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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years

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Begged & Borrowed Time (ix, ao3)

(Chapter nine: Cassian goes below the wall to surprise Nesta with a visit, but it only ends in bloodshed. Literally.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

It had been a week.

Seven full days since Cassian had felt Nesta’s hand slip in with his own, her fingers brushing against his knuckles. Since he’d kissed that hand wreathed in mist— and kissed it twice, like he was starving and a single kiss wasn’t enough, wasn’t anywhere near enough to calm the erratic beating of his heart.

Seven days— and as the sun set over Velaris, turning the sky a beautiful, blushing pink, Cassian made up his mind. With the moon overhead just a pale shadow, barely there in the rose-petal sky, he looked out over the city he’d fought for so long to protect and felt certainty in his bones, thrumming in his blood as he decided— he was going beneath the wall tomorrow.

Because it had been seven days since he’d made his way back to Velaris, shielding the memory of Nesta’s touch like a candle flame in a breeze, and every night since, he’d lain in his bed at the House of Wind and let that fire consume him— let it burn and burn and burn until he was nought but ashes, desperate to be set alight again.

And as he stood in the House of Wind dining room, looking down to the sprawling city below him, he felt the heat still building in his chest, what had once been embers now a roaring, raging inferno. His siphons pulsed in answer, as if they, too, could feel it. The draw to her, that insatiable pulling. That insistent, ravenous tug that had him desperate - so achingly, achingly desperate - to kiss her hand again.

To kiss more than her hand.

The fire in his chest blazed, as it had done since the moment he’d left her on that road bathed in fog, and even though he’d hardly been idle the last seven days… Gods, there wasn’t a thing he could do, a place he could go, where she wasn’t dominating his every thought, stealing his every breath even though a wall and thousands of miles lay between them.

So— yes, he was going below the wall tomorrow, and there wasn’t a soul in this city that could stop him.

And even though, ostensibly, he was going to check for a reply to either of the letters they’d sent to the queens… quietly, silently, he hoped and he prayed that when he arrived at the Archeron manor tomorrow, the Mother would take pity on him and align his visit up with one of Nesta’s. Have her visiting her sister at the exact moment he knocked on their door. He prayed he’d find her there, that she’d let him walk her along that distant, isolated little road one more time.

With his mind solidly and pleasantly made up, Cassian let out a soft hum, sliding his hands into his pockets. As the setting sun streamed through the wide windows of the House, Cassian let a trembling optimism take him over, let himself hope, as the golden glow danced over the table set for two.

Only two— because four days after Cassian’s parting from Nesta, an invitation had arrived from the Summer Court, written in gold ink and good faith. An invitation that was to make thieves and liars out of Cassian’s High Lord and Nesta’s sister both. Chasing one half of the Book of Breathings, Rhys had taken Feyre - and, to Cassian’s chagrin, Amren - over the Summer border, and since Azriel was still on the continent chasing the second half… Mor had been left in charge of Velaris, and Cassian left with nothing and nobody to stop him crossing the wall tomorrow.

And right on cue, as if his thoughts had summoned her, Mor’s footsteps sounded in the hallway. As the light died away, Cassian caught the scent of her perfume a heartbeat before she opened the door, heard her soft humming a breath before she turned the handle.

“Hello,” she said brightly, pushing the dining room door open on silent hinges as the table for two became suddenly weighed down with food and wine. As the only two members of the Inner Circle left in Velaris, the House was, apparently, spoiling them— laying out a veritable feast for their dinner every night without fail, and tonight was no exception. Cassian caught sight of a bottle of red wine, stoppered with cork and sealed with thick wax, and raised an eyebrow as he lifted it by the neck.

“Rhys will be furious,” he commented lightly, eyes glinting as he raised the bottle of one of Rhys’ rarer, more expensive vintages. Plucked from the depths of his wine cellar, no doubt— right from one of the shelves lining the back wall, the bottles so rarely touched, so preciously hoarded.

Mor pulled out a chair and lifted her empty glass for Cassian to fill, a smirk cutting across her face as Cassian sank into a chair of his own and reached for the corkscrew.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He felt an answering smile on his own lips as he cut through the wax and worked the cork free, but as it came loose with a pop that echoed in the hush of the House, he looked over at Mor and felt that smile stumble, felt it drop a little as—

When are you going to talk about how you tease Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?

Feyre’s words - five days old, now - echoed in his mind, came back to him as he filled Mor’s glass.

When are you going to talk about how you sent that note to Tamlin, Cassian had asked— days ago, before the invitation had arrived from Summer, when he and Feyre had been training and he’d found himself suddenly needing to ask, needing to know, just how much of Feyre’s heart Rhys had monopolised. How much she was willing to leave behind for him.

As though the heart of one Archeron sister might reflect another— as though Feyre’s leaving Tamlin behind might somehow be relevant.

Stupid, really.

He hadn’t thought it through. Had been too lost in Feyre’s damned sister to think it through, and then Feyre had… snapped. Snapped and asked him about Mor, as though she thought she were hitting a nerve, and all he could do was hold up his palms and let the Cursebreaker hit him over and over and over again, until all of her anger, all of her grief and pain, had leeched away, leaving nothing behind but her tears and his bruised palms.

And as Feyre’s fists had connected with his hand, all Cassian had been able to think was— It’s not Mor. And it hasn’t been for a long time.

But— he couldn’t tell Feyre that, could he? What should he have said, as Feyre pummelled her fists into his outstretched hand?

I kissed the back of your sister’s hand the other day Feyre, and I haven’t thought of anything else since. I tease Mor not because she’s the one that I want, but because she’s the opposite, and the moment I met your sister… I think I found whatever it was that I had hoped, once, to find in Mor. What I wanted to find in her when I was seventeen.

As Cassian cut into the chicken that had materialised on his plate, he cast a wry glance across to the table to Mor, to her golden hair and beautiful face. Gods— if Feyre hadn’t managed to land a punch before, she would after that, wouldn’t she? Cassian had only laughed and said it was old news, because how could he explain to her that what she thought she saw when he looked at Mor wasn’t longing or unrequited love— it was Cassian trying desperately to get a handle on how it was Nesta that had taken root inside his mind.

As Mor raised a toast to something Cassian didn’t hear, he thought of Feyre, how she’d punched his palm until his hand turned numb.

She’d needed it, and as Rhys had shrouded her in darkness, Cassian had slipped away to Azriel and watched as his brother tilted Feyre’s face up to the sun, the tracks left by her tears glistening on her cheeks in the morning light. Cassian had turned away, the moment almost too intimate to witness.

Because he’d had a conversation with Rhys, too.

When you get back, we’ll talk, Rhys had said, and when Cassian returned from Velaris that day, still feeling the weight of Nesta’s fingers against his palm, still feeling the warmth of her against his lips, he’d found his brother sitting on the roof-top patio of the town house, cradling a whiskey like it was a lifeline.

Tell me, Cassian had said, and as Rhys sighed beneath a sky scattered with stars… He did.

As Mor spoke animatedly, her face alight with laughter, Cassian felt like he was still on that roof. That he’d never really left— that Rhys was still telling him how Feyre was the light to his darkness, how under the mountain, he’d risked everything to save her, screaming her name as her bones snapped. Cassian had listened in silence then, but when Rhys was done, when Cassian returned to the House of Wind, he knew that if it were Nesta…

He’d have died screaming Nesta’s name the way Rhys almost died screaming Feyre’s, and as the food and the wine diminished now, he found himself utterly unable to carry on pretending— to keep acting as though there were nowhere else he’d rather be, as though there weren’t another soul - another heart - battling for residency within his chest.

So as Mor finished her food and picked up her wine, Cassian placed his own empty glass down on the table and sat back in his chair, letting his wings stretch around the mahogany as he adjusted his shoulders.

As casually as he could manage, he said, “I’m going below the wall tomorrow.”

“What?” Mor asked, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown as she tilted her head. “Why?”

Her golden hair fell over her shoulder as she studied him in silence, as though trying to find the answer to her question on his face. He kept his expression blank, his shoulders even and his posture easy as she roved over him with those searching eyes, and it was a long, long moment before she drew back and settled against the carved back of her own chair, cradling her wine glass in her palm.

Whatever she saw, whatever she gleaned from the look in his eyes, all she said was, “Az is going next week. On his way back from the continent.”

Cassian only shrugged.

“If the human queens have sent a reply, we can’t afford to leave their letter sitting there for a week until Az picks it up,” he pointed out, feeling the solid logic of his argument even as he recognised it for what it was— an excuse.

And despite that logic, Mor frowned still. As though she saw it for what it was, too.

“I doubt it, Cass,” she said warily, dragging a finger idly around the rim of her glass, making it sing. The humming was the only thing that broke the silence between them, and as Cassian shrugged again, irreverent and easy, he plucked up the bottle from the centre of the table and poured himself another glass of Rhys’ rare wine.

“What’s the harm in checking?”

“Rhys has already written to Feyre’s sister,” Mor pointed out, tipping her glass forward as she fixed him with her stare. “Elain isn’t expecting us until next week.”

“So?”

“So you’ll be turning up unannounced to the home of a woman engaged to a fae hunter,” Mor said incredulously. She set her glass down on the table, looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes as she shook her head. “What if her fiancé is there?”

“You know, there’s this little thing called a glamour—”

Mor cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Cassian asked, giving her a rakish grin as he plucked up his own wine from the table, swilling the dark red liquid as he did. He lifted it up towards her as though it were a toast, tilting his head as he said, languidly, “Don’t you think I can handle myself below the wall?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think any trip below the wall is dangerous. You know they have ash arrows down there, Cass.”

“They can only hit me if they can see me,” he shrugged. “And they can’t.”

Mor only glared in answer, taking up her wine once again and drinking deeply, crimson staining her lips as she lowered her glass. Cassian sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing. There’s nothing for me to do here— nothing in Windhaven either, not with Rhys in Summer and Azriel on the continent. How can I plan a war when I don’t know what Azriel’s found out? How can I craft contingency plans when I don’t know what Rhys will be bringing back from Summer?” Another shake of his head, and Mor dropped her gaze to her lap as the truth of his words settled. Cassian swallowed as he murmured, “I can go to the mortal lands, just in case the gods have decided to give us a break and send us some luck. If there’s a letter, we’ll have it tomorrow.”

Silence.

A beat of silence echoed, and then Mor dragged her finger round the rim of her glass again, the only sound between them the gentle, musical hum the movement elicited. Cassian fixed her with his most open, honest stare, and when she met his eye… She sighed, but whether it was in acquiescence or apprehension, he couldn’t tell.

He only raised one eyebrow, tilted his head and said, again, with a finality that brooked absolutely no argument, “As soon as day breaks tomorrow, I’m going below the wall.”

***

I’d kill him in a heartbeat.

Nesta listened to the soft rasp of her sewing needle as it passed through fabric— tried and failed to focus on the whisper of the thread pulling taut, the cloak draped over her lap, and the new lining she was stitching to the inside. Tried— but with every tug, every rasp, she felt as though part of her remained on that road from seven days ago, blanketed in a fog so dense she’d almost forgotten the world beyond existed.

She looked down at the panels of the old dress she had cut into strips, the new lining she was binding to her cloak, and though she tried to focus only on her stitches, on the sharp end of her needle, she heard his voice in her mind, saw the soft smile as he knocked his shoulder into hers.

Witch— she remembered the way his wing had extended behind her, spanning her shoulders in a gesture that was almost protective, even as he called her a witch and she called him a brute.

And his kiss—

Nesta felt the phantom touch of that kiss even now, still burning on the back of her hand even though seven full days had come and gone.

She could almost convince herself that, should she look down at her skin, she’d see some imprint left there. Some marker where his lips had brushed her knuckles— because that simple little touch had marked her soul, left an incision on her heart, and it was ludicrous - really, truly ludicrous - that there should be no physical sign of it. No tangible reminder of the way his fingers had touched hers, the way he had kissed the back of her hand, the chasteness of it undercut by the look in his eyes— filled with yearning and longing and want.

Nesta’s hand had been kissed oh, so many times over the years. At balls and society gatherings— where eligible young men would take her hand and kiss her fingers as a gesture of good will, of greeting or farewell. But never - never - had she still been thinking about a single one of those kisses a week later.

Never.

She didn’t know how, but somehow the politest of gestures, the most innocent of touches, had been transformed— there was nothing polite, nothing innocent, about the way Cassian had kissed her hand, and there had been nothing polite or innocent about the way Nesta’s blood had heated the moment his lips brushed her skin, either.

And gods save her, as Nesta sat in the parlour of the Mandray house, sewing an old dress into her even-older cloak, she wanted to let him kiss her again.

Her thread hissed as she pulled it through the wool, her needle shining as it broke through and met the sunlight on the other side. As her needle plunged through the cloak again and again - a steady, numbing monotony - she thought of her old dress and her thin cloak. How the new lining would only keep her a fraction warmer on freezing winter roads, and how there were other ways of keeping warm. Better ways.

Those curious red stones Cassian wore at his shoulders and his hands and his chest and his knees… Nesta thought of how they let off a kernel of heat, like coals right off a fire. She thought, too, of how he’d stopped the wind. Some kind of shield he’d conjured, making him master of the elements on that misty, wooded road from her father’s estate. By his side, the wind didn’t bite her. The cold didn’t touch her. He was warmth and shelter, and as she drew her thread tighter and tighter and tighter… Nesta wished she could cast aside the cloak altogether, and rely only on his heat forever.

A silly little fantasy, really, but as she sat in the silence Nesta let herself be lost in it. Just for a moment— for one fleeting heartbeat, she let herself be carried away.

By the window, Adara hissed.

A sharp sound, pained and bitter, that pulled Nesta from her reverie as she looked up to her mother in law, seated by the window and stitching her husband’s shirts. Blood bloomed on her fingertip, staining the white cotton crimson as she scowled at the needle that had pricked her, and Nesta wondered whether she, too, had been lost in a fantasy.

If she, too, had been thinking of someone other than the man who put a ring on her finger. Thinking of lands far away, rooms so far removed from this parlour that they might as well have belonged to another world entirely.

Setting aside both shirt and needle, Adara reached for a scrap of cotton discarded in the sewing basket, wrapping it around her finger to staunch the bleeding. When Nesta asked if she was alright, she only nodded, and glared once more at the shirt she’d set down.

Nesta wondered why she even bothered.

Why she made shirts and stitched buttons, shedding her own blood to keep the clothes on her husband’s back, when all he gave her in return was bruises. Quietly, viciously, Nesta hoped Adara had left the stitches loose. Hoped the shirt would tear, split at the seams when the bastard was in the woods, out in the cold.

She might have lingered longer on that thought— the idea of her father-in-law and his sons, shivering in the snow when their seams gave way. Might have let it bring her some small degree of comfort, let it curve her lips into an unforgiving smile— but before she could, the door to the parlour was opened, letting in a bitter draught as Nesta’s own husband stomped his way inside, his boots heavy on the wooden floor.

Adara looked up at his entrance, still clasping a roll of cotton around her bleeding finger, but her son didn’t even seem to notice his mother and her small injury by the window. The woman smiled, but Nesta could have sworn it was a smile filled with more grief than love— with a sadness that Nesta suspected came from years and years of watching Tomas grow into a man exactly like his father.

Tomas only came to stand before Nesta, grey light silhouetting his folded arms and the tension in his shoulders. The cut of his clenched jaw and the flat look in his eyes made her want to sigh, the emptiness inside her growing so vast it suddenly threatened to swallow her whole, and the only thing - the only thing - that kept her from drowning, from dipping beneath the surface of that void and letting it consume her, was the way her hand still burned, the ghost of Cassian’s kiss still lingering on her fingers.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Tomas announced bluntly, as if that should mean something— as if he thought he’d figured something out, found something to be vindicated by. His eyes dropped to the cloak in Nesta’s lap, the needle in her hand, as he looked at her and glared.

“Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he pressed, his voice low and drawn out, as though he were speaking to a child— speaking to someone too stupid to understand. “Elain wasn’t at the estate when you visited.”

Nesta wanted to say, And it’s taken you a week to figure that out, has it?

Wanted to roll her eyes and say, in a voice thick with sarcasm, How clever you are, Tomas. What excellent instincts you must have, to catch me in a lie seven days too late.

She only huffed instead.

“If you’re here to accuse me of something, speak plainly.” She plucked up her needle and her cloak again, picking up her stitching exactly where she’d left it when Adara had pricked her finger. “I’m in no mood for riddles.”

His eyes flashed— irritation burning behind the blue she’d once thought pretty in the sunlight. His lip curled too, as if he hadn’t really expected her to speak. As if it was an affront to him, somehow, that she dared to respond when he spat at her.

“Greysen has just been,” Tomas said tightly, dropping his arms only to clench his fists at his sides, as though the grim sense of justice he’d had, that sense of retribution, had evaporated, replaced only by irritation and anger. “He wants to buy firewood in bulk for his father’s manor. I asked him how the wedding planning was going, and he mentioned that he’d spent all day last week with your sister choosing flowers and other pretty little frivolities.”

He practically spat the last bit— the words venomous, sharp on his tongue. As though it were the greatest crime in the world for Elain to want flowers at her wedding.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as her fingers tightened on her needle, the urge to plunge the needle through his neck growing more potent with every sneer that crossed his face.

“So— where were you? Because your sister wasn’t even at your father’s estate when you visited.”

He folded his arms back over his chest, and Nesta set her sewing to the side, placing her needle atop her cloak before she really did put it through his neck. Unbidden, she thought of how Cassian had offered to kill him.

I’d kill him in a heartbeat, he’d said. A promise— a vow, whispered to her in the fog.

Maybe one day she’d take him up on it.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Nesta answered flatly, barely blinking as she met her husband’s eye. “Mrs Laurent told me she was with Greysen when I arrived, but since it was cold and the fog was gathering, she let me inside for a while to wait for her.”

Not a lie.

Not technically.

Mrs Laurent had told Nesta that Elain was out. No matter that Nesta had known already— that Elain had written ahead and asked Nesta to show up at the estate. She’d burned that note the moment she’d read it, and every word she spoke now was true— in the strictest sense, at least.

She refused to think of Cassian, waiting for her on her father’s lawn.

Refused to think of how, when he kissed her hand in farewell, his touch had been almost reverent.

Practically devout as his lips brushed her knuckles.

She refused to think of how his eyes had met hers the second time he lowered his mouth to her hand— wouldn’t think of how he’d looked up at her from beneath thick eyelashes and looked as though he wanted that moment to last forever.

Even now, sitting in the parlour and lying to her husband’s face, Nesta felt her heart stumble, and had to drag her mind away from that moment on the road.

She let it be swallowed by the fog— let it be forgotten as Tomas stared down at her, the look in his eyes so drastically, drastically different from the look that had been in Cassian’s.

But Nesta didn’t look away.

Didn’t balk as her husband scanned her face, searching for something— some evidence of a lie. She only blinked mildly, blandly, and waited for him to realise that it was a wasted effort. That there was nothing he could say that would get her to confess the truth of what had happened seven days ago— what words had been spoken in her father’s sitting room, what glances - what touches - had been exchanged on that road.

Nothing in the world would convince her to give that up— and so she kept her secrets, tucked them in her chest, as though they were precious to her.

Eventually, Tomas huffed.

He sighed so heavily that the sound bounced off the empty stone hearth, and with one last look - one last, dissatisfied twist of his mouth - he turned for the door, not bothering to glance to his mother, to offer her a word of farewell. His steps as heavy and as obnoxiously loud on the floorboards as they had been when he arrived, Nesta’s husband almost stormed from the parlour, only pausing when he reached the door.

His fingers on the handle, Tomas stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“I need a new axe head,” he tossed, as though it were an afterthought. “If you’re going into the village today, pick me up a new one.”

Nesta didn’t deign to respond, and when Tomas left, slamming the door behind him, she looked up— looked across to her mother-in-law.

Adara had turned back to her stitching, but her mouth was turned downwards, almost mournful, and when, briefly, she looked up… Nesta could have sworn there were tears lining her eyes.

***

Elain was alone.

Cassian fought against the disappointment that settled in his gut, ignored the sinking in his heart, as he looked through the ground floor window and found Elain sitting in the morning room, on a satin sofa he couldn’t even begin to guess the value of… alone.

In her hands was an embroidery hoop, a delicate little square of fabric stretched taut between its rings, and he almost stood and marvelled as Elain picked out pretty little patterns with her needle and thread. A handkerchief, Cassian supposed, taking in the lace edges— the most ordinary of things made beautiful by her stitching.

He might have wondered at it, at that innate, human, desire to make even the ordinary beautiful— had he not recognised the patterned carpet and the polished table.

Elain sat alone in the morning room, and as Cassian raised a fist to tap on the glass, he could think only of the last time - the only time - he’d been in that room. When, left alone, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by wealth, Cassian had gotten his first glimpse of the real Nesta. The Attor’s attack had been a blessing in disguise— not only had it proven to Rhys that Feyre was being hunted, it had given Cassian that moment where Nesta let her mask drop, the moment where she had asked him for his name.

And as he looked through the glass, still picturing her standing before that window, back straight and shoulders back… he could have almost convinced himself that she was there. That she was real, not just a mirage conjured by his aching heart.

But Elain was alone, and the disappointment that coursed through him in her absence was visceral, so potent that he could barely feel anything else. He’d let himself believe, on the way down here, that he’d glance through that window and find her taking tea with her sister, and with the sight of Elain alone burning even when he closed his eyes…

Cassian sighed, and let it go.

Dropping his glamour, he tapped gently on the window, inhaling deeply and letting the crisp, cold air steal away some of his dismay.

Elain startled, and Cassian lifted a finger to his lips as she looked towards the windows. Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly - after all, she is an Archeron, he thought wryly - and then she was moving, setting aside her embroidery and making her way to the sash windows, a vision in pink chiffon as her slippered feet carried her almost silently to where he waited.

Her mouth fell open in surprise as she opened the window, lifting it up and leaning over the sill, brushing the flowers in the box outside as she came close enough to whisper.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, her voice light and lilting even if it was whispered.

Cassian swore he heard a hint of entertainment in her tone, a touch of bemusement, and as she tilted her head, he couldn’t help but find Nesta in the sweep of her jaw. In her cheekbones and the glint in her eye. Elain might have Feyre’s hair, but so much of her was so remarkably Nesta, too, and as he looked at the middle Archeron, Cassian was reminded all over again of the sister he’d really wanted to see today.

The sister he’d flown miles and miles for, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d be here when he turned up.

Cassian only offered Elain a grin, cheeky and lopsided as he said, “I was just passing.”

Elain let out a soft, musical laugh as Cassian looked over her shoulder. When he was satisfied that Mrs Laurent wasn’t about to come bursting through the door, that none of the household staff were about to come and check on the voices drifting from the morning room, he added, “I came to see if there was any reply to our letter yet. I’m sorry for not sending word ahead.”

“There’s been nothing,” Elain said with a shake of her head. Her curled hair fell over her shoulder in a golden-brown curtain, and her eyebrows drew together in a frown as her lip twisted. “Should we have heard something by now? They will have received the first letter at least, surely?”

Her voice was uncertain, almost worried, and Cassian smiled softly as he shook his head.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “Perhaps not. I only came on the off chance.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “It’s a long way to travel for an off chance.”

Cassian gave her some non-comital sound, something nonchalant and irreverent as that light, breezy smile bloomed on his face. Elain’s eyes turned curious, turned searching as she tilted her head, pressing her lips together as though fighting a smile of her own. He could have sworn there was a spark there, in the eyes the exact same shade as Feyre’s— a spark of recognition as she noted the expression that flickered across his face.

“There was a note that said to expect one of you next week,” Elain said lightly, but that spark still burned in her eyes, and there was something in her gaze, something that said she saw through his excuse as easily as Mor had.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Az,” he said mildly. “He’s going to drop by next week.”

Elain hummed, resting her forearms on the painted windowsill.

Suddenly, Cassian wondered at her— the woman soon to be a fae hunter’s wife, smiling at him over her flower boxes, when her fiancé would have her put an ash bolt through his heart.

Was there something in their blood, he wondered, something that made these Archeron sisters a marvel all their own?

“I should…” he began, pushing away from the window, from the flowers in their neat little box on that painted sill. “I should be going, then.”

Elain gave him a small nod as her lips parted into an easy smile, but as her fingers curled around the window, ready to slide it shut, Cassian couldn’t help it— he couldn’t leave without knowing, and he found himself speaking before he could think, before he could stop himself.

“Will Nesta be visiting today?”

Such an idle question— innocent and casual, but his heart thumped in his chest, battering against his ribs, and in that moment Cassian could have sworn Elain could hear it. Could hear the way it had started to pound the moment he’d spoken Nesta’s name, and the question wasn’t idle at all— it was vital to him, pivotal.

And as Elain looked at him curiously, he wondered whether she’d noticed.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as those eyes drifted to the siphon at his chest, glimmering in the sunlight. “It’s a market day today.”

She shrugged, and Cassian thought she’d leave it there. That she’d close that window and go right back to her embroidery, but after a moment of silence, she added, far too casually, “I imagine she’ll be in the village for most of the day.”

He almost let himself believe that Elain was telling him directly, deliberately where he could find her sister. Like she really hadn’t bought the excuse about the letter.

And whatever she’d seen on his face when he’d spoken Nesta’s name… Whatever it was that had flickered in his eyes, what had set his siphons gleaming…

Elain had noticed it, and as Cassian cleared his throat, thanking her as though he had been asking out of pure curiosity alone, he didn’t miss the way she bit her lip to mask her smile, or how her eyes were glimmering with laughter.

He only cursed lightly under his breath as he wove his glamour anew— and headed right for the market in the village square.

***

The cobbles were uneven beneath his boots as he walked, invisible, through the village Nesta called home.

Through the village Feyre had once called home, too.

The scent of fresh bread hung thick in the air as he passed a bakery, the scent of ale as he passed a tavern. The village was all wooden buildings and thatched roofs, thick glass windows and hobnailed doors, and as Cassian wandered, searching for the main square, he wondered which of these shops were Nesta’s favourites. Which ones she visited regularly, which shopkeepers knew her name.

He passed the blacksmith— and paused, finding himself fixated on the anvil and the hammer. His attention snagged on a sword in the fire, on another on the anvil being beaten into shape by a man wearing a leather apron. There were blacksmiths in Illyria, of course— and it astounded Cassian that the process was the same. That the fire was the same, and the anvil, and the hammer, and the steel at the end. All of it the same and yet…

Cassian had marvelled at Elain stitching flowers on her handkerchief, and as he watched the blacksmith curl the molten steel into a sword’s hilt, he marvelled all over again at mortals and their capacity for creation. Aided by no magic, no immortal strength or endless decades of life in which to perfect their craft… life beneath the wall bred resilience, and Cassian wanted to laugh as he watched the blacksmith’s hammer come down upon the blade, sparks flying as it was beaten into shape.

What had she done to him?

What had she done, to have him watching blacksmiths and noble women embroidering and admiring it? Seeing their similarities as much as their differences?

Cassian shook his head as he moved on from the smithy, wondering where he’d find her as he made his way down a gently sloping hill. Gone was the pretence that he was here for anything but Nesta, that he was wandering these streets searching for anything but her storm-grey eyes, her furious glare, the smile she seemed to save for him alone— that barely-there, hidden smile.

He walked until he found the market square, a wide space filled with wooden tables and carts. There was smoke in the air and the sound of coins exchanging hands, and Cassian could smell spices and leather, salt and fresh fruit. There were tables laden with dyed wools and silks, others holding shining silverware and brass. Wealthy merchants had solid tables displaying their wares, and the poorest…

The poorest laid out their stock on rugs on the ground, and as Cassian walked slowly past a man selling carved wooden fruit bowls, he remembered the tale Feyre had told about her father. Had he laid out his carvings like this too, once? On a sheet in a market square?

Cassian might have taken pity on the man and bought one of those bowls if he weren’t glamoured. Might have dropped a coin into his upturned hat regardless, if he’d been carrying anything but Night Court currency.

But he moved on, past a stall selling ale and fine wine. Past another selling pretty little coloured glass trinkets, wind-catchers that danced in the breeze, with bells and chimes that sang, and it was there, with the light reflecting off of stained glass, a spectrum in his eyes, that at last, Cassian found her.

Across the square, so far away and yet so, so tantalisingly close— Nesta stood at a stall selling candles, a woven basket over her arm, a brown-paper parcel in her hands.

He almost called out to her. Almost shouted her name.

He wanted to see the sun drifting across her face, wanted to see the spectrum of colour from that stall filled with glass reflected in her eyes— a prism caught in blue-grey, a sight so beautiful that just the thought of it had his steps quickening. But as Nesta veered away, empty handed, from that stall selling candles, Cassian couldn’t catch up, not as she headed for one of the bricks-and-mortar shops lining one side of the square.

As she opened the door to the apothecary, setting a small bronze bell ringing in her wake, Cassian cut through the crowds as quickly as he could given the bulk of his wings—but it wasn’t enough, and the door closed after her with Cassian still several feet behind. Left on the pavement outside, looking through panes of warped glass as Nesta was swallowed by the tall shelves inside, he waited.

Impatiently, tapping his foot and folding his arms, he waited until the next patron opened the door to the apothecary, allowing Cassian to tuck his wings in tight and slip in, unnoticed.

And once inside…

Once inside, Cassian stopped dead in the doorway.

The ceiling was a mass of stars.

Wooden slats painted black lined the ceiling, with constellations picked out in shimmering gold paint. Illuminated by gas lamps casting a softly golden glow, Cassian looked up at that ceiling of stars and smiled, because it felt like home, somehow. A little piece of the Night Court, all the way down here, below the wall.

He recognised some of those stars.

Long ago, he had learned to navigate by them, and now… Cassian felt something inside him stutter as he realised that even though the wall and thousands of miles separated them…

He and Nesta still looked up at the same sky. Still saw the same stars.

And as he passed beneath familiar constellations, the boards beneath his feet creaking, he realised that, though they might pray to different gods, when the sun set and the sky darkened… They looked up to the same heavens. Saw the same bursts of light in the sky, despite it all.

And as he passed by copper tubs filled with salts - for aching, for sleep, for pains - it was the most potent balm he’d ever known, soothing something inside him he hadn’t known had been rubbed raw.

Through the labyrinthine shelves and alleys constructed of wood and glass bottles, Cassian searched— and found Nesta, at last, in a nook at the back of the shop, hidden by tall shelves filled with tonic bottles. His senses were drowning in aniseed and honey, almost overwhelmed by the scent of mustard seed and wax polish, but beneath it all… Beneath it, he could smell Nesta. He scented lavender as he heard the beating of her heart, following the sound of it through the forest of shelves— the rhythm so familiar to him now that he would know it anywhere.

His own heart fell in time as he came close enough to press his lips against her ear and whisper, “There you are, princess.”

Nesta almost dropped the bottle of tincture she held in her hands, her fingers turning slack as she inhaled sharply, turning around with wide eyes that had Cassian grinning as his hand darted out, folding her fingers back around the bottle before she could let it fall.

Shock and surprise warred with irritation and indignation as fury danced across her face, and it was the single most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen. Worth the hours spent flying from Velaris, worth the seven days he’d spent agonising over the memory of her.

“Are you insane?” Nesta hissed, hauling him closer and pushing him further into that shadowed little alcove.

His wings brushed the edges of the shelves on either side, and Cassian suppressed a shiver as the membrane scratched against the wood, but it didn’t matter, because Nesta was standing beneath a ceiling filed with stars, her attention entirely, solely, fixed upon him.

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased to see me,” he drawled, letting his grin widen as her scowl deepened.

Tartly, she drew away, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he countered, tsking as that barely-there smile, that Nesta smile, pulled at the corner of her lips.

“I’m an exquisite liar,” she insisted, and though Cassian was about to agree— about to tell her she was exquisite, he only shrugged instead, and leaned closer, satisfaction burning in his veins as she shivered.

Had she been thinking of nothing but that kiss for the past week, too?

His gaze dropped to her hand, still wrapped around that bottle. Had she been thinking of his lips on her skin the way he had? Given the way she shivered, Cassian dared to think that the answer was yes.

“I don’t believe you,” he added, his voice low. He hummed as Nesta huffed again, and with another glare that could bring even the fiercest to their knees, Nesta slammed the bottle of tonic onto the nearest shelf and picked up the basket she’d placed by her feet.

“What if someone sees you?”

“I’m glamoured,” he shrugged.

Nesta shook her head, but as she looked around and found absolutely nobody in the vicinity, some of the tension leaked out of her. Her breathing steadied, and though her heart continued to pound, Cassian could tell, instinctively, that it wasn’t racing in panic or fear. It was racing because his was racing too, beating out a rhythm in his chest.

For a breath, there was silence. Nothing but a quiet hush as Nesta looked up at him, blinking slowly as irritation melted away, and something went tight between them as her eyes locked with his— a kind of breathless wonder, as though, in that shadowy little alcove crowned with painted stars, neither of them were entirely certain this was real.

Cassian reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek as he breathed, so softly that his words were but the gentlest, quietest touch, “Hello, Nes.”

Nesta let out a breath of a laugh, one that huffed with surprise - delighted surprise, he thought - as she hit him in the shoulder with the flat of her palm. She turned and walked away, heading for the front of the shop and the door with the little bronze bell, but she’d only taken a handful of steps before she turned.

Before she looked over her shoulder and offered him a tentative smile, the words leaving her in a gentle whisper as she said,

“Hello, Cassian.”

***

Outside, Nesta headed down a narrow alleyway, leading to the other side of the village. It was quiet and deserted, nobody but the weather-worn bricks bearing witness as Cassian followed her down that tight, winding path. There was a new lining to her cloak, he noticed, and though her basket looked heavy, there was colour in her cheeks— a light blush that he dared to hope he’d put there.

Still, she carried that brown paper parcel. A curious shape— large and flat and curved at one end, Cassian frowned as he watched her carry it.

“Let me,” he said, extending a hand as his steps fell in with hers. He nodded to the parcel and the basket as Nesta raised an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t think I can handle it myself?” she asked archly.

Cassian rolled his eyes, even as her stubbornness made his blood heat. “I think you’ve been carrying those around all day, and might like a break. They look heavy.”

She shrugged, and for a moment he thought that was the end of it, but then Nesta turned and handed both over without a word. Satisfied, Cassian gave her a winning smile as he turned the brown paper parcel in hand.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it sweetheart?”

She hissed, and Cassian only grinned wider, studying the parcel in his grip. It felt like steel, felt heavy, and he was about to ask when—

“Axe head,” Nesta explained. “Tomas chipped his last one.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “So tell him to get a new one himself.”

It had a solid weight to it, even though it came with no handle, and Cassian rather thought Nesta should have told her husband to piss off and carry a new one home himself if he needed one so badly. She looked like she might share the sentiment, but she shook her head.

“Gives me a chance to get away from the house,” she shrugged, and though her posture remained casual, her words were quiet. As though it were an admission it pained her to make.

Cassian felt his heart break. Felt it ache in the wake of her vulnerability, in the honesty she only ever seemed to deem him worthy of. He scowled down at the axe head and wished he could curse it somehow— wished he were one of the fae from human stories, fearsome and brutal and possessed of a cruel magic.

Maybe he’d turn Nesta’s husband into a toad.

Maybe he’d throw him to the creature that lived at the bottom of the House of Wind.

Feeling the weight of the axe in one hand and the basket in the other, Cassian pushed aside all thoughts of murdering her husband and said, instead, “Let me walk you home.”

He expected her to refuse him outright. To tell him she didn’t need an overgrown pigeon dogging her steps— but Nesta only blinked mildly, and huffed gently as she looked at the axe and the basket in Cassian’s hands.

“Will you take no for an answer?”

He grinned. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she answered, rolling her eyes. That smile pulled at her lips again, the one she was trying to desperately hard to hide, and gods save him…

Cassian would go to the end of the world for that gentle, barely-there smile.

But Nesta only nodded to the road ahead and said, “It’s that way.”

And as Cassian took the first step along that dusty, rocky road, he heard her mutter something about being plagued by a a ridiculous bat. He grinned again, turning to face her and finding the sunlight drifting across her face, exactly the way he’d dreamed of in the market square.

“Witch,” he shot back, and this time… This time Nesta gave him a smile to rival his own.

***

The road grew more uneven underfoot, little more than a dirt track winding through the trees and Cassian knew, without needing her to say it, that Nesta was almost home. His hand tightened around the handle of her woven basket, as if reluctant to let go. Reluctant to say goodbye just yet.

In the distance, Cassian could see buildings.

With broken roof tiles and crumbling chimneys, he glimpsed a modest house nestled amongst the trees. It might have been considered nice once, with its small courtyard and two storeys— with its handful of windows and stone paving. Not anymore, but he took it all in nevertheless, noting the details of the place Nesta called home these days.

Or perhaps not— perhaps not the place she called home, given the way she stopped in the centre of the road and turned, holding her hand out for the basket and the brown-wrapped parcel, still several yards from that old, dilapidated house.

“You can go now.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m glamoured, sweetheart. I’ll cary these right to your front door.”

Nesta’s heart kicked as she shook her head sharply, and this wasn’t how it had raced in the apothecary. This was different, with tension creeping into her shoulders and unease in her eyes, and as Cassian looked ahead, to where there was no gate barring the entrance - only two tall posts where a gate must have once stood - he felt her anxiety climbing as though it were his own. Her eyes darted over the road before them, over the small, squat building set apart from the main house, only a few feet past those gate-less posts.

A stable, given the scent of hay, but it was in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the place, possessed of a faded aura of gentility— a vanished nobility that had, apparently, dried up generations ago.

“Please,” Nesta said, her hands darting out and closing over the handle of her basket. She pulled, hard enough that he let it go, his eyebrows rising in surprise as that single word left her lips, heavy with something like desperation.

He kept hold of the axe.

“Nesta—”

“Just go, Cassian.” She shook her head, her eyes flitting between him, his face and his wings, and the house ahead— the courtyard and the front door. “Before someone sees you.”

“I told you, I’m glamoured.”

“And I can see through it,” Nesta hissed, her hand closing around the axe head he still carried. “How do you know nobody else can?”

“I’ve never met anybody who can see through a glamour,” he countered flatly, pulling the axe back as it yielded an inch into her grip. Quietly, he added, “Only you.”

She shook her head sharply. Her heartbeat kicked again, and suddenly she was yanking the axe from his grip, too quickly for him to adjust his grip, to move his palm away from the sharp edge. There was a tear as the sharp end cut through the brown paper, and as she pulled—

He felt the burn as the skin of his palm split open beneath the steel edge, the sharp kiss of the axe against his skin. He hissed as his blood welled, and suddenly it was spilling over his fingers and between his knuckles, from a cut so deep that were he human, he might well have been bleeding out already. Crimson stained his skin - stained hers - as it coated his hand, the axe, Nesta.

And through the pain, he heard Nesta gasp. Heard her heartbeat stumble and stutter and shake as she watched the blood spill from the wound she’d inflicted, and since he could feel it healing already, he mustered his best smile— his most cocksure, lazy grin.

As he cradled his bleeding palm in his other hand, he gave her a wink that had her huffing in incredulity and said, “If you wanted me to leave princess, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to maim me.”

***

Nesta almost dropped the axe altogether.

“I did ask you,” she bit out, her voice far less steady than she’d have liked.

She watched as the gash on his palm turned a vivid, violent red, and as she lunged forward, almost desperate to reach him, to see for herself that the wound wasn’t fatal, she almost dropped the damned axe that had cut him in the first place. Collecting her senses, she dumped it into the basket— likely squashing the bread she’d bartered twenty minutes for, risking shattering the eggs she’d only bought four of, because she couldn’t afford six.

But it didn’t matter— she didn’t think of it, not as Cassian’s blood welled on his hand, spilling into the hollow by his thumb. Guilt ran through her, and everything Nesta had been terrified of a moment ago - Tomas exiting the house, finding her on the road and, at best, talking ostensibly to herself, or at worst, seeing through Cassian’s glamour - faded, replaced by a sickness that spread like fire through her veins, leaving her unable to care about anything but that wound, unable to think of anything but his blood, his pain— the horror of it, and the way her own blood seemed to keen as each drop of his fell.

So much blood— flowing ruby-red from the slice on his palm, over the heel of his hand and to his wrist. Too much blood— the aching pulse in her own chest driving her almost to madness as she watched him grin, watched him wink at her as though it were nothing.

With fingers that were damn near trembling, Nesta reached for him, uncaring as his blood stained her hands. He let her take his bloodied hand in hers, let her examine the wound she’d dealt him.

Deep— so, so deep.

“I’ll stitch it,” she said quickly, wincing as she took in the ruined flesh of his palm.

“I’ll be fine, Nesta.”

“No, I should—”

“It’s healing already,” Cassian insisted, his far voice far softer, far gentler than it ought to have been. She’d just sliced his hand open with an axe, after all. He only tilted his head and gave her the kind of wicked, mischievous grin she ought to ignore. “Are you worried about me, princess?”

Nesta forced herself to snort as she let go of his hand.

“I’m only worrying about how I’ll bury your body should you drop down dead.” She gave him her sternest glare, but even as she watched, the flow of blood began to slow, and her racing heart slowed with it. He smirked, as if he could hear it. Perhaps he could, and it made her scowl all the more. “It would take me hours to dig your grave, especially with those ridiculous wings of yours.”

Cassian grinned still, like he’d forgotten he was still bleeding. It was slowing, yes— but crimson still seeped between his fingers.

Nesta shook her head sharply and, with one last glance at the wound, she grabbed hold of the arm that remained uninjured and pulled him forwards, her fingers curling in the leather of his sleeve as she pulled him through the empty stone pillars that had once housed a gate. She didn’t look back to see if there was a trail of blood left behind them, she only hauled him to the stable and pulled him inside, leaving the door ajar.

There were salves and bandages in there, set aside on a little wooden rack by the door. A small box filled with tincture and bandages, salves and needles for stitching. Housed with the horse brushes and leather polish, Nesta quickly found the small first aid kit, inhaling deeply to settle her breathing. The scent of hay mixed with the leather and cinnamon scent of him, and as her breath trembled in her throat, Nesta let it settle her. Let the sound of his steady breathing soothe the edge in her that had grown sharp and cutting the moment she’d watched his blood spill.

“Sit,” she said firmly, nodding to a three-legged stool sitting by the door. Briefly, Nesta wondered if it would even take his weight, but even though it creaked as Cassian lowered himself down, it seemed to hold. Nesta let out another breath, gathering a small jar and filling her hands with gauze and linen.

“Really, Nes, it’s—”

“You’re bleeding on my floor,” Nesta interrupted sharply, even though it wasn’t floor— not her stable, not her home.

Dropping to one knee, Nesta held out her hand expectantly. Cassian raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless, with a kind of exaggerated, sarcastic obedience, he placed his bloody hand in hers, palm facing the ceiling.

“It will heal before you know it,” he said as she cleared away the blood with a ball of rolled-up linen.

“It’s still an open wound,” Nesta pointed out archly, taking a fresh piece of linen when the first was stained crimson. “And I’m not having you bleeding all over the place.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have sliced my hand open on a blade, sweetheart.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so irritating,” she shot back, scowling as he laughed.

The sound of his laughter made something insider her feel lighter— the deep, rich sound of it reverberating through her own chest. When his blood was cleared, she reached for the small jar, blinking flatly as she unscrewed the lid.

It was her own concoction— salt and honey, to fight infection, and since he was being so damned infuriating, Nesta didn’t bother to warn him as she spread a thick layer of the salve over the still-bleeding cut. He hissed as the wound stung, but Nesta only raised a brow and gave him a look that said, what? Can’t handle a little antiseptic?

He scowled right back as though he’d heard her.

Nesta laid the salve on thick, and then laid a fresh piece of linen atop. Taking up the gauze, she began to wrap it around his palm, again and again and again, until it was wrapped tight, the bandage crisp and clean.

“Where did you learn this?” Cassian asked as she turned his hand over and tied a knot in the gauze, just beneath his shining red stone.

She shrugged. “My husband is a woodcutter.” Cassian frowned, and shrugged as if to say so?, but the movement jostled his hand, and Nesta scowled at him in silent admonishment. “Sometimes he gets splinters. Sometimes they get infected. That’s why there’s a first aid kit in here.”

Cassian scoffed. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have cared.”

Nesta let out a breath of laugh, ironic as she shook her head. “No,” she agreed, her fingers still lingering on the knot she’d tied, even though there was no need— even though she could have pulled away moments ago. “But it seemed a little counter-productive. To marry Tomas to save my sisters, only to have him die on me a week after the wedding. So a few days after we married, when he got a splinter so deep he almost called for a physician, I made sure there were supplies in here, and in the kitchen of the house too.” She shrugged and added, sardonically and not at all earnestly, “Mama always taught me that it was my duty as a wife to take care of my husband.”

Cassian snorted, then. “Bullshit.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, looking up at him from where she still kneeled by his side— the warrior perched on a stool far too small for him, the tips of his wings brushing the flagged stone of the stable floor as he kept his hand in hers.

Then, after a moment, he added quietly, “Your sister doesn’t seem to share your ideas about a woman’s place in the world.”

“Feyre wasn’t raised by my mother,” Nesta shrugged. “Mama never had the chance to get to her.”

She dropped her eyes to the bandages she’d wound around his hand, to the knot she’d tied off with a little bow— the bow her fingers still tugged at even now, as though she were hesitant to pull away, even though the job was done. When he remained silent, the air between them growing thick and taut, she looked up at him, finding his hazel eyes fixed on her, his beautiful face open in way she’d never expected from a creature from above the wall.

“I was raised all along to know that my worth lies only what I can offer a man,” she continued, her eyes caught up with his, her chest rising as the cadence of his breathing aligned entirely with hers.

He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Nesta tilted her head. “Then why did I have to marry Tomas to escape starvation in the first place?” She looked down at the bandages on his hand, at the bow she’d tied. “He only wants me for what I can give him.”

Cassian’s eyes darkened when she looked up at him next, and beneath her fingers, that red stone began to pulse.

“He’s a fool,” he said lowly, a touch of bitterness creeping into his tone, one that made her shiver.

Cassian’s bandaged hand twisted beneath her, her fingers brushing the gauze she’d just wrapped around the wound she’d given him. His fingers curled beneath hers as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her wedding band, his eyes drifting closed for a heartbeat as he felt the metal cold beneath his touch. Nesta felt it burn, felt the coolness of the ring stark against the heat of his skin, of his fingers beneath hers and his thumb dragging along the silver.

She should have pulled away.

Should have done so minutes ago, but his touch was something she didn’t want to be without, something she didn’t want to give up— not when she’d given up so much already. She looked into his eyes and knew he was all too aware that he should have pulled away by now, too. But he let his touch linger a little longer, his eyes dropping to where they were connected— such a simple touch, practically chaste in its innocence, and yet…

Nesta knew they should have pulled away by now— though neither of them wanted to.

He swallowed as he raised his gaze from their entwined hands and met her eyes. “I swear to you,” he whispered. “Anything you need, anything you want of me, all you have to do is ask. Name it and its yours.”

“What you could possibly give me?” Nesta asked, but her voice wasn’t as sharp as she’d intended. Wasn’t as cutting as she’d tried to make it— it was wry and bittersweet, as though she knew what she wanted was something she couldn’t take.

“Your husband’s head on a platter,” Cassian suggested with a shrug. “His brother’s, if you want. His father I’d do without you asking, but I’d kill him too.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles the way he’d done that day on the road— like he was a knight in a fairytale, swearing his allegiance.

“Anything you want,” he swore.

And she supposed it was a fairytale— of some kind, at least. The fae warrior, bleeding in her stable, stitched back together by her hand— the kind of romantic, wistful tales she read about in books she bought second-hand from the market.

And there must have been something in it, something in the way his blood had spilled and she’d cleaned it away. Some transformation, some transubstantiation, where suddenly Nesta found herself longing to ask for all of those things she shouldn’t. She wanted to let him make such pretty promises, wanted to let him kiss her hand as though she were the most precious thing in the world. She wanted to let him do it all, let him give her everything, but when she opened her mouth… There were no words.

Nothing she knew how to say, knew how to ask for.

All she had was, “What are you, my knight in shining armour? Plucked from the pages of a book?”

The lips she so desperately wanted to feel against her skin curved, a slight smile blooming on his face as he tilted his head. “If you want me to be,” he shrugged. “Do you like to read?”

Nesta hummed. “It’s the only escape I have, these days.”

His palm - the one she hadn’t sliced open - lifted, came to rest against her cheek. His thumb traced her cheekbone, his touch light and searching and yet searing her right to the bone. She leaned into it, that touch, letting her eyes drift closed.

And then— a shout from outside, bringing that beautiful, trembling moment crashing down, shattering it before she’d had a chance to savour it.

“Nesta.”

Her husband’s voice, calling across the courtyard, barking something about the stable door being left open, and if she was in there, to check the water trough for the single horse housed at the back of the ancient stone building. His voice broke whatever spell had been woven, cracked whatever peace she’d just found in Cassian’s hands, and suddenly Nesta was drawing away, his one hand dropping from her cheek, the other pulling free of her fingers.

His eyes darkened as she let go of his touch, as she lurched to her feet.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

Cassian blinked, and though he remained silent, she could have sworn she saw pain flicker in his eyes— the kind of pain that had been absent even when he’d been bleeding on the road. But Nesta ignored it, refused to linger on how her chest was aching, how a wrongness suddenly settled in her bones, urging her to turn back— to turn to him as though he were the sun, and she’d just fallen out of orbit.

Glancing to the door, Nesta took up her basket - damned axe head and all - and straightened her cloak. But before she left, she allowed herself one last look at him— the powerful warrior still seated on that tiny stool, the man who had been so utterly, utterly at her mercy, looking at her as though he wanted nothing more than to beg her to stay.

And she hoped he didn’t, because if he did—

Gods save her, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to say no.

So as she neared the door, Nesta paused. For just the briefest of moments, she paused. Turned to look at him over her shoulder and said, even though it hurt, “You can’t give me what I want, Cassian.”

She tried not to sound mournful or longing, but it crept into her tone anyway. She tried to ignore how every single nerve in her body was begging her, pleading with her, to turn back, to let him take her away. Far, far away.

Instead, she didn’t wait for an answer before she stole out of that stable altogether, and when she found Tomas standing in the courtyard, as the sight of him made her recoil, she ignored the pulling in her chest— ignored whatever it was that was tugging her back towards that stable, as though she’d left her entire world behind.

And though she heard the stable door open again behind her, the creaking hinges and the scrape of wood on a stone floor, she didn’t look back.

Didn’t turn, not even when she heard the sound of wings, a breath of wind brushing her cheek as she heard the sound of him leaving.

And only when the sound of wings had faded away entirely did Nesta finally glance behind— finding the skies above entirely empty.

Tagging:

@hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian

(Also... the apothecary is based on a real one in Yorkshire, one with a starry ceiling that I actually posted about here! It's also the far right picture in the little mood board at the top too, because why not.)

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

59 notes · View notes

th3sp4rr0w · 5 months

Text

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :)) Performance Piece <- The link to just the one-shot for those interested

Tw's; Bulimia, purging, vomit/vomiting, past rape/non-con mention (squint and you'll miss it tho)

Summery; When you're a performer at heart, it's hard to tell where the show stops and you begin. This can be tricky; especially when you need help.

Performance Piece under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been the smoke from the fire burning like a raging inferno that had been the worst. The thick smoke filled the air, obscuring his vision and choking his lungs. Was that why he’d been too late?

It had been his fault from the beginning. It was like he’d forgotten everything having to do with crisis management. He was Nightwing, for fuck’s sake; he’d been Robin before that. He was supposed to be the symbol that soothed victims, the very being supposed to keep you safe from things that go bump in the night. He should’ve known better; that was a mistake Bruce should’ve been making. He should’ve known better.

The rain pounded on the window, setting him on edge. His skin itched with the urge to go back out, rocking back and forth in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. If he’d been a better man, he’d probably be suiting up to find the literal children that had been kidnapped by some unknown government hacks; as it was, he sat on the couch in his dirty apartment. For what? Because he was scared of a phantom-

A sharp breath. Bile in the back of his throat and burned. It almost felt good, grounding. What was he again? It had been so long-

It’d only been three days since the last one. Not enough time. It hardly seemed to matter.

Before he could blink, he was up. By passing the prepackaged fruits and protein bars, he reached into the back of the cabinet. The one Wally knew not to touch. What was it they called him? “Fearless leader”?

He scoffed as he shoved a mouthful of dry cereal down his throat, barely chewing and certainly not tasting. If only they knew how weak he truly was. If only Batman knew how fucking weak he truly was.

“You truly are the strongest among us, Dickie. I’m proud of you.”

It was his fault, he hadn’t deserved the praise to begin with, and now what’s he doing about it? Eating his feelings like he was a stupid child. Well, he already had the cereal. What’s another handful?

... What’s another box? He tossed the empty bag behind him; the cardboard having already been stripped in favor of tipping the whole thing back into his mouth. He grabbed the second box, tearing into it. Might as well, right? What else is he going to do?

The fire escape was so cold-

The thought jolted him. He stared at the half-empty box and put it on the counter. It wasn’t working anymore.

He turned his sights on the fridge, desperate now. Didn’t Ma Kent send over a Boston cream?

It was hardly his best moment. It was considered sacrilege to waste one of Ma Kent’s pies. He wondered what she would think of him now.

He didn’t bother with a fork, digging into the delicious treat with his fingers. The bits that clung to his teeth and tongue were heaven ; refuge in the storm. The only thing that could’ve made this better?

He opened the freezer, grabbing the vanilla ice cream Wally had left in his freezer. “Comfort food,” he’d claimed with a wink. If only he knew half of it.

Fingers already crusted with cereal dust, pie filling, and his own saliva, he dug into the frozen treat. The cold was already making him shiver with nervous energy, the rain mixing the feeling into something distinctly unpleasant. He swallowed bite after bite. It was no time at all when he finished it.

He tossed the empty containers somewhere to his side. Vaguely nauseous from the sugar, the fridge opened once more. What else is there?

Wandering hands found the meal prep containers he’d been delusional enough to buy. The carefully packaged portions intended to be reheated through the week had gone untouched for three, the contents questionable at best. At any other moment, he would’ve thrown them out. As it was, he dug in.

Jason’s condition had led to him desperately trying to get his life together. Bruce had proven he couldn’t handle a second chance; why would he let him try? He’d allowed himself the reverie for a short period, of getting his life together for his baby brother. He’d bought the stupid meal prep containers. He’d done it. He kept up with it for a single week, eating the portions and dishing them out.

Jason’s disappearance was what kept them in the fridge to rot. Whatever pipe dream he’d concocted was dead in the water, cultivating in a night of utter weakness. It was his fault. He was the one that let him go out and he was the one who failed to rescue them. He was right there, dammit. He should’ve done more.

A crack of thunder sounded out, choking him. He was back on the fire escape, his suit ripped, his scalp on fire, the guilt and the shame-

He stared down at his hands, sticky with everything he’d consumed. His stomach throbbed, bloated and beyond full. Painful. He turned around.

Empty containers greeted him. Cereal boxes and tupperware, pie tin and ice cream and everything else. What had he done?

He ran for the bathroom. His body protested the movement, gagging without his consent as he reached the sink. The first bits of it came up unassisted, something he was grateful for in the long run. Less mess clinging to his fingers.

The same fingers that dug into container after container dug into his throat. Retching and coughing up the feelings he’d just shoved deep inside of himself. What goes down must come back up, right?

It was a familiar song and dance. He’d been thirteen the first time he’d done it, young and stupid and not understanding the dangers. He’d been caught by Alfred, managing to convince the man he’d been hit with something at school and that had been why he was covered in vomit, not that he’d done it to himself. Because that would be absurd , right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. He’d done research after that, passing it off for a school project when Bruce had asked. It was stupid. It was deadly. It was supposed to be something that only happened to girls.

The stench of bile continued to follow him through his teens. The research had only prepared him for not getting caught again, and the support groups he’d found online were resolutely ignored. He couldn’t afford to get sloppy and was well aware of Bruce’s habit of being well and truly unhinged; if he thought anything was happening, he’d hack his way into everything private he could’ve ever owned and there would go his cover. Nothing about his... condition made its way into his digital footprint again. He made it a system.

The gymnast pages he followed were innocent enough. The weight training, the exercise- it was to be expected. If they talked about nutrition a bit too often to be healthy? Well, that just came with the territory.

It was shitty. He shouldn’t use the thing that connected him to his parents to motivate this infection spreading through him. It was a guarantee that it would be taken away if he got caught. He continued.

It was a compulsion. It was a need he couldn’t explain; even now, an adult working at the studio and supporting himself through his... minor issue, it persisted. The taste of stomach acid burned his throat and stained his tongue. The electrolyte packets he dumped into his water every day weren’t enough to stave off the bouts of delicious dizziness, filling him with a sense of accomplishment and gnawing dread at the same time. Days of emptiness followed by stuffing himself full full full only to cough and retch it back up was worth the minor sacrifice, right?

He choked on it, nothing coming up as his air was blocked. He pulled his hand away, fingers going to the drain to work it down, running the tap when convenient. He looked himself in the eye, taking in the bloodshot eyes and the puffy cheeks.

He’d managed not to get caught before, he could do it again. He would do it again.

Rinse out the mouth. Fluoride rinse after to help keep the cavities at bay, though it was easy enough to hide bad teeth when they were constantly knocked out anyways. Wash his face to help with both the puffiness and the acne. He could do this.

He took a deep breath. He went to the kitchen.

He threw away the evidence, immediately taking the trash out. Wally was supposed to be over tonight; he’d notice. He threw the tupperware into the sink, running water over it to be easier to clean. He did wash out Ma’s pie pan though; he wasn’t a monster. He also had a healthy fear of what she’d do if he messed up one of her favorite pie pans. She was a bit like Alfred; nobody had anything bad to say about them, and they’re the kindest people you’ll ever meet, but boy are they terrifying when they need to be. He’s seen her yell at Bruce and succeed ; he didn’t want to be on the receiving end.

The storm raged on. The kids were still missing. He was still having flashes of the fire escape. He felt a little more grounded with the soreness in his throat.

He turned to the hallway and nearly jumped. There in his hall was Bruce, still dressed in the bat suit, his cowl down and hair a mess. He had a pained expression.

Every performer knew one fundamental thing, and Richard John Grayson was nothing if not a performance.

He knew. He knew that Bruce knew. Bruce knew he knew that he knew. They stared, not daring to breathe a word.

Every performance came to an end. It looked like this was the end of his.

#kite flies over the nightingale nest #batman #dc universe #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #ed tw #ed #eating disoder trigger warning #vomiting #tw vomit #implied/referenced rape #tw rap3 #squint and you'll miss it tho #I forgot how to tag on tumblr help me #mentioned wally west

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

working on another far cry fic, here's the start:

St. Francis Veteran's Center, the home of the trials, a place that should have been considered off limits to her - his newest judge. Kit hated that thought, that with the turn of a key and the first few notes from the music box, she became entirely his.

Only his.

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of the Peggie truck she had taken a few miles back after a fire fight. The conditioning had become harder to break these days, her rage flaring more often now with little effort. The smallest thing could light the fuse and she’d be about ready to explode. It was all well and good when she could put it to use taking care of the chosen and the hunters, but when it was something as simple as Hurk calling her “legs” that would send her flying off the handle she knew she was coming undone. Jacob had gotten under her skin, into her head, and she had no means of escape. She was a prisoner and there was no one coming to save her.

Everything inside her told her to turn tail and run, to get the heck out of there. Stay far, far away. But despite the logical side of her brain listing every terrible reason not to go there, the reptile brain, the part that controlled fight or flight, the part Jacob Seed had dug his fingers into, refused to listen. It hadn't been so awake since her days overseas. But Jacob lit something fierce in her, a fire she couldn’t extinguish. The inferno of anger that wanted to kill, that enjoyed the war, the part of her she fought so long and hard to suppress. That hunger to tear things open with her nails and her teeth. The lust that filled her when it was all over and she ached for his approval, for his touch.

Only him.

To the rest of Hope County she was the Deputy, the woman who was liberating them from the control of the Seeds. But to him she was a weapon, his tool, his judge. His dirty little secret. One of the first things Hurk told her were the rules placed upon the Peggies: no liquor, no drugs, no parties, and most of all no sex.

Jesus, no wonder that man was so damn wound up.

But there was no way someone like Jacob Seed could stay strong on that rule forever. Every man has his breaking point, and she was bound and determined now to find it. She took a few deep breaths and climbed out of the vehicle. Her gun strapped over her shoulder, pistol in her holster, knife in her boot. She hoped it was enough to show she came in peace. She was sure Jacob would see her coming. He had cameras set up all over this place, monitors to watch all the coming and goings. She had to hope he’d call off his attack dogs, both literally and figuratively.

She climbed the hill up to the gates, Peggies crowded her. Their eyes narrowed, guns raised at her. She could hardly blame them. She’d taken out so many of their numbers now she was practically Hope County’s very own bogeyman. Over the speakers, she could hear one of Jacob’s recorded sermons on strength and the cull, suddenly stop. She couldn’t help but smirk.

“Let her through. The judge has come home.”

His voice echoed across the training barracks, it sounded tinny. His normal gravel was missing. That didn’t stop the tightening in her abdomen. She was practically Pavlov’s dog now at the sound of his voice. She wasn’t quite sure whether he even needed the music box to control her now.

She was led up to his office, her arms held in place by two chosen soldiers in red balaclavas. Their grip was tight upon her, her skin rubbing against their rough gear. She couldn’t help but wear a stupid lopsided grin on her face. The idea of having armored guards bringing her to him seemed so formal, so staged.

She was shoved into the office, both guards stationing themselves at the doors. Jacob waved his hand to shoo them away and without a word they left. He didn’t look at her, his back remaining turned. He hunched over his plans and dossiers on the Whitetail militia, he appeared tense, even from behind.

Kit wasn’t sure whether she was being reprimanded or if this was a new game, seeing how long she could wait in silence, how patient she could be, how good she was. She shuffled her feet and cleared her throat.

“You’ve got some fucking balls just thinking you can come here.”

Her eyes fell to the floor as her smirk took over her face. She wanted to look sorry, but she wasn’t.

“Thought you’d want to see me.”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. He tossed the file in his hand down on to the table, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Oh Jacob, you gotta stop taking things so seriously.”

Her heavy footsteps were louder than she had hoped, so much for being stealthy. He turned and looked over his shoulder. His brow knotted, eyes narrowed, he was annoyed. She was in for it now.

“Stop taking – you took out an entire garrison along with those damn whitetails,” he quickly turned around to face her. His restraint was slipping, “Tell me how I’m not supposed to take that seriously? I have Joseph breathing down my neck. I’m supposed to bring you to him.”

She stepped a little closer, one foot step at a time, being careful about the lengths of her strides, being careful not to get too close.

“Then do it.”

He snorted quietly through his nose, shaking his head. She really did have some brass balls on her. No fear whatsoever. She was dangerous to say the least.

“How much of an idiot do you take me for, Deputy?”

“Oh, Deputy is it now,” she questioned while edging ever closer towards him, close enough to touch, her hands gripped the material of his old military jacket, “What happened to kitten?”

She looked up at him, doing her best to give him her most innocent puppy dog eyes. The man was a wolf, but surely he’d have a soft spot for a little innocence. As innocent as she could get at least.

“Not sure you deserve the pet name after pulling this stunt.”

#wip wednesday #fc5 #far cry 5 #fan fic #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed #deputy kit cross

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

Guilty Souls ||Demetri Volturi x Female reader||

Warnings: Descriptions of fear and guilt but nothing particularly noteworthy.

Words: 4257

Taglist: @thelastemzy @a-avaunce @college-is-coming @alecvolturiswifeforever @broskibowser @volturidoll13 @raindancer2004

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt

Demetri just wanted to feed. His food fighting back was never a problem before, and this is the first time he's ever lost that fight.

“We can meet back at the jet once dinner is done.”

“I shall see you there.” Demetri agreed. Felix was gone in an instant, eyes near black and his grin slightly feral. The tracker shook his head, unable to fight his amusement – he was glad he wasn’t a human on the streets tonight. Truthfully, he was tired. The mission was never going to be easy to start with, not with a psychopathic nomad attempting to become the UK’s next biggest serial killer. The murders had been brutal and attracted far too much attention, but she covered her tracks well and with no one left alive to steal the tenor from it had taken some old school tracking, some (falsified) detective work, and a little bit of luck for them to even begin to track down their killer. Now she was ash on the wind the lack of time to rest was really starting to show for the both of them.

Demetri could feel the burn much more prominently now that he had nothing else to focus on, like a ball of thorns rolling up and down his throat with every swallow. With a grimace, he turned his nose to the sky and closed his eyes. Felix was clearly in a good mood after the kill, eager to enjoy the hunt, but Demetri just wanted something within quick reach. Stretching his senses, he scoured the area, the sounds and smells of a city at night hitting him full force. He could hear traffic rumbling along the road, late night television and music pouring from apartments, people making war and making love and the faint shutting of doors as places closed up for the night. The air smelled crisper and somewhat damp, indicating rain was on the way, and the foul scent of pollution clogged his nostrils momentarily until he forced his mind to work through it and smell what lingered beneath. Tulips in bloom in the city gardens, greasy food from the chip shop across the road and…oh.

Demetri’s head turned swiftly, eyes snapping open and feet already moving in the direction of something truly mouth-watering. It made his throat burn fiercely, venom pooling in his mouth. It took him little time to find the source of the smell two streets over, moving swiftly away from him down the pavement with her backpack slung over one shoulder, the bag strap held in both hands. She seemed to glance about as she walked, the smell of old pages clinging to her. It failed to smother her mouth-watering scent, and Demetri was more than sure he had found himself quite the delicacy for the evening. There was something incredibly addictive about her scent, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but wanted to drown in. He would have played with her if he wasn’t so damn thirsty, tainted that delicious smell with adrenaline and fear for the twang it would give her blood, but the raging fire in his throat needed soothing.

Given the goings on he shouldn’t have been surprised that she sensed him behind her. He was tailing her at a very normal, human pace so as not to arouse suspicion from the many windows she passed. The woman was smart enough to stay in public view, but it would be no match for Demetri’s speed once he saw an opening, and there was just the opening he needed coming up. The moment she neared the mouth of the alleyway he moved, his speed propelling him so fast no one would see him as any more than a blur – and that was if they really looked. His grip on her shoulder was tight and he hauled her with him with ease, spinning her straight into the brick and clamping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. It didn’t stop her from trying, the muffled noise vibrating against his hand as wide eyes rapidly grew wet, spilling tears against his palm. Demetri inhaled deeply, baring his teeth as the thirst grew to unbearable levels, but he couldn’t look away from those eyes.

Shimmering Y/E/C stared at him with so much terror, his reflection in her tears absolutely monstrous. She shook like a leaf in a violent wind, struggling frantically against him in an effort to get away. He pressed close with a snarl, desperate to ease the ache in his throat, but even when he moved his mouth closer to the throbbing pulse in her throat he couldn’t bring himself to bite down. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly, his frustrated growl echoing off of the brick he had pushed her against. Her quiet whimper made him pull back.

“Stop struggling!” he hissed. She was trying to shake her head, still pushing futilely at his chest. He had to admire the fight in her and the way she fit so perfectly against him would have been sinfully delicious in any other circumstance, but not while she was looking at him like that. Those wide eyes were terrified, so incredibly frightened of him, and it made his stomach churn. He just wanted to feed dammit! Why was she making this so hard! Her heart was pounding in his ears, her blood roaring and racing beneath the surface of her skin, so why couldn’t he just indulge in it?

“Hel-“ his hand had slipped without him realising and he quickly covered her mouth back up as he tried to fight with himself. The frenzy was lapping at the back of his mind, clouding his senses and his thoughts, but the last vestiges of his sanity were clinging to her desperate attempts to preserve her life. He studied her facial features, trying to spot anything familiar. Maybe he was struggling because she looked like someone he knew? There was nothing there he recognised. Her hands must have been sore by now, his skin was literally crystallised for petes sake, yet still she didn’t let up the barrage of slaps and punches to his chest she had been delivering since he had attacked her. With a growl he brought his mouth to her throat once more, his teeth hovering right over the vein he needed to break.

One bite, just one little bite and she is all mine, I just have to bring my teeth together he thought.

Her muffled screaming picked up again, her body trembling so hard against his own his entire frame was starting to vibrate. With a groan, he flopped forward and hit his head a few times off of the brick behind her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t feed from her. He so badly wanted to, but he couldn’t. She stilled suddenly, his low moaning seemingly startling her. For a moment, all he could hear was her shaky, rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart, his own pained filled moans and the quiet sobs he was muffling still with his hand. She never stopped trembling and Demetri couldn’t stand it. He wrapped both arms around her tight, hoping to restrict her movements.

“Stop it, stop it stop moving…please stop moving.” He begged. He was slowly losing his sanity it seemed but all he could do was watch like an out of body experience was taking place, his mind spinning and falling away from him before it surged forward and all he could acknowledge was her fear and his hatred of it. She whimpered in his ear, her neck stretched so her chin rested on his shoulder awkwardly, but even the prominent way the vein stood against the thin skin of her throat couldn’t tempt him. Her scent had soured, no longer sweet and inviting but filled with the bitter twang of fear. Usually he would enjoy it. He could still feel the predator in the back of his mind howling in delight, but he couldn’t let the monster loose.

“P-please, please let me go, l-let me go please, please.” She chanted in his ear like a siren calling him to his doom, and like she had brainwashed him with four simple words he did exactly as asked. She looked shell-shocked he had relinquished her from his grip, and he could only imagine the bruises that were going to blemish on her skin from where he had touched her – another pang of self-loathing hit him. How could he have hurt her so badly? She was beautiful, even in the darkness of the alleyway with her face covered in tears, tracking mascara down her cheeks, he could see the beauty in every feature. How could he hurt a face so angelic?

“Go.” He ground out. There was absolutely no sense in him letting her go, but he was thirsty by now he didn’t want to risk anything happening to her. As muddled as his mind would that was the only clear thing that stood out to him. Demetri wasn’t sure he understood any of what was transpiring, but after another sharp order to move she was gone, leaving her backpack behind and fleeing the alleyway as he crunched a fist into the wall.

“You alright mate?” it was a man’s voice from the opposite end of the alleyway. He didn’t have her kind of sweetness, but it would do. The tracker pulled his fist out of the brick, the rubble falling to his feet and dust coating his jacket sleeve.

“No.” he said, because truthfully he wasn’t. He never let his prey escape, not once, not even on accident. Feeding was instinctual and natural, something every vampire learned to do from their very first day, so how on Earth after 2000 years of this life had failed at it so badly tonight? Footsteps alerted him to the oncoming man, and the thumping of his heart was enough to send Demetri reeling. His lips curled back over his teeth, thirst flaring once more and the frenzy rapidly flooding his mind.

“Here mate, why don’t we-“ Demetri’s teeth in his windpipe cut him off. They tore viciously through the flesh and muscle, a burst of hot, sweet blood gushing down his throat and soothing the inferno that was raging there. It wouldn’t be enough on its own but for the few moments Demetri let his mind go elsewhere, let his instincts finally take over. This was natural. This was normal. So why the hell hadn’t he been able to do it earlier? Only when his veins were dry did Demetri drop him to the ground with a relieved sigh. With the burn minimised it was easier to think, and the more he thought the more he realised what a mistake he’d made. That woman could easily run to the police and give an accurate description of his face, his clothing. He grimaced. He’d been absolutely foolish, letting her go like that.

Her backpack remained near his feet and he rifled through the contents briefly, looking for anything that might give him any indication as to what was so special about her, where he might start looking for her. There was a work badge stating her name and the logo of a bookstore he had passed while tailing her, and a quick rummage through her wallet gave him a full driver’s license and some debit cards with her signature on the back.

Y/N L/N.

He had been so caught up in the frenzy lapping at his mind he couldn’t honestly say which tenor in his repertoire was her’s, so he was going to have to track the old fashioned way. Inhaling, he winced at the irritating scratchiness in his throat when he caught her scent. He’d need to hunt again on the way but nobody would miss the drunk old man stumbling home from the corner pub would they? He didn’t think so anyway, and nobody would find him anytime soon given the lucky proximity of a wheelie bin. She must have ran part of the way, crossing more ground than he thought she could, but he did inevitably catch up. She was still snivelling, shaking with her arms wrapped around her as she stumbled along. Demetri felt his gut twist again at the noise. She was still so afraid…

“Miss L/N.” he called.

He should have guessed she’d scream.

“Someone-“ he zipped forward and quickly covered her mouth again, his expression pained. The guilt that ate him alive was less frustrating and more exasperating now. He would give anything to stop feeling this way. Heaven forbid he was turning into a self-righteous Cullen – Felix would never forgive him.

“Please do not scream, please, I just – your backpack, I needed to return your things.” He groaned. She stopped screaming abruptly, and Demetri held her backpack up between them. Her eyes snapped up to his, and with his mind clearer now it suddenly felt so obvious to him what had stopped him feeding on her before. Something in his abdomen snapped, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. Left dumbstruck, his hand dropped from her mouth and he was left gawping at her like a fish out of water. Her scent enveloped him not to taunt his thirst, but to comfort him like a warm hug, his mind halting dead in its tracks to clear all messy thoughts from his head like the clouds breaking to finally reveal the sun.

Mate.

She was his mate.

And she had just kneed him in the balls.

He crumpled like a puppet with the strings cut, grunting in pain while venom stung his eyes – even vampires were not immune to this particular trick. His groin aching horribly, he struggled to force himself to stand as she sprinted flat out away from him, her backpack in hand and ready to swing. Demetri tried to push to his knees and collapsed twice more before he finally found his footing again, swearing under his breath.

“Hey, hey!” She was frantically waving towards a passing cab. He groaned, stumbling forward a few steps until the pain receded enough for him to run after her. Demetri reminded himself to be gentle with her as he tugged her to his side.

“Please, if I let you go now far worse people than me will come for you and I cannot have you hurt by them. Tell him I have booked us an uber, his help is unnecessary.” He urged. She tried to pull her wrist back, her eyes welling with tears again. This was too public a place for this and the way her backpack swung in an arc towards his face was far too suspicious. She would hardly attack a friend or a lover after all.

“Just let me go, no one has to know, I won’t tell I swear.” She pleaded.

“I cannot, they will know, they always know! Please tesoro, do not make this harder, I am trying to keep you safe now and no more innocent lives need be implicated in this.” Demetri insisted, his eyes flickering to the cab driver as he started to pull up. Y/N tried to twist away again with a whimper so he did the only thing he could think to do. He had to cut through the fear, make her feel the same pull he did, even if her human heart felt it to a lesser degree. She squeaked in surprise when his arm curled around her waist to haul her in close, but even if her mind screamed no she melted into his embrace when his lips moulded to hers, her instincts overriding all common sense because he was her mate and with him, she was safe. His embrace was soothing and sweet, his body created solely for the purpose of protecting hers, and the way his mouth slanted across her own was something she couldn’t refuse.

The way they fit together was undeniable, the chemistry behind the simple movement of his lips, so chaste and so respectful with just the right hint of tongue when he was sure he had her following his lead was sublime in ways it had no right to be. It shouldn’t have felt so right to kiss a stranger, especially not a kiss that had been forced upon her, but she couldn’t honestly that, if asked if she’d like another just like it, she would refuse him.

“Miss? Did you need a ride miss?” the driver was leaning across the passenger seat now, the window rolled down. Demetri pulled back to stare at her, tenderly caressing her cheek.

“Say no.” he coaxed.

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

“Are you sure?” the driver asked, his suspicion aroused. Demetri kept his eyes locked on hers, his mouth pressed together in the hopes she would say the right thing. He didn’t want to manipulate her again. Y/N had yet to blink, still mesmerised by his vibrantly red eyes and the soul-shocking feeling of his lips he guessed. He had felt it to, his whole body coming alive for what felt like the first time in all the millennia he’d been alive. The sweet ecstasy in his veins had replaced any thoughts of the thirst he was still minorly enduring and he wanted nothing more than to satiate his every need in her. Demetri wasn’t foolish enough to think she would so much as let him look at her for some time yet.

“Y-yes, sorry, we’ve got an uber coming.” She stammered, blinking herself out of the daze. Grumbling under his breath, the driver pulled away again, and Demetri only let her go when he was far enough out of sight it wouldn’t be a bother anymore if she decided to assault him again.

“Good, you did well. You have to-“ she cut him off with a sharp slap to the face, one that left minimal impact on him but made her cry out and cradle her hand close.

“Don’t you ever, kiss me without my permission again! Just who are you!” she demanded. Demetri frowned slightly. How was he supposed to tell her? If she knew anything about him, even his name, she would become a target the minute Aro read his thoughts. Hell, she was already a target. She’d seen him, been attacked by him. The shame that bloomed in his gut was almost too much to bear and he tensed under her angry glare. He hadn’t done this right at all and Demetri knew he would have a lot to make up for in the centuries to come if she accepted him. Right now…right now he had no choice but to make the situation worse.

“I need you to believe that I truly am sorry,” he said earnestly, “That this was not the way I wished to meet you, that I truly wish you no harm, but understand that I have no choice. I am bound by laws you have to yet understand and the consequences for breaking them are severe. You must come with me now - please do not fuss! I will make your comfort my utmost priority but I cannot leave you here for either of our sakes.” He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, face pale as she took a step away from him. Demetri felt his heart shatter. The physical rejection stung even if she had no clue what she had done.

“I’m not going anywhere with you you nutjob!” she snapped.

“We have no choice. Please do not make me force you.” Demetri pleaded. He didn’t want to lay a hand on his mate but the choices before them were simple. Either Y/N came with him now and travelled in comfort to Volterra with them, or someone else would be sent to fetch her before she could cause any damage to the Volturi, and they would be far less gentle.

“Force me? You’re off your meds, you – you have to be crazy to think I’d go anywhere with you!” she took another step back, and Demetri took one forward. His expression was nothing but sorrowful, the anguish obvious on his face. He really didn’t want to force her to do anything, but she really wasn’t making his life any easier. Granted, he had forced them both into this situation but surely the mate pull should have been enough for her to trust him at least a little? The fact she was to overwhelmed by her fear of him to feel it was heart-breaking. That she had already rejected him because she would rather fear him then know him…

“Please, please Y/N.” he whispered, extending a hand to her. She shook her head, ready to take off running again, and Demetri closed the gap between them with ease. His arm curled around her throat, his lips moving to her temple. She was so fragile and it took a lot of concentration he honestly didn’t have to cut off enough oxygen that she would pass out.

“Stop -ah!” she cried out, squirming in his grip. Demetri winced.

“I had no desire to hurt you. I am so sorry.” He whispered, voice wavering slightly. As she slumped in his grip he buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to be a genius to know he had probably ruined everything with her before it had even began, but what could he do? He had no other viable option to him available, or he would have taken it in a heartbeat. He couldn’t stand the disapproving look on Felix’s face when he walked onto the jet with an unconscious woman in his arms.

“If you think I am listening to you play with your food all the way home-“

“She is not my food! She happens to be my mate, though I am sure when she wakes up she would much rather throw herself out of this jet than come anywhere near me.” He snapped. Felix remained oddly silent after his outburst, and with a heavy heart Demetri made sure she was settled in one of the plush leather chairs, her backpack within arms reach and a belt secure around her waist for the take off. Once he was sure she was safe in her seat he slammed the door shut and locked himself in the bathroom, desperate to clear his head of her dizzying scent and bring some clarity to the negative thoughts swarming him. Felix watched him go in mild astonishment. The tracker was usually the cool, calm, collected one of the group. He had never seen his old friend this upset before.

Demetri didn’t remerge from the bathroom by the time she woke up either, stirring slowly and scrunching her nose and eyes when the light hit her full force. Her eyes wandered right over him, not really registering the giant’s presence the first time around. Felix tilted his head when her head snapped back in his direction, her heart picking up in her chest and grip on the armrests tightening.

“I – wh-where are we? You, your eyes…” she breathed.

“I’m a vampire.” Felix told her bluntly. A snort escaped her before her hand slapped over her mouth. She had to take a minute to study him, see if he was lying.

“Your as crazy as your friend. Oh god…oh god where it the demented bastard?” she whispered, curling her knees up as tears welled in her eyes, “What’s h-he going to do to me?” Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Would you like the short or the long version?” he asked.

She gulped. “Sh-short?”

“He’s going to turn you into one of us as the law demands and love you like no other man ever could for the rest of eternity.” Felix shrugged. It was amusing to him, how her jaw dropped open. She couldn’t hear the way Demetri growled at him to shut up from the bathroom. Her hands immediately scrabbled for the belt at her waist and his eyebrows rose.

“You’re all crazy!” she snapped.

“Where do you plan on going? It’s a long way down, little human.” He chuckled.

“The bathroom! Away from the crazy!” she cried. Felix’s laughter echoed about the jet.

“There’s a crazy man in the bathroom to.” he promised. Demetri appeared in a flash, his expression furious.

“Could you at least attempt to be courteous? She is terrified enough.” He hissed. The giant leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly amused at the way she immediately swung her backpack into his face. “And will you stop hitting me with that bag!” he cried exasperatedly.

“You kidnapped me you freak!” she yelled.

“I did what I had to to save your life!”

“You were the one who put my life in danger! You – you –“

“Now now children play nicely.” Felix drawled. They both shot him frustrated looks, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he realised just how similar they appeared. He had no doubt that this rocky start was going to haunt Demetri for a while yet, if only because his mate seemed quite unwilling to let it go, and yet... Felix watched them argue with keen eyes, the pair going back and forth as Demetri quite honestly told her his motivation for the attack and subsequent kidnapping. Occasionally he would chime in with something witty only to be told to shut up, but it was quite obvious to him what neither of them seemed to notice what he did. With every angry word they seemed to smash through a barrier, the pair gravitating towards each other like magnets.

He doubted they’d last a week apart.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #volturi #demetri volturi #x female reader #demetri volturi x female reader #felix volturi #is living for the entertainment he's getting #poor demetri

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xhanisai · 3 years

Text

What if you had it all, But nobody to call?

AO3 / FFN

Summary: "...Am I dreaming?"

Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot.

Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins.

And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers.

~(x)~

Ladybug and Chat Noir's abilities were capable of many, many things. Things that were miraculously incredible to say at the very least and beyond scientific comprehension- for goodness sake, how many times have Ladybug brought the dead back to life after the umpteenth distraught puppet villain razed them to the ground? And how many times have Chat Noir managed to take down La Tour Eiffel with one singular touch, rendering it to nothing but ashes and dust in the wind? However, as magnificent and majestic as their powers were, not even they were able to prevent the dreaded pandemic that took over the world by a storm and put everyone completely at its mercy. This time, the heroes that the world needed were those with medical training, scrubs and a vow to the Hippocratic oath. Mon Dieu, were they such brilliant, resilient heroes indeed. . Despite the United Nations worldwide urging all civilians to stay indoors at all times (unless necessary outings were needed) and countries locking down dozens at a time, Le Papillon let it all flow through one ear and out the other. It's as if he has an addiction to sending out akumas left, right and centre as severe as a chain-smoker and the fact that there's an airborne virus that could completely destroy even the most healthiest person was just a muted buzz in the background.

Then again, what does one expect from the tunnel-visioned, single-minded, 'father of the year', Gabriel fucking Agreste?

"There are people literally dying out here and this crusty old man can't even take a hint!?"

"My Lady, what do we expect from the same man who regularly akumatises M. Ramier?"

Of course, the teenaged vigilantes had no choice but to risk their safeties as well as their loved ones by sneaking out of their abodes and battling the millionth akuma on the streets.

"Chaton...my parents are starting to think I'm constipated. CONSTIPATED."

"I told you, just use the shower excuse rather than the toilet excuse."

"But then they'll think I have some sweaty teenaged puberty problem!"

"Either way it's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"Oh fuck off..."

Thankfully, Tikki and Plagg were able to upgrade their traditional superhero suits, extending the masks downwards so that they covered the heroes' lower faces and filtered out the air, keeping them safe as they battled. However, social distancing was a whole new different obstacle that made these very fights thousands of times harder to win. The numerous events that Chat Noir had to be verbally restrained from going absolutely apeshit on akumas that gave Ladybug a beating that went too far when he could have pushed her away in ordinary circumstances was just insane. The heroine never realised how dangerous her infamous clumsiness could be at times, concluding her completely vulnerable and at the akuma's mercy whilst Chat Noir has no choice but to scream her name in agony a good distance away. And vice versa. Oh mon Dieu. She has had witnessed her poor partner get skewered and burnt alive by the more unforgiving victims too many times, her shaking arms aching to bring his body against hers so that she can feel his heart beating under her touch and lay kisses upon his tousled locks just to ensure her barely sane mind that he was still alive. That he won't leave her forever. The pandemic was such a vile curse... And it made everyone feel so, so alone. Finally, after months of these life-threatening fights, both physical and internal, both Ladybug and Chat Noir against le Papillon and the doctors and nurses and essential workers against the virus, a new testing system was introduced.

"I finally got my results! I got negative. What about you, Bug?"

"I got negative too! Dieu merci...looks like those sniffles I had really was hayfever after all,"

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Ladybug. I...I couldn't help but think the worst when you mentioned about the sniffles last week...and I even yelled at you for coming out to battle the other day..."

"Chat, you only had my best interests in mind...and I would have had done the same. But you can make it up to me, now that we can share a social bubble,"

"How?"

"Follow me!"

"-And now, we can freely grab each other whenever we want and we will be back in sync during akuma battles in no time. Isn't that great? Neither of us has to wallow in guilt or cry because we weren't able to push the other one out of harm's way." Marinette sighed happily, her bare hands squeezing her Chaton's as they both rested their backs against the pillar in between them. The noir-haired girl couldn't help but let her fingers and thumbs map out every nook, every crevice and every feature of her partner's hands like a desperate lover. The way that his longer, thicker fingers flexed under her touch and curled warmly against hers, the rough callouses on the palms that indicated years of hard work to whatever sport he's dedicated himself to, the glossy smoothness of his detransform miraculous on his right hand and its ridges poking into her skin and the sweet body heat that emanated from his caresses and sent her entire body aflame. She missed this. Dieu, she missed her partner's physical touch so much.

"...Am I dreaming?"

Marinette almost leapt to her feet and turned around, only for common sense and the hammered identity rule to slap her in the face and keep her rooted on the spot. Her Chaton was crying...crying. His entire body shook and shuddered as the sound of his quiet gasps filled the tense air, his touch now a raging inferno coursing through her veins. And she couldn't even bring him into her arms and brush his tears away with her pinpricked fingers. "Chat Noir?? What's wrong?" She asked, her heart skipping multiple beats when she attempted to move her hands away from his, only for Noir to grip them tightly and entwine their fingers firmly. A perfect fit. . "S-Sorry...heh-I'm not upset," He reassured her, tightening his clasp on her hands lovingly, his lips aching to press against her sweet, bare-knuckles in a sound kiss. "It's just...it's just been a while since I've had proper human contact, My Lady...so I've almost forgotten what it's like to be touched...or touch another..." Adrien felt her move, rather than saw, his Lady's breath hitching in her throat as she in return sent a squeeze back to him. It was as if his entire being was surrounded by a pool of warmth, lighting up his crushed soul and cleansing his shattered heart. The urge to just turn around and envelope her in his greedy arms was exorbitantly unbearable. She was right there, just behind him, tempting him with that oh-so-familiar bakery scent of cinnamon and vanilla that he could taste it. Alas, his unwavering sense of loyalty to her rules and his primal feelings to keep her safe kept him chained down. . But sometimes, even the most beaten down, the most saddest and the most broken of people can receive a glimpse of hope.

"Well, now you can have all the human contact you want, Chat. C-Close your eyes and I'll come to you- mine are closed too."

She didn't give him a chance to answer, using her hands to manoeuvre her way towards him until finally, she found his lap and settled down before bringing him in for a well-needed embrace and burying his head into the crook of her neck. Adrien didn't hesitate in crushing her body against his chest, his arms locked around her waist, one hand digging into her smooth tendrils whilst the other one clenching the fabric of her shirt on the small of her back. He selfishly inhaled in her scent, his tears saturating her neck whilst she in turn let her fingers tangle with his blonde strands, lips puckered against his nape as she memorised the pattern of his heartbeat in tandem to hers.

"How long can w-we stay like this?"

"As long as you would like, mon Minou..."

They stayed like that in the same position, all night.

~(x)~

#my writing #my fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #Adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #pandemic #prompt: covid-19

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skelanonymous · 4 years

Text

Song Prompt 4 - You Don’t Know Me

I’m trying my hand at some bad guy poly, and if I get to my Little Night AU, this may become a prequel of sorts.

Song: You Don’t Know Me by Elizabeth Gillies

Skeleton: Nightmare

Words: 3.2k

“Boss, you can’t be serious right now.” Killer’s mouth hung open. Dust sighed off to his left, rubbing his face hard enough to shake dust from his hood. Horror wouldn’t meet his eyes, Cross also nervously avoiding them, leaving Error the only one still looking, albeit with some exasperation.

“I’m very serious.” Night responded to Killer without bending. “This is not something I’d like to be a part of.”

“If that’s the reason, cuz you don’t wanna, then that’s fine. But that sounds like a crock and I ain’t one for bullshit.” Killer grabbed the end of the table with whitened knuckles. Nightmare could taste the frustration off all of them, but his icy resolution could outlast their mounting agitation. “So just be honest. We can handle whatever you got to say.”

Nightmare looked at his phalanges, faking disdain with ease, unaffected stone face a talent he’d picked up before leaving the tree’s shade.

“I have no reason to lie. I am not willing to join your polyamorous posse.” They’d all been having “sleepovers” for months now, and he’d caught on long before he walked into a dream he wished he could erase. It would’ve been fine had it been Horror or Killer, but Dust was always vigilant and had remembered Nightmare’s brief intrusion the next morning. “I admit, it’s impressive you’ve managed to keep this working between so many of you, and I don’t care what you spend your free time doing, but my time will be spent on other ventures.”

“But in the dream-”

“I’m not a nun, but walking into a dream orgy when you expect something a little more tame and having a reaction isn’t that ridiculous.” Dust’s gaze bore into his skull. He couldn’t crack, not if he was trying to pass off this lie. Keeping calm was critical.

“So that’s it then. No?” Killer just shook his head. Good, please, give up. Nightmare’s feigned nonchalance had held through much worse, but the backlash afterwards would be worse if he broke beneath it.

“It’s a no.” Night stood from the little table he’d been called to like an intervention. “Now I’m returning to my study. Come find me if anything happens to the castle.”

He did NOT run, but he portaled the instant he turned a corner. It dropped him into a forest patch on the edges of this world just before he lost his composure.

“Son of a fucking BITCH!” His tentacles lashed out, splitting apart all the trees in the area with a giant swing. The corruption roared out of his mouth, furious and wild, screaming his voice hoarse. He didn’t give a damn about any of it, just seeing red from the blackened aura that got denser and denser around his body as he raged in nature, a force all on his own.

Of course he wanted to say yes! Envy scorched through his hands, clawing ahead for what it could not reach. Rage he reserved for himself, though saved some for his damned fate, at being too fucked to just be with a person. Even now, not within their embrace, the greed seduced his pitch black soul to have so many loves with which to indulge, having them all pay attention to him, their king, their saviour, they OWED this to him!

“God damn it, NO! Fuck you!” He continued ruining the countryside, rampant as the growth surrounding him.

He couldn’t love them. Not like they wanted, not the way they did each other, forever an outsider to the perfect temptation. He’d tip the balance and break the scales. He would destroy this for them. Slowly, he felt the brain fog raise, the tinges of red outlining everything finally fading away with his energy.

When the colors of the ruined forest fully returned, he directly portaled to his study. Dust was waiting patiently on the desk’s edge.

“The castle couldn’t have had a disaster that quickly.” Nightmare sat at his desk without acknowledging he’d been caught moping outside. Damn his perceptiveness when not distracted.

“I mean, it did.” Dust stated in a matter of fact tone. “They’re unhappy with the answer.”

“And what? You’re here to force me to change it?” Lashing out was what he excelled at. He wasn’t meant for soft cuddle puddles and doting, his body literal poison to those around him, his aura a drain. Dust didn’t bite.

“No. It wouldn’t be honest if it was forced.” He spoke airily, as if admitting the blatant truth could be anything but bitter disaster.

“Then why have you come to my study?” Nightmare hoped he’d rise to the bait that time, more direct in his aggression, and Dust would meet and rise to it most days, but besides twitching a few times, he holds his sanity at the low blow.

“To remind you. I know what I saw, and you know what I saw.” Dust didn’t leave room for argument and Nightmare didn’t lie about it out of respect. “Just know that the door is open should you change your mind.”

“Thank you, but my answer remains the same.” Damn him. Each denial took away more of his resistance. Perhaps he knew that, persistence hunting him with a strong will borne of the endless loops that forged most of his loyal following, waiting until one day he asked over something inconsequential like breakfast for the yes to slip out without Nightmare even on guard enough to catch it.

“Whatever you say Boss.” Dust nodded, but those eyes haunted him. He hadn’t heard the last of this, but the tide would ebb for now.

Nightmare fell back into the plush chair tiredly, already awaiting the next wave.

He knew what he wanted, but he could not obtain it. If he acted on his wishes, he’d destroy what he sought. And if he denied it, he’d be acting against his natural state while forcing himself to be miserable. There wasn’t a way to win that he could conceive of so he settled with ignoring the feeling entirely.

Despite his refusal, they didn’t change their interactions with him in the slightest after that first day.

Meal times remained largely unchanged except for the stolen glances at him if he betrayed any affection or laughed (which wasn’t often, but they were his crew and knew his weaknesses). Missions and responses to commands had also remained the same, though that was expected. They still offered him the opportunity to join in on movie nights. He had refused all of those since the rejection.

Maybe it was the way Horror had frowned when he’d said no for the fifth time in a row that changed his mind. Ignoring feelings didn’t make them disappear and he’d always been a little softer for Horror’s requests. He only asked for what he considered essential.

“Let me finish this. I’ll be down in five minutes.” Tidying up his papers took seconds, but he needed the minutes for composure.

When he made it down, Horror had curled up into Error’s lap with a gigantic grin, Error softly praising him with small head pets. The others waved at him.

“Hey Boss! Sorry, we let Cross pick this time.” The ‘we didn’t think you’d say yes’ was implied. Nightmare nodded at Killer while moving to sit on the couch against the wall.

“I can live with choosing next time.” The little bursts of joy hit him like a face full of air freshener, his sludge rippling but otherwise unaffected. They’d popped in the DVD and set up before flicking off the lights.

Nightmare watched intently for the first fifteen minutes, he’d never seen it before, then looked around.

The group had paired off into cuddly duos, Killer and Cross, Horror and Error, leaving a lonely Dust seated by Nightmare. From here, he could feel Dust’s cold longing, wanting to join in like the others but knowing his only possible partner would refuse him. The movie was loud, the others absorbed in it or each other and not even able to see them from where they sat. Nightmare laid a tentative tentacle over Dust’s shoulder. He refused to speak a word, merely moving his arm for Dust to accept or not.

His dual colored eyes dilated before quietly shuffling over. Leaning in, he pressed himself along Night’s side with a little wiggle to get cozy.

From this angle, Dust’s ears within an inch of his mouth, he spoke softly.

“Is this okay?” He didn’t know what he felt like to others. Dust hummed so low that Night could only feel it.

“Yeah.” His right eye twitched, Papyrus must’ve said something. “What are those weird swords called?” Night’s eyes flicked up to the screen.

“A flamberge sword. It’s mostly used to counter others by-” Nightmare went into its varied history, a few famous wielders, its construction. They kept their eyes on the film, and Nightmare whispered it to Dust, like a secret history lesson while some cheesy dramatic scene full of loud music drowned out the rest. By the time he’d stopped, Dust comfortably leaned fully against him. His head had come into contact with the corner of Night’s mouth without ceremony, suddenly making Night aware of his proximity.

“You’ve read a lot.” Dust turned his head, now his teeth only a breath away. Nightmare couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

“Books were all I possessed before…” His eye roamed over the group before returning to the gentle intensity building in the centimeter between their teeth. “Dust…”

“You can have this Boss.” Dust’s soul pulsed with determination, Night washed over in its warm waters. “I know how much you wanted it.” His red and blue eyes dropped to Night’s teeth, hovering with hot breath, half-lidded in need. “Just take it Nightmare.”

The touch of their mouths made Night’s own soul explode in the rush of desire that blazed into an inferno at the smallest sprig of kindling. His tongue begged for entrance before he could think the action through, Dust letting it in without hesitation, shaky hands dug into Night’s sweater. The loud movie covered the quiet wet sounds, Night’s tentacles shifting silently to cradle Dust as he devoured all he was offered.

His soul lurched when he pulled back; he wanted to consume Dust but the rational part of his brain managed to catch him before he dove back.

“Hah. Nightmare, come back.” Dust’s hands had fisted in Night’s sweater tight enough to tear. Nightmare ignored it to squeeze his eye shut, trying to breathe through the mounting urge to take Dust apart, piece by piece, in view of the others, damn their relationship, he’d take ANY of them whenever HE wanted.

“Stop.” He said it at normal volume, shouting compared to the hushed exchange before. It drew the attention of the others. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Nightmare hadn’t opened his eye to see, but he could hear how hurt Dust sounded, hands trembling where they still balled in each other’s clothes. His normally distracted voice spoke firmly. “Tell me why.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just won’t. Tell me why.” Dust shook his head to dislodge Papyrus, ringing in crystal clear. It struck his soul, shattering the thin barrier holding back his honesty, unable to hold onto thoughts while containing the rot of his corruption from spilling over and swallowing them whole.

“I will devour you. All of you.” His tentacles sought them out, tentative. His vocal cords ached with an involuntary voice drop. “I will fucking ruin this. Your love cannot overcome my nature.” Each appendage curled around their throats, besides Dust, laying in his arms. The eye of the storm, Dust laid there calmly, like Nightmare’s tentacles weren’t threatening to strangle all of his loves in one fell swoop. Nightmare’s sludge dripped off of him, onto the couch, sizzling where it’d dropped onto Dust’s shins. He didn’t flinch.

“You wouldn’t know, you won’t let us try.”

He could feel the others struggling against him, hands sliding on the slick material while his tentacles grew tighter.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Night growled, his own fingers clamping down on Dust’s neck, pressing down on the bone hard enough to creak underneath them. “I’ll take what I want and dust the rest!”

“Then do it.” Dust met his eyes unafraid. He relaxed into the hold, even as Night’s hands got ever tighter.

The corruption buffeted the inside of his skull, whirlwind of thoughts and crazed emotion, fed by the slow building terror of the others, their struggles more and more frantic the longer his tentacles gripped them. The only exception was Dust. His eyes had slid shut, limp and relaxed in his hands. Nightmare didn’t realize how out of control it’d gotten until he heard the crack.

Nightmare released Dust instantly, hands struggling with the healing magic Nightmare was trying to force through the agitated sludge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Night didn’t stop trembling until he felt Dust touch his wrists. The splashes of cyan across Dust’s calm smile startled him out of everything, tentacles dropping the others to curl in on himself. With a deep breath, the magic flowed more evenly, in control of this at the very least. The crack slowly wove together until only a scar remained. Nightmare avoided the gazes of the others he could feel staring him down, caught unaware by Dust pulling on his wrists, falling directly onto Dust’s chest, face onto his shoulder, forced to stare at his own mistake.

“Just relax…” Dust’s head rested atop his own. He felt the skilled hands slide into the crevices between his tentacles, pressing and rubbing away the tight balls of tension until he finally let them all go.

“How did he do that?” Cross whispered from the side.

“Hell if I know.” Killer sounded close as well, shuffling from just beyond his vision.

“Patience.” Dust’s fingers pressed down to unwind the stress of his back, though not the sins crawling there. Nightmare shifted to lay in a way that he could see off the couch. The others watched them from the floor with wide eyes. He sighed, tracing Dust’s sternum during inhales.

“I could have killed you.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Dust’s faith never wavered, the others radiated guilt. Nightmare averted his gaze.

“I’m still sorry.”

“Then make it up to me.” Nightmare sat up, resting his hands on Dust’s chest for leverage, ending up sitting on his lap before taking the hands that had fallen off his back. He pulled Dust up to match him.

“How?” Night blushed under Dust’s intense observing, relaxing at the gentle clank he got in exchange. It sent a tremor through his spine.

“Answer us honestly.” Dust’s skull twitched against him, tranquil determination a temporary state at best. He kissed Night softly over and over again, plying at his defenses with the promise of what this could be, curiosity over how they worked together. Dust wasn’t alone in this after all. “Do you want us?” The shuffling of knees hit his ears; the others had moved closer to hear him, their hearts glowing with so much hope and positivity it almost hurt to bear. Night’s voice broke under its weight.

“...yes…” The next kiss was triumphant, his face cradled close while he submitted to Dust’s tongue. Dust broke them apart, Night too dazed to see, his hands reaching out to pull his partner back.

The taste changed, the tonguework different, enthusiastic all the same. The hand on his cheek this time larger, he felt a thumb stroke across the line beneath his ruined eye. The name was out before he saw them.

“Cross.” Behind, someone had made a home amongst his tentacles, a back against his. “That’s unusually bold of you.” His eye trailed over the purple flush with an amused grin. He didn’t let the building anxiety pool in the poor guardsman, grabbing the collar of his jacket to kiss him again while his tentacles wound around his other ‘attacker.’ Killer’s groans drifted to his ears.

“Fuck Nightmare, didn’t think you’d get so handsy so fast.” The back of his skull tapped Night’s. Tentacles had wound up Killer’s legs to hold them still, a third binding around his chest to keep him pinned. The fourth explored his upper femurs, pressing over his shorts to his pelvis, Killer’s gasps music to his ears. He pulled back from Cross with a smirk.

“You seemed like you’d be into it.” Killer nodded against his back, but Cross also nodded in front of him, eyelights blown wide with Night’s taste in his mouth and his hands on his chin, wiping away the line of purple saliva from that last messy kiss.

Horror leaned against his leg from the floor. Night dropped a hand to rub against his skull, avoiding the large crack without seeing, knowing the location by memory alone.

“Thanks.” Horror purred from the ground, head falling more heavily in his lap.

Sitting on Dust, Killer against his back, Horror in his lap, and Cross leaning over to kiss him and Dust equally brought his soul peace. Error hadn’t joined, but Nightmare would’ve been more surprised if he had.

“I-I’m sure y-you know my stance on t-t-touching by now.” Error had his arms crossed, body still pixelated near his neck from the impromptu strangling earlier.

“Except Horror. He deals with Horror’s touches the best out of all of us.” Cross removed himself from the pile to offer his hand. Error glared at the TV, but took it anyway. “Most of us have gotten to hand holding though!” Cross’s enthusiasm turned Error blue.

“S-shut up…” He offered his other hand for Cross to take as well, even Error unable to contain his smile at Cross’s joy and attention.

It was laughably easy, Nightmare slotted into the dynamic with ease, an extension of their regular back and forths but sweeter, tinged with something warm. The loud voice in his mind still craved more but he could fight it off for now. Nightmare took a deep breath.

“I’m...still concerned, about everything, but I…” They waited for him to collect his thoughts. “If you’ll have me anyway, then I’ll give it all I have.”

“That’s all we can ask.” Dust smiled while Horror hummed his agreement.

“Hell, that’s what we’re doing too. You, aaaah, ain’t special.” Killer’s body writhed against him. His tentacles hadn’t been distracted by the moment, steadily edging Killer into whining pants, shorts wet against his appendage and thrusting back against it. Night raised him up to hold him solidly between himself and Dust.

“You know, this does offer many new opportunities to shut you up.” His black bones traced the rim of Killer’s pelvis peeking out over the waistband. Killer cursed when Dust leaned forward against Killer’s back, circling to the front to tease his lower sternum, finger peeking inside of his rib cage.

“None of them work. Trust me, we’ve tried.” Dust hid his smirk against Killer’s back, playfully nipping through the hoodie, shaking against the charged bones.

“Fuck you guys.” Night met Dust’s dual-tone gaze one more time. Hesitant to accept and run forward with them still. But Dust took his hand to bring it with him into Killer’s body, wrapping them both around his spine to a moan. They’d help and guide him, he need only ask for it, and with that, he laughed.

“Maybe we will.”

I’m very happy to have this out of my WIP folder.

#bad guy poly #story title #nightmare sans #dustmare #sfw #story time

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pixelatedrose · 3 years

Note

read this and respond (if you’d like) when you aren’t in the car anymore, i don’t want you to get sick :0 !

you don’t apologize for not be able to write a lot! you didn’t have to answer my ask in the first place but it means a lot to me that you did :) also! i wanna say two things! one, i think i’ve said this before but i really like how you explain things. i’ve tried to learn how to play d&d and i think i’ve got a solid understanding of it, but it’s still hard when people say things like “10 AC”. but i don’t have to worry about that when you explain things cause you sorta dumb it down in a way that doesn’t make me feel dumb.. if that makes sense. two, i love how you showed callahan being healed in your drawing cause it just adds so much more weight to the picture. and i can’t even imagine how that fight was, dancing with death the whole time, that must’ve been so stressful. anyway! that’s about all, but you still have a lot of explaining to do (if you want and when you’re ready) mister >:0 i hope you had a lovely day and you enjoy the rest of your night, love you ro :)) !

1st: dw bout me answerin asks in the car lol I have no fuckin self control sksjshs

2nd: thank you sm m8!!! I know you've mentioned in the past that you don't play d&d or know a ton about it so I try and give little explanations where I can and it's great to hear that I do it in a non-patronizing way

3rd: heheheee okay so imma go into some more detail on the Callahan & Shade training session-

Okay, so.

To understand how we got to this point in time, we have to understand where he was

The party entered the Shadowfell- a mirror plane of existence where everything is contorted and dark and just about everything wants to kill you. This is where we were trying to get to when Callahan first joined the party.

Now Callahan didn't have a full grasp on what the Shadowfell was, really, when he went through the portal. The only one who did was Sylas, and by all the gods did he try to warn us.

Callahan was still so very very unprepared...

The very first fight in the Fell- one of the first battles Callahan has EVER been in in his life- he gets one-shotted by this monster and drops below zero hp.

When you drop below zero hp in d&d, you're Ina state of in between life and death, right on the cusp of either one and a breath's wrong move could send you toppling over the edge. You stay in this state of dying until one of three things happen. 1) you get healed. 2) you succeed three death saves and you stabilize. Or 3) you fail three death saves and you die.

Callahan had succeeded two saves, but he had also failed two. One last roll would have determined his entire fate, and I'm not known for having the best of luck when it comes to dice.

Sylas, our lovely amazing wonderful cleric boy, barely made it in time and slapped Callahan with a healing spell right after the monster died and he regained consciousness.

This...messed him up.

Callahan was absolutely shaken to his core at this very close encounter with death and he did not handle it well.

He got furiously angry, ignoring the fact that it was him that brought him to the Fell, and instead shifting the rage to the rest of the party and blaming them for his being there and, by proxy, his almost dying.

He...said some things...that shouldn't have been said. At least not like that...

And the worst part? It didn't get better. He was fitful and angry and upset at everyone for weeks.

Finally, Haru was done with Callahan's baby-bitchfit and when Callahan snapped at Monty (again), Haru got up and dragged Callahan out into the forest a little ways away from the rest of the party.

And what did he do?

Well he punched him.

Well, more than that. He told Callahan to fight back too. Soon fist-fighting turned into hitting each other with sticks, which turned into Haru having to tackle Callahan to the ground, leaving Cal the perfect opportunity to steal the dagger off his belt and ramming the pommel into his ribs.

Cal would like to say he won that fight. Haru would have something else to say.

After laying there on the ground for a moment, Callahan started to laugh. A sound that Haru had not heard in weeks, and one he didn't know he missed.

Haru explained that he wanted to teach Cal to fight so that what happened with that first monster? Where Cal nearly died?? So that that would never have to happen again.

Something about it- maybe it was something about Haru- calmed Callahan down.

And then it really hit him.

Oh fuck.

I've been a jackass for weeks to literally everyone.

It also started to hit him just how weak he really was in a fight if it ever came down to melee.

So they came back to the party together, Callahan happier than ever with little scrapes and lookin very roughed up (I won't say but the rest of the party did not in fact think they were sparring-)

Callahan apologized to Monty the next morning. The things he said specifically to him were...well...let's just say it hit harder for Monty than the others.

Monty wasn't as quick to forgive and forget. Callahan doesn't blame him.

However, that night Callahan and this new party member- Shade- were on a watch together. Now Shade is a much higher level than everyone else in the party, and is far far more powerful. He's a Hexblade Warlock, but he's also a fallen paladin (or cleric I can't remember) as WELL as a fallen Aasimar (kinda like a fallen angel but watered down). But...also probably a Shadow sorcerer?? Listen Shade is an amalgam of magic and power and idk where all of it comes from-

In any case, Shade is big powerful lad.

Now Cal and Shade are on a watch together, and Shade begins talking about Callahan's magic. He picks up a small opal stone from gauntlets he wears and focuses his magic into it. The opal glows with a black light and swirls with shadows of purple and black. He then hands the opal to Callahan and instructs him to focus his magic like he did.

When he does, the opal changes again, but this time, it swirls with bright, ever-changing array of fantastical colors. A rainbow of things that have never quite been seen before. It's extraordinary.

Shade explains that his own magic is that of the Shadowfell, it's dark and thus his magic is sewn from the shade. And then he explains that he's met other mages- ones with powers of the storm, magic of dragons- but he has never seen someone with magic like Callahan's.

Why?

Well, cause Callahan has pure, unfettered, untained, raw magic inside him.

It's an inferno of unbridled magic and it is completely and utterly entirely untamed. It cannot be controlled and it is as wild as the wind and earth itself. And sometimes, that uncontrollablity lashes out and surges forth, and sometimes things that Callahan doesn't exactly want to happen, happen.

And Callahan listens. And his heart sinks. Uncontrollable? Pure?? Absolute chaotic force of magic??? He can't stand the thought of not having a handle on his magic, because if he can't control it, how the hell is he supposed to use it to protect people??

He expresses this to Shade and the "older" man tells him that he can and should use this to his advantage.

At that moment, Callahan's magic goes wild and he surges. The wooden log they are sitting on, under Callahan's hand it starts to faintly smoke. Callahan doesn't notice, but Shade does. He cuts a small piece of rope and asks Cal to hold it for him. The rope errupts into flames and Callahan drops it in vibrant shock and distress.

Shade calms him down and explains that he can use that. He gets Callahan thinking. Asks how he can use this to help in in battle- he can set things aflame with a touch, for God's sake, what can he do to use that?

And Shade looks at Callahan's small scratches and bruises and scuffs on his clothes and turns and says "I know that look...you've been sparring, haven't you?"

Callahan nods his head. He says that Haru said he'd teach him how to fight, that he wants to- needs to- be stronger.

Shade asks if Callahan would like Shade to help him as well, help him learn how to use his magic to fight.

Callahan says yes.

They start small, Shade borrows Haru's sword in his sleep and gives it to Cal to use. Shade goes through the motions of explaining how he uses his magic to help him wear armor and wield weapons- how he manipulates the pull of power inside him into his blade, into his armor, how he makes them seem lighter and easier to use and wear.

And Callahan follows suit. He goes through the motions of swordplay, focusing and directing his magic into it. And slowly, it seems the blade gets lighter and light in his palm.

After a little while of this, Shade says that he would like to try something to really help Cal in the middle of a real battle. And he summons a demon.

Now, as Shade summons this demon, he explains that he has control over it. That the demon cannot do anything that Shade does not want it to do. The demon is not pleased with this.

In fact, with shadowy chains around its neck and wrists and ankles, it seethes and hisses and spits that it will tear and murder and shred Callahan and Shade to scraps. Shade reassures Callahan that he won't let it kill him. But he asks one last time if Callahan wants to do this.

And with a glance at this horrible creature with blood and murder in its eyes, Callahan's grasp tightens around his borrowed blade and he nods yes.

And so the fight begins.

Callahan uses his magic and filters it into the blade in his hands and tries to strike the beast. He hits it a few times, but the monster keeps hitting Callahan back, and he drops down to 1 hp.

As the demon cackles and pulls back for one final attack, Shade pulls down on the shadowy chains and restrains it. It howls in fury at this.

Shade asks Callahan if he wants to stop, that if he really wants, Shade knows a way to help Callahan keep going.

Callahan, bloody, sliced up, fighting for consciousness and blinking red drops from his eyes, hands on his sword in a white-knuckled grip, the blade digging into the ground as the only thing keeping him upright, looks Shade deep and deadly in the eyes, his goggles hung slightly cracked around his neck. His eyes have a burning flicker to them and with no hesitation to his words, he speaks. "I need to be better."

Shade takes a moment and the faintest ghost of a smile flitters onto his face and he says "That was the right answer." And he begins to heal Callahan with Greater Restoration.

Now, I could be wrong either with what the spell does or what spell he actually cast, but what happened with this spell was this: he could restore an incredible amount of hp to Callahan, but he would TAKE half the hp he restored as damage to himself. So if he healed Cal for 10 points, Shade would take 5.

This first time he ended up healing Callahan all the way back up to full.

And back to the fight they went.

This happened four more times, where Cal dropped below 10 hp and Shade had to stop to heal him for a moment.

Finally, Shade asked Callahan one last thing.

"I can do one more thing to help you learn the movement of battle, but it would mean releasing him. You don't have to do it, but-"

"You're wrong. I do have to- what would that make me if I backed down at the first sight of risk?"

"...you've made a good choice."

With that, Shade released the Demon, who was battered and torn and nearly as destroyed as Callahan himself, if not far far more. And he let out a ravenous cackle, full of craze and bloodlust and victory. And he looked Callahan directly in the eyes and told him "This is where you die!!!"

Four more rounds.

Callahan had messed up his magic once before in the fight and his magic had surged, giving him the ability to teleport short distances for the next minute.

And his magic messed up once again, poisoning a random creature near him. Luckily, it wasn't Shade, but the Demon was immune to poison anyway.

But as Callahan took hits, he dropped below 10 hp again, but there was no more looking to Shade for help anymore.

He took one last swing, a move of the blade that felt more dance-like than any sort of movement to kill, and he cut the demon clean a sunder- a trail of the blade that ran from one shoulder across to the bottom of its boney hip- and the demon let out a croaking, creaking, collapsing gasp of air that could have been mistaken for a strangled last cackle of defiance.

And then it fell over, a position of defeat that Callahan may have been had he not made the surer move.

And Callahan stood above it all.

Alive.

Alive and by his hands alone was his enemy gone.

Alive and by a blade he used with magic in his veins was he that way.

Alive and the victor over a demon.

Shade healed Callahan one last time, nearly collapsing himself from the loss of life energy. He managed to gain some of it back by summoning small imps that he then proceeded to suck the life out of, but it still took a bit of a toll on both of them.

They went back to the party where everyone lay sleeping, none knowing the exchange that had happened that night.

The spoke for a while longer, Shade telling Callahan of his past while casting the mending spell on his destroyed and torn clothes.

Their shift ended and they woke up the next pair for watch and went to bed.

And now did Callahan forget to tell anyone else about what had happened?

Yes absolutely.

Did Haru end up finding out because 1) Callahan had a fresh magical scar on his cheek and 2) Callahan forgot to give Haru back his sword?

Yes absolutely.

Was Haru pissed off that Callahan basically almost died multiple times and go into full protective boyfriend mode after he found out?

Yes absolutely.

Anyway long story time but I hope you liked it ;D

#spooky-scary-bumblebees #Bee!!!#the Weave of Silence #Callahan McBlithe #Shade Walker #ask me things #LISTEN I REALIZE I HAVEN'T BEEN THE BEST AT UPDATING Y'ALL ON THE ONGOINGS OF THE WOS CAMPAIGN #BUT ITS REALLY FUCKING COOL I PROMISE #i mean this is literally something that happened IN THE GAME so yeah I'd say its pretty killer #anyway sorry for the long read but i hope it was worth it !!!

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

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What would the lost boys think if you accidentally say a different mens name like from a rockbands name. While you was having sex with them

Sure thing fang baby, lemme give it a shot! I’m gonna be honest hon, there isn’t anything romantic about this scenario though, this one is gonna be a whole lot of drama. I write them according to what I think would happen based on their personalities. And let’s be realistic here- None of the boys would respond well to this. All of them are only ever going to polyamorous between each other and their s/o’s in a best case scenario. Outsiders involved in any way, shape, or form is seriously frowned upon. You could call to the great artists of the Renaissance, you could call out Eddie frickin Van Halen, it doesn’t matter. Trust me on this.

THANK YOU TO @imlostinsantacarla WHO IS NOT ONLY MY CO-AUTHOR BUT A FELLOW LOST BOYS WRITER, AND AN AMAZING FRIEND! I appreciate all the help you’ve been, dude I love ya like a sister! Seriously guys, check out her blog, she is amazing!

The Lost Boys’ S/O Moans a Rock Star’s Name During Sex

18+ CONTENT WARNING: Contains Offensive Language, Gore, Homicide, Violent Behaviors, Potential Emotional Triggers, Sexual Themes! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

David

Any name that isn't his will infuriate him. All he knows is while he's on top of you, you just said another man's name. There's a split second where the infernos of Hades ignites his entire body aflame with pure unadulterated rage. His eyes spark white hot, it takes every ounce of willpower he has to physically calm himself so he doesn't "accidentally" kill you. It's tempting, nearly impossible to resist the urge to slice you open while he's still inside you. How dare you say anyone else's name.

There’s quite the conflict in his head. He wonders if he should pull out, and leave you there without another word. But instead he chooses to take his revenge. Your mouth won't ever make the mistake of calling to anyone but him ever again, if you’re even lucky enough to be graced with his presence once he’s finished with you. Immediately he would've grabbed you by your throat, tempted to squeeze you until you fainted as he demanded you tell him again who's name you just screamed. It's a terrifying moment, you barely choke out the words before he flips you onto your stomach

"...What was that, kitten? I don’t think I heard those lips right! You're gonna have to say that louder for me."

Make no mistake, the fact that it's the name of a celebrity as you desperately try to claim, means fuck all to him. He will punish the fuck out of you! Everything is drawn out. He'll choke your neck until you can't even moan, just barely teasing when you begin to have tunnel vision. There is no way you'll be satisfied, this is for him! He's not about to give you what you want until you're crying, pleading for him to let you orgasm. You know what he does? Just at the edge of climax covered in scratches and bites, he pulls out and leaves you. Shaken, exhausted, alone, and unsatisfied. Why the hell would he give you the satisfaction of what you want when you called another man's name when you guys were having sex?

David is one of the guys whose ego is going to be busted, and that is a very poor choice to make. He would immediately get dressed. No aftercare, he wants you to feel filthy, dirty. You didn't deserve his love that night. The guys would jump out of his way, you don't want to be in his warpath when he gets like this. As he's tearing through victims he's constantly questioning himself. Why are you thinking of another man when you guys are intimate?! He doesn't let people in, but he let you in, and you fucked it! Obliterating his trust in less than a second.

Expect him to suspect you of adultery. Give him space, because for the next few weeks he won't humor any excuses you give him. How can he be sure you aren't lying?! Maybe it wasn't the lead singer of the band you just said. Maybe it was just some fucker with a similar first name. David's trust in you no longer exists, and his respect is gone too. Afterwards he refuses to get intimate with you. Even hugs are rejected, he doesn't want you touching him- period!

Celebrity or not, don't bother being surprised when that guy winds up dead in their precious Hollywood estate a week later. David is possessive as fuck and he doesn't take betrayal lightly, no matter how big or small. You’d hear it on TV. The rock star found with his wrists and throat slashed, presumed suicide. But you already knew who was responsible. David isn’t even phased when you storm up to him on the boardwalk with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Of course he used mind control to have the bastard stab himself and slash open his throat. He only wishes he could’ve done it himself. He’ll even tell you all the gruesome details, mocking how he greatly suffered because David made him think there were bugs under his skin. David is over 110% petty. In fact, he’ll taunt you about this after. At first it’ll come off cold, passive and indifferent before it spills over into pure aggression. If you dare try to get angry at him he’ll put that to rest real fast, looking you dead in the eyes.

"You’re damn right I killed him. And you know what? His blood on your hands, y/n, not mine. You made one grave fucking mistake, you have no one but yourself to blame. I don't know why you're crying."

He's never gonna let you forget this. The likelihood of him staying is entirely dependent on how long you two were together. That also means how angry he gets will rely on that as well. He's not gonna trust you after either. In his eyes you're both done. But even then, you're still his at the end of the day. He’s not losing to a corpse, you knew the moment you two came together that you were going to be with him- whether you fucking like it or not. If you think you're gonna dare to move on, and leave him miserable in the dust after hurting him so, think again! You’ll be making it up to him for years, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll forgive you.

Dwayne

Low-key freezes at first. It’s almost an otherworldly feeling. He must have heard you wrong! Did he hear you right? No way! Was that someone else's name? It certainly wasn’t his! Dwayne will just full on stop the action, the look on his face just dropping! It’s confusion, fear, rage. There’s no words. You had said another man’s name. Not even said it- you screamed it out. The nervous expression furrowing your face told him all he needed to know. He would immediately get dressed and leave you still sprawled on his bed storming off before he’s tempted to scream at you.

But he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn't say anything, but when you look into his eyes he's pissed! His eyes are fucking GLOWING, his fangs are bared, utterly insulted! This is a rage you’ve never seen on Dwayne. You done fucked up mate. This was an intensely intimate moment with him that you just shattered by the mere mention of someone else. Rock band or not, it’s another man’s name. Period. He knows exactly who Steven Tyler is, he doesn’t give a fuck.

When he pulled out and got off of you it was with such speed you never thought was possible from him because of how big his stature is. But now he’s shaken. For a moment it doesn’t even seem possible. Dwayne is trying to calm down, but if his heart was still beating it would be tearing through his chest. He feels like he might throw up, his stomach is just twisting into hideous knots he never thought possible.

Dwayne is hurt. Utterly crushed. He loves you, or rather, loved you. It’s hard for him to understand what to do with this. He would never dream of doing something this dumb like that to you. Out on the boardwalk he doesn't even see other men or women, like that because he's with you, so for you to do that to him? He's intensely wounded. You said a rock star’s name, but what’s to stop you next time from saying someone else’s name? If you were going to be screaming other people’s names during sex, how far would you go?

When he leaves, he storms off for hours. You won’t see him again until the sun is starting to rise, and even then he won’t speak to you. Well, unless it’s to tell you to get out. Yeah, he wants you gone. Go home. When he’s ready, he’ll talk to you. For now, he doesn’t even look at you. Don’t expect to see him on the boardwalk. In fact, none of the boys are there. If they see you, it's silence and dirty looks. They’ve never seen Dwayne like this. Even when Jasper died he powered through it. This made him utterly depressed, nothing made their friend smile. Paul tried everything, even dancing in drag! Nothing!

Out of everyone, it's gonna be the hardest for Dwayne to move past this. It’s not just a major turn off, it almost feels like a betrayal. Unless you two have been together for a significant amount of time, he’d probably break up with you. If not, then he’d demand space. He isn’t ready to let go, but he’s not ready to just forgive you. He won't be able to look at you the same afterwards. How could you be thinking of another man when his dick is literally inside of you?

Are you unhappy? Are you unsatisfied? Like what's going on? Did you not want to be with him anymore?! He’d be questioning himself, questioning anything. Probably will talk it out with you but it's difficult for him to move past.

It'll take a long time before he can be intimate, if he even can be with you because the trust just isn't there anymore. For Dwayne to be with someone, to let them in, he needs there to be trust in order for him to be intimate. It’s so hard for him to let someone in his life outside of his brothers, especially if you’re human. Now? He doesn’t even know. He may try to patch things up but all he’d hear and see is just you crying for someone else. The damage done might be too much for him to handle. If you guys manage to revive your relationship it’d be an utter miracle because honestly the chances are viciously slim.

Paul

Whatever band member’s name you just called is now officially ruined for Paul forever. By the time you screamed it he was pretty much finished, and mid-climax his heart just drops, utterly falls into his stomach and any horny left inside him is dead.

That man just pulled out so fast you were winded. He won't touch you after, and if you even try to touch him he will slap your hand away! Eventually he’s so pissed he’ll try to get away from you because he's just so furious. You have to understand, he didn’t hear a band name, he hear another man’s name

"Wait what-... What the fuck-?! What the ever loving fuck did you just fucking say?!"

A switch has gone off in his head and he's almost violently shoving his clothes on. If you won’t leave then he will, and he honestly needs to get the fuck of there pronto before he’s tempted to do something messy he might regret!

Paul may come off as this cocky, goofy playboy himself, but he's serious about you! He may have slept around before, but he’s only ever in a relationship, a real, serious relationship, if he truly trusts you. Paul hates being vulnerable, it’s a foreign and risky task that could bite him in the ass. And it just did. All trust is gone and he immediately jumps to the conclusion that you're sleeping with other people. A wave of insecurity takes over. He has a fragile ego, that’s why he tends to be such a needy boyfriend- he always needs to know you love him and that you won’t leave him. Honestly, now he can't look at a picture of the band member you called out during sex anymore, it’s ruined for him now. Their music pisses them off, their face makes him enraged. Even sex is ruined for him for awhile. This boy is so possessive it's unreal, but you've made things all weird now and he can't shake that shit off!

He genuinely cares about you! He knows he's done some dumb shit before! Paul’s behavior can always come across as flirty, even when he’s in his most relaxed state. He’s gotten shit for it before, and he totally understood when you would get ticked off at him for it. But... he never expected that fucking shit to come from you!

Paul will try to patch things up, as best as he can. He doesn't really wanna stay mad at you; it's not his style. However, things are just... different after. He lost that deep, trusting connection with you he once had. It’s just back to square one now, he may even need some space for a few days. Even if you guys manage to pick up the pieces, you have to earn every ounce of his trust back. Part of him sees it as a challenge. Every time you have sex he is determined to make it the most incredible, mind melting, mouth watering fuck he’s ever give in his afterlife! You won’t ever, ever think of another guy again! Unfortunately it makes it hard for him to enjoy it, because not only is he not relaxed, he’s utterly focused on you and there’s still such a massive fear that you’ll do it again.

Part of him desperately wants to murder the guy, and he wouldn't feel bad about it. Not one bit. Gets way more possessive with you than he ever had been in the past, and frankly it’ll take years before he ever learns to relax again. He may see you as untrustworthy whenever you're around other males. His anger is uncontrollable some nights, will probably kick, punch, or throw things. His rage is fucking untamed man! This haunts him, he thought you were starting to lov-... well, now he feels like an idiot.

If you really do stay with him, Paul will be petty. He’s immature, he’s never had this serious of a relationship. So with that, he doesn’t understand how to handle the complex emotions that come with a situation like this. Even though you hurt him, he still cares about you! And that, in a way, makes him even angrier! He should be furious with you, but more than anything he just wants you to want him. Only him! He will remind you of this constantly, even with callous side comments because he can’t let go. If you guys fuck he may start call another women's name. Part of him doesn't give a shit if it makes you uncomfortable or insecure, because you did it to him!

Paul will blast his favorite bands that you didn't ruin for him, even the other guys can’t cheer him up. None of them have ever seen Paul like this. You wouldn’t expect it to hit him this hard, but it does. He was laying into you, he was inside you, and your mind wanted someone else. Your pleasure wasn’t for him! Your desire, your love, your mind was yearning someone else when he was giving you everything he had! He won't look at you, or talk to you for a good few days. Maybe even a week. He won’t let you come to the hotel, on the boardwalk he’ll openly give you the cold shoulder. The other guys might too. How could they be certain it even was a band name? Maybe Paul had just rationalized it as a rock name so he didn’t have to face the fact you called for some random guy. David is wholly convinced you were having an affair, Marko is just pissed you hurt his friend, Dwayne just doesn’t know what to think of it all. Anytime you try to talk to him before he’s ready, he just acts like you don't exist. He’s hurt, and his anger is the only thing keeping him from forbidden tears. Just give him some space man!

Marko

Marko would be the most hurt out of the group. The sound is just sickening. There he was, holding you to him, deep inside when your voice said… the wrong name? The horror makes his stomach drop, he immediately lifts himself off to look at you still lost in pleasure even as he’s stopped. He's so hard to read, you don't even realize you've hurt him until he's pulled himself out and off of you.

He wouldn’t speak, or move for a solid 30 minutes. Just silently sitting on the edge of the bed, if you tried to speak he wouldn’t even turn to look at you. His muscles are rigid, wound tight in knots. He’s imploding from the inside, it’s impossible for him to keep his vampire rage subdued, so in a fury he leaves. Marko is not fucking around right now. You’ve screwed up, majorly. He thinks you’ve been cheating on him, and if there’s something Marko takes very seriously, it’s loyalty. He needs to get to get the fuck away from you, because he’s not sure if he can control himself for much longer, and despite his suspicions he doesn't want to hurt you.

Unlike Paul or Dwayne, when he returns Marko will not talk this out. You honestly shouldn’t have stayed, you should have left when he was gone because he’s still seething when you try to explain yourself. No. You're in the fucking wrong and he's not budging. He will not be hearing any of your bullshit excuses, whatever you throw out doesn’t matter! It's a dumb move he'd expect from Paul, but not from you. Part of him is almost tempted to just try to work things out, but Marko doesn’t trust easily and you’ve not just damaged his trust, you’ve damaged his self esteem. When he heads to the caves and you’re still here he’s had enough.

“Get out…”

“Wh-What?”

Marko flares his fangs at you, blood still staining his mouth. “GET. THE FUCK. OUT.”

You will not be back in that hotel for a long time, if ever again. Marko will avoid you for a while, and I’m talking months here. It’s not just a silent treatment, if he sees you approaching he will start up his motorcycle and ride away- with or without the other guys. He can’t even look at you. If we’re being realistic here, Marko probably won't be able to be intimate with you again. He can’t look past it. All he can see is you calling for someone else, in your heated climax in his arms, utterly exposed, and you desired someone else. He has more self respect for himself than the others, so more than likely he will break up with you!

He’s hurt. It's a cluster of emotions, all of them feel horrid. Rage, pain, sorrow, betrayal. How could you do this? Have you seen him? (like bruhhhhhh where you gonna find a man that rocks a crop top as good as him? where?) He definitely went on a killing spree right after. He needs to release his rage, it’s so pent up he doesn’t know how else to handle it. There would be blood everywhere, there wouldn’t even be any bodies left behind. Everything is utter carnage. Marko would need some serious alone time from everyone, he wouldn't talk to the other boys for at least a few hours.

Paul is furious at you when they find out what you did. You're fucking dead! Marko means so much to them, and you meant so much to Marko! This was his best friend! They let you into their coven, they trusted you with their brother, and you genuinely broke this poor baby’s heart! Hope you don’t have any unfinished business. Say your prayers and make amends now, because you're packing for your funeral buddy. David even hunts down anyone with the name you called and kills them, and he’ll be sure you know. You don’t hurt his friends, you’re lucky that he’s allowing you to draw breath from this miserable planet.

Afterwards, Marko does not go into another relationship for years. Maybe even a decade. It hurts him to go back on the boardwalk. Everything reminds him of you. The ferris wheel where you guys had your first kiss, the food stands he’d take you to, the arcade where he’d kick your butt at Mortal Kombat. Even more so is the sight of you. He doesn’t want to run into you at all. Even the sound of your name, anything to do with you makes him feel down or enraged. He already had trust issues before you, now he wasn’t nearly as willing to be trusting to anyone but his brothers. The next s/o he has, if he ever decides to have another, will definitely be picking up the pieces.

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

Text

Right or Wrong

Well, this one is for @grahoundart, who got my brain going on the idea of Loki rescuing a damsel in distress from the gif below (imagine him saying “She’s mine”. This is what came of it. It does lean into the damsel in distress trope a bit, so if that’s not your cup of tea, you might not want to read.

Warnings: Implied smut, alcohol consumption, and the beginnings of non-consenting touching from a man to a woman. I will put the threats of such acts in between asterisks so you can skip over that part, if you wish.

“Just one drink! And if you don’t drink, just come and hang out. Everyone will be there,” Nat coaxed you good-naturedly with a winning smile and elbow nudged into your ribs. “Plus, I hear Thor is dragging Loki along.”

You rolled your eyes, gathering your notes and carefully organizing them into your satchel to take home for the evening. “Nobody can drag Loki along to anything.”

She shrugged. “True, but I hear he’s coming. I’ve noticed how you look at him during meetings.”

You didn’t realize you had been that obvious. It was completely inappropriate for you to have anything more than a professional interest in the tall, dark, and intimidating god given your position in public relations for the Avengers. But you couldn’t help but be drawn to the devilishly handsome man with his arresting emerald eyes that seemed to stare straight into your very soul. You longed to work the tension from his shoulders with a gentle caress, discover if his jaw was truly as sharp as it appeared or if his lips could twist and give into anything besides a disdainful frown or sarcastic smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you bluffed, dropping your eyes to your hands fidgeting with a collection of sticky notes.

She patted you on the shoulder. “Sure you don’t. We’re all meeting up around ten, unless the world ends before then. See you there.”

You grumbled incoherently at her retreating back, putting a bit more force into your packing up even as your heart raced at the possibilities the evening hinted at.

What would one drink hurt?

“I’m only here to make sure that you don’t get yourselves into trouble!” you insisted loudly over the loud music streaming from the jukebox beside you, taking a sip of the drink she’d shoved into your hand as soon as you’d appeared. “Not to socialize.”

“Whatever you say,” Nat agreed, leaning back against the bar you sat at, eyeing the crowd at your back. “So you don’t care at all that Loki and Thor just walked in? And that they’re walking toward us right now looking like sex on two legs?”

You choked, coughing against the burn of the alcohol seizing your lungs, leaning against the worn wooden bar for support.

A hand, warm and large, patted and rubbed at your back in turn, accompanied by a silken voice you’d recognize anywhere murmuring in your ear. “Easy, sweetling. It isn’t yet late enough for me to steal your breath away.”

Heat flushed beneath the skin of your cheeks and neck at the salacious timbre of his richly accented voice. You turned just enough to look him in the eye. He was so close that any movement from either of you would touch your lips together. Were they soft and pillowy? Did they taste like toothpaste or the alcohol that lightly scented his breath as it teased against your neck?

The logical side of your brain took control over the carnal needs sending your thoughts into a flurry. It wasn’t proper to even begin to think that way. He was your client, and you couldn’t mix business with pleasure. And judging by the desire that darkened his gaze as his eyes darted to your painted lips and his hand traveled lower to smooth over the small of your back, he could give you pleasure.

You cleared your throat, straightening up and taking a gulp of your drink to give yourself something - anything - to focus on besides Loki at your side. His hand left your back so he could take his own drink, and he stood in the spot Nat just vacated without so much as a second glance in your direction. He chose to stare out over the crowd instead, his eyes lighting on the rest of the crew clustered around a series of pushed together tables before scanning the other patrons with nothing but boredom settling on his finely-sculped features.

“Milady! How are you this fine evening?” Thor’s pleasant voice practically boomed out over everything else as he stood beside his brother, holding a frosted mug of beer so large that it was almost comical.

You fell into easy conversation with the golden god, interrupted on occasion by a random Avenger strolling up and giving an enthusiastic greeting on their way to grab another round for everyone else. Loki’s eyes lingered on you from time to time, dragging down your body and lighting an inferno in their wake that you longed for him to smother with his lips and calloused fingertips. Somehow you managed to keep your cool, channeling all of your desire and tension into the white knuckles that clutched your drink as if it could stop your heart from jumping out of your chest and into his waiting hands.

At one point the nervous drinks you had consumed finally got to you, and you excused yourself to the ladies’ room. No amount of splashing cool water on your face was going to calm your frazzled nerves, even if it did feel amazing. You adjusted your shirt as you walked out, bumping into a wall of a man in your brief moment of distraction.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-”

Loki turned around, catching you as you stumbled with his hands on the dip in your waist, cutting off your quickly rambled apology. Once you were righted his touch lingered, branding you through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. “Apology accepted, although unnecessary. You must be more observant in the future.”

You combed your fingers through your hair to give your hands something to do besides splaying across his chest to see if the muscles barely visible beneath his button-down shirt were truly as smooth as they appeared. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks.”

He released you from his captivating presence, freeing you to dart through the crowd back to Thor who watched over your newly acquired glass of water dutifully.

“Ah, you’re back!” he exclaimed, shooting you a radiant smile that could probably outdo the sun for how much warmth it exuded. “You look unwell. Is everything alright?”

Only after chugging half of your water did you reply, setting the glass down gently on the bar to compensate for how your hands trembled with an intoxicating combination of excitement and nerves. “Yeah. Just ran into Loki, literally, and almost fell on my ass.”

“You are attracted to him.”

You shook your head a little too forcefully to be believable. “Of course not. He’s my client, as are you and the rest of the Avengers.”

“He is attracted to you as well,” he replied, as if you hadn’t spoken at all. His eyes moved through the crowd before settling on a distant point, and you knew it had to be the man currently in question. “I approve of such a union.”

Union? “No, no, no. It isn’t like that. He’s just-” Your phone buzzed insistently in your pocket, drawing your attention. Glaring at the familiar name of your boss lighting up your screen, you waved it at Thor apologetically before shouldering your way through the crowd and out of the door into the night.

“Hello?” You shoved the phone into your ear, scurrying away from the front door to escape the biting cold wind that tore through your clothing. You’d left your coat inside. The alleyway beside the bar provided a bit of shelter from the wind, although it now seemed the journey was pointless was the call had been dropped.

“What is so important at midnight that you have to call?” you hissed, stomping your feet against the cold sinking into your bones as you redialed the number, your chin tucked into your chest and your shoulders hunched.

“Whatcha doin’ there, sweet cheeks?”

Your hand fell to your side, thumb hovering over the keyboard as dread filled your veins with a thick sludge that threatened to anchor you to the spot. Lifting your gaze from the dirty asphalt, you caught sight of the man walking confidently toward you, all sinister swagger as he stopped too close for your liking.

“Just calling my boyfriend,” you hedged, backing up until the grit of the stone wall bit into your shoulder blades. You searched behind him frantically for someone, anyone, to see your wide eyes and trembling figure slinking into the shadows. But they were all going about their business without even glancing in your direction, too busy to notice the quiet confrontation happening scant feet to their right.

“Why don’t I keep you company until he shows up?” he asked, an ominous chill to his tone as his hands came up on either side of your shoulders to box you in.

You closed your fist over your phone, trying to remember anything from the self-defense classes Tony had gotten for all the staff, when the weight of his body was suddenly lifted from yours. It was replaced by the gentle pressure of another, and your vision was filled with Loki’s broad shoulders.

His hand reached out behind him, and you slipped your fingers through his without a second thought, the reassuring touch pulling you into him until your front fitted to his back. He settled your hand on his side in slow, measured movements that told nothing of the strength and rage straining at the muscles in his neck and clenching in his jaw. His body practically thrummed against you from withheld fury.

The tension beneath your fingertips matched the threat lacing his words. “She’s mine.”

The man scrambled up from where he’d sprawled on the ground, brushing off his jeans and shooting Loki a hateful glare. “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

You shifted just enough so that you could catch Loki’s profile, the line of his jaw and slope of his nose drawing your attention to his eyes, which briefly flashed a blood red that shot a spike of terror through you. They held a dangerous promise that you didn’t want to see fulfilled.

“She is mine,” he repeated, arms moving out from his sides in a fluid motion. The glint of his daggers caught the light at the edges of your vision. “Leave now if you wish to maintain what little manhood you possess for believing you can accost anyone in such a fashion, let alone what belongs to me.”

The man wisely took the command, cursing under his breath as he stormed away. The breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding burst out of you, and you sank back against the bar’s outer wall, closing your eyes as you focused on calming your racing heart.

“Did he harm you?” The words were soft, quiet and dripping with concern, directed at you from just in front of you.

You opened up your eyes, tilting your head back so that you could clearly see Loki towering protectively over you. His brows pulled together with his care for you, and he stepped to shield your body from the view of those passing by as well as from the frigid wind. When you trembled, either from shock or cold you weren’t sure, he removed his black blazer and draped it over your shoulders. His hands rubbed warmth and comfort over your upper arms.

“No,” you managed to eke out around the dryness in your throat. Swallowing down your fear, you tried again, “I’m okay. It was just some dumbass…”

The skin around his eyes tightened as he peered down at you. “Would you like to gather your composure before returning to your companions?”

You couldn’t imagine the uproar that your current state would cause. Trembling, eyes wide and shoulders hunched, you were quite the opposite from the cool, calm, and collected persona you carefully constructed each day. Gratefully, you nodded, digging your fingers into the borrowed blazer and pulling it tighter around your shoulders. It was warm, scented with a clean, masculine scent that stirred longing deep in your belly.

“Come here,” Loki instructed quietly, holding out his arms at your sides. At your quirked brow, he clarified, “You look positively frozen and I am quite warm.”

When were you going to get such an offer again? Silencing the part of your brain that screamed that you shouldn’t do it, you stepped into his embrace, tucking your forehead into his neck and nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His arms held you firmly to him, cradling the back of your head and dipping beneath his blazer to rest on your waist. His thumb toyed with the sliver of skin he found between your shirt and jeans. Tendrils of pleasure slid out from that tiny tease of a touch, curling your toes and drawing all of the moisture from your mouth to pool hopefully between your legs.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your breath curling between you in a small cloud as you pulled your head back to look up at him. He dropped his chin to do the same. “I’m lucky you happened to be out here. Right place, right time and all that.”

His hand dropped to cup the side of your neck so his thumb could caress the soft skin beneath your ear. “It was no coincidence. I followed you here. I wanted to speak with you, alone.”

Your heart stopped beating. “About?”

His head lowered until his nose nudged along yours, and you felt the tiny puffs of air from his speech against your slightly parted lips. “I believe you know the matter I wished to discuss.”

He straightened up with a frown. It was quickly replaced by his typical look of indifference. You hated that look when compared to the desire that had graced his face only moments before. “But now is no longer an appropriate time. As you do not seem fit to enjoy the remainder of the evening, allow me to escort you home? It would soothe my anxieties to know that you arrived there safely.”

“Of-of course,” you stammered, shocked both by what he basically just admitted and at how quickly he had retreated from it. He pulled away from you fully, leaving emptiness behind that was more chilling than the softly falling snow that dotted his long, black locks. The ensuing ache in your chest was too much to bear. “Loki?”

He stilled, turning around on his heel. “Yes?”

Summoning all of your courage you reached out to him, stilling your fidgeting hands on the expanse of his chest. “You were right.”

“About what, sweetling?” he asked, guarded, curious, but not overly so as he regarded you behind dark lashes.

You threw all caution to the wind. “That I’m yours.”

“Is that so?” A hopeful grin curled on his lips. He walked you back into the safety of the shadows, the length of him holding you against the wall. It made your heart race in anticipation, and you wetted your lips in a quick flick of your tongue that made him growl softly in his throat. “Then I shall have what is mine.”

Your lips caught his in a tender, questioning kiss that differed from the fire you had seen burning in his eyes before yours had fallen closed. He was gentle, achingly so, as if you would break at the slightest bit of pressure or passion from him. But that touch broke the last of your barriers against him, sending them crumbling to the ground where your toes curled inside your shoes. Your fingers pressed into his pecs and you gasped into his mouth at the pure bliss that flowed through you, hot and enticing and demanding.

Your quiet gasp was his undoing, and he licked at your lips before slanting his mouth over yours in a deep and thorough kiss that took every bit of your yearning for him and created more. It was dark and rich and full to the brim with undisguised urgency. His fingers at your waist aided in the grind of your hips together and you clung onto him for fear of your knees weakening at his fervent touch.

You panted for air when he finally broke the kiss to lean his forehead against yours. You would have drowned in his amorous hold had he allowed it. “Loki?”

He hummed his questioning response, the words buzzing through your skin to tease at the tension clenching your stomach tight.

“Take me home.”

~~~

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @silverswordthekilljoy

#loki fanfiction #loki #loki x reader #loki/reader #protective!loki #damsel in distress #implied smut #loki implied smut #marvel fanfiction #hopelesswrites #right or wrong

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 4 years

Text

For the Love of Shell - Chap 42

Next chappie for those who are reading this!

Here it is from the beginning for those who want to start! Filled with smut my loves

Chapter Forty Two – Betrayal of the Son

By now the palace was now overrun with guards searching for the Daimyo. The sound of the clanging metal of their armor was almost deafening. It had taken Ue-Sama far too long to order the palace searched for Aurora’s liking. Since she had shown up at the palace this morning Ue-Sama had been acting very bizarre. Particularly the kiss he forced onto her after the tournament. He was planning something, she could tell and now with the Daimyo’s disappearance it seemed to solidify her speculation. Now Mikey, Donnie and herself were slipping silently through the palace on their own mission, one being done under Ue-Sama’s nose.

There was no sign of Ue-Sama when they pasted the dining room on their way to the lower levels. It was still in disarray with a few servants trying to clean up the damage. There was a knot forming in her stomach, she did not like this one bit. With the door to the basement in sight Donnie hurried forward and brought his giggles down over his eyes. His hand shot up and waved back signaling them of guards coming up the stairs. The three disappeared easily into the shadows waiting for their opening. With a loud clamor five more guards barreled up the stairs heading to the main hallway. Slipping silently down the poorly lit staircase to the basement and the dungeons, she noticed Mikey and Donnie staying close to her keeping her between them as they descended. They stopped at the first level scattering to cover more ground faster.

“Be careful, yell for us if you find anything or need help.” Donnie gazed down at her with a worried look while his large three fingered hand rested on her lower back.

“Will do.” With a half hearted smile she nodded to the two turtle brothers and ran in the opposite direction in search of any clue of the disappearance of the Daimyo and Splinter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Master Splinter groaned in discomfort as he came too. His skull felt like someone had cracked it open with a sledgehammer. He needed to rub his temples to release some of the pressure but found his arms immobile. In fact when he finally opened his eyes he found he was hanging from a brick wall in a dimly lit room by his wrists that were stretched painfully tight on either side of him. Due to the lack of height he was hanging suspended off the ground. His weight was pulling at his old limbs making the predicament even more excruciating.

A soft cough next to him alerted the old rat he wasn’t alone in his dilemma and his mind went to his dinner companion and the series of events that lead them to this dark musty room. They had been enjoying each other’s company about to start dinner when he tasted something foreign in his soup, something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Dropping his spoon his hands thrust forward disengaging the spoon from his friend’s hand toppling the bowl of soup with it.

Before he would warn the Daimyo about the unknown substance in their food they were attacked. Dark shadowy figured came from everywhere and converged in on them showing no mercy. They fought them as best they could but in the end there was too many and were knocked unconscious. Now in the present they found themselves at the mercy yet again of their captors.

“Splinter?” the groggy voice of the Daimyo hit his fury ears.

“Yes, my old friend I am here with you. It looks like we have found ourselves in quiet a predicament. I wonder who our host is?”

As if on cue a large hooded figure emerged from the shadows with bright red eyes glowing under the heavy hood.

“Who are you? Why have you done this?” The Daimyo scowled yanking on his confines. “Release us at once!”

Rough as gravel, a deep twisted laugh rumbled from the mysterious cloaked figure. The movements so smooth it seemed their captor floated across the room on air, stopping a few inches from the old rat. Two large scaled hands emerged from the large sleeves pushing back the hood.

“Draco!” Splinter hissed through clenched teeth.

“Yes you sniveling rat! How long I’ve waited for my revenge against you and this old fool. Years of planning and now my patience will be rewarded. I will take from you what you love the most in this life and rip ripe apart your son’s bodies using their bloody hollow shells as foot rests. And then after I’ve shown you their mutilated carcasses I will end you!” the red dragon spat at Splinter, his face mere inches from his.

The usual gentle features of the old ninjutsu master hardened and an ominous growl rolled from his lips, “You will not touch my sons.”

“Oh on the contrary you old fool, as we speak they are scattered around the grounds looking for you, two with that little bitch the young daimyo has his sights set on and your two eldest heading to the falls and right into my trap. I have several of my shadow minions at my disposal all ready to attack and dismember each and every one of your sons.”

“What of the woman?” the Daimyo quickly cut in, trying to pry a little more information out of Draco. “And why do you call my son young Daimyo?”

The dragons head snapped to the old man hanging from the wall just next to the giant rat, “Your son seems to have plans for her. He talks about some sort of power that she possesses that could help him. He covets your throne old man hoping having her at his side will solidify his place upon it. Either way it doesn’t matter. I will have my revenge then that brat can have his kingdom.”

The Daimyo’s eyes widened in shock, letting the dragon’s words roll over him. Again his wrists pulled at the metal shackles holding him to the wall. “M-my son……. Is behind this? How can that be?” the sorrow apparent in the old man’s voice trying desperately to hold onto the hope Draco was lying.

“Your son is an idiot; he couldn’t orchestrate this by himself. He is an overgrown child throwing a tantrum that he can’t have the throne right now. The woman is something new though, he fell for her a year ago when she quiet literally fell into your laps. But there is no way she would be persuaded to go along with his plans; she’s too smart for his games and won’t do anything to hurt you. He just refuses to see it. So she will need to be eliminated as well. Which is a shame really, someone with powers would be convenient to have on my side. The idiot already tried wooing her by kissing her after the tournament today but she rejected him. He’s too blind to see she only has eyes for his son, the one in blue, Leonardo is it?” Draco’s red eyes shifted to Splinter. “But that is neither here nor there now and makes no difference. None of them will survive this. I need your son compliant so a strong headed woman is out of the picture.”

“They will find us and foil your plans. You will not succeed.” Splinter smiled; with Aurora at his son’s sides once again they would defeat Draco and Ue-Sama. He was sure of it.

“We will find out now won’t we, because the party is about to begin.”

~~~~~~~~~

Aurora turned down another hallway searching the final group of rooms coming up with nothing, yet again. Each room she had checked her fingers skimmed over every nook and cranny for any hint of a hidden door. Someplace someone could hide two unwilling victims. Finishing with the last room she headed back to the stairs to meet up with Mikey and Donnie.

With her mind spinning with worry she didn’t hear the shadow ninja creep up behind her. By the time she sensed it’s presences it was too late. A hand reached out grasping her long hair pulling her back and down to the ground. Her shriek of surprise echoed through the halls reaching the sensitive ears of Donnie and Mikey but unfortunately they too were in their own battle for their lives. Surrounded by several dark shadowy ninjas Donnie reached for his com calling for his older brothers.

“Don?” the familiar calm voice of their leader came over the speaker on his shoulder.

“Leo we’ve been ambushed in the bowels of the palace. We need back up.” Donnie called into his com anxiously blocking a blow with his bo staff. “They came out of nowhere and have no faces! They look like shadows!”

Knee deep in the falls high above the palace Leo and Raph stopped in their tracks listening to their genius brother in distress. They had come up empty, no tracks or any kind of clues to the whereabouts of Master Splinter and the Daimyo, when Donatello’s frantic call came over their coms.

“Donnie are you alright? Where is Mikey and Aurora? Are they with you?”

After a few seconds Donatello came back over the com, his labored breath telling them it was imperative they hurry. “Mikey is just outside in the hallway with his own party of ninjas. And I don’t know where Aurora is but we did hear her scream a few minutes ago. We can’t get to her! Mikey!!!” then the com went eerily silent.

“Don! Donnie! Are you there?! Donatello!!” Leo felt his heart jump into his throat and looked to Raph with terror in his eyes. They were in trouble and needed their help.

Raph heard the fear in his brother’s voice making the already burning rage inside him increase to an uncontainable inferno. The grips on his sai tightened and he caught his brother’s eyes that held the same wild fury. Someone had kidnapped their father and now were attacking their two younger brothers and Aurora. But then like a light switch Leo’s demeanor changed and lunged forward tackling his larger brother into the water.

Bursting from the surface Raph tried pushing Leo from him, “What the shell Le…..oh!” his eyes immediately narrowed in on the kunai now rooted deep into the top of Leonardo’s shell. Leo had just saved his life for the thousandth time. Reaching up he pulled the offending item from his brother’s shell and they both scrambled to their feet pulling their weapons out. Just like Donnie had described them, they looked on in shock at the weird shadow figures surrounding them. There had to be at least 40 of them closing in on them fast and it didn’t seem like they wanted to play nice.

“Shell, looks like they’re not getting the back they need.” Leo growled readying his katana.

Raphael readied himself as three of the figures launched themselves at him bringing down their weapons on his waiting sai. With a grunt he took the brunt of the force faltering on the slimy rocks below the surface of the water. “Looks like we might need that back up now.”

Reeling back Donnie swung his electrified bo staff forward connecting with two of the ninjas sending them flailing against the wall disintegrating like a puff of cigarette smoke in the wind. The last of his attackers were beside him but with expert balance his long leg shot up colliding with its head making it explode in a cloud of smoke. Without skipping a beat he headed out to help his little brother who was on the ground holding off three of the shadowy figures with his nunchaku.

“DONNIE?!” they both heard Aurora shriek from farther away then they’d like.

Mikey’s gaze snapped to Donnie and they both took action. With a swift kick of his legs Mikey sent the three assailants over his body crumbling to the ground. With the momentum of his legs coming down and his pelvis rolling up into the swing he was on his feet. Then Mikey and Donnie took care of the rest of the dark ninjas with a swift determination to get to their friend in trouble.

Taking off towards the sound of Aurora’s worried cry, they hurried through the halls in search of her. They could hear sounds of metal on metal and exasperated grunts from beyond the bend. Before they rounded the corner two of the shadowy ninjas came sailing out into view colliding with the wall. Taking the corner, they saw her pressed against the wall, eight figures on her ready to drive a tanto blade through her heart.

“A little help guys!” she cried out ripping a hand from one of the them punching it in the face.

They were on them in a second ripping Aurora’s attackers from her body one by one. Mikey lurched forward grabbing the blade poised for her heart and threw it down the empty hallway, the sound of the metal clanging across the ground echoed in the large halls.

Aurora took advantage of the distraction and placed her feet on the wall and pushed forward taking three of the ninjas with her. The back of their heads slammed into the hard surface of the wall behind them making them disappear beneath her momentum. She caught herself before she fell to the floor getting her feet under her. “They’re skilled but break easily. I’ve never seen anything like them; it was like I was fighting shadows of smoke. What the hell are these things?” Aurora groaned picking up her blades taking care of another ninja.

Donnie electrocuted the last one ending their current fight. Mikey went to Aurora making sure she was alright. His eyes moved over her body assessing damages, touching and pushing at her skin.

Her fingers found his quickly easing his overzealous attention to a halt. “I’m fine Mikey.” Aurora tried her best not to be too cold with the two brothers but didn’t want to act like them being together in this moment felt right. She couldn’t let herself get used to their presences; this was a temporary mission to save the Daimyo and Master Splinter. After this was over Leo would no doubt end this as well.

“They put up quite a fight, we must be getting close.” Donnie calmly stated using his goggles to scan for heat signatures on the level they were still on.

“Agreed, let’s move to the lower level.” Aurora moved around Mikey who was still looking at her hopeful. His baby blues tore at her soul, she wanted to tell him all would be alright but time was of the essence and they needed to move.

The three of them descended to the lowest level of the palace, this time sticking together. The silence that hung around the dungeon was a bit unsettling. No guards what so ever nor any prisoners. The uneasy feeling within each of them grew. This was too easy.

“Shell!” Donnie broke the eerie calm. “I called Leo for back up a while ago; he should have been here by now.” His fingers flew to his com calling for his older brother. No response came so Donnie called again this time for Raphael. Still nothing, a deafening silence that made the already chilly dungeon seem suddenly colder. “I don’t like this.”

~~~~~~~~~

Draco landed another blow to Splinters jaw continuing his unrelenting assault on the old rat. With each strike the metal chains moaned from the sudden movement of the body it held. Blood was running down the dark fur of the old sensei’s mouth but showed no sign of discomfort. The Daimyo beside him pleaded with the large dragon to stop his assault but if fell on deaf ears as another hit connected with Splinters gut.

Without warning several dark cloaked ninjas appeared behind the angry dragon. His attacks ended as one whispered in his ear. The smug smile slipped from his face into a frustrated scowl.

“They’re down here already?! They took out how many of you? SIMPILTONS!! Yes, send more to stop them! I can’t have them ending this plan just as it begins!” as quickly as they came the ninjas vanished into the shadows leaving the dragon with his two helpless prisoners. Reaching to the wall he grabbed the cloak he had removed when he started his assault on Master Splinter and swung it back around his shoulders lifting the hood to conceal his face once more. “You’re lucky I have other things to attend too you old fools, but I will be back to finish this. I have some turtle flesh to filet.” His wicked eyes flashed and retreated out the hidden door in the wall leaving them alone.

“My friend! Are you alright?” the daimyo immediately called to his battered friend. A soft cough alerted him to fact the old rat was still in fact breathing. The chains creaked when Splinter shifted uncomfortably spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“Am I my friend, a little worse for wear but I am alive. Do not worry my sons will free us, they will stop this madness.”

“They have too.” The daimyo started. “If they try and use the war staff without proper training they will bring upon destruction to this dimension and all who reside here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The pull for air made his lungs burn as Leo fought the many hands that held his body submerged under the current of the river feeding the massive waterfall several feet down stream. There was far too many of these shadow ninjas for Raph and himself to defeat. They seemed to come out of nowhere like the never ending flow of water they fought in.

It had been almost an hour since Donnie had called them for help and they were ambushed on top of the waterfall. He hoped all three of them were alright. They had to be, he didn’t know what he would do if he lost his two younger brothers and Aurora. But the way things were looking they might lose him, there were so many on top of him keeping his head below the water drowning him. The strength was leaving him as the lack of oxygen to his brain began to affect his dexterity, he was losing this fight.

~~~~~~

Aurora could feel it, something was horribly wrong. More wrong then what was happening in the dungeon with Donnie, Mikey and herself fighting off an infinite flow of these damn ninja. Every cell in her body was on alert, something else was happening, something was happening to Leonardo and Raphael.

“Guys!” she screamed over the thunder of clanging metal and grunts. “We have to get to Leo and Raph! Something’s wrong!” Blocking another tirade of attacks Aurora flipped up landing just behind the shadows slicing through them with her katana.

As Donnie fought his goggles scanned the walls for false walls and air drafts. They had to be down here judging by the massive assault they were receiving. Then something flashed in his goggles when he turned to deliver a shock from his bo staff. Quickly turning back he saw two warm bodies behind the wall, a large form and a smaller one hanging midair.

“There!” Donnie screamed pointing to the small wall just a few feet from where Aurora was.

Immediately Aurora sprang for the wall feeling with her hands for anything to open the hidden door all the while keeping the growing mass of ninjas as bay. Out the corner of her eye she saw the blade gliding through the air aimed for her throat, determined to hit it’s mark with extreme prejudice. Before it could find its target the hilt of Mikey’s nunchaku stopped its momentum pushing back the assailant.

“I got your back angel cakes!” the orange banded turtle smiled at her while taking down anther ninja with his band hands.

The battle in the dingy basement was deafening, she couldn’t hear herself think. A shove behind her sent her sprawling against the cold brink of the wall she was searching. But with a stroke of luck the hit brought her fingers in contact for the latch for the door making the brick door shift open revealing the entrance to the hidden cell.

The heavy scrapping of the brick door opening brought the Daimyo’s and Spinsters eyes to the entrance of their confinement. Expecting the tall hooded dragon to appear they were surprised by two spinning blades followed by Aurora as she fought her way in.

Her eyes snapped to the old men hanging on the wall. The state Master Splinter was in sent her blood boiling. Battered and broke he was bleeding from several parts of his old furry body; someone had worked him over pretty good. Thankfully the Daimyo looked unharmed for the most part besides a busted lip and his white hair askew. “Donnie! Mikey!” she bellowed ending the five ninja currently before her. Whoever had hurt Master Splinter would pay, would pay dearly.

@imthegreenfairy88 @bluesakurablossom @ravn-87 @alonia143 @tmnt-bucklover

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michaelangelo #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #Fortheloveofshell #chapter 42 #aurora-the-kunoichi

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tiny-smallest · 4 years

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a test of heart c1: deal

Rating: G Characters: The Prince, The Princess, The Witch Warnings: none Description: After the Witch strips his princess of everything as he looks on and weeps, the prince's grief as he sobs over his love's unconscious body gives way to rage. In his fury he makes a deal with the Witch on behalf of his beloved.

Can he overcome the hurdles of her challenge, or will he fail?

Also on AO3!

—

aka: The Witch is kind of a giant asshole and while the story never vindicates her she gets no kind of comeuppance at all, and whether or not the prince's parents do is also up in the air, so I will take a hammer and lightly fix the canon

—

He must been sobbing for at least four hours. The grass might have been properly watered with his tears as a substitute for rain if not for the salt in them.

She, of course, had left soon after the wolf's body had slumped softly to the forest floor in unconsciousness. What happened now was of no consequence to her; she had done her half of the deal, and now it was time to set out to use the influx of magic from that deal to fix what these two cretins had done to her forest.

It was somewhat on the grueling side, even for her. The blaze had thankfully not leveled the whole thing, but it had touched a not-insignificant portion of it, including literally all of her most frequented areas. It was with much grumbling that she set about fixing it. How could two young idiots cause so much damage?

She coaxed the grass to grow again, freshening the soil first before bringing forth the undergrowth, then bringing the trees back to life. Area by area, she repaired the forest, satisfied as the woodland monsters tentatively began to return to their haunts. The Witch liked them no more than any other person who lived in the forest, but their absence meant the local ecosystem was out of sync. Rather bad for someone who lived there.

Lived here. Right. She would have to reconstruct her home, too. And without everything inside-

She grit her teeth. Well. That project had to start sooner or later.

She hadn't expected company when she returned to the site of her home, though. That was a surprise. Of course, she expected the wolf to still be out cold--she would have to toss her somewhere later--but the huddled form of the human was nearly a full-blown shock.

His wails and sobs had weakened to soft weeping, but his arms remained around the unconscious wolf's neck, his tears sliding down his pale, wan, tearstained face onto the grass below.

"Could you stop that?" she asked idly as she turned her back on him to survey the ruins of her cabin. "I just brought that grass back to life, thank you."

He made a choking noise and then dead silence.

She fixed some of the rocks meant to be outside the cabin as she spoke. "You know, I'd run if I were you. She's not going to remember you when she eventually wakes up and you're a tasty snack to her. There's no point in staying."

Silence for a moment and then, hm. He actually spoke. A hoarse, numb whisper; she halted in her construction to listen to it, surprised he spoke at all. "And go back to what? She is the only love I have ever known."

"That sounds very much like not my problem, but it's equally not my problem if you wait around until she eats you." She materialized a wooden sign for the front of her house. "... Unless it happens on my front lawn, I suppose. I'm sure your guts and bones would be of decent quality to use in my potions, but I don't care to extract them from the ground or from her maw, and I hardly have time to bother with that sort of thing when I have an entire cottage to reconstruct. So if you could leave, I would appreciate it."

Another choking noise.

She paused for a moment before shrugging and was just about to disintegrate one of the blackened beams of rubble when she heard it.

"You."

The fire in that voice, like the hissing of an impending inferno, could not possibly have come from the small, weak thing bent over the wolf's body, but when she turned to see what new annoyance had manifested in her forest, she found herself staring into the burning eyes of the prince whose sight she had just restored, smoldering beneath his bangs.

It was such a shock she forgot how to breathe for a moment. The wind ruffled their hair and clothing, time standing still.

"What." She didn't know what this was the start of but it was best to shut it down as quickly as possible.

Even her iciest voice didn't extinguish those eyes. He sat back from his hunched position and would have looked quite ridiculous as he stood, with his dirty, battered feet, filthy, ragged nightclothes, short stature and soft face... if not for those eyes.

"You took our happiness. Why?" His fists clenched. Adorable.

"Well, the inferno, for starters." Idiot. "But it wasn't like she deserved to keep all of those things anyway."

His teeth bared. "You're wrong."

Her head jerked back. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, she lied to me. It hurt. But she was right; I wouldn't have accepted her aid if I'd known her true identity; I would've been too scared. I stand here today with healed eyes because she lied. It was wrong, but there wasn't a right choice to make. The forest fire was entirely my fault because I was the one who refused her help even when it made sense to, putting my feelings above the safety of the whole woods, and so I dropped the lantern when I fell! But despite fire being her greatest fear she came for me! Me, who had yelled at her! And yet you call her selfish!"

The witch beheld the small human and his trembling fists, his burning eyes, and a laugh erupted from her throat. There was a rush of wingflaps from above. "Oh you are rich, human! You think any of that was selflessness? She did it because she wanted to keep you! Her happiness mattered to her more than anything else!"

"Then why did she not keep me blind."

A pit lodged itself in her gut, freezing her from the inside out. She looked at him.

"She could have. She could have kept her memories and her human form, and turned down the deal, and walked away with me. I wanted her to, even. I begged her to! You were there! But she refused to even try to take it back. Righting her wrong, even if it was accidental, was what mattered most to her- because- because I mattered most to her."

The Witch snorted, shaking the ice from her heart and smacking the black beam to disintegrate it into dust. "Fairytale nonsense. Go home and cry to your mother about it."

"Did you ever tell the truth."

The ice returned.

Slowly, she turned back around. The prince's eyes were green, she realized somewhere in her mind. Summer green. Summer forest green.

She hated them.

"What."

"You mocked her earlier, asking if she became more honest when she apologized. Then you taunted her with her mistakes. She would've agreed to the deal without all that nonsense manipulation you did; you did it to be cruel. Or maybe, since you think so little of her, you thought she really wouldn't do it without you pushing her. But did you ever become more honest?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The girl. Witch..."

He was not going there.

"Did she ever learn who murdered her brother?"

"THAT. IS ENOUGH." The space between her hands gathered dark magic to throw at him, to shut him up, shut him up forever-

"I'm going to take that as a no, because if you had told her the truth, you'd have delighted in throwing that in my face." His look was near placid now, watching her. Truly, the moron must not care if he died. "And on top of that, you were even more selfish still. It was your deeds that got her killed. You let her believe you weren't as terrible as the stories made you out to be, didn't you? Surely you didn't actually rip families apart as payment for the wishes they asked out of desperation and necessity rather than greed. Surely it wasn't you who separated lovers, parents from children, siblings, the elderly from their families."

"THEY ASKED FOR IT!" She threw. Her aim was off, still shaky because she was tired, of course, from all that bullshit earlier. He watched the tree explode several feet away from him, and she cursed.

"Allow me to recap." He began to tick points off on his fingers. "You demanded lives for the price of your help for the wounded, sick, dying, the poor. You killed her brother. You divulged none of this to her so she could make informed choices, and so she stayed, and you grew to love her. Your behavior changed to accommodate for the feelings you felt for her and what she taught you, but still, you never told her the truth. She died for that truth from people rightfully angry at your cruelty, and wrongfully too quick to action where it concerned her. And then- then-"

His face scrunched with disgust.

"Then, instead of allowing her rest, and allowing her to be with her brother, whose soul I assume was released accidentally in the rampage, you kept her. You bottled her in a jar, because you, Witch, were the one who was too selfish to let go.

Not my princess."

She pointed a finger wrapped in dark magic at him. "Give me a reason," she breathed, "why I shouldn't blow your pretty little head from your shoulders."

"Because I'm right. And you know that. And you hate it. And killing me won't prove me wrong; it'll just make me dead."

The steel in his eyes didn't waver. Didn't look away. Didn't blink.

"And then you'll have to live with the echoes of my words for the rest of your probably-immortality."

Her hand trembled. If she'd had the magic to spare, she would have transformed into the beast again, stomped him into the earth, left a red smear all over the grass near his precious little princess-

His princess. His wolf, rather.

Her face split into a truly terrible smile that peeked through the mask a little with its intensity. The laugh that tore from her throat was much louder this time, cracked and high-pitched, manic. She wrapped her arms around herself and shook with the force of it while he stood and watched.

"All- all right," she wheezed, wiping one of her many eyes as it subsided. "All right, little prince- If you are so sure in your righteousness, then how about a little wager?"

"What sort."

She picked up her staff, clearing her throat to steady herself. "I'll alter my conditions," she said sweetly with a wave of her stick. "She is still a wolf beast, but! This can change."

"Go on." Still his expression remained the same. Her fingers tightened on her staff, the previous mirth from earlier starting to vanish. "It will take you some time to leave the forest," she said flatly. "I estimate about a week, and perhaps a week more to deal with whatever is waiting for you back where you came from, given your earlier comments. Given that, I allow you one month from tonight. I will return her memories to her, locked deep inside her head. You have one month to coax them to the surface. Should she recover her memories and accept your feelings, my price for healing your eyes will be forfeit. She will regain her shapeshifting abilities, she will keep her recovered memories, but she will not get back her singing voice."

"That is fair. It was part of an earlier deal." Show some damned emotion, brat! Wasn't her voice what you loved to begin with!? "What if I fail."

Her grin returned. "I claim your soul. She will be given her memories back, if only to languish about how her sacrifice failed."

She saw the shift in his eyes. A spike of pain- was that fear? Ah, that felt good.

His mouth pressed into a grim line. "I'll do it."

Well, well. "So be it."

She waved her staff over the body of the sleeping wolf, watching the light gather around her, swirling upwards like light met smoke.

"It is done."

The prince nodded and reached down to smooth some of the fur from his beloved's face before straightening and turning to leave.

"Remember. One month."

"One month," he echoed back at her before turning around again.

She watched his form disappear into the darkness of night, letting out a low cackle when he was out of sight, looking back down at the sleeping wolf.

"Silly girl. He might think he wants this right now, but that will fade in time once he is back where he came from. Humans and monsters were never meant to be friends. Whether he attempts to see this through to save his own skin or dismisses it as empty threats, your sacrifice will be for nothing."

She couldn't wait.

#the liar princess and the blind prince #the liar princess #the blind prince #tlpatbp princess #tlpatbp prince #the witch #tlpatbp witch #i have no idea what tags to use HEYO #my writing #did all this but can't finish my thesis why yes i am aware i suck #maybe now i can get back to work

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is0gild · 4 years

Text

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 29

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 8,417

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"What the everliving fuck, Lea?! Why the hell are you naked in our kitchen?!"

Riku's muffled shout had me jerking awake and shooting up in bed, my hand clutching the blanket.

"Er, heh… laundry day?"

Lea's response.

Both voices had come from the other side of my closed bedroom door. I heard a ruckus out there ensue - possibly the sounds of a chase? Wincing at the sunlight pouring in through my window, I glanced towards the clock on my nightstand. Ugh, we'd only gotten to sleep a few short hours ago.

...speaking of…

I lifted my blanket slightly away from me as I looked down at myself.

Yup.

Not a stitch on me.

Not sure what else I could've possibly expected.

My door suddenly burst open and I gasped, hugging my comforter to my chest once more as Lea came barreling in. Okay, at least he wasn't completely naked. He had one of my bed sheets wrapped around his waist. Thankfully. I don't think that my heart could have survived such a visual otherwise at this precise moment.

He leapt into bed with me, sniggering as he hid behind me. Or rather, tried to anyway. My frame was far too small to be concealing such a large man. "Mornin', gorgeous!" he chirped, planting a swift peck to my cheek.

Face heating and groggy brain still trying to catch up, I began, "I- Wha-"

"Why, Lea?! Just… why?!" Riku yelled from the other side of the door, which seemed to have hit a wall and bounced back to almost closing again. It was now just barely open a crack for us to clearly hear my annoyed roommate's voice through it.

"Was trynta scrounge something up for breakfast!" Lea called back. "El was hungry!"

...I was?

My stomach growled.

Oh. Apparently, yes. Yes I was.

...oh gosh, it hadn't been gurgling in my sleep, had it? How embarrassing.

Riku's voice snarled, "You couldn't have put some goddamn pants on first?!"

"It was an emergency! Hadta get some food in the woman, stat!"

There was a loud angry huff from the other side of the door. "Whatever, you just better not have sat on anything out here or I swear…"

It hadn't escaped my notice that Riku hadn't followed Lea in here. Perhaps the implications of Lea barging in first in his current state of undress had not been lost on him and so he was staying out there to preserve my modesty.

Rayne on the other hand…

My door banged open for a second time to reveal her suddenly standing in the threshold, a huge ear-to-ear grin splitting her face in two. "Oh my god, it finally happened!"

Rayne had no such compunctions.

She squealed before running further into the room, holding something up in one hand. "Ahh, I'm so excited! So, so happy for you guys! Oh dear lord, you have no idea how frustrating it's been watching the two of you just dancing around each other this whole time but not bloody doing a damn thing about it! It was driving me up the goddamn wall!" Turns out that thing in her grasp was her phone, or so I came to realize when she shoved it in my face, "But finally! The day we've all been hoping for is here at last! The day you've become," pause for dramatic effect,"...a woman! Halle-freakin-lujah! Do you have any words you'd like to commemorate this momentous event with?"

"Why the phone?" was my oh so moving speech as I scrunched up my face and put my hand to the device, pushing it away.

She beamed and shrugged. "I'm recording this."

"You're what?!" I blanched.

"Yup! To immortalize this historic occasion! Plus, I need video evidence cuz otherwise there is no way Anna will ever believe this. She's gonna flip her-" she suddenly gasped, free hand shooting forward to brush my hair back off my shoulder while getting in close with her phone again. "Holy Jesus H Christ, Lea, what the hell did you do to the woman's throat?!"

I jerked back from her touch, brow furrowing. "My...?" I brought my hand up to brush a finger to my neck. Huh. It was rather sore…

"Dude," she fixed me with a pointed look from the other side of her phone. "It's absolutely covered in hickeys."

"H-?!" I choked on the word, eyes widening and face an inferno.

"Seriously. That thing is more bruise than neck at this point." Rayne leaned in even further with her mobile, fascinated. "Would you lookit that? All the lil ones are coming together to form - dun, dun dun," her voice dropped to intone with deep reverence, "the Mother Hickey!"

I slapped a hand over the spot, trying to cover it up.

She snerked then cackled. "Oh, sweetie. Your hand would have to be the size of an extra large, double stuffed pizza to conceal that monster! Damn, Red, for real… that's a masterpiece!"

Lea gave a sheepish laugh beside me, fingers ruffling his wild bedhead hair. "Guess it is some o' my best work, huh?"

Squeaking, I burrowed into my blankets to hide from the rest of the world.

"Alright, no further comment, show's over now. Riku!" Lea gave a sudden shout. "Come corral your woman!"

I heard a slow creak from my door, then the sound of feet awkwardly shuffling in. "Sorry about-" There was a thud and Riku hissed, "Ow! ...about this, Elsa. I pr-" Whump. "Gah! Promise I'm not-" Bang. "Goddamn it! I'm not-"

"Oh for the love of…" A sigh from Rayne. "Riku! You can remove your hand from your eyes, you goob! She's hiding under the sheets."

"I think I'll keep my hand right where it is, thank you very much!" he grumbled back. He could be heard shambling about for a bit more, peppered here and there by him bumping and crashing into a few more things, before finally, "Ah-ha! There you are!"

"Ack! Riku!" The sounds of what could only be described as a kerfuffle followed. "Put me down, brat!"

"We'll, uh… go get breakfast going and give you two some… privacy," Riku grunted out. Pretty sure I could hear him now literally dragging his wife out of the room. How he managed that one-handed (as I could only assume the other was still being used to shield his eyes), I'll never know. Eventually, mercifully, I heard my door click shut.

Lea gave a soft snort. "So… wanna come out and show me your beautiful face?" he then coaxed gently.

Twitching slightly, I gripped harder at the fabric of the comforter - aka my sanctuary. "Hmm… mm-mm, no, I think I'm good in here, thanks."

There was a brief pause. Then, "Alright. Guess me and my beautiful face are just gonna have to come in there instead." The blankets abruptly lifted, but only just enough for Lea to scooch in next to me under them before tucking them back down around us once more. His shoulders hunched, sheet overhead smooshing his hair down as he shot me a grin. "Hi."

Oh gosh, it was bad enough that he'd been naked before. Now he was naked and close. Not that I could really see anything below the waist - he was still wrapped in sheet down there. Still, even though I couldn't see him in all his nude glory, didn't mean I wasn't one hundred and ten percent fully aware of it and that thought alone was enough to send the blood rushing to my face all over again.

Ugh, calm down, cheeks. You'd think after last night, there'd be nothing left to get so red over.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tipped his head to one side.

"Hm?" I hummed absently, dragging my eyes up to meet his. While the actual goods were currently out of sight, I was still finding just the sight of his bare chest rather, hrm… distracting.

He gave a small shrug, "Whatever it is that's bothering you."

I gnawed on my lower lip and glanced away, clutching the undersheet more tightly to my chest.

...last night had been…

...amazing…

...slow and tender at times, and… heated and passionate at others, as well as, er… how shall I put it... enlightening? Sure, let's go with that. But also, it'd been…

...confusing.

I mean, not in the moment itself, it hadn't been. But now…? Well, it was just… we hadn't really talked about anything beforehand. Frankly, we'd let hormones do all the talking. Hormones were a new experience for me. I'd never even had so much as an inkling of a single solitary hormone ever before and last night I'd been struck by a whole raging tsunami of the damn things. Who knew they could be so, er… persuasive. It'd been all too easy to get swept up in the torrent. But now that the storm had died down, now that morning was here and I could think more clearly, I…

Well, I didn't regret it. No, not one bit. But… I guess I just had questions. Like where did this leave Lea and me? I hadn't forgotten the little detail that he'd never really been the relationship type before, and I had no real solid reason to believe that that was about to change just for me. And what about his whole "no girls until graduation" rule? Just what had this been for him then? A temporary lapse in judgement? A moment of weakness? Yeesh, I didn't want to be one of those girls who got all, "What does this mean?" after they sleep with a guy, but…

You know what? No, there was nothing wrong with being one of those girls. Those girls were valid. Those girls had a right to know and so did I, damn it! I deserved to know if this had actually meant something to him or if I'd just been a… another notch on the headboard or… or if he'd just been sowing his wild oats or-

"Oh gosh, was I just an oat to you?!" I suddenly blurted out, snatching the comforter down off my head with a huff.

"Uh…" Lea fought with the blanket a bit himself before his top half broke free to join me out here, blinking at me owlishly. "...no?" he tried, his guyliner-smudged eyes squinting uncertainly.

Right. Good job, mouth. Way to make me sound like a total crackpot.

Inhaling deeply through my nose and then puffing out a slow breath, I gave it another go. "...was last night just a…" The blush returned as I struggled for the right words. "...a one night stand?"

His shoulders stiffened as his head rocked back. "What?! No. God no! El, I-" his hand was reaching for me, but it stopped just short of my arm. He frowned, pulling it back to instead rub over his mouth then drag along the nape of his neck with a sigh. "Shit, we're always doing things so backwards, aren't we? Kissing before we'd even so much as said our first hello to each other… Going steady before we'd even been on a single date… Now hopping into bed together before taking a minute to tell each other how we really…" he trailed off with another sigh, leaving the thought unfinished.

I remained silent, just looking down as I drew my blanketed knees up, hugging them to my chest.

Lea shifted around so he was instead facing me now, clasping his own sheet to keep it firmly wrapped around his waist. Pulling one knee up himself, he propped an elbow atop it as he bent forward to my eye-level. "Do you remember the story I told about how we met?"

My eyes blinked. "You mean the plot of Before Sunrise?"

Grinning softly now, he said, "If you'll recall, that movie starts on the train. But that's not where the story I told began."

A crease formed between my eyebrows. "No, it started with the lantern festival."

"That's right," he nodded. "...I was there, El. I was really there, same time as you."

My spine snapped straight as I inhaled, small and sharp. "You were?"

"Yup! Everything… seeing you there, the lanterns going up, even the bit about me faceplanting into a lamppost… all of it, and I do mean all of it, was true."

I gaped slightly before shaking my head slowly. "But… you said you'd never seen the lantern show."

"I haven't. Oh sure, I was there, but I was too busy watching you instead," he chuckled, tapping me on the nose.

There was a small flutter inside my ribcage. Still, I frowned. "But… but I was the one who said the city we met in was Corona."

He snorted, scratching a spot behind his ear, "Yeah, and I was floored when ya did. Thought for a sec that maybe you actually had noticed me at the festival. But nope, turned out to just be a lucky shot in the dark!" Lea laughed, then paused with a wistful smile. "...obviously in the real story, I didn't end up following you onto that train, but shit, you dunno how bad I wanted to. But I'd just sworn off girls to focus on college only the day before, and I didn't wanna be so weak as to go tossing that out the window less than twenty-four hours in." His lips then pursed to one side, eyes downcast. "In a way, maybe it was for the best. I don't think the time was right for either of us yet. I… wouldn't have been ready to be the person you needed me to be."

I didn't know what to say to that. Even if I did, I'm not sure if I would have been able to get any words out past the tightening in my throat. So instead, I just settled for reaching for his hand.

Flashing me a grin, he brought it up so he could press his lips lightly to my knuckles before going on, "But man, did I regret letting you get away without even so much as talking to you. Was kicking myself ever since, thinking I'd never see you again." His eyes crinkled as he leaned in closer now, "So imagine my shock 'bout a year later when I spot a very cute, very familiar new girl working the ice cream counter across the food court from me. It'd seemed fate had decided to give me a second chance with the divine creature from the lantern festival. I just hadta meet her."

One corner of my mouth tugged up, "What about your dating hiatus?"

"Hey now, I was just trying to get to know you! You were the one who kissed me first, remember?" his lips twisted into a smirk and I rolled my eyes, feeling heat creeping up the back of my neck. His gaze turned serious however. "...women have always kinda been a weakness for me. I'd practically made a career out of skirt chasing. Whenever it came down to making a choice between the ladies and getting my shit together, I picked ladies every time. But when I finally decided, and I mean really decided to buckle down, I cut that part of my life out completely. I thought it would be hard, but it actually really wasn't. Turns out they'd just been a bad habit I hadta kick. Having them around had been a distraction.

"But when it came to you…" his eyes softened as he reached for a lock of my hair to fiddle with. "The more I got to know you, it… The distraction was… not having you around. I couldn't concentrate on anything else… not school, not work... I was thinking about you all the time. Couldn't get you outta my head. Not for a damn second."

"Lea…" my hand came up of its own accord to brush along his cheek.

He covered it with his own, turning his head slightly to kiss my palm. "...you know with crushes, or love at first sight, or whatever the hell you wanna call it… they say you're not really falling for the person, but rather just the idea of them. That you're just building 'em up in your head, putting 'em on a pedestal… but that when you actually finally do get to know the person, it'll be a letdown. That they won't turn out to be who you wanted them to be." Pressing our foreheads together now, he nuzzled the tip of his nose to mine, "But you turned out to be so much better than I ever coulda imagined."

I scoffed, face burning as I muttered, "Sounds like someone's been watching too many of those cornball movies."

"I mean it, so shush, you," he chided, biting back a grin. Then he was shifting a little closer to me. "What I'm trying to tell ya is that you're stuck with me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours, if you'll have me. I am all in."

My breath hitched as I stared into those stunning green eyes of his. I hesitated for a second, my thumb idly stroking along where he still had my hand clasped to his cheek. Then I bent forward, giving him a gentle kiss. "...I'm all in too."

"Yeah?" he murmured, grin twitching wider. "So how 'bout it then? Can I be your boyfriend for real this time?"

I hummed a soft laugh, nodding. "I'd like that very much."

"Good." Lea curled a finger under my chin, pressing his lips soundly to mine. Then he used his hold on my chin to carefully turn my head to one side, eyes half-lidded as he got a closer look at, er, heh… at the Mother Hickey. "Hmm, I really did do a number on this side of your neck, huh? Gotta a bit carried away." He planted a quick peck to the tender skin there, making it tingle pleasantly. Then he was sweeping my hair forward over that shoulder and turning my head the other way, tsking, "While this side," a kiss to said side, "is looking rather neglected. You're rather lopsided here and we can't have that, now can we?"

"No?" I breathed, shivering as I felt his lips graze over my skin, my hand drifting down to trail along his chest.

"Mm-mm. Why don't we see what we can do here to correct this oversight," he said, voice low as he began nibbling at my throat. I could feel him hooking a finger into where I had the blanket hugged to my torso, giving it a gentle tug and-

My door abruptly flew open for the third time. "Elsa! I need to talk to-" Anna - that's right, Anna - gasped from where she stood in the doorway now, slapping a hand over her eyes. Lea and I jerked apart, me clutching the comforter more fiercely to my body than ever. My sister parted her fingers for a peek, then snapped them back closed with a giggle. "Oo la la! You two really go the extra mile to sell this girlfriend-boyfriend act! You do remember calling the whole thing off yesterday though, right?"

Lea hung his head and sighed heavily while I scooted off the bed with an annoyed little growl. Keeping the blanket firmly wrapped around me like a misshapen, makeshift dress, I narrowed my eyes and marched over to her. "What are you doing here, Anna? Why didn't you just call?"

"Your phone's been-"

I snatched her hand down from where it was still covering her eyes, since I refused to hold a conversation with her while she looked so silly. She blinked a couple times before a tiny laugh bubbled out of her, "Oh hi!" I merely drooped my eyelids at her and she cleared her throat, expression hardening. "Your phone's been going straight to voicemail and this couldn't wait!"

That's right. My phone was still dead and I never got around to charging it last night. I'd been a little otherwise, ahem… preoccupied.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with an irritated huff. I didn't want to deal with this right now. Taking hold of Anna's shoulder, I spun her around and pushed her back towards my door, "Fine, then just... try calling me again later."

"What?! No, wait!" Her hands flew out to grab either side of the doorframe and she dug in her heels, bringing us both to a lurching stop. "Sis, I really, really need to talk to you!"

"Well I don't want to talk to you!" I snapped back, pressing my shoulder into her back and putting my full weight into trying to get her moving again. No dice. She wouldn't budge.

"Elsa, please!" she whirled around to face me once more, unleashing the full might of her devastating pout on me.

Fudge. I'd never been able to say no to those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes of hers.

I puffed out a small breath with a scowl. Then I grumbled, "Fine. Just give me a minute to get-"

Dressed.

That's the word I'd been about to say.

However, Anna's excited squeal cut me off and she grabbed my elbow, yanking me along with her as she ran out into the living room. I tried to resist, making a desperate grab for my doorknob but only succeeded in slamming the door shut behind me before it slipped free of my grip. Before I knew it, Hurricane Anna had plonked me down on one of the living room sofas with her flumping down beside me.

"Ugh, not you too," came Riku's groan from the kitchen.

Glancing over, I saw him standing next to a pan sizzling on a stove burner, one of his hands holding a large spatula while the other blurred up to clasp over his eyes. Rayne sniggered at him as she pulled something out of the fridge.

"Hey, I tried to change," I shot back before turning my accusatory gaze on my sister. She merely beamed and shrugged in response. Rolling my eyes, I primly adjusted my blanket-dress with as much dignity as I could muster to ensure I remained one hundred percent PG. My other hand went to my hair, which was still gathered forward over one shoulder, thankfully covering the Mother Hickey.

No need for Anna to spot that, thank you very much.

"Come on, hon, let's get you somewhere where you're free to see," Rayne snorted, relieving him of the spatula and taking his hand in hers so she could start guiding him towards their bedroom.

I shot Anna a dull stare now, waiting with a frown.

Her cue to begin.

"Alright, first of all, we're going to have to come back to that later," she waved a hand towards my bedroom door. "Because okay, wow!"

"I know, right?" Rayne chimed in with a laugh, not having quite reached her room yet. I fixed her with an unamused look and she winced. "Sorry," she whispered, returning all her focus on getting her temporarily blinded husband out of there.

Once they'd disappeared through their door, Anna sat up a little straighter, squared her shoulders, and tugged at her skirt, straightening out its wrinkles. Then she took a deep breath, "Right. Okay, where to begin… well, for starters, I did not - you hear me? Not," she reiterated, striking up a finger for emphasis, "suggest the whole you and Lea thing just to keep Mom and Dad from getting mad about the whole Hans and me thing."

I gave her a flat look, quirking a dubious eyebrow.

"I didn't! I swear I didn't! My actual reasons were threefold. Count 'em, three," she held up the matching number of fingers, wiggling them slightly. Then she ticked off the first one, "A, as I brought up yesterday, I figured having him backing you up would give you the courage to face Mom and Dad. B, I thought that big, scary, redheaded ox of a man would make Mom and Dad think twice before still trying to tell you what to do. Which, in hindsight, kinda backfired… but hey, was worth a shot at least, right?" she gave a nervous chuckle.

I did not laugh with her.

She cleared her throat and hastily pressed on, "And C, it was so obvious that you and Lea had the total friggin' mega hots for each other, so I thought I might play cupid and help that along a lil." Her eyes darted to my bedroom door again before she leaned in closer, waggling her eyebrows, "You're welcome, by the way."

Now I full on glowered at her.

Sense the tone, brat.

She gulped, pulling back again, eyes darting about as she fidgeted with her fingers. Then she huffed, "And fine, okay sure, did I realize you two playing lovebirds in front of Mom and Dad might keep some of the heat off of me and Hans? Yes, but that was more of a… an afterthought! Ya know, like… a nice lil perk on the side. Was it a perk I should have taken advantage of? No. Should I have figured out a different weekend to drop the Hans-bomb? Maybe. But-"

"Sorry, sorry!" Rayne suddenly popped back into the room, sneaking past us towards the kitchen. "Just don't want the bacon to burn. Pretend I'm not here."

Returning my attention to Anna, I saw her frowning, deep in thought and possibly trying to think up a different tactic here. Then she was opening her mouth again, "Look, Sis... he and I didn't mean for this to happen-"

I scoffed, "You said that already yesterday."

"No, let me finish! We didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and nothing can change that now. And you know what? I wouldn't want to change that. I am not sorry." I looked at her sharply and she swiftly amended, "I am sorry if it hurt you. So, so sorry, you have no idea! But I'm not sorry that it happened. You have to understand, he and I… Elsa, it's nothing like I've ever known before! It… it's like fireworks! It's amazing and magical and-"

"He who?" Rayne was suddenly next to us in the living room, making me jerk in surprise.

Jeez, I hadn't even heard her leave the kitchen!

Hand covering my rapid, startled heartbeat, I told her, "Hans. My ex."

"Oh…" the corners of her mouth turned down. Then a blink and a louder, "Oh!" Followed by her eyes narrowing on my sister with a disapproving, "Anna!"

"Fireworks, Ray-Ray! Fireworks!" she snapped back in her defense.

Shaking her head, Rayne directed my attention to what she was holding in her hands - a small bowl of mixed, sliced fruit. "To tide you over until the rest of the food is ready," she explained, depositing it onto the coffee table before making her way back over to the stove.

I stared blankly at the little snack, as if not quite sure what to do with it. Then my stomach gave another growl to remind me.

Oh yeah. That.

"The point," Anna steadfastly insisted, "is that we both know you didn't love him. But I-"

A derisive snort escaped me as I started poking through the fruit. "That is so not the point and you know it."

Her face pinched in annoyance and she spat out, "But I do!"

Snagging a grape, my brow furrowed. "...do what?"

"Love him!"

My eyes widened briefly, then I shot her a dull stare. "...you can't love a man you've just been dating a few weeks."

"And why not?" she glared at me as I popped the grape into my mouth. "You and Lea have been only pretending to date for a few weeks and you're in love with him!"

Cue choking on said grape.

Blasted things are hazardous to your health!

Face roasting as I banged a fist to my chest to dislodge the damn thing and let blessed oxygen back in again, I wheezed, "I'm not- We're not- I mean, it's just-"

"Oh please!" she rolled her eyes. "It's you, Elsa. You. You're the very definition of ice queen. You don't just go around having crazy wild monkey sex-"

"Oh my god, Anna!" I buried my face in my hands.

"Don't oh-my-god-Anna me! It's true! You don't! You never do this! So the only obvious conclusion is that you-"

I clamped a hand over her mouth, fixing her with a tiny scowl. Then I said calmly and evenly, "One, it is not the only conclusion. And two, this isn't about Lea and me. This is about you and Hans." I slowly started to lower my hand but when I saw her sucking in breath to go off once more, I quickly gagged her again. Then I shot her a warning look, silently demanding that she zip it. Her eyelids drooped and I took that as reluctant consent. Taking my hand back now, I looked to the bowl of fruit once more. Hm… maybe a banana slice? Yeah, that seemed less likely to murder me. Bending forward to reach for it, I went on, "Now I know you might think you two are in love, but-"

She abruptly gasped, "Holy friggin' cow, what's that?!"

Suppressing a groan at being interrupted, I grumbled, "What's what?"

"That! On your neck!" With a start, I realized some of my hair had slipped back behind me, no longer concealing the Mother Hickey. The monstrosity had broken loose to wreak its unholy havoc. Anna gaped in pure awe, "Damn, Sis, what was that boy trying to do to you? Draw blood, the friggin' vampire?"

"She liked it!" came Lea's voice suddenly as he exited my bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a smug grin.

Cheeks bursting into flames, I grabbed a raspberry to chuck at him for oversharing.

He caught it easily and sniggered. "Thanks, babe!" he chirped, tossing it up into the air before catching it in his mouth.

Then I looked at him. Really looked at him and came to a realization.

That jerk now had clothes on.

"Hey, no fair! How come he got to get dressed and I didn't?!" I snapped, hand balling more tightly into my blanket-dress in my continued effort to keep the thing together and in place.

Anna whined in frustration, "Sis, focus! We're talking about something important here!"

Says the girl who just got sidetracked by the Mother Hickey.

"Okay, maybe Hans and I haven't been dating for long," she began as out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lea poking about the living room in various places, searching for something. "But just like you, I grew up with him. We've known each other all our lives. I know him, Elsa. Really, really know him." At last he seemed to spot it - his leather jacket, which he snatched up now from wherever he'd tossed it last night. He came over to me and draped it around my shoulders, ducking down to brush a peck to my temple as he did so. "Know him and… and care about him. I actually feel like this has been a long time coming, Sis. That he and I were just meant to be. It's the kind of stuff that cheesy romcom flicks are made of, what everyone's singing about in all those sappy songs. Ya know… true love."

"Come on, Anna," I sighed as I tugged Lea's jacket closer, grateful for the added bit of coverage. Thumb idly running up and down the metal teeth of the zipper, I muttered, "Thought you outgrew fairytales a long time ago."

"What's with the shit-eating grin?" I heard Rayne asking Lea as he moved to join her in the kitchen.

He shrugged, plopping down into one of the dining chairs, "You'd have one too if El had just agreed to be your girlfriend."

"Oof, point taken."

"Fairytale or no, I love him," Anna said, drawing my focus back to her. "And he loves me! And I'm sorry that we went about it in the way wrong way and hurt you in the process. I really, truly am! But what's done is done. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness so soon, but I'm asking… hoping, really, that you'll still give it… because I need you right now, Elsa."

She reached out for my hand, squeezing it as her face fell as she momentarily paused. Then, "I need my big sis. Hans' parents… they're furious about all this. They didn't want their son with the second Fryse daughter, they wanted you. They're blowing a friggin' gasket, which is making Mom and Dad blow their own stupid gaskets too. Which is whatever, fine, I can take it… but not if you're mad at me too." She sniffled, eyes downcast and bottom lip quivering. "...I could really use you in my corner right now, Sis. Please."

I frowned at her, eyebrows knitting together and not saying anything right away. Then, "...you two… really love each other?"

"Oh my god, so much," she gave a weak wobble of a laugh, fingers swiping at the corner of her eye. "I love him with all of my heart and I know he feels the same way about me too."

I inhaled and exhaled softly. Then I covered her hand with mine. "Fine. I forgive you. And I'm here for you, whatever you need."

"Really?!" Anna cried out. I nodded and she broke out into a huge grin, eyes welling up even further to the point where tears escaped. Then she was tackling me in a hug that knocked the wind out of me. "Oh thank you, thank you! You're the bestest, most amazing, most beautiful big sis ever!"

Who was I to stand in the way of love?

True love, no less. Apparently.

As she pulled away, she was now a blubbering mess and I had to stifle a snort. She'd always been such an endearingly ugly cryer. Jamming the heel of her palm to her nose in an attempt to dam the flow of snot, she asked, "Can I take a minute or two to clean myself up in your bathroom?"

I gestured a hand towards the restroom door and she got up, starting to make her way over to it. "Anna," I said abruptly and she stopped in her tracks, glancing back over her shoulder at me. I hesitated briefly, gnawing on my lower lip and almost losing my nerve. But then finally I began, "Would you… that is, later, would you maybe like to…" my lips clamped shut. Oh gosh, I was getting so awkward over such a silly little question. Taking a steadying breath, I then braved a tiny smile for her, "...do you want to make some scotcheroos?"

...would she even remember?

She blinked. "You mean… as in like when we were…?" Then it seemed to click and her face did this funny thing were it both lit up and brimmed over with even more tears. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that very much! I… Just gimme a sec, I'll be right back!" Then she hastily disappeared into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her.

I jolted in surprise as Lea suddenly one-hand vaulted himself over the back of the couch, quick to take the seat next to me that Anna had just vacated. He gave me a toothy grin as he slung an arm around my shoulders, tugging me closer to him.

...okay, this was going to take some getting used to.

A couple weeks of fake dating had in no way prepared me for the real thing.

However, as I felt him pressing his lips to the top of my head and nuzzling his nose into my hair as he did so, I relaxed a bit into his side.

I might... enjoy getting used to this.

Now if only everything else could be so simple. In particular, my family-

"Oh gosh, my family!" I suddenly stiffened.

"Hm?" his hand rubbed up and down my arm outside the jacket. "What about them?"

I groaned, "I just finished telling them yesterday that you and I weren't dating. Now we have to tell them that we are."

Lea squinted up at the ceiling, pursing his lips to the left. "...do we though?"

"Yes! I mean, maybe not right now, but eventually."

His free hand came up to scratch the tip of his nose, then he smiled down at me. "Hey, lookit the bright side though. Now we don't have to explain any of this craziness to the mall or tell 'em we broke up or anything like that."

I fixed him with a deadpan look. "Not helping."

"Doesn't it though?"

I narrowed my eyes up at him. Then I relented with a small huff, "...okay, maybe a little."

"Can I come out yet?" came Riku's rather pathetic call from his bedroom.

"Not yet, she's still naked!" Rayne shouted back as she used her spatula to shift the eggs frying in the pan. In response, Riku made an annoyed noise that was half growl, half moan.

Reaching for a blueberry now, I asked her over my shoulder, "Hey, were you two out all night?"

"Mm-hm!" she hummed back chipperly.

"They were just walking through the front door when they happened upon me in the kitchen in nothing but the bed sheet," Lea supplied, biting into a strawberry.

Glancing her way, I cocked my head. "Where were you guys?"

"Riku surprised me with a romantic weekend getaway!" Rayne beamed, opening the fridge back up. "Speaking of, I noticed as I was dropping my bag off in the bedroom this morning that our room seemed to be a bit, er… tossed about." She wrinkled her nose, "I seriously doubt it, but you two didn't… you know... in there, right?"

My cheeks flared up. "Oh god, no! That was, um…" I cleared my throat, my fingers fiddling with the zipper clasp on the leather jacket, "...Lea was just looking for, uh… for protection."

Rayne glanced at him, eyelids drooping. "And you weren't packing any of that already, stud?"

His fingers ruffled his hair with a chuckle, "Stopped carrying anything like that on me a year ago when I called it quits with the ladies. Didn't want any excuses to give into temptation."

"Ah," she shook her head, stepping back over to the frying pan. Then her shoulders tensed and her head snapped up as a thought suddenly seemed to strike her. "Heh… you, er… didn't happen to find the, uh…"

"Pumpkin spice flavored condoms?" I said dryly and she twitched. "Yes, we did. And Rayne? You have a problem."

I felt Lea's whole body rumble with a laugh, "Yeah seriously, Raindrop, what the actual fuck?"

Turning several shades of deeper and deeper red, her eyes flicked nervously about. "S-someone gave them to me as a gag gift, I swear!" Yeah, wasn't buying it. Didn't help that Lea had found the box already opened. "You, uh… you two didn't actually… use those, right?"

"Heh… needs must when the Devil drives!" Lea snerked as I facepalmed.

Rayne silently squirmed where she stood for an uncomfortable moment as she poked the spatula at the eggs some more. Then, "...let's never speak of this again."

"Agreed," I gave a single, firm nod. Then I was standing up, slipping out of Lea's jacket and leaving it behind on the couch as I started heading towards my bedroom. "And on that awkward note, I think I'll go put clothes on."

"Lemme help ya!" Lea grinned, hopping up to his feet behind me. However, he didn't get very far.

"Ah-ah!" Rayne was suddenly beside him, snagging him by the ear. He gave a pained hiss through grit teeth as she yanked on it, forcing him to hunch down to her height so she could glare at him. "Getting clothes on that girl is the absolute furthest thing from your mind, bucko."

He clasped a hand to his chest in mock offense. "You insult me, madame! I promise I had only the purest, most honorable of intentions!" She stared at him blankly before pinching his earlobe harder, forcing a tiny yelp out of him. "Okay fine, my intentions may of been hovering, teetering towards the slightly dishonorable."

She sighed, "Need I remind you that that room is a future baby nursery?"

"And oh if those walls could talk, the stories they would tell your future bouncing bundle of joy."

Rayne scoffed, dragging him by the ear back towards the kitchen with him grunting the whole way. Shoving him down into one of the dining chairs, she snapped, "Now sit your ass down here and if you even think about taking so much as one step closer to her bedroom door, I'm gonna neuter you with this thing," she poked him in the nose with her spatula. "Capisce, loverboy?"

He held his hands up in surrender, "Capisce!"

I'd almost made it to my room when my stomach gurgled again. I swiftly made a u-turn and went back for the bowl of fruit, picking it up and carrying it back with me. For the road! As I ate a kiwi slice, Riku called out again, "Now can I come out?"

"Almost, Hon! She's heading for her door now," Rayne yelled back as she started taking plates out of the overhead cupboard, still maintaining a wary eye on Lea the whole time.

"Finally!"

However, I was only halfway across the living room when abruptly there was loud, frantic banging on the front door, nearly making me drop the whole bowl.

Ugh, now what?

"Elsa! Are you in there?" called a voice from the other side. A voice that made me stop dead in my tracks and whip around, wide eyed and cheeks bulging with fruit. More thunderous knocking. "Please answer the door, I have to see you!"

That… sounded like…

"...Hans?" I squeaked after choking my food down.

What on earth was he doing here?!

Lea's whole body went rigid as he quickly looked from me to the source of the hammering. Both eyebrows shot up Rayne's forehead. Then she was turning off the stove burner and wiping her hands on her blue plaid shorts as she made her way over to the door. She unlocked it and opened it a crack, politely but cautiously asking, "Hi, can I help y-"

Hans was suddenly shoving his way inside, pushing past her and shouting, "Elsa, where are you? We have to-" His eyes landed on me and he froze. Then determination seared across his eyes and he was marching towards me, "Elsa, I need to talk to you!"

I'd been hearing that an awful lot this morning.

I blinked, taking a step back and shaking my head, "Hans, what are you-"

That's when he finished closing the distance between us, grabbed me by the shoulders and brought his lips crashing down onto me. This time, I did drop the bowl, sending mixed fruit tumbling everywhere across the carpet. Rayne and Lea gawked at us.

I- Wha- Th- Huh-

Just what...

...the actual hell...

...was up with this friggin' morning?!

I mean, come on! More had happened to me in the past thirty minutes than usually happens to me on any normal given week!

And all while I was still wearing nothing but a stupid bedsheet, for crying out loud!

It took a split second for the shock to wear off, then I was scrabbling to wedge my arms between us, shoving him away and furiously scrubbing my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Oh hell fucking no!" Lea was on his feet in a heartbeat, green eyes flashing dangerously and face twisted into a snarl.

However Rayne stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Cool your jets, Red, and shush!"

"But-" he spluttered, apparently too outraged for words. Instead he settled for gesturing both hands angrily towards Hans with a growling huff. Rayne just struck up a warning finger at him.

Fingers abusing the fabric of my comforter as I clutched it to me desperately now, I frowned, "Hans, what is this? Why are you here? How did you even know where I live?"

His brow furrowed and he stepped closer as I hastily took another step back. "I asked your parents and they had Gerda give me the address. But that's not what's important right now. What's important is I want you back!"

Um… excuse me?!

Riku's voice once more came calling from beyond his bedroom door, "What's going on out there? Who's here?"

"Shush!" Rayne snapped back, eyes wide and unblinking so as not to miss a single second of the little soap opera now unfolding in her living room. "Things. Just. Got. Interesting!"

"But-" Riku tried again.

"I said shush, damnit!"

I just stared at Hans, jaw hanging open in disbelief. "...I'm sorry, you what?"

I must've misheard. Yeah, that had to be. It'd be the only thing that'd make any sense and-

"I want you back."

Nope. Heard him right the first time.

"Elsa, sweetheart, we were good together, right? I mean, we weren't perfect, but what couple is? We had a nice thing going though, didn't we? We belong together," he was saying now, his words soft and soothing as he started to reach for me once more.

I swatted his hands away and walked past him, away from him. Unfortunately he moved to follow, pursuing me around the room. "Hans, did you forget I left you at the altar?"

"And I'm willing to look past that!" He grabbed my elbow, making me stop and face him once more. "If I can put that behind us, then you should be able to too. Think about it, sweetheart. Things could go back to the way they were with us. We were happy, weren't we? We made sense!"

"But I don't want to marry you!" I snapped, jerking my arm free of his grasp.

How was he not getting this? Just… how?

He brought up hands in a placating gesture, "And that's fine, we don't have to get married! Not right away, anyway! It was too soon and you weren't ready, I understand that now. Getting married is not the important part. What matters is that we're together. I still care about you and after yesterday, I know that you still care about me too."

"...after yesterday?" Huh? I glared down at my crossed arms, thoroughly confused now. "...what about yesterday gave you that idea?"

"That whole little speech you gave your parents," Hans stated, as if it were obvious. "I could tell how sad and full of regret you were. Regret over breaking things off with me." Uh… what now? "I could tell you wanted me back, that you went through this whole ruse to pretend like you were okay about the way things ended between us, but you really weren't." I wasn't? That was certainly news to me. "I know you're worried you could never earn my trust back, but it's okay, sweetheart. I forgive you." ...gee, thanks? "I want you back. I need you back." He was reaching for me again, this time for my hand, "Please, if we can just-"

I wrenched my hand back, "Why are you saying all of this? You've never talked like this before. Why are you-" I inhaled sharply, suddenly hit with a thought. "...this isn't you… this is your parents talking through you, isn't it? What'd they do? Threaten to cut you off? Oh Hans, you can't just let them-"

"This isn't about them or anything they may or may not have threatened me with!" Translation: yes. Yes it was. "This is about us! This is-" His words abruptly stopped as he blinked, eyeing me up and down. "...are you wearing nothing but a blanket right now?"

Was Mr Perceptive just now realizing this?

Also, kill me. Kill me now.

"And what did you do to your neck?" he squinted, brushing my hair back off my shoulder.

And the cursed Mother Hickey strikes again!

Swear to god, I was going to friggin' kill Lea for giving me the dumb thing!

Hans gave himself a shake, face hardening. "Doesn't matter! What matters is," he snatched up both my hands now, clasping them together between his, "I love you, Elsa!"

...what was this day even?! I mean, seriously! I had absolutely zero clue what was even happening anymore!

However, his words sent a shock of a reminder through my system and my eyes darted over to the bathroom door, which Hans currently had his back to. Still closed. Still with Anna in there. What with the whirlwind the past five minutes had been, I'd all but forgotten she was still here. Oh gosh, could she hear all this?

Licking my dry lips, my gaze returned to Hans and I weakly shook my head. "You… you don't mean that. What about you and Anna? I thought you two were-"

"A mistake," he said firmly, his grasp around my hands tightening. "That's what we were. A mistake. You have to understand, sweetheart, I was… was hurt. And weak. I did something I'm not proud of. But it meant nothing to me, understand? Absolutely nothing! It's you, Elsa. It's always been you. You're the only woman for me."

"But Hans, she loves you!" I argued, wrestling my hands free of his. I could see the bathroom door behind him slowly beginning to creak open now.

He gave a derisive snort. "No she doesn't! She's just naive and thinks she does. Trust me, Anna will be fine. She'll get over it. Anyway, forget about her. The only thing I want to talk about right now is you and me."

My sister stood in the doorway, expression unreadable as she just stared silently at Hans' back. Oh Anna. Poor dear, sweet Anna. She wasn't like me. She didn't know how to guard her heart and not let people in. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. This was going to break her. What would she even say? What would she even do? How-

"YOU BASTARD!" she suddenly roared, charging towards him.

He whirled around with a startled, "Anna? Wha-"

She bodyslammed into him hard, sending them both crashing to the ground where she then proceeded to start royally whaling on him and calling him every nasty word under the sun while I and the rest of the room's onlookers just watched blankly.

...huh.

Apparently, that's what she'd say and do.

Welp. Guess that answered that.

Author's Note: Oh gosh, this really WAS a lot to happen to Elsa in the space of… yeah, 30 minutes sounds about right xD All with only that infernal bed sheet to keep her modesty intact! I just have too much fun torturing my precious awkward penguin, it's all done out of love, I swear xD Anyhoo *throws confetti and blares trumpets* it's official, Lea and Elsa are a couple for REAL this time, huzzah! Did anyone guess that Lea had actually been at the lantern festival? I dropped hints throughout the story, but dunno, maybe they were too subtle… or too obvious and just no one said anything to me xD Anyhoo, not much left to go now, just a lil bit of wrap up!

Next time, how will things unfold from here on out for our newly minted couple? Will Elsa EVER actually get to put on clothes? Will Riku EVER get to leave his own bedroom ever again? Just HOW deep does Rayne's pumpkin spice addiction really go? Is the Mother Hickey ACTUALLY proof that Lea is secretly a vampire? Will Anna LITERALLY get away with murder by the time she's through with Hans? Sorry, running on empty with questions at this point, got nothing but silly ones left for ya'll xD Anyway, stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

Forever

Prompt: Stucky x reader A/B/O and dark! A/B/O

Summary: You ran away from your Alphas and they find you. (I’m a sucker for the runaway trope as well).

Words: 2500 (I make my drabbles too long!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, dub-con, SMUT!

Did you leave the stove on? No, of course not. You couldn’t remember the last thing you ate that wasn’t a microwave meal. Maybe you left a window open. The last time you opened a window was in October, when a random hot day hit. All winter you were constantly checking the locks.

A neighbor must have stopped by. Why? You glanced to your left and your right. Both houses had their lights on. You couldn’t even remember their names.

They were too busy cooking meth or yelling at each other in the yard to pay attention to your dilapidated state of affairs.

Two months in this place. It was time to move again. Find another shithole to live in. That was all, just nerves of settling in too long.

Your neck ached. You tried to stretch it as you held your key out and walked up to your house. There was a high school football game tonight and the diner was packed. You’d lifted too many heavy trays.

Once you got inside you would take off the waitress uniform and head straight for the tub. Extra salts. That would relax you.

You let your mind wander about new places to move. The slum landlord wouldn’t miss you. He obviously didn’t care about your neighbors broken beer bottles all over your lawn.

Maybe a new place would be better. You started to fantasize about what that could mean as you unlocked the door.

Crunch. You heard it as soon as you walked inside. Your hand went to the switch and you flipped on the light.

Steve was right in front of you. A pill bottle in his hand as he crushed the remainder under his boot. RUN! Instincts took over and you took a step back and turned, slamming into a hard body.

You bounced back, but didn’t hit the floor as strong arms reached out and grabbed you, holding you up.

Without looking you up knew it was Bucky, his hands digging into your arms harder than necessary. The ache in your neck started throbbing and you realized it wasn’t from the tray, it was your fading claims coming back to life with your Alphas so near.

Bucky leaned his head into your neck and inhaled. The action brought a calm to your tiring bond and you almost wanted to sink into him, apologize and have them take you home.

No. Biology wasn’t fair. This wasn’t you, this was the Omega needs. You tried to shove him away, knowing it was a pointless gesture. Bucky let out a growl and lifted his head.

There was nothing but anger in hid blue eyes as he narrowed them down on you.

“You’ve been very naughty Doll.” Bucky opened his mouth and your blood pressure spiked.

“No! Don’t!” You tried to push away, but his teeth landed in the exact same spot as his old claim and he wasted no time sinking them into your flesh.

“Ahhh!” You tried to twist away as the pain spiked followed by a strange sense of relief.

The bond had a mind of its own and was happy to be renewed. You let out a sob though. Almost a year, it barely bothered you anymore, but breaking away from them had been a painful detox and you didn’t think you could start at square one any longer.

Bucky lifted his head. There was blood on his lips and teeth as he licked them. You brought your hand to his mark and felt the wetness. He let go and you tumbled backward, but again you smacked into a hard body.

Steve wasted no time finding his own mark and renewing the bond. You whimpered this time as your body went in a different direction from your mind.

Your heart was fluttering with excitement at the reunion. There was a dampness growing between your legs too. All of the un-attended to heats over your time apart wanting answers and fulfillment.

It hadn’t taken over yet though. You were still capable of having a thought not controlled by your nature.

“Get the car.” Steve turned you around and flung you over his shoulder.

Your head hung upside down as he went and grabbed a bag on the thread bare couch. The gravity didn’t help your tears as they rolled down your forehead instead of cheeks.

“Why?” You whispered. “They were fading.”

In fact, you almost stopped worrying about this moment happening. They could’ve claimed another Omega by now and continued on without you.

“Because you’re ours.” Steve’s voice was emotionless as he flipped off the light and walked outside.

You pinched your eyes shut and pretended this wasn’t happening. But that only allowed you to pay attention to the physical response. Your claims were throbbing, but not with pain. You could feel their saliva mixing with your blood, igniting a fire that had gone dormant.

It was spreading all over your body, like a drug or a virus and soon you were going to be a complaint, whimpering mess for them. Your Alphas were aware of that fact too. Aware wasn’t the right word, welcomed it fit better.

“I hate you.” The lights from the car flashed ahead of you.

Steve let out a growl. THWACK! He smacked your ass, hard. You cried out, not expecting that response.

Instead of stopping at the back door Steve went to the trunk. Your heart flared and you tried to claw off of him.

“Relax.” Steve gripped you harder. “Thought you deserve it.”

He dropped the black bag in the trunk and slammed it shut.

“Thank you.” You cringed at your response.

“That’s better Doll.” Steve opened the back door and tossed you on the seat. He rounded to the passengers side and got in.

“You didn’t buckle her in?” ��Bucky looked at Steve.

It was like nothing had changed. You still weren’t even there to them. Your hand went to the handle.

“Child locks.” Steve buckled his own safety belt. “Don’t bother trying. Buckle up.”

The Omega inside you purred at the instruction, listen to your Alpha, he’ll keep you safe. But it made you sob. Still you did as you were told, silently hoping the car did crash and you had another chance at escape.

“It hurts.” You clung to the sheets as you thrashed on the bed. “I have to go back. Please, I want to go back.”

“Shhhh.” A wet cloth was pressed to your forehead. “It will pass in a day or two. You’re in the worst of it now.”

Your handler looked down at you and gave a sympathetic smile. You’d trusted her, trusted the network, but this was not what they told you would happen. You tried to lash out at her, but your wrists and ankles were bound to the bed and the older Omega was too far to bite.

“LET ME GO!” You screamed and arched your back in agony.

It was like the bond was a spirit inside of you raging at the separation. Punishing you for being away from your Alphas this long.

“I’ve been there before Y/N.” She looked unfazed. “It will get better and you’ll be free.”

She stood up and left the room as another wave of pain made hit your gut.

The cramp from your memory became real in the backseat of the car and your pressed your thighs together.

“How much longer to the room?” Steve shifted in front of you.

“I can smell her too.” Bucky hit the gas harder. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

They wanted you. They were going to have you. It made more juices pool at your core. You pinches your eyes and shook your head, not wanting your biology to take over, but your reserve was already slipping.

“Why?” You asked the question again. “You could’ve let me go, found another.”

You reached forward and grabbed the back of Steve’s seat to brace yourself as another cramp formed. The bond was spreading, they were taking over your body all over again. Putting you right back in the place you never wanted, never chose, never belonged.

“Because you’re ours.” Bucky gave the same answer Steve had.

The response did nothing to quell your fears. They called you Doll, because that’s all you were to them. But you should have been replaceable. The only reason they hunted you down was to satisfy some Alpha ego trip.

The car turned into a parking lot of a flea bag motel. This was not their style, but there was hardly a Hilton in this middle-Of-nowhere town. Bucky barely slowed down when he pulled into the parking space.

Your body was turning into an inferno, you could literally feel it spreading up your face. As soon as it reached your brain you were a goner. How long until you came down? A day? Probably more like a week.

Bucky killed the engine and both Alphas jumped out of the car. Steve opened your door and unbuckled your belt. He lifted you out of the car and carried you while Bucky pulled out the keys.

“You’ve been very naughty.” Steve glared at you. “Don’t think all is forgiven. But you need this right now.”

“I don’t want it.” You started to shake, like your soul was trying to tell you to shut up. “I don’t want…”

“But you need us.” Steve interrupted with a warning. “Do you know we felt you? What you were doing to yourself? We thought you were kidnapped.”

You looked away, feeling shame. How could you leave them? You were slipping. These feelings thoughts, they weren’t yours. They were your nature trying to take over after being denied so much the last year. You took in a breath, as if you were slipping underwater and needed one final gulp of air.

The warmth of your body became all encompassing and you wiggled against Steve. He was your protector, he was your leader, he was your Alpha.

“I’m sorry.” You reached up and touched his cheek. “Alpha, please.”

Steve seemed to relax and looked at your with approval. Bucky opened the door to the room and Steve walked you inside.

“Undress.” He set you on the bed.

Bucky was already taking off his shirt as he kicked the door closed. Memories of how sculpted the man was didn’t do him justice.

“NOW Omega.” Steve’s voice jarred you.

Your hands went to the button of your waitress uniform and you started undoing them, the clothing feeling scratchy against your hot skin.

“Working? Living in a place like that? Alone?” Bucky glared at you. “Taking suppressants?”

“I’m sorry.” You started to tear up. “Please, forgive me.”

“Buck, she’s in heat. Now’s not the time for a lecture.” Steve came behind you and yanked off the dress. “We’ll deal with the punishments when she comes down.”

You let your head lull back against Steve, so grateful he took the dress off of you. You looked up at him and puckered your lips, wanting to give him a kiss, but his jaw hardened and he shook his head making you whimper.

You didn’t deserve kisses. Bucky grabbed the rest of your uniform, drawing your attention back to him as he pulled the rest off, buttons flying everywhere.

The action made you lift your hips and Bucky did away with your panties at the same time Steve unclasped your bra. You moaned, the cool air on your skin welcoming.

Bucky dropped to his knees and kissed up your thighs. Steve grabbed your hips and lifted you up. When he lowered you his cock was at your entrance. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he split you, the empty feeling in your soul finally being answered.

“I missed you.” Steve dropped his head and started sucking at his claim.

The small affection mixed with the feel of his renewed bond made you purr. Bucky let out a growl and you looked down at him. He arrived at your center right when Steve stretched you to your fullest.

His eyes were on you while his tongue found your clit. He flicked it twice before sucking it into your mouth. You twitched and squealed.

Steve started flexing underneath you, making you slightly bob up and down his shaft while Bucky moved his head with your body, pulsing against your most sensitive bud.

You never understood how they were capable of moving like this. Bucky’s tongue swirled and Steve’s hands slid up your hips to your stomach and breasts. He started kneading and pinching, all the while giving deep pushes inside your pussy.

It was too much and too little all at the same time. You needed more, more of them. But you’d been so bad. You didn’t deserve them.

It should be you on all fours, with Steve railing into you while Bucky’s cock rammed into your throat. It should be brutal, they should use you however they liked for what you’d put them through. But here you were, the center of their world.

“We’ll do that position too Doll.” Steve’s voice carried a smile.

It warmed your core.

“Am I speaking out loud?” Your head fell back against Steve.

“Tell us how this feels.” Steve pinched down on your nipples making you jerk and moan. “Tell us Omega.”

“Like I don’t deserve you.” You ran your hands through Bucky’s hair.

He responded by pressing his tongue harder against your clit and humming.

“Ehh!” You formed fists against his locks, needing something to grab on to.

“Keep going.” Steve flexed harder, filling you almost to the point of pain.

“Like I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you, if you let me.” You wanted to please them, needed to please them. “Like I’m your Omega. Always.”

The admission brought a pulse to your bond and you were rewarded with a growing coil in your stomach.

“Like I should have never left. Like my place is with you. Like I should listen to everything you say. Like I belong to you.” The coil tightened.

Bucky growled in approval, sending another vibration to your clit. Steve started flexing faster, giving the friction you needed.

“Forever.” You moved your hips at little as you could.

Then you felt Steve’s teeth sink deeper into his claim. It brought a pain, but the sensation was enough you fell over the edge, screaming and panting.

You saw stars as your toes curled. The heat flushed away, replaced with a cooling sensation. Sweat broke out over your entire body.

“Fuck you taste better than I remembered.” Bucky’s mouth left your clit.

You moaned at his absence, but Steve dropped one of his hands and pressed down in Bucky’s tongue’s place. Then he lifted you up in the air and spun around.

Bucky climbed on the bed and you found yourself on all fours. You opened your mouth and relaxed your jaw as his cock pressed passed your lips. Steve rubbed circles on your pearl while he started ramming in from behind.

This was perfect. This was where you belonged.

“Forever.”

#stucky x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #a/b/o dynamics #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #marvel fanfic #Omega!reader

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multiverseofmiracleshq · 4 years

Photo

Following the attack against the United Nations the Island of Krakoa and the Avengers knew that they could no longer wait to confront Osborn once and for all. Arriving at a press conference at Citi Field, Osborn’s true colors were revealed before he was subdued once and for all. Just becuase that fight ended, however, doesn’t mean that the war is over.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL COMPLETE CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

OSBORN: ”Please-- please.” Norman raised both of his hands to the crowd gathered around to quiet down the overlapping questions being thrown at him. Plastered across his face was an easily faked solemn look, the corners of his mouth pinched down just slightly to give off the idea that he was troubled by the events of late. He let a few seconds pass, and then slowly let his arms fall to his side. “Tonight, I will answer your questions to the best of my ability and with all of the facts we have so far. What happened at the UN was a tragedy-- one that I am finding quite difficult to process. The attack lead to a huge loss of life, and I want the nation of Krakoa to know that despite our disagreements, the President is saddened by the losses. I still have hope for a future where we can work together, and during this time of grief I want that to be as clear as ever.”

EMMA: To put it in simple words Emma Grace Frost was fucking livid. Her anger had been boiling under her skin ever since she had come to with a broken nose because Kate had no choice but to literally sock her back into her right mind. Before it was embarrassment that had settled over in an unsettling restless buzz. The humiliation had been shoved to the back of her mind now by debris and broken glass. They had killed her daughters. Three blonde beautiful ( albeit bitchy ) telepaths who had already known death too well felled in one burst. They had killed Kate. Kate. Her Katherine, the prodigy she hadn’t meant to take but loved fiercely all the same. Kate hadn’t been her first choice for the Red Throne, if she was being honest. After being turned down by Ororo and her daughters she had taken a chance and it had worked better than anyone could imagine. She had sat with burning eyes in front of the three remaining Five, two of which she and Scott had resurrected to Nation-X and the other her former student. The children had shook, wracked with the sorrow over their missing friends and those they had lost. They had seen Emma upset before but this was different. She was different. Hands had quivered as she had unearthed the black fabric from the back of her closet. A simple request had been for Scott to leave her be as she prepared for the confrontation they had planned. Dead eyes had stared in the mirror for far too long, her mind knowing that the she had worn black before and it was time to once more. They had made hushed plans with the Avengers with quieted voices under wary eyes. They were tired. Bone fucking wary. Another day, another war. As the various groups began to arrive on the field the glowing light from one of Illyana’s discs revealed a group of mutants. Although it was humid out diamond failed to bend to any temperature and there was an icy detachedness that allowed Emma to step first from the light and onto the field where heels sank into the grass. Her armor had always been made of her own skin, of her own determination. When she kicked Norman’s teeth in it would be a Versace clad platform that did the damage. “Saddened by the losses.” Emma was unable to keep the drollness from her scoff. “There’s quite a few of us who are sad, Norman, and I doubt you’re one of them. I know we’ve been having a lovely little song and dance but I hope you know that your game ends tonight.” As she spoke she had made her way closer to the platform, black clad arms crossing over an exposed diamond chest. “I’m prone to believe that you don’t deserve a last word, but I’ll allow you one anyway. You have sixty seconds.”

OSBORN: "Miss Frost." Norman's tone shifted. He kept his body still for the reporters, but his face hardened as the telepath approached. "Did you not just hear me say that someday, I still hope to see us work together? It's what I've wanted since the beginning, but you make it far more difficult than it needs to be." From behind his podium, he glanced over Emma and the others with her before allowing himself a short smirk. "I am the President. I believe that means I have as much time as I'd like. You and your friends will have to wait."

STEVE: “Show’s over Norman, we’ve got the proof we need to show everyone who you really are.” Steve stepped forward, stopping a few feet away. “You brought people back just to use them as inside men and then triggered the explosion that killed a handful of mutants just to hide the truth behind you really are. That ends today, whether you like it or not.”

SCOTT: Death was something he was tired of knowing. Scott followed behind in Emma’s wake, his shoulder’s square and his back straight despite the heavy feeling in his chest. He wanted to sit down —- he wanted to escape to his home on the moon and sit in his chair and stare out of the window at the Earth. The burning hot rage of revenge was mild at best, a small candle wick instead of an inferno. Sure, he wanted to make Osborn pay for his role in the bombing, but his grief had become so overwhelming that it had simmered into a quiet numbness. Still, he hadn’t let Emma or the other mutants handle this affair alone and he would do his part to remind Osborn that he was playing with something more dangerous than fire. Stopping a few feet behind her, he swung his gaze up to meet Osborn’s dead stare and he remembered the blast he sent towards Nathan that hit Osborn instead. He had to admit, he wished it would have been more intentional then.

RAHNE: Rahne was furious. Anger bubbled in her chest and her vision became tinged red the more everyone spoke. Her friends were dead - and it was all Osborn’s fault - but now was not the time to act. She had to wait, hope things could somehow be worked out diplomatically, despite how much she knew that was not possible. Clawed fingertips dug into the palms of her hands as she focused on remaining in her half shifted form despite the rush of frustration and anger clouding her judgement.

SAM: Okay, so they were doing it. The scene was nothing like when they had first been resurrected and came to the battlefield against Thanos, the sparks from the sorcerers portals snapping against the dust and debris. This time there was no wry on your left or charged moment when Mjölnir connected with Steve’s hand. It was Sam who had the shield strapped to him this time as his wings folded as boots hit the ground. Emma was handling the showboating but that was fine. It wasn’t Sam’s thing anyway. Osborn had crossed way too many lines way too long ago but they had kept pushing without shoving hard enough to do something. Now he had lost a teammate, children their mother and a mother her children. Steve spoke and Sam watched, just like he had done so many times before. A part of his mind reminded that he was Captain America now. He needed to say something on behalf on everyone that couldn’t because of the smug looking bastard in front of them. “You happy now, Osborn? You’ve arrested us, manipulated us and murdered us. I can’t stand here and call myself Captain America if you’re the one in front of this country. How hard you going to make this?”

OSBORN: Norman's immediate reaction to Steve's accusations was a scoff, and then he leaned forward at his podium to grip both sides of it as his glanced moved to Scott and then Sam. "Happy? No, not quite. Things haven't exactly gone to plan. And now my heartfelt press conference has been interrupted by so-called heroes who claim that I have some.. sinister motive. I wouldn't expect anyone to be happy when being threatened like this. Especially after an attempted assassination." He shot another look to Scott before moving out from behind the podium. "This is nothing but a stunt. All of you-- the X-Men, Avengers, all the little teams you like to tote around-- you have a tendency to act dramatically when it is not required. I suggest that you all pack up and leave before you say anything you regret."

ILLYANA: She was feeling like a traveling party bus at this point with how often she was moving people, but Illyana couldn’t complain. Her invitation to the bloodbath had been unresponded to. If she hadn’t been busy being a Combat Captain of Krakoa in its ridiculously titled glory she would have been at the U.N. and a subsequent pile of ash. Instead she was leaning on the Soulsword as the tip dug into the overly expensive astroturf of the field. She had never been to an American ball game. Sam ( Guthrie ) had wanted to go with the group but it seemed incredibly stupid. Now he was dead and she debated feeling bad but decided not to.“Bad news,” the corners of her lips tugged down at Osborn’s suggestion. “I’m their ride and I think we should all stay. Sorry.”

CAROL: What a complete and utter disaster. As Carol touched down, she was just as angry as the rest of them, her emotions manifesting as a barely visible glow that surrounded her body. It took everything to stay by Sam and not land directly on that stage to end this now and boy -- it was a hard impulse to suppress. When Osborn responded, Carol bit her tongue, and not in response to his warning. She truly just wanted to spit fire. "We should end this here." She said in Sam's direction, even though she had a sneaking suspicion what he'd say. "Green light and I'll take the heat."

PIETRO: Pietro had been through a lot. The death of his parents, excruciating experiments at the hands of Nazi’s he didn’t know were at the head of them, and then he died. Yet, by far, the worst thing to date, was the death of his twin, someone who he’d not even existed without in the womb, yet alone life. The telepathic message she inserted into his brain at the moment of her death—he felt it in the very root of his being, as if the very breath in his lungs had been ripped from him. He suddenly chucked the bottle of asgardian ale in his hand at Norman, and through blurred vision, he yelled “Go to hell—you’ve played your little game for long enough. You deserve to rot.”

SAM: There was a small nod in Carol’s direction and a hint of relief he hoped she could pick up on. He wanted to be one who jumped the gun but if there was one thing being a Black man in modern day America had taught him it was that you had to stop, assess and move smartly. Maybe that made him a shitty superhero. Sam hadn’t really learned to balance his various identities yet but he was working on it. Then the Maximoff kid was yelling - Sam had smelled the liquor and made the mistake of ignoring it out of respect for his grief - and it looked like things were going to take a turn. It was inevitable but sooner than he had thought. “Not yet.” He spoke in low tones under his breath to Carol. “Not yet.”

OSBORN: Carol and Sam were whispering-- Norman made a note of that. Then a split second later he was dodging a flying bottle of alcohol. It missed him, but when it hit the ground next to him the remaining drink splashed up onto his pant leg. He groaned in annoyance, then straightened his spine and pulled down on his suit to rid it of wrinkles. "Per usual-- a dramatic outburst." Something was going to happen, and soon. He was ready. But he was content to avoid the confrontation for as long as possible. Playing the part had become fun, and he wasn't quite ready to drop the act. "Anyone else have something to say? Hm?"

CAROL: Carol swung a glance at him, her gaze narrowed and frustrated. Balling her fists, she kept her feet planted. Sam was her stop and go, someone she respected in such a high regard that when he called the shots, Carol would take a step back and listen. Drawing in a breath, Carol met Osborn's gaze. "How many more is he going to kill before we take his head off his shoulders?"

CRYSTALIA: Somehow Crystalia had gotten stuck with evacuation duty. Maybe it had something to do with her teleporting dog, and while she hated the stupid humans touching Lockjaw and ogling him she also knew that it would be rude to let them stay in the stadium when a fight was inevitable. After the last round was removed, both Inhuman and Inhuman dog materialized in the field to see the bottle being thrown. “That’s how this is starting? Her gaze moved from the white haired speedster to the smirking asshole in the suit. “We’re throwing things at one another?”

EMMA: “His head can stay on his shoulders.” Emma’s voice was quiet. “See, death isn’t scary anymore. We don’t fear death because it was conquered. What people like you deserve is far worse.” With lips pursed together, the blonde let the diamond slowly recede until it slipped down her skin and revealed pale flesh. It was only now that she registered the dampness of the air even if it didn’t bother her. She had carried the Phoenix Force on her back, after all. This heat was nothing in comparison. “I’m afraid your sixty seconds are far past up and there’s some people you’ve recently hurt that would like to have a word with you. Scott, darling, would you like to begin?”

SCOTT: They'd discussed this privately before they'd arrived with the rest of the mutants. They'd debated the consequences and discussed other options. But Scott had heard the pain in her voice and he was sure his was just as heavy. Scott was tired of letting weak men pretend they were strong and put on a show and murder their people and so, when his name filtered through the frustration and reached his ears, Scott didn't hesitate. He depressed the lock and his visor lifted and this time, the blast was deliberate and aimed right for Osborn.

PIETRO: Despite his inebriated state, Scott’s blast still fired slowly. Pietro watched it and thought—what a great time to hit him. Frankly, he wished he’d thought of it sooner. Bolting forward, he accelerated to a solid mach 5 speed and swung right for Osborns face. At this point consequences no longer mattered to him.

RIPLEY: With the shit that Osborn had pulled it seemed like it was a no brainer that the Avengers would roll in to square up at his next appearance. Had they been smart they could have used it as a trap, but instead some of his Avengers and X-Men were waiting in the vicinity to see what happened. When they started attacked she had slowly lowered herself to the stage to watch the events in mild amusement. Carol would come from her ass later and while Ripley was really ready to actually kill her tonight she wanted to play the game for a little bit. In all honesty Ripley may have been able to do something to help Norman but she just let him get wrecked.

OSBORN: Scott moved-- Norman's eyes flicked over to him as the mutant's hand raised and that's when the persona was dropped. He barely had the thought to lift his arm and prepare to block the blast before he felt a fist meet with his jaw. Since it was from Pietro, there was no way he had seen that coming and instead of being in the line of fire he was pushed a few feet to the side. As he stumbled down, feeling the punch resonate, Norman caught himself with one hand and watched as Scott's blast flew past him. From his crouched position, Norm lifted his free hand and traced his thumb along his jawline where it was pulsing from the hit. He glanced to his thumb after he lifted it away and noticed the traces of makeup left behind. "Interesting." After pushing himself to his feet, Norman took in a deep breath and slicked back the hair that had been knocked loose and turned back to the crowd of Avengers and mutants. "I don't think you'll be needing that proof anymore." His true face was peeking out from underneath the makeup along the bottom of his face-- just enough to be seen. "I am exactly who you say I am. And you know what.. I have been itching for this fight for a long time now." The smirk stretched wider across his face, and then the sound of metal pieces clattering together could be heard as he lifted a hand and aimed a newly formed repulser at the crowd. "I'll let my Avengers take care of you--" The comment was directed at the drunk speedster to the side of him. "Because I've got better things to do." And then he fired a blast, not aiming for anyone specific.

PIETRO: To be honest, he hadn’t expected that. He glanced down at his fist and then back at Norman, whose ugly face was more so than usual. The green peeked out from beneath the smeared flesh tone and whatever was left covered his knuckles. Was he really that drunk or was that real?

VALKYRIE: She had brought the pegasus merely because she could. Val was tempted to leave the Midgardian's to their infighting but it was likely that Loki would be there as well so her absence seemed negligent. Royal duties and such, after all. As soon as the hooves connected with the ground the Valkyrie slipped off the steed and promptly lurched to the side to avoid the blast as the pegasus flew away.

YOUNG JEAN: They had killed her. Or, at least, her future self she had diverged from. With Betsy and Jean gone they were short telepaths and the Cuckoos were who knows here. Emma couldn’t use her telepathy while in diamond form but seemed reluctant to drop it. Even though she was an adult the younger ( and now only ) Jean still found herself looking around for either Scott or Logan. Osborn had a telepath on the premise but she couldn’t place him.

ERIK: Both he and his son were mourning their loss in.. different ways. Showing up to this confrontation drunk was certainly not how Erik wanted to present himself-- but he could at least relate to the impulse of punching Osborn in the face. Once Norman aimed to the crowd, Erik lifted himself off the ground and flew over to his son. To his frustration, the tech on the President's arm couldn't be manipulated with his powers. Erik had hoped Stark's material hadn't gotten into his hands, but he wasn't that lucky. "Pietro." Once he landed again, he walked over to him. "I would applaud your decisiveness if you weren't being foolish."

YOUNG SCOTT: The repulser went straight into the crowd and despite the rallying cry they were all there to make, Scott didn't want to replicate the sorrow on his older self's face. Grabbing for Jean, he pulled her towards him, away from the chaos that ensued. "We shouldn't stay here." It wasn't like him to abandon a fight right when it began, but he had a primary concern and that was not to start a war with Osborn.

PIETRO: The disappointment in his voice triggered a deep rooted memory of the man who raised him, one that he’d considered his real father until a few weeks ago. For a flash of a second he felt guilty, and then the part of his mind that recalled his disdain for Erik quite clearly, straightened his spine. He lifted his chin to eye him. “Too bad I don’t care what you think.” he said. “You’re welcome by the way—“ he motioned to the bastard that was Osborn “Now the world knows he’s as a madman just as we have.”

YOUNG JEAN: “He killed her, Scott.” One hand clung to Scott’s arm as the two moved in tandem back a few steps. “I have to be here.” Even though they no longer shared their telepathic connection a few thoughts still passed from one mind to the other as Jean shook her head. “It’s our fight. They put me in a freaking freezer for a month and that’s nowhere near the worst of it. I can’t leave.”

YOUNG SCOTT: Scott's gaze went between Jean and the stage and he squeezed her arm tightly, but he didn't urge her back any more. "Exactly. He killed her, he killed a bunch of us and it was easy for him. He won't stop there." He knew by the serious tone in her voice that there was no getting Jean to safety. They would stay, wouldn't they? "You can't die on me again."

NORMAN: That was the goal-- start the chaos, let it ripple out through the crowd. Everyone he was facing would have to be wary of reporters fleeing the scene and make sure they didn't get hurt. Not that he cared, but they did. After sending out another random blast, Norman let out a cackle and reached for a few of his pumpkin bombs-- because what was the use of holding back now?

EMMA: It probably had to do with her close proximity to the so called president that put Emma near his assault. Someone had to get smacked by his blast but she had enough time to return to her diamond before it hit her. Although it knocked her over it didn’t hurt and for that Emma was glad. Or, she would have been if her mind wasn’t laser focused in her desire to wipe Norman out. Still, the attack meant that flesh was exposed for a moment as Emma picked herself up and wiped grass from her knees. Erik was in discussion with his spawn and her cape snapped as she stormed over to the two. “Wanda’s dead. That’s terribly sad. I feel for you both, truly. But this is not the time for family matters. Erik,” Emma angled her body so that Pietro was slightly blocked out. “I know you are upset about Lorna, but I also lost a daughter. Three, but that’s not the point. You and I agreed he should die but I think we may have to settle with bringing him into custody. Can I count on you for more than a few half ass attempts right now?”

ERIK: Erik wanted to be annoyed-- scratch that, he was a bit annoyed. Out of all his children, Pietro was the one he butted heads with the most. But right now wasn't the time or place for a meaningless argument. "Wanda wouldn't want you to get yourself killed going after a madman while intoxicated. Have you thought of that?" He replied, then turned to look as Osborn shot another blast. It hit dangerously close to Emma, but there was no surprise on his face as she got up without a scratch and made her way over to them. Taking in a sharp breath, Erik's face twisted at Emma's suggestion. Silence hung in the air between them as he struggled to come to terms with it-- but Emma was right. As much as he wanted Osborn to be put down for good, there was always a logical choice that had to be made. He gave her a nod. "You know you can."

YOUNG JEAN: “You and I have a strict no dying on each other policy, remember?” Her head snapped up to see the sky fill with circular objects and there was a telekinetic shove before they were sent flying in the other direction. Maybe she could have used better precision but there was a lot going on and there was no way two Jeans were going to blow up within three days of each other. “We need to help. I bet Erik and Emma can tell us how.”

EMMA: Looking at Erik, Emma had to resist the urge to block off her telepathy. Her diamond form had its perks but it was also too easy to misuse it. She had been in Erik’s head. Emma knew her way around but she had gained respect for the man that she hadn’t always possessed. “We will make this right.” Her words were a promise. “He doesn’t get to take them from us. But for now,” her shoulders rotated to once again allow Pietro to join in. “You need to get your shit together and come sit at the adult table. Our best chance at taking down this egotistical joke is together.”

YOUNG SCOTT: Scott just stared at her for a minute, the hesitation clear in the lines of his face. And then finally. "You're right. I just don't want Osborn to be the reason I lose you too." Too, as in Scott losing Jean. It almost felt like they were doomed to dance like this forever. "I just wish there was another way." But yeah, she was right. What would running from this do other than leave their friends to fight alone?

ILLYANA: Illyana had mostly been moving around the perimeter of the field as they all began to fight. If you could call it a fight, that was. Mostly it seemed like it consisted of Pietro being drunk and acting out while everyone else stood around debating doing something instead of actually doing anything. As Emma spoke to Erik the telepath sent a discreet message to the younger blonde mutant. One disc later and she was hopping to suck a few mutants into her pull and deposit them into a section of the field. “You’re all being useless,” her gaze trailed over the likes of Laura, Remy, Quentin and some of the original X-Men. “And the best way to get over being sad is toppling dictators. So, get on it.”

ERIK: His jaw was tight as he listened to Emma and focused on the President, watching his movements carefully. He saw Jean and Scott and various mutants scattered about. And then Norman turned his attention towards them-- an unsurprising move, considering the lot of them were just standing around at the moment.

OSBORN: Easy targets. The drunk mutant was surrounded by a few others now, and they didn't seem very invested-- so Norman decided to change that. Lifting his blaster again, he waited for the short high pitched hum to finish as it charged before firing it directly at them. "Get your heads in the game, friends! It's never wise to be caught standing around!"

YOUNG JEAN: He was being cute but there was no way in hell that Jean was going to back down and they both knew it. “Have a little bit of faith here. I can participate in a major fight without dying along the way.” She wanted to quip that even if she did die she could be brought back, but with the Five broken up it there was a sobering possibility that it may not be possible. The idea that Jean and the others were actually gone wasn’t a reality that Jean wanted to face so she just traced the lines of Scott’s face instead. “There isn’t.” Her voice was firm. “I love you, Slim. Let’s stop talking now and get this over with.”

REMY: He hadn’t accepted the original invitation — not that he’d gotten one, and he wouldn’t have anyway. As much as he wished to confront the child napping, mutant killing monster that was ~their president, Remy had stayed behind with Dawn, watching the small child go through the motions, completely and blissfully unaware of what happened to her mother. He’d stayed on the couch, keeping an eye on Dawn who’d been smashing toys together at her place on the floor, and he hadn’t really moved. Not unless needed. It was a cold state to exist in, and it was one that had only grown since he’d learned the news. And found out that resurrection was impossible. It was the aid of Lorna’s aunt and Illyana’s lack of behest ( it truly was a dull motivation ) that finally got Remy to his feet, where he put one foot in front of the other and felt as hard stone turned to too soft grass. As the sun hit his eyes, he had the staggering thought that he didn’t want to be here. In the chaos, in the fight. It was loud and cumbersome and it immediately drowned out his thoughts of Lorna, filling his mind with necessary but unwanted cues from the field around him. Sucks when your body didn’t want to die, but your mind didn’t care. “T’is is the B team?” he laughed, though the sound was dull. “Glad t’ see we finally made it.”

LAURA: With less people readily available they all had a shift in responsibility. Laura had heard what Emma was planning but she had been waiting on a call to see if they needed to try and storm C.R.A.D.L.E. again. When Illyana came she didn’t have much choice in the matter though and as they were more or less dumped at the scene light eyes looked over Remy’s ragged form. He looked rough but she would’t comment on it. “Or the reserves.” Her claws popped out as Laura flexed her fingers. Before she could say anything else there was a sound that grated against her senses and she lunged forward to smash her body into Remy’s to send them both flying to the side and away from the blast.

EMMA: The plan was simple. They’d beat Norman Osborn into submission and Emma would smash his brain into a billion pieces so they could take him into custody where he’d spend eternity drooling on himself. That being said, simple plans always had complications. One moment they were discussing about how to move and the next there was a hot flash as an attack smashed into the group, sending them all toppling. Had she had any indication or warning Emma would have encased herself in diamond but instead her body got tangled up in Scott’s and she hit the ground hard, head cracking into the turf.

CAROL: The blast was loud and immediate, slamming into the core ground with such force it dispersed them in odd directions and shoved them hard into the ground. Carol’s helmet came down to cover her face and just before her features were obscured, she gave Sam a knowing look. It was time. With a one track mind, Carol pushed off into the air and did what she did best — she sent continuous blasts straight for Osborn while also flying straight towards him. If she had to, she was going to tackle that man and slingshot him into the moon.

SAM: The second the mutants went down Sam was airborne. His wings unfurled before he launched himself upwards. The metal tightened around his body so he could do a barrel turn and fling the shield towards Norman’s head. “Consider this the green light, Cap.” He spoke over to his com to Carol even though they were both in the sky. The shield ricocheted back and he managed to keep it in his grasp even though the shockwave reverberated up his forearm. “Give me some kind of confirmation that you guys on the ground are okay and able to rally right now.”

TONY: Tony wasn’t able to get a shield up in time to block it completely, but he tried to get it out in front of both him and Nat. He was wearing a suit-- a real Iron Man suit-- and was getting real annoyed at the tech Osborn was wearing on his arm. After being knocked back a bit, but still able to get up, he groaned. “I know it’s rude to ask someone to give a gift back, but that guy is driving me crazy.” He felt guilty enough that he had unwillingly let the President have a custom made suit-- now it was in their face.

SCOTT: The ringing in his ears was deafening, drowning out all other sound around him. Picking his head up, Scott was careful opening his eyes. At the moment, he couldn’t feel much, especially not if he were still wearing his visor. When the grass tinged red, Scott let his eyes fully open and immediately, the world began to spin. He couldn’t tell where he was in time and space, just that he was still in the field, though he couldn’t tell when, either. Were they still fighting Osborn? There was a weight on his chest and he tried to look down to distinguish it, but when he picked his head up, he got hit by a wave of nausea that flattened him again. Finally, he resigned himself to looking at the red tinged sky and after what felt like centuries, he finally managed to see the tangle of limbs that were spread around him. And that Emma was the weight on his chest. Gripping her shoulder, he said her name though he couldn’t hear it through the muffle in his ears. He just knew she was unresponsive and another weight dipped in his chest. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Scott caught Emma in his arms and looked to find the other mutants who had been taken out by the blast. “Emma come on,” he could finally hear himself say. “We need you.”

NATASHA: There was an unshakable feeling that this was her fault. Even though she was just one piece in the puzzle Natasha thought of Wanda going up in flames and her stomach turned. Natasha had died to save the world and been resurrected to help get her friends murdered. She had been on the sidelines watching Steve and Sam but her body instinctively snapped to fold against Tony’s. She stumbled alongside him before flicking her Widow’s Bites on and pulling her batons from her back. “I feel like common rules of courtesy don’t apply here. I have a lot of things to say and none of them are nice.”

ILLYANA: Being knocked on her ass was never something Illyana enjoyed. Her teeth were bared as she pulled herself to her knees and looked at those around her. “Do I need to move her out of here?” She asked Scott before focusing on Erik, Nate and the others. “I get you close enough and you end this. Can you do that?”

OSBORN: There was always a trick up his sleeve. When the blast knocked everyone back, Norman had a chance to get his glider out. He moved to block Sam's shield, sending it back to him. Carol started shooting at him and he was able to dodge the first few, but as he moved there was shot that landed at the worst angle when he tried to block it. It hit his glider and knocked him straight off of it-- Norman landed with a harsh thud into the grass. He flipped onto his back as Carol got closer, aiming his blaster at her even though his vision was a bit blurred from his impact against the ground.

CAROL: Seeing Norman crash land had Carol reigning her powers in, her body going into a nose dive to reach him faster. Just as she’d anticipated, Osborn fired a blast at her and Carol instinctively fired one back, the clash of energy sending a shockwave in both directions. It immediately knocked her off course and she was back on the ground before she could readjust long enough to stay in the air. But she was close to Osborn. Only a couple of feet away. She walked towards him. “It’s over.” she raised her fist, charging up another blast. “Surrender now.”

RIPLEY: Everything was falling apart. Ripley had kind of expected it but knew she couldn’t stick around. As Carol approached Norman it seemed like a perfect getaway. There was no air kiss goodbye or snide comment. Star just turned and flew away. It wasn’t being a coward. It was waiting for a better opportunity.

LAURA: Her skin was already regrowing from where the blast had burned it off after taking a direct hit to ensure Remy didn’t. As Scott clutched Emma her head hilted to the side, trying to listen to the breathing and heartbeat. “Not dead.”

ILLYANA: “Slap her.” Illyana suggested with a one shouldered shrug. Why were all of their telepaths unable to keep it together? “Think fast, Scott.” She tilted her head towards where the Avengers seemed to have Norman against the rails. “We’re running out of time.”

TONY: “Yeah, alright-- I’m sick of this.” Now was the perfect time-- Carol had Osborn well distracted and well covered, but that blaster on his hand could still do some damage. He shot Nat a quick point before moving over to her. “Here, take this--” He handed her a small gadget, then pointed at Osborn. “Once I get that blaster pointed away from Carol, shoot his tech. That should disable it-- will disable it.” Yeah, it will. It will work. Before waiting for much of a response from Nat, Tony flew a bit closer and shot a blast close to Norm’s head. It caused the President to turn in surprise, moving his repulser away from Carol and giving Nat the window to fire.

ERIK: Erik took the opportunity to use his powers to grab various metal scraps from around the field and the seats and send them over to Norman once his tech was turned off. He bent then around the President’s arms in multiple places and then dug them into the turf, pinning the man in place so he couldn’t get up.

NATASHA: In the day since their mind control had been exposed Natasha and Tony had sat together with heads bowed. It was violating. It was wrong. She ached to fire off a few rounds and stretch her legs at the barre, but instead she had listened to Tony go over the schematics of a machine he had created at a breakneck speed. He had built the latest model of Osborn’s suit and he could take it down. The tiny device was fashioned above the Widow’s Bite on her arm and as Tony and the others got Norman properly subdued Nat began to fire it up. She waited until the moment a signal was given and then there was a buzz and a slight tingling sensation in her arm as it activated. Norman’s suit fell apart then, the lights flickering and dying out. As the machinery locked, Nat looked up to give Tony a nod of affirmation. “Looks like it worked to me.”

OSBORN: Norman had his arm pointed straight up and over at Carol, matching her glowing fist. He was still in a bad position, back flat against the ground. But he could still fire. He debated it. But before he made a decision, a strange shock of energy shot up the arm covered in tech and he felt it grow heavy and lose power. His ears were still ringing with the sound of static as he felt his arms being pinned down. It was a futile attempt, but Norman struggled against it. “Shit.”

SCOTT: Scott gave Illyana a look before refocusing on Emma. “Come on,” his tone was urgent. “You’re really going to let Osborn take you down, come on.” When Emma didn’t stir, he almost had to take Illyana up on her offer, though it wouldn’t have been him. But hey, it was that or a bucket of water, wasn’t it? “You’ve got ten seconds to open your eyes before someone ends up ruining that.” he brushed her hair out of her face, periodically looking put to make sure the Avengers had Osborn occupied. “Or someone ends up breaking your nose again.” it was a light joke — a very, very, light joke.

EMMA: Gods, did her head hurt. Thoughts were pulsing around her in synch with her headache and at Scott’s comment one eye fluttered open and then the other. “I will lobotomize you, Summers.” She rasped out before blinking a few times against the fog. Roused from what would later be diagnosed as a bad concussion, Emma took a second to center herself and look at Scott’s face, hidden by his hood and visor. A plan. They had a plan. Osborn was somehow on the ground and it seemed like Erik had done his part so it was only fitting that Emma would do hers. She was unsteady as she rose to her feet and used Scott for stabilization as she teetered on high heels towards Norman was pinned down. Crouching so that blonde hair nearly brushed his face, Emma resisted the urge to vomit and hoped instead she looked as intimidating and badass as she knew she was. “I hope you realize now that I am a woman of my word who holds true to her promise. Enjoy your new normal, Normie.” One finger tapped against his forehead then, a telepathic blast obliterating all clear thought. She wouldn’t kill him. He was a proud man, someone too full of himself. Even Emma thought that and she loved her reflection like Narcissus did his. This little mental prison would be agony for one like him. Her own head throbbed but as his eyes glazed over and his mouth went slack Emma had a moment of satisfaction before she tumbled backwards out of her crouch. “I win.”

SCOTT: Scott was there, supporting her at a distance while she worked on Norman. He could tell that she’d been just as rattled by that blast as he, except now she was using her abilities and that would just further drain her. When she was done with him, Scott caught her against him and eased them back, away from the Avengers that were circling. “You did enough.” he said, a hidden thank you underneath. “It’s time to go home.” Home, whatever that meant for them.

ILLYANA: “I hope he likes wearing diapers.” Illyana snorted as Emma finished. She waited until Scott had the telepath in his arms before she moved forward and raised her sword. “Home is anywhere but here.” Her hair was getting frizzy and her shorts were sticking. Russia lacked humidity, thankfully, and even though Illyana had bounced from there to hell to the states she refused to acknowledge this climate as her own. “Yes, you won. You can put your tits away now.” The words were said with love but coupled with an eye roll. As her portal lit up Illyana, Scott, Emma and the few other mutants in the vicinity vanished from view.

SAM: They had gotten there. It was decidedly a rocky path but Sam reminded himself to be happy about the end goal. Osborn was no longer an immediate threat and somehow - surprisingly - he hadn’t been murdered. They had done it the right way. One day they could try and reverse Emma’s work so he could stand trial but in that moment Sam was content with shifting some of the metal bindings Magneto had fastened and hauling Osborn upright even though he immediately slumped over. Glancing over at Erik, Sam tipped his head in thanks. “Tell Emma we appreciate it. We appreciate all of you. We couldn’t have done this if we weren’t working together. And about your people... we’ll have everyone look for Hope and Eva. Wanda’s --- she’s a friend.” Teammate. Had been for years. “I’m takin’ him to the Raft. You need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

ERIK: Erik stopped a few paces back as Sam gathered Osborn. He was tense as he watched, still slightly hung up on the fact that the now former President was still alive and Erik allowed him to be. But Emma's words had gotten to him. Perhaps being around people like the Avengers had started to get to him as well. Or maybe it was starting to grow closer to his daughters, then watching them die. Whatever it was, it made him feel strange. But when he offered a thankful nod to Sam in return, he felt oddly proud that a conversation between the two of them could happen. Things were different. But that was good. "Thank you." His words were soft but sincere. "And I will, once she's in her right mind again." Then he turned to gather and leave with the rest of the mutants.

SAM: There wasn’t much left to say. Calling H.A.M.M.E.R. agents wasn’t an option but there were still some good S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he had on speed dial. They arrived shortly after Magneto left, tying Osborn down before carting him off even though he was obviously incapacitated. As his vacant twisted face rolled out of view Sam tried to shrug off the image of the green. They still had a lot to do. C.R.A.D.L.E. needed to be instantly dismantled and H.A.M.M.E.R. wiped out. There was also the issue of the murdered mutants. But when Sam tried to think about it all his head spun. He needed war and rest. More rest than his five hours he was getting. Once the agents began to clear the field Sam lifted up in the air with the weight of the shield on his back along with the stress of what was to come.

#event: dark reign #dark reign: end of the reign #chatlog: end of the reign #momevents

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