately restful, so it was a check in the 'win' column there.

Only the next day saw more rain. A lot more rain. Enough, in fact, that the fish trap Emma had built and Killian had placed had just.... washed away.

Fuck.

That night was even worse. They were wet, fireless, and so deeply uncomfortable. Visualizing somewhere warm and full of pillows had stopped working right after sunset and Killian's constant groans every time he had to shift to keep from shivering to death were annoying her to pieces. So she made the obvious suggestion.

"Uh, Jones? Wanna cuddle?"

She expected a witty retort or an innuendo, but the poor man was just miserable enough that all he did was crawl over to her and throw his arm over her waist, his belly pressed against her back. He mumbled something incoherent and all she could do was chuckle at him.

Hey, it was only fair she'd provide the warmth via cuddles since he'd provided it through fire before the storm resumed.

Sleep wasn't great that night, either, her mind so focused on the rain and the growling belly and her still very painful scrapes to even be concerned with the soft cock resting between her ass cheeks.

When she awoke in the morning after what amounted to only a nap's worth of sleep, that cock was definitely no longer soft and in any other situation that would mean something, but here? It didn't mean much besides 'thank god one of us actually slept well enough to dream.'

For which she was very appreciative.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Emma mumbled when Killian finally started stirring, his nose rubbing against her neck like he was scratching an itch or warming and appendage.

"Ah, so we all agree that I'm beautiful," he mumbled in return, scooting away from her and poking his head past the fronds to see what kind of damage they were looking at.

"Yeah, we're almost flooded."

Not new information.

God this place sucked.

"What the hell are we going to do today?" she grumbled, knowing damn well there wasn't going to be much.

"You don't think we should just... chill?"

"I don't know how to chill without access to Netflix. And don't you dare make a sex joke right now because I would never dishonor Netflix by fucking through it instead of watching."

"Damn. Down, girl. I won't insult streaming serial killer docs and orgies."

"What the hell do you watch that you think that's all Netflix is?"

"I'm pleading the fifth." Killian grinned at her like they were in on some inside joke, and really, weren't they? Wasn't this all one big inside joke? No one else had this experience. Not even the cameramen who might film them or the producers "directing" or the viewers watching. This was theirs.

It had been a long time since she shared anything with anyone else. Let alone something special. Or intimate.

(Oh, she'd been naked with guys plenty, but it wasn't nudity of the fucking soul.)

They kept trading jabs for a long while before falling into companionable silence, Killian humming at times and Emma playing drums on the side of her belly that wasn't full of gashes.

How long had it been since she'd had a chance to just be? And with someone else on top of it?

"I'm glad they picked you to be my partner, Jones." It was an out-of-nowhere confession and it left her vulnerable to a whole hell of a lot of jokes from Mr. Chuckles over there. But he took the high road.

"Same here, love. Same here."

That night marked the beginning of the end, unfortunately. Swan was a fighter, but there were some things you just couldn't stop.

Around dusk, the fever set in. The wounds on her thighs were hot to the touch, the scrapes at her ribs starting to ooze. She was going to be pulled - there was no avoiding it - but Emma wasn't having it.

"Killian, I'm fine. I'll heal. We're doing so good!" she whisper-shouted, a shiver wracking her body that had nothing to do with the rain or the nakedness. No, there was no denying now that infection had set in.

"Emma, I'm begging you. Try to come to terms with it now. It's not your fault. But this isn't going to last."

"No!" she whined like a teenager getting grounded, but he couldn't judge her. Not when he could see her world was crashing around her. Without thinking, he scooted himself closer to her, fully enveloping her in his arms. She let out a sob - just a tiny one - before relaxing against him.

The producers and medic were certainly on their way. They couldn't have Emma die of sepsis, all for a dramatic episode.

And he'd been right. They swooped in just minutes after Emma curled against him. She put up a fight - of course she did - but they made it clear that this was no longer her choice. She was being medically pulled from the game. She bitched and grumbled and whined and after finally agreeing that she'd rather not die than complete her challenge, she looked right into a camera and shouted, "this better not drop my fucking PSR!" and started storming off.

The medic caught her, of course, and asked her to lie down on a stretcher. It was procedure, after all.

"Just pretend you're Cleopatra being carried to her throne, love," he joked as she lay down, her wounds now covered with gauze and antibiotic, most likely.

She rolled her eyes but almost smiled.

"Try not to have too much fun without me." Her voice was sadder than he'd actually heard before. Or maybe not sadder, but it was... something. Different.

"Ha! You think I'm staying here without you? Bullocks. I didn't sign up for a solitary confinement experiment here. I'm out of here."

At that, she shot upright, to the deep annoyance of the medic. "You can't! You have to last the 21 days! It's why you came here."

His face was hot and his ear was itchy and he should just shut up, but couldn't really help the over-honest response from spilling out his mouth. "Why you start something isn't why you finish it. Or don't finish it. Sometimes you - well, I mean - people. Sometimes people find something bigger than what they were looking for.

Emma's jaw dropped - as he thought it might - and she was painfully silent. Then and the whole trek to extraction. And the boat ride. She'd smile at him and acknowledge his overall existence, but she didn't use any of her words and it was maddening.

But the poor woman was battling something that in all reality could kill her so he couldn't exactly begrudge her for not addressing the fact that he kind of indicated he may have some warm and fuzzy feelings toward her.

(God, he probably loved her, but she didn't need to know that.)

Once back in the city, she was admitted to the hospital for treatment and he was technically released to return to his very boring, very clothed life. But he couldn't leave. Not without seeing her again.

So he booked a hotel room and waited a few days for her to hopefully start to feel better and then he walked into the hospital seeking out the room number he'd bribed a member of the production team to give him.

When he found her she was awake but lying in bed, an iPad perched on her food tray in front of her.

(Lord knows she loved her Netflix.)

"Swan! You're alive!" was the best he could do to announce his presence without announcing his... intentions.

"Jones! What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in Boston, bar crawling for babes or something like that?"

"What exactly are you watching on that daft apparatus that would make you think I'd behave that way?"

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but - like she often had in the jungle - she gave him just a bit of a smile.

And how fucking gorgeous that smile was when her cheeks were pink and her belly was (presumably) full and she was clean, dry, and not dying.

He left the ball in her court, suddenly more afraid than he'd ever been on Naked and Afraid, just waiting to see if she might actually want to know him as a human being outside of a survival situation or if their time in the jungle was nothing more than a bromance of convenience.

They were both silent, probably for too long. She tapped a few times on her iPad and then closed the case on it, finally looking him up and down.

"Fuck. How is it that you're even hotter with clothes on?!"

Huh. Not the reaction he was expecting.

"See something you like, love?"

"I know you see something you like."

Pause.

"Are you seriously teasing me for having a crush on you?"

"Of course I am. You just wait until our episode airs and I'm painted as the psycho bitch. Nobody has a crush on the psycho bitch, Killian."

"I don't. I have a crush on a smart, determined, damaged, beautiful, stubborn, resourceful badass, who maybe had a silly meltdown once that led to a dangerous infection. But just that one time."

"That you know of."

She hadn't admitted any reciprocated feelings, but she wasn't tossing him out of the room, so that was probably a good sign? Right?

"I don't like the assertion that you could ever duplicate the experience we just had together, love. It was one-of-a-kind, I'd say."

She hummed and started picking at her nails, a nervous twitch he'd never seen before now. "Oh, yeah. Definitely a one-time thing."

"Ha! Well... care to - I don't know - experience maybe some other one-time things with me? Perhaps? Just... not in the jungle. Unless that's what does it for you."

"Nah, definitely something that keeps you in that leather jacket. It does something for me."

She smiled. And he smiled. And after completing the cycle from reluctant partners to enemies to friends to something else, Killian finally sauntered over to her hospital bed and planted a solid kiss right on her still-smiling lips.

Funny the things you can find when you weren't looking to begin with.

tagging: @hollyethecurious & @killian-whump

(p.s. the whump is coming.)

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au ff #captain swan #keisha writes #naked and afraid #yeah idk #i like it #you might not #i needed to get back into writing #so this happened #:)

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deanogarbage · 6 years

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find me in the drift (FiKi)

FiKi Week Day 4: Science Fiction or Fantasy.

Anyone who knows me knows that Pacific Rim has slowly consumed my life and I am trapped in the perpetual hellscape that is Newmann. So of course I’m going to pick sci-fi and finally write my Pacific Rim AU that I’ve told @safarikalamari that I’m going to write for over a year. I wrote this in one sitting again like a crazy person.

If you’ve never watched Pacific Rim, I tried to explain the best I could within the fic so watching the movie isn’t necessary but it sure would help. Plus I need more people to join in the sadness of Newmann.

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: T Words: 2k-ish Summary: Pacific Rim AU. K-Scientist Killian Durin is thrust into a new position when his uncle is injured and his brother needs his help. The drift reveals some things.

2025. Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Other worldly creatures, known as the Kaiju, have been terrorizing cities on the Earth’s Pacific Rim for nearly ten years. The human world has not sat idly by and let these monsters destroy the world. Jaegers, large human operated robots, have become the saving grace of the world. These Jaegers are each powered by two human pilots through a neurologically controlled processed called the Drift. The Drift allows the pilots to move in sync to operate the Jaeger, but not just any two people are able to drift. A compatibility process is necessary. Jaeger pilots often being siblings or lovers. While the Jaegers, their pilots, and the science around them are important, there are also scientists dedicated to understanding the Kaiju and how to help the Jaeger pilots find their weaknesses and eradicate them for good.

Dr. Killian “Call me, Kili” Durin was one of the leading K-scientists in the world. He held several doctorates in several fields of biology having gone to and taught at some of the most prestigious universities of the world.

While he was proud of his job and the research he had provided toward the Kaiju Wars, he was still the black sheep of the family overall.

Back when the Kaiju had first attacked ten years prior, his two uncles became the heroes of the First Kaiju War as the top Jaeger pilots. It was assumed that he and his brother would follow in their footsteps, but that didn’t seem to be his plan.

On the other hand, his brother Philip “Please don’t call me, Fili” Durin was perhaps the best Jaeger pilot to have ever existed, or so he thought. After their Uncle Frerin’s untimely death at the end of the First Kaiju War, Fili became his Uncle Thorin’s copilot.

The Second Kaiju War had unfortunately began, the giant Godzilla-esque monsters had been spotted outside of Sydney and all hands were back on deck after a decade of relative silence.

Kili was excitedly elbow deep inside part of a kaiju carcass when one of the floor assistants came in with a worried look.

“Dr. Durin, there has been an incident with Oaken Shield. It was severely attacked by one of the Category 3 kaiju. Your uncle and brother are being transported to med bay as we speak,” her voice is worried and a little frantic.

Kili hardly has time to clean himself off before he is running off to the medbay demanding to see his family.

Fili turns out to just have minor injuries that will heal up over a week or so of rest (Kili heard that as a day or two, knowing Fili). His uncle however was not as lucky. He was suffering from some major, but not life threatening injuries.

His piloting career was over at the worst possible time.

Kili knew that there would be knew kaiju coming any day, any moment, and they were officially one Jaeger team down.

Fili had healed up in a matter of days and was already back training. He had been a Marine recruit when the First Kaiju War started. He immediately was deferred to the PPDC’s Jaeger piloting bootcamp. He was never on the deployed teams, having struggled to connect with another pilot.

It was the cruel twist of fate that his career began at his uncle’s end. He finally made a drift compatible match with his uncle. They were able to take down some of the smaller Cat 1’s and the random kaiju sighting over the past decade.

This kaiju was the largest either of them had seen and it was their undoing. While their drift was compatible, it wasn’t the strongest. Now he again was copilot-less and would have to try to find some random pilot to try and bond with.

It was his first day back from the accident, he was healed up but his muscles and body were still sore from a combination of disuse and the injury itself. Many other pilots and crew members filled the on-base gym full of machines as well as a private sparring room.

Kili is working on a punching bag with another scientist when he sees his brother walk him. He excitedly launches himself in his brother’s direction, hugging him tight.

“Look at you! Good as new!” Kili grins patting his cheek teasingly.

Fili chuckles and peels him off gently.

“I need to spar, but I need to start easy. Think you can handle it?”

Kili scoffs in offense crossing his arms.

“May I remind you that I went through all the same martial arts classes as you when we were kids. Ask Hae-Won, I was tearing that bag up over there,” he scrunches his nose.

Fili grins clasping his shoulder and pushing him toward the sparring floor.

“Well then you have nothing to be scared of then!” He pulls his own curly blond hair into a bun and slips padded gloves onto his hands.

“Jiu jitsu rules?” He offers to his younger brother who shrugs with a smile and a nod.

“Sounds good to me.”

The two meet on the middle of the floor, one of the other pilots playing referee. Kili ignoring the whispers of mostly the other pilots.

“He’s a scientist, Philip is going to kick his ass.”

“Ah, he’s injured. I bet the kid gets a good hit or two in.”

“Injured or not, I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite side of Philip.”

They bump their padded knuckles against one another before the reffing pilot signals for them to begin.

Fili easily takes Kili down on the mat within the first few second, Kili nervous about hurting his already injured brother. The knock of air out of his lungs is enough to light the spark in him.

Kili is surprised himself when he is able to go toe to toe with his brother, each fighting and maneuvering easily around one another on the floor. When Kili finds an in and has Fili pinned to the ground and having to tap out, there is nothing but a bit grin and excitement.

Less than an hour later Kili finds himself in his uncle’s hospital room as Fili and Thorin are in the throes of an argument.

“It only makes sense Thorin! Who else better for me to drift with?”

“He isn’t like us Fili! This isn’t the life he signed up for!”

Kili clears his throat realizing he must be the topic of the argument.

“He can talk for himself, you know? Fili, you want me to...drift with you?” His voice is almost incredulous.

“You’re an amazing fighter, Kili. Sure, you need some training and some finessing, but I think you could make an amazing pilot.”

“But I’m a scientist.”

“Yes, but you can be more too! Please Kili, we can do a practice drift and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But I can’t not let us try,” Fili begs with a renewed energy.

“I don’t like this,” Thorin says resolutely from his bed.

“You don’t have to like it, Kili just has to. You’ll give it a shot, won’t you Kee?”

Kili looks between the two of them before focusing on Fili.

“One time. I’ll give the practice drift one shot, if I don’t like it, I’m not doing it,” He says seriously to his brother, “I’m only considering doing it because I want to see a kaiju up close and personal.”

Fili rolls his eyes but is beyond excited at the idea of having a true drift partner.

They schedule the test drift in one of the Jaeger practice pods the next day. Fili unable to wait any longer.

Even though it is just a practice, the idea of drifting has always scared him a bit. He’s heard the pilots coached enough to know that you don’t hang onto anything in the drift, you just let it ride through.

The drift exposes each pilot to the memories, thoughts, feelings, and emotions of the other. There are no secrets in the drift. Both pilots share an intimate and genuine connection where their minds temporarily become one.

Kili swallows nervously as he steps out in the Jaeger operating outfit, his worried eyes finding Fili who offers a reassuring smile.

“These outfits are ridiculous,” Kili nervously laughs as some of the J-tech crew shows him how to get set up in the mock Jaeger unit.

Fili laughs a little in response, needing no help himself. “Yeah, they are. Hopefully, you’ll get used to it.”

Fili’s voice switches over mid-sentence to the comm link within the helmet.

“Okay Kili, just trust me. Follow my lead and don’t hold onto anything in the drift.”

“I feel like I should start a confessional for all the fucked up things you might see in the drift, so I’m apologizing now.”

Fili laughs again as he speaks in to the mic, pushing in buttons on the HUD of the Jaeger interface, “Activating neural handshake. In 3...2...1…”

Kili gasps as a wall of blue hits his vision and he feels like he may be sick from the spiraling feeling as memories and feeling flood him.

He sees first days of school, Fili fighting bullies, their first martial arts classes, their sleepovers they share as children, Thorin yelling at them.

“You are teenagers! This childhood dependency stops now.”

Fili being sent away for military school. Both sobbing at night, the intense heartache, emptiness.

They feel their first hug in Hong Kong, they hadn’t seen each other in years. A decade spent making up for lost time in their childhood.

Accidental drunken kisses. Fear, shame, they have to hide, if anyone were to know. Their lives would be over. He’d ruin Fili’s life. Fili he loves Fili but he can’t love Fili. Brothers, they are brothers and brothers aren’t like this why is he like this? Why can’t he be better? Fili don’t go-God, ithurtsithurtsmorethananythingwhycanttheyjustbetogetherwhydoesithurtsomuchmakeitstoptheblueisswallowinghimmakeitstopbrotherfilifilifilifilif-

“Kili, let it go! Kili you have to LET GO!”

He surges forward, gasping for air as he makes it onto the other side of the drift. Fili looks concerned at him from behind his helmet.

“Kee, you okay? You made it through. You’ve let it go, now let’s focus on the mission okay?” Fili orders in a reassuring tone as Kili nods catching his breath.

“Yeah, I’m good,” his breath evens out some before he pushes a smile on his face, “Let’s kick some virtual kaiju ass.”

Kili isn’t surprised when they take down the kaiju with relative ease, his mind feeling clear and strong with the guidance of Fili there. It’s reassuring and calming. Like he doesn’t have to think as hard with Fili doing half of the work as well.

Kili however is surprised when the J-tech crew excitedly clap them both on the back.

“You guys just beat the current record of beating Knifehead! With minimal damage at that! It was incredible!”

They both are helped out of the mock Jaeger, the drift ending. Kili searches Fili’s face when he hears a soft rushed voice in the back of his head.

So proud. I love him so much. Kili, I love you.

Fili takes off his helmet not saying anything at first.

“Well then.”

“Well then what?” Fili says softly looking at him.

“I’m going to really, really miss my lab,” Kili sighs holding the helmet under his arm.

Fili couldn’t possibly grin brighter hearing in his own head a soft, I love you too.

#fikiweek2018 #fiki #durincest #fili and kili #pacific rim au #my fanfiction

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macavoy-stiltskin-blog · 7 years

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Framework

((Just after Road to Hell)

Gold had stumbled his way back up through Jefferson’s house, retracing Joseph’s steps to the car that had taken them there. He may have slid across a wall or two along the way, the blood loss affecting him ways he hadn’t ever experienced before. He was woozy and had trouble walking.

Gold hadn’t intended to heal the bullet wound - it was the plan to use it as a way to frame Killian Jones (along with some memory manipulation) to conceal the kidnapping and keep Jefferson out of jail. However, his attempts to slow the progression of the damage weren’t successful. And he’d had trouble with the memory spell as well. Somehow Fiona had managed to alter magic, or at least hinder his access to it. Finally he made it to Jefferson’s car, feeling weak and wrestling with his consciousness. It seemed forever before Jefferson joined him where he now lay slumped over in the front seat. He couldn’t manage the seat belt, but what was the purpose in that at this point.

Details were swimming in his head, things he needed to remind Jefferson to do. Clean up his blood, plant some of it outside to create a fake scene of the crime, burn his clothing with the gun powder residue, wash his hands… “Gideon.” was the only thought that actually surfaced. “Where’s Gideon?”

Joseph had no memories of Belle and Rumple’s son, regardless of name. What would Fiona have done with him? Even she had remained scarce in Joseph’s life thus far. Except for that confessional on Miner’s Day which he now realized had been her trying to keep Joseph from getting close to Brie. It had almost worked. Gold’s shirt and upper part of his trousers were soaked of his blood and pooling up on Jefferson’s carseat. He faded in and out of consciousness as he was jostled about with Jefferson’s hurried driving to the hospital. His mutterings fluctuated between asking for Gideon and Belle.

@if-you-onlyknew @true-loves-kiss-opens-door

#framework #if-you-onlyknew #on the way to the hosptial #maybe an ambulance would have been better #at least i'm not in the trunk of his car

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predatory-predilection · 7 months

Note

- trece :3<

You present a truly fascinating perspective, Trece. Perhaps you are correct, and I should simply cut to the chase and make the true intent behind my statements clear?

Step a little closer, my feathered little fiend, and I shall communicate with you in a way that needs no words. Although, I must hasten to add, I have a small question to posit to you before we begin our little chat.

How swiftly, I wonder, can you escape without those lovely wings of yours?

#killian confessional #edgelord.txt #cero-sleep

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snowbellewells · 5 years

Note

For the fandom meme: B, O, S, X

@scientificapricot I’m really, REALLY sorry that I didn’t get to answer these sooner. Thank you so much for sending these to me - I enjoy answering them!

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

I wouldn’t have initially thought of Hooking Utensil (Sabine and Rogers in Ouat S7) but there were several lovely fics and fanarts that made me think they would have been quite a cute pair. They were pretty adorable friends on the show too, and I think they had some real chemistry too.

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of?

“Demons” by Imagine Dragons absolutely feels like it’s in Killian Jones’ head as we’re just getting to know him in Seasons 2 & 3 and he’s beginning to turn from his quest for revenge

“New York” by Snow Patrol was totally the song that said CS to me in the long hiatus between 3a and 3b.

There’s also a song called “Even Now” by Dashboard Confessional that gives me definite Milah and Killian feels, even if I was never completely decided what I thought of Milah and them as a couple. It’s a beautiful melancholy song.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

Okay, so I personally headcanon that Snow and David would have named Emma’s little brother after a true fallen hero - who had saved BOTH of their lives, no less!- Graham (Or Leo Graham, I’m not picky! ;)

I also headcanoned before the Underworld arc was over that Emma and Killian would have a small wedding ceremony by the well in Underbrooke (maybe that only Henry attended as witness?) officiated by Liam. I know I’m not the only person who dreamed of that happening, but it would have been the most beautiful parallel to Snow and Charming’s first wedding in secret, performed by Lancelot for Charming’s mother to see.

Lastly, I definitely headcanoned a wedding on the Jolly Roger ala The Little Mermaid for Captain Swan. Not that I didn’t love the musical wedding episode, I did, but to me that would have been the dream. Maybe because The Little Mermaid is my favorite Disney movie, but I also think it would have suited them perfectly.

X - top 5-10 characters who are YOUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

(* Okay, so I’m going to be mixing canons and shows a bit here, but here they come all the same)

~ Graham Humbert/ the Huntsman (OuaT)

~ Rufus Carlin and Wyatt Logan (both from Timeless)

~ Pacey Witter (Dawson’s Creek)

~ Jamie Reagan (Blue Bloods)

~Belle French (OuaT)

~ Killian Jones (OuaT) especially young Lt. Jones and Deckhand!Hook, and also Detective Rogers, but all versions of him deserve every fan and defender possible <3

~ Constance Bonacieux and D’Artagnan (The Musketeers)

~ Tiana/Sabine (OuaT S7)

(* It quit letting me add gifs, for some reason...?)

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justsomewhump · 7 years

Text

All Sin Comes from Within (Ch. 2/4)

Previously titled Body Full of Sin, this started out as a one-shot that I decided I want to write a continuation for. Please read the warnings.

Important warning: This story contains and centers around Mp/reg. If you don’t know what it is, read here. The first few paragraphs are informative enough. Make sure you’re okay with it before you proceed.

Other warnings: Rape, bloodplay, mentions of child abuse, dark themes around religion.

Note: I want to give a hat-tip to this fic, because it served as a great push and inspiration for me to write this continuation.

Word count: 6.1k

Ch. 1: Tumblr / AO3

Ch. 2: AO3

The demon spawn left the church not long after he was done.

Killian looked around and was surprised to see that there was no blood left as he lay in the confessional, feeling broken, violated and shameful. Everything around him, even his own body parts showed no signs anymore of what had just happened to him. Except of course, of the pain. No-one would believe him if he said anything.

He got dressed carelessly and walked out. David wasn’t there. He was probably at the office, filing paperwork or whatever.

Killian limped to the exit. He felt a shiver as he walked out of the church and went on to his car. Getting into it and sitting on the driver’s seat was an ordeal, and he winced as pain in his behind overtook him, but he managed to relax, enough to drive to his block. He got out and walked to his apartment, ignoring anyone who greeted him.

He went into the shower and tried to relax under the warm water. He could still feel pain, as if that demon was still raping him. He cried softly.

Was this really happening? How was it possible? He had the terrible feeling that that demon would come again soon. Why was he thinking that? Why couldn’t he get the demon’s disgusting sounds of lust out of his head?

Realizing that he couldn’t really feel clean enough, no matter how much he washed, he covered himself with a bathrobe and went straight for his bed, burying himself under the covers.

For the next two days, he only left his bed to eat something fast and use the bathroom, then went back to the minimum comfort and protection he felt there.

David called him to ask him why he hadn’t come to work, but Killian only replied that he wasn’t feeling well. It was not a lie by any means, but he could never admit the truth to him.

The next day, when he finally felt sitting down was a little easier, he dressed into normal clothes and drove to the church. He held the rosary tight in his hand and contemplated going in. He knew he had rejected his own God, and that he had little hope He would hear him now, but a little praying wouldn’t harm anyone, would it?

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to get out. He felt dirty, and he felt ruined. Damaged. Nothing could bring him back now, and it was his fault that he gave in the first time.

He bent over, hugged his torso and let his forehead rest on the wheel, and he cried.

Neither Peter nor his spawn visited him for days. On Saturday evening, a time he knew David wasn’t at the church, he finally got the courage to drive back to the church and get in. He felt relieved when he realized he could actually cross the threshold unharmed. He wasn’t completely ruined, after all.

He sat on a bench and crossed his hand with his prosthetic, the rosary between them.

Our Father, Who is in heaven, Holy is Your Name; Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

He recited the prayer with closed eyes, willing himself to believe in it as much as he could.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us; and lead us not into temptation-

A small vibration in his hand cut his praying off. He opened his eyes and looked at the rosary in horror, as he saw the lower part of the crucifix bent sideways.

He gasped and the rosary fell from his hand. The crucifix kept benting until it was completely transformed beyond recognition.

That’s it, he thought. He has rejected me.

He ran out of the church to his car, not realizing how much he was crying until he reached his block. He hastily wiped the tears off his face as he walked with his head down. He went immediately for his bed and wished he would never need to get out of it again.

Movement around the house woke him up at midnight. Feeling stiff from having slept in his clothes and his head hurting from his crying, he supported himself at his elbows and looked to his bedroom door.

He didn’t remember closing the door earlier, and now he could see light underneath it. He could hear something being dragged from the living room...

The door opened suddenly and Killian froze at the sight of Peter resting on the doorframe. He was wearing a suit and was holding a glass goblet, already filled with a red liquid.

“I’d suppose you need something more than I do. Something probably stronger than wine, though. How long have you stayed clean, again?” Peter said and splayed his fingers towards Killian’s nightstand. Killian turned and saw a bottle of rum sitting on it, open and ready for use.

“No, no, please. Let me be,” Killian said and grabbed at his blanket in despair.

“Hmm, you see, at the end of the day, it was your choice to give yourself to me. So there’s not much I can do now.” Peter left the doorframe and walked closer to Killian’s bed.

“Not like this. I didn’t know.” A sob escaped Killian, his despair prominent in his voice.

“I’m a demon. What did you expect?” Pan said and laughed, then took a sip from his glass. “Rumple,” he said and turned at the door.

Killian froze again as he saw a man enter, dragging the armchair from the living room. He whimpered when he saw his smiling face. It was the demon spawn that had raped him in the church.

Peter sat comfortably at the chair and crossed his legs. “Come on, give me a good show.”

The demon spawn turned to Killian, his smile unwavering.

“No! No, please!”

“Rules apply here too, dearie. Scream all you want. No-one will hear you.”

And scream he did. It was horrible, even more painful than he remembered. The monster had pushed him on his belly, crying out in pleasure as he slammed and slammed into him. He was grabbing his hair, pushing half of his face into his tear-soaked pillow and forcing him to keep looking at Peter who was watching the whole thing with exuberant glee, drinking from his glass the whole time.

He knew it went on for a long time. He felt spent and devastated from the beginning, but he wasn’t allowed a moment of rest. Whenever the demon spilled inside him, he just kept going with unstoppable energy.

His voice gone hoarse from screaming, he hadn’t stopped begging them both to stop, even when the pleas came out in broken, unintelligible whispers.

Finally, the demon spilled inside him one last time, then lay down on the bed next to him, breathing hard. Peter stood up from the armchair, looking as elegant as when he first appeared that night, even after countless glasses of wine. Killian flinched and closed his eyes when he saw him raise his hand towards him, and whimpered when he felt it brush through his hair.

“What a sight,” Peter whispered. “Now rest. You’ll need it until the next time.”

And just like that, both demons were gone. Killian couldn’t even cry, he just stayed where he was, broken and dirty and used, listening to the morning bells ring somewhere far.

Some time later, having lost complete track of time, he crawled into the shower and let the water wash away the blood and release and pain. The latter didn’t disappear that easily. He couldn’t even stand, nor sit, he just lay uncomfortably on the cold tiles, crying his heart out.

He should do something. Perhaps let David know, or at least go to a hospital to get some painkillers and...

How could he? How could he get out there and admit that he’d let himself fall into a pit of continuous abuse and pain?

No, it couldn’t be just his fault. Peter had seduced him... and he hadn’t had much choice when it came to his demon spawn, had he?

Hadn’t Peter called him something? A name or... a rank? He had no idea what it was, but he couldn’t remember it no matter how much he tried to. The only thing that came to mind was the pain he’d caused him all night long. And it wouldn’t mean anything if he did know his name. No-one was protecting him anymore.

He stayed in the shower long after the warm water was over, only finding the strength to turn it off when he started shivering from the cold. He struggled to stand, hastily draped a bathrobe around him and hobbled painfully to his bed. He gasped when he saw it was immaculate. No blood, no semen, no tears on the pillow... not even the smell was there anymore.

Feeling tears run down his cheeks again at the thought that he had no proof left beside his physical and emotional agony, he collapsed at the entrance of his bedroom and cried again.

He woke up with his whole body in pain. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, and only his spit drooling out of his mouth to the floor was the proof of that. He didn’t feel any better, no rest or relief from the pain or the horrible thoughts. He stood up on shaky feet, shivering as he remembered he was only wearing the bathrobe, and looked inside the bedroom again.

His bed was cleaned and made, but his clothes from the other night were still lying in tatters next to it.

Killian felt his head ready to explode as memories assaulted him, memories of that demon ripping them off his body before he pushed him hard down on the bed and...

“No!” he cried hoarsely. No, no, he needed some air... without even bothering to put on underwear, he slipped into the first shirt and trousers he grabbed from his wardrobe, put on his shoes and ran outside. He collapsed on the stairs more than a few times before he reached the exit of the block. He pushed the door firmly and walked outside.

The cold wind only made him feel even more exposed, more vulnerable. It was late; he didn’t have his phone, what if someone attacked him?

But he couldn’t find it in himself to walk back in. He found a quiet, almost hidden spot among the parking lot and lay down there. He brought his knees as close to his chest as his aching behind allowed him, hugged his torso with his arms and cried softly.

He only stood up hours later because of his growling stomach. He still had needs to fulfill, and something told him that if he failed to do so, Peter and his spawn would come to make sure he did.

Instead the first thing he picked up when he entered his apartment was the still open bottle of rum. He downed a few gulps, feeling the burning he never forgot, welcoming it back.

He didn’t regret his decision, not even later, as he lay down on the bathroom floor, the bottle empty next to him and its contents just thrown up from Killian’s stomach into the toilet.

The days passed and all Killian could do was lie on his couch - lying on the bed was off the question after that night - eat only to appease his hunger and use the bathroom. His supplies were ending and he felt a terror at the thought that he would have to go out for groceries.

How could he face the world again?

That didn’t apply when he ran to grab a good ol’ bottle of rum or whiskey, however. With the bottle already half empty by the time he was back home, he felt like he could get to the rooftop and scream what was happening to him, for all the world to hear.

They came again next Saturday, right on midnight to Sunday. Peter sat on the armchair, crossing his legs and sipping his wine as Rumple - that was his spawn’s name - broke him apart all over again.

They left him at dawn again, and he was left in the same condition as last week, listening to the morning bells.

They came only on Saturdays, leaving him the same way, as if to remind him what he left behind.

On the fifth Saturday, Killian found the strength to drive to his church. He owed an explanation anyway. Salvation was not even a question right then.

He felt a slight pain in his stomach as he walked up the stairs to the entrance, but he ignored it. He’d been having cramps anyway, and he was lucky he could even walk after the horrors he’d been enduring.

He couldn’t ignore though the burning fire that blasted inside him as soon as he crossed the threshold. He cried desperately and took an instinctive step backwards. The pain subsided mostly, leaving a small burning feeling behind.

It was nothing to the terror he felt as he saw David’s horrified face, looking at him through the entrance.

“Killian...” he whispered and reached for the crucifix hanging from his neck.

It was enough to send Killian running away in shock.

He couldn’t step inside the church. The demons had infected him, and now he was seen as a threat by David too. He had no idea how he had the vigor to run, he already felt his hips protest from the strain, but he only ran and ran, until the nausea that had bothered him since that morning got the best of him. He fell on his knees as far from people as he could and threw up.

Only the shame of being in public gave him the motivation to get back on his feet. He still felt terribly nauseated and cramped, but the only thing on his mind was that he was too unsanctified to walk on holy ground anymore.

With little thought that he’d left his car outside the church, he merely walked back to his apartment and collapsed on his bed.

It was Saturday. He’d only wanted to ask for some help, just in case someone could offer it...

The feeling of someone’s fingers brushing through his hair startled him awake. It was only Peter, this time wearing simple clothes and sitting on Killian’s bed with a soft smile on his face.

“Wakey, wakey. I heard you tried to reach your God today.”

Killian shivered and tried to pull away from the touch. Peter let him, and he sat up on the bed, wincing.

“Why did this happen suddenly? I... I went into the church after... the first... and then your... your son...”

Peter shook his head lightly. “It wasn’t you that the ‘holy’,” he made a face at the word before continuing, “grounds tried to harm.”

“What then?”

Peter lowered his gaze and touched his hand on Killian��s lower stomach. “Why, this little thing growing inside of you.”

Killian blinked at him. “What? Wha- no.”

“You’ve been having cramps and nausea, haven’t you?”

Killian shook his head frantically. “No, no, no. How - how is this possible?” he stuttered between heavy breaths.

“I’m a demon,” Peter said and shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Like this thing.” He snapped his fingers.

Killian found himself naked, lying down on the bed on his back. There were chains around his ankles and his wrists, even holding his severed left arm in place though it should have easily slipped off. The chains pulled at his limbs, forcing his legs open in a painful position, and Killian gasped in pain and shock.

“Normally, we can only impregnate women,” Peter whispered as he stood above him, naked as well. “But my Rumple is special, different from my other spawns, and therefore my favorite.” He bent forward, getting too close to Killian’s face. “He can impregnate men.” His smile was fierce and cold and sent shivers throughout all of Killian’s body. “So don’t worry, you’re not really the first one to go through this. It has happened a lot before.”

“Please...” Killian begged weakly, tears of shock running down his face. “Leave me be.”

“What’s done is done, my dear,” Pan replied and sat between his legs.

“Peter, please. Don’t do this…”

“Stop calling me Peter,” he hissed. “Such a ridiculous nickname, hearing it in your thoughts all the time. My real name is Pan.” He moved forward and kissed Killian’s wet and frozen lips. “Mmm. I quite missed you.”

Killian didn’t even scream that night. The pain was the same, and though Pan was very inventive of ways to make him suffer more, only so that Pan could laugh at him, the shock and the fear settled deep down in Killian’s mind and he couldn’t react at all.

It was only early in the morning that he finally did. Pan had just finished, and he threw himself all over him. Killian could feel his frantic pants as well as the low chuckle at the sound of the bells.

“The bells ring for the faithful,” Pan said. “But you’re not one of them now, are you?” He caressed Killian’s cheek with his knuckles, letting his hand rest on his neck, and Killian finally started sobbing.

If he really thought on it, he still had a tiny burning feeling in his stomach.

Pan left without making the chains go away.

The nightmares later came at full force. He saw Hellfire, he saw suffering, tormented, cursed souls screaming for help. Liam and Milah begging him to save them. And a small creature, sometimes deep red, sometimes black, grasping at him and stealing his breath, leaving him broken, weak, begging for death.

He finally woke up screaming. He was still naked, still chained down on his bed, his blood and Pan’s release all around his sheets. His body ached from his painful position and he was bruised where the chains were squeezing him. But he couldn’t get his eyes off his stomach. Could it really be true? How could he even know? Was his stomach really gonna start growing? How would it even work?

The chains didn’t disappear until the next night. Killian wheezed from the pain, barely able to move his body after being held in such a painful position for so long. His hand went to his stomach, helplessly trying to catch any movement from... inside. He knew it was probably too early for that but, him carrying a child - a demon - wasn’t normal at all. Who knew how different this would be for him.

It shocked him. He was going to bear a child, a very demon. He was going to give birth to it - how could that even happen? How would it-

He sighed, mind and soul too weary to focus on such questions. He just needed to get help somehow.

But who would believe him? David was the closest thing he had to a friend, and he wouldn’t even trust him anymore.

Perhaps if he went to a doctor, asking for help to remove it...

He felt a pang in his stomach, unrelated to whatever might be growing there. He knew the Church’s stance on abortion, he’d spent years following it, and though he knew that this creature was as unholy as any of its predecessors and was practically possessing him, he felt guilty at the idea of killing it.

He crawled himself painfully into a ball and sobbed himself to sleep.

He woke up in pain, parched, and starving. Sundays were always like that, him waking at random hours and feeling like death, barely able to lift from his stained bed to attend to his body’s needs.

He thought that, at least, if he couldn’t remove it, he ought at least to know what it was, and what it would do to him. But he couldn’t do much during the following days, as the shock overwhelmed him and Pan’s assault was significantly worse than Rumple’s.

The week went by too fast for his liking, and he was still healing from Pan’s torments when Rumple appeared right in front of him next Saturday.

Killian startled, sitting up in bed and trying to move away.

“No, no, please,” he said. “You did what you had to do, please leave me be.”

“Now why would I do that? You’re such a pleasure to use. Why should my father get all the fun?”

“Please, no. I’m... I’m carrying…” Killian breathed hard, unable to utter the words that had been plaguing his mind all week long. He glanced at his stomach. “Please.”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Rumple reached forward and caressed Killian’s hair. Killian whimpered and closed his eyes, a few tears squeezing through them. “We don’t usually bother our hosts after knocking them up, but you’re simply...“ he leaned in and put his lips on his hair, breathing him in before adding, “... irresistible.”

Killian started sobbing. His tired, pained body couldn’t resist Rumple’s assaults, as he rid him of his clothes, then pushed him on his stomach and prepared to enter him. But Rumple only started toying with him, touching the head of his cock to Killian’s rear and pushing it in only a little, then drawing back, over and over again.

“Please...” Killian said.

“Mmm?” Rumple said between pants.

“Just get... get on with... with it.”

Rumple laughed. “You want me to fuck you properly? Can’t stand the teasing of my cock in your ass?”

Killian whimpered in response. Rumple continued his teasing for hours. Each second was a small push and pull. Each tick from the clock on Killian’s bedside table was a stab of pain in his ass. He closed his eyes, burying half of his face in his tear soaked pillow, leaving out only as much as he needed to keep breathing.

He vaguely wondered if it mattered whether he could breathe or not.

And then, without a single warning, Rumple pushed all his length inside him with force, and Killian screamed into his pillow. He felt Rumple’s hands grab his buttocks hard, digging his nails into his flesh, and then him drawing back and entering him again with the same force. Killian already felt the blood around his hole, slicking the tissue so that Rumple was entering him with more ease now.

“Stop! Please!” Killian screamed, but Rumple’s only response were moans and pants of pleasure.

After some more painful time, he felt Rumple spill inside him and pull off... and to his horror, also felt him reach down to his hole with his mouth, sucking. Killian tensed and screamed, but a hard punch delivered at his lower back forced him to relax, and Rumple kept on sucking. He then grabbed Killian’s hair and turned his face towards him.

Killian’s lips started trembling when he saw the bloody smile on the demon’s face. Rumple leaned in and opened his mouth against Killian’s, forcing blood and cum inside. Killian screamed through his nose and thrashed around, but with one move Rumple pulled away and... Killian found he couldn’t open his mouth. It was closed shut, and no matter what he tried, even pulling with his own hand, his lips wouldn’t detach from each other.

Rumple turned him on his back. Killian felt bile rise in his throat in disgust of what Rumple had put inside his mouth forcing him to swallow it, and he couldn’t stop it in time. He heaved forward, but his mouth still wouldn’t open, so part of his vomit went out of his nostrils and rolled down his chin and neck to his chest. The rest of it, along with his blood and Rumple’s cum were still in his mouth, forcing him to blow his cheeks to hold it all.

“Swallow it, dearie. Perhaps it’ll be good for the baby,” Rumple said, caressing Killian’s hair with both his hands.

Killian trembled, realizing that Rumple wouldn’t let him open his mouth until he swallowed, and the more he left the horrible mix there, the more disgusting it felt. Knowing he had no other choice, he swallowed, wincing at the horrendous taste and feeling down his throat. He finally managed to open his mouth then, only to let out a sob.

“There, there,” Rumple said. Still holding onto his hair, he forced Killian to sit and guided his head to rest on his bare chest as he trembled and cried. His position was pushing at his bleeding ass, making the pain even worse than before. Killian kept crying uncontrollably as Rumple caressed his hair and back, pretending to mutter words of comfort to him.

He was so tired. He barely had time to heal enough before either of them came to rip him apart all over again. Every time they came, he was getting worse and worse.

“How long?” Killian breathed through his sobs.

“How long what, sweetheart?” Rumple said and turned to leave a kiss on his hair.

“How long will... you keep... doing this?” His voice was shaking.

He felt Rumple’s laugh shake his chest lightly.

“How long will we keep coming and raping you? I guess, as long as we can.”

“Please.”

“Nuh-huh.” He pulled away a little to look into Killian’s tear-stained eyes. Killian couldn’t stop looking - and trembling - at the sight of his own blood around Rumple’s mouth. “You need to understand that this is how we work. It’s not our fault you’re so enjoyable, broken and pleading like this.”

As if on cue, Killian sobbed.

“And deep down, it is your fault. You let us right in.”

“No...“ Killian said weakly and closed his eyes as more tears came.

“Yes... You chose us, well my father to be fair, but if you really wanted your Lord’s protection, you would have it.”

Killian’s heart sank. How could he not want to be protected at that moment? He was suffering, living a Hell right where he was.

Instead, Rumple pushed him back into his arms and caressed his hair like he was some kind of a fucking pet, hurt and asking for attention.

“There, there,” he said again in a mock soothing voice. “Poor dearie, you remind me of babies in desperate need of a pacifier.”

Killian finally found the strength to push him back, away from him. He suddenly felt a flash of anger rush through him.

But Rumple was only smiling. “I don’t have a pacifier, but it’s close enough.” And then he grabbed his member and started rubbing.

“No! No! Get out!” Killian tried to move, but Rumple was sitting on his thighs, moving higher to push him back on the bed and sit right on his hips. Killian screamed as Rumple pushed his aching ass down on the mattress, and could only watch as his member went hard again.

Rumple panted. “There,” he said, grabbing his member with one hand and Killian’s hair with the other. “Suck on this for daddy.” Killian froze.

It all lasted a second, but it was as immobilizing as ever. One only word took him back, to his father’s angry face, to the abuse he’d endured from him, to his fear of him, to the cigarette burns still visible on his back... He had never raped him, of course, but all that pain felt significantly bigger to a child as young as he had been.

And as soon as the flashbacks were over, Killian felt Rumple’s member slide inside his mouth, making him gag. Instinctively, his hand reached up to remove it and his teeth bit down on it. It felt as if he was biting down on rocks.

“Ah, that won’t... do, so try all you... want. Oh fucking hell...“

Killian couldn’t even sob anymore. Rumple’s member went all the way down to his throat, nearly choking him with his thrusts. Killian shook and cried silently, the only sounds in the room being Rumple’s gasps and moans, the popping sound of his cock in his mouth, the creaking of his bed, and that bloody tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...

The next thing Killian registered was Rumple pulling off, spilling cum on his face and mouth. Then he passed out, having a nightmare whose only detail he remembered was pain and a ticking clock.

He woke up later, the only indication it was early afternoon being his blasted clock, and for a moment he didn’t realize why he hated it so much and why his room was stinking so much.

It wouldn’t be the first Sunday he woke up not remembering half of the things that had happened. But this time it simply felt weird. He smelt something more than release, something worse... Then he took a glance sideways, to the full-length mirror facing him. He saw the dried blood on his lips and the vomit that had run down his chin and it all came back to him.

He barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before his previously swallowed vomit made a reappearance. It burned, coming out of his nostrils as well. When he finished, feeling like he’d thrown up his entire stomach, he looked at the result and shivered. Among the bile he could see the blood and the release from earlier. He whimpered before a second round came up, shorter this time but as forceful and exhausting as the first.

He let his head fall onto the bed, staying in an awkward position as he fought to take control of his breathing and frantic heartbeat. He needed to clean up... he needed to stand up...

He needed help.

Next Thursday he felt strong enough to drive to a hospital further away, where he hoped no one would recognize him and no one would pay him enough attention to remember him.

After he parked and killed the machine, he grasped desperately at the wheel. Sitting down, even walking was still too painful. He’d have to hobble through the parking lot, then through the corridors in order to reach the secretary, then to wherever they would send him for his appointment.

But he had to see. Judging by his calculations, the... fetus was around five to six weeks old. The research he’d fearfully done on the subject had told him an ultrasound would show it clearly. He had to see. Perhaps he could get help this way.

Breathing deep, he exited his car and walked slowly to the hospital, trying to cover his limping. After long explanations about stomach pain and bloating - the last one was nothing but true - he was finally brought into a room, a nurse asking him to raise his shirt. He trembled a little when the doctor came in and prepared the machine.

“Calm down. We’ll get to see what’s wrong with you,” she said.

Her tone did nothing to help him relax. He resigned to watch her as she squeezed gel onto the transducer and held his breath while she brought it close to his skin. He gasped at the cold touch when it made contact, and closed his eyes, fearing the doctor’s reaction.

But the doctor was silent. No gasped breaths, no screams, nothing. He opened his eyes and saw her searching the display, confusion settling on her brows after a while.

“I don’t see anything wrong,” she said after a full minute of searching his stomach up and down.

“What?” he said without thinking.

“Apparently it’s not something we can see with an ultrasound. Perhaps you should appoint for a blood test and an MRI-”

“You’re not seeing anything there?” he said, pointing at the display. How could it... did Pan trick him? But he’d already felt nausea, fatigue and bloating even before he’d told him.

“No. Have you taken any other tests?”

Admittedly, perhaps the first thing he should have done was take a pregnancy test - as much as the idea absolutely terrified him.

“No. B-but, tell me something. A p-pregnancy would show five weeks in, right?”

The doctor raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

Killian sighed in confusion.

“Do you think you’re pregnant?” She didn’t appear to be judging him, only curious. Killian consoled himself with the thought that she only asked because she wanted to help him. It was her job, after all.

“Yes,” he said, lowering his eyes.

“Couvade?” the nurse asked her.

“We’ll see. Now, mister Jones, I need to ask you some questions. Were you born male?”

He flinched. Of course she would try to convince him it wasn’t possible. Even if he allowed them to help, he would have to also tell them that he was being raped... with no physical signs but a slight limp to show for it.

He felt tears prickle his eyes. “I need to leave,” he said and threw his legs off the bed.

“Wait a moment. If it’s sympathetic pregnancy, we’ll need to-”

“I don’t care. I have to go.”

He ignored everything else they said, even when the nurse ran off after him.

“Are you alright, sir? You’re limping.”

He turned to look at her and the nurse gasped, taking a step back. He couldn’t understand why she did and he didn’t care. He walked away without looking back.

When he entered his car, he wasn’t surprised to see Pan appear out of nowhere in the passenger seat. He only looked around to make sure nobody had seen him.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Pan said.

“Is it true? Am I really carrying your spawn?”

“Grand-spawn, to be specific, but yes. Why would I lie to you?” he chuckled and turned on his seat towards him.

“To creep me out. To scare me out of asking for help. To make me think I was going to die.” Killian was still looking far ahead.

“Oh, you are going to die, sadly. But I guess you’ll see for yourself when your belly starts growing and you start to feel the baby kick.”

Killian swallowed hard at all the information. He was going to... to feel the creature inside him... he would eventually look the part... and he wouldn’t survive the end of this torture.

His breathing went faster, and he closed his eyes as he gripped hard on the wheel.

“Hey, it’s okay... I can make sure it’s fast, if you want,” Pan said coolly and caressed Killian’s cheek with his knuckles. Killian couldn’t even move. He only opened his eyes to look at someone staring at them through his car window.

A feeling of shame washed over him at the fact that he saw them this way, and then the man turned to his side and started yelling. He rushed out of the car and threw himself on the ground, hitting the burning arm of his jacket on it to extinguish the flames.

He managed it before any big harm was done, and then he looked at them both, terror covering his face when he looked at Pan and then he ran towards the hospital.

“Why did you do that?” Killian asked.

“Oh, I didn’t. If it were me the car would have exploded, with him still looking at us.” He lowered his hand from Killian’s cheek to lay it flat on his stomach. Killian’s eyes followed the movement. “Seems this one is a little timid with her powers yet.”

“Her? It’s a girl? Can you see her?” He looked up back at him.

Pan nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips as he stroked Killian’s stomach.

“And sh- she has powers?”

“Why did you think the nurse lost her shit earlier?”

Killian looked at him apprehensively.

“Your daughter made your eyes look all black for a few seconds, and the nurse was creeped out.”

Killian froze at the word daughter, and didn’t move as Pan adjusted the rearview mirror so that Killian could see his reflection on it. “Come on, sweetheart. Show your papa what you’re worth.”

Indeed, Killian saw his own pupils dilate and cover his irises and scleras until the whole of both of his eyes looked black. He shivered and whimpered softly, and his eyes returned to normal.

“I’d suggest you be careful with your interactions,” Pan said as Killian lowered his gaze and placed his hand next to Pan’s on his stomach. “Who knows how she’ll react in public if another person bothers you.”

“Please leave,” Killian whispered, and then he was alone. He leaned forward, keeping his hand on his stomach and wrapping his other arm around him, and cried silently in horror.

He was carrying a demon inside him.

That fact obviously didn’t deter Pan and Rumple from hurting him.

S-It was unpredictable. It could harm others, and he’d have to isolate himself.

He was going to die.

“Please, leave. Leave me alone,” he repeated in a shaky voice, hand still on his stomach. “Leave.”

#no summary bc i suck with them #i write thangs #captain pan #golden hook #filler1 #content warning #nonconsensual #bloodplay #child abuse #I'm not tagging for mp/ reg #read the warnings #off it goes #ascfw

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

A Window of Opportunity – A Monthly Rumbelling Fic

Summary: One spring morning, Father Macavoy helps Belle French to stop her best friend making the worst mistake of her life, and the two grow a little closer.

A macelle fic written for the Monthly Rumbelling prompt: “Runaway bride”

Rated: G

This is not C$ friendly. At all. You have been warned.

=====

A Window of Opportunity

When Belle entered the large and opulently decorated church, the last thing that she expected was the priest racing up the aisle after her as she was looking for her seat and bundling her off into the vestry. She had been expecting to sit down, watch her friend get married, and then go and drown her sorrows in champagne at the wedding reception. Belle would admit that drowning one's sorrows was not usually what one was expected to do at wedding receptions, but Belle had long since viewed the impending nuptials as less of a wedding and more of a funeral. Emma's choice of life partner had been the cause of more than one heated argument between her and Belle, and was the reason why Belle was not, as had always been expected, Emma's maid of honour. It was only comparatively recently that she had even been re-invited to the wedding.

Belle, to put it bluntly, could not stand Emma's fiancé Killian, and was of the distinct impression that marrying him was the worst thing that her friend could do. She had already noticed the way that Emma had changed since she had been with the man, and she was certain that marriage would be the final nail in the coffin of her once vibrant personality.

“Father, what’s going on?” Belle asked. “What’s happening?”

“Shh, let’s not cause a panic.”

Belle had to raise her eyebrows at that. Of all the people involved in this wedding who were likely to panic, she would have put Father Macavoy down at the top of the list. He was a good man, who had listened to her laments about the forthcoming marriage with a kind and sympathetic ear, offering guidance as best he could in the middle of a very delicate situation. He pushed Belle into the vestry and closed the door firmly behind them. Belle was surprised to see Emma pacing up and down the small room in her wedding dress. Belle had not seen Emma’s wedding dress; after the final argument that had resulted in her being removed from her maid of honour duties she had been barred from such discussions. She was sure that on anyone else, the dress would have looked lovely, but it really did not sit right on Emma. She looked uncomfortable in it, and it really wasn’t her style. If anyone would be inclined for a vintage-inspired Grace Kelly knock-off, then it was Belle herself, but even she would be dubious about this particular frock.

“Oh Belle, thank God you’re here.” Emma saw her friend and stopped her pacing.

“Emma, what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t go through with this.”

Belle sighed. Emma had put her on the spot here, because what was she supposed to say? What was it that Emma wanted to hear? Should she express her gratitude that she’d finally come to her senses and listened to what Belle had been saying all along, or should she grit her teeth and swallow her opinions and tell her friend that it was going to be all right and that pre-wedding jitters were perfectly natural? And what about Father Macavoy, what would he say to her advice knowing as he did her deepest, darkest thoughts about Emma and Killian’s relationship and being sworn to the secrecy of the confessional? She decided that honesty was the best policy.

“Emma, I’ve already made my opinion of this wedding clear,” she began. “If you’re looking for someone to reassure you and nudge you up towards the altar, then you’ve come to the wrong person.”

Emma nodded. “I know. I don’t want a nudge towards the altar. I just need a friend to get me out of here.” She plucked at the lacy cuffs of her dress. “Look at this thing. It’s hardly me, is it?”

Belle shook her head. “I had to double take when I first saw you.”

“It’s Killian’s mother’s,” Emma went on, and she resumed her pacing. “She had it altered for me. Didn’t even consult me. She was saying something about not having a daughter to pass it on to, and I would be her daughter soon, and I should wear it as a symbol of becoming part of their family. And before I could even get the chance to say well actually, it’s my wedding and I’d like to have a say in my own wedding dress, Killian was off on one about how generous his mother had been and all the trouble she’d been to, and how I ought to be grateful because it wasn’t like I had a family of my own to do these kinds of things for me.”

“Emma, that’s awful,” Belle said plainly.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Emma sighed. “I chose the worst possible time to realise that.”

“That might have been my fault,” Father Macavoy said. “When she arrived I remarked on how much she looked like Grace Kelly.”

“Whose life pretty much ended when she got married,” Emma added. “And that’s when I realised that I did not want that to happen to me.”

Belle smiled. “Well, at least you came to your senses in the nick of time.”

“If I may add my own opinion,” Father Macavoy began timidly. Belle and Emma looked towards him. “I would just say that God is forgiving, and He wouldn’t think any the less of you for not honouring the commitment that you made to Mr Jones when you agreed to marry him. He would far rather that you went into any marriage knowing your true feelings, rather than making that vow with any degree of unsureness that might cause it to be broken down the line. Best to make that break now, before you make a promise in His eyes.”

“So you think I should run?” Emma said.

Father Macavoy nodded. “I would say that’s in your best interest.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Belle took charge. “Come on, let’s get you out of this circus. Father, is there any other way out of the vestry?”

“Only through the window.” Father Macavoy indicated the large stained-glass pane that stood half-open, letting in the light spring breeze. Emma and Belle looked at each other, and Emma smiled for the first time since Belle had entered the room. She handed Emma her car keys and the other woman hitched up her full skirts and climbed onto the dresser, wriggling through the window and landing in the flowerbeds outside. She gave Belle a little wave.

“Remember that the reception’s been prepaid!” she said, and rushed down the churchyard to where Belle’s car was parked, much to the alarm of the last few guests who were arriving.

Once she was safely away, Belle turned back to the priest.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Thank you, Miss French. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to convince her on my own. Having met the couple as often as I have in the run up to today, I’ve never been happier to have a bride run out on me.”

“So what do we do now?” Belle asked. “There’s a church full of people and a jilted fiancé who doesn’t know that he’s been jilted yet. Someone’s going to have to tell them.”

“Leave that to me.” Father Macavoy left the vestry, and Belle watched through the crack between the door and the frame.

“Thank you all for coming,” the priest began. “However, there will be no marriage taking place here today.”

“What?” Killian exclaimed. “Where’s Emma?”

“Not here,” Father Macavoy said. “Nor is she coming. Now, I appreciate the inconvenience that’s been caused to you all, but as I said, there will be no wedding here today. I have, however, been asked to remind you that the reception has already been paid for and you’re all welcome to go and enjoy yourselves there. Thank you.”

He made to go back into the vestry but Killian grabbed his arm.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked.

“Not at all, Mr Jones, and I would remind you before you do anything too rash that you are in a house of God.”

Killian was looking positively murderous, but he let go of Father Macavoy’s arm, allowing the priest to escape into the vestry.

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” he remarked to Belle. “I believe we deserve a cup of tea after that, Miss French, don’t you?”

He went over to the electric kettle and Belle nodded.

“Yes, Father. But you can call me Belle.”

“Ok, Belle.” There was a long pause, and he was blushing a little as he continued. “You can call me Joseph.”

“Father, really…”

“Really.” Joseph made two mugs of tea and passed one to Belle. “I’m very glad you came when you did. I don’t think that I could have gone through with the ceremony in all good faith, knowing what I do of those two.”

Belle nodded. There would be a hell of a lot of fallout from this. It was still far from over, but for now, they were safe in the vestry and Emma was safely away from the scene. Listening to the baffled congregation filing out of the church, Belle sipped her tea and looked at her partner in crime with a smile. She’d never seen him in full white and purple vestments before; during his services he tended to dispense with the ceremony and stick to his usual dark suit. She preferred the suit, the vestments seemed to drown him a bit. It was a shame when she finished her tea, as it meant that she’d have to leave his quiet company and go and deal with the consequences of Emma’s unexpected flit.

“Thank you for the tea, Joseph.”

“You’re welcome, Belle.”

It really was a shame that he was a priest. Belle thought, as she got to her feet and went over to him. The hug that she gave him was entirely unexpected. She hadn’t meant to do it. She just found herself throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you so much. For everything.”

“All I did was make the announcement and offer a window to escape out of,” Joseph said, bashful.

“No, before then. For all these weeks. Thank you for listening.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Belle nodded. “Yes, I guess so. But, you know. Maybe sometimes we could talk without the confessional wall between us?”

Joseph smiled. “I’d like that very much, Belle.”

She paused. “I’ve just had a thought. Now that Emma’s taken my car, I have no way to get to the reception to deal with things there.”

“Would you like a lift?” Joseph asked. There was a tone of hope in his voice. Belle nodded.

“That would be wonderful, thank you. I’ll… let you get changed.”

She pecked his cheek in gratitude and maybe promise, and left the vestry into the empty church. When she looked back over her shoulder, Joseph was still standing exactly where she’d left him, his fingertips touching his cheek where her lips had been. Belle smiled. Yes. For everything that had happened, it was going to be a good day.

#A Monthly Rumbelling #macelle #anyelle #Joseph Macavoy #Belle French #anyelle fic #Fic: A Window of Opportunity

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