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buildingthegrandtour · 9 months

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The Seance

My friends and I are logical people. We know you’re not supposed to mess around with forces that are stronger than you, but being stuck in quarantine for so long we got desperate to find anyway to entertain ourselves.

It was Abigail that came up with the idea to do something that was a cross between bloody Mary and a seance. And Uncle she had just the previous year discovered that she had had lost a battle with cancer not too long ago. She had wanted to see him again because they did not have much time to get to know each other. She thought instead of calling for bloody Mary that she could call for him. It was supposed to be a lark, a passing thought. We always loved our games when we were children and we were feeling in a childish mood after having a few weed blunts smoked between us.

We didn’t do it that night of course. We were high a little too lazy. But about a week later the thought came up again. Once again during our circle, Abigail brought her uncle up again and I believe it was Brianna that decided hey why not?

Since Lacey had actually owned the house that we all inhabited together, she was the one that used the master bedroom. The master bath was built like a hallway, the 10-ft long marble countertops across from the large closets with sliding mirror doors moving on to lead to a large bathtub that was big enough to fit all four of us. The other bathrooms were of a decent size but not big enough to accommodate everybody, so we decided we would use Lacey’s bathroom for the ritual. We all decided our parts. Brianna got the candles, Lacey cleaned up any clutter on the bathroom counter, and I coached Abigail in a dream ritual that would help focus her concentration on her uncle. After about 20 minutes had passed everybody was ready to commence.

We scattered the candles all across the countertops and even put a few in the bathtub. We lit maybe 30 candles, what a lovely fire hazard! But we got a nice ambient lighting when we turned the bathroom light off, and we were able to have a good distance between us all as we stood in front of the mirror. Abigail chanted. And then his face appeared.

He was a very handsome man, had a very Humphrey Bogart quality about him. He was well-dressed, well groomed, he had an air of charm about him that made us involuntarily want to swoon. The smile on Abigail’s face widened to show her teeth.

The rest of the ritual was rather unremarkable. They spoke of inane things, such as how he enjoyed people watching it Coney Island when he was alive, and how Abigail enjoyed going down Wikipedia rabbit holes whenever she discovered a new movie or TV show.

At one point she asked: “what’s it like to-”

Instead of finishing her sentence, she paused, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling as she held a pensive gaze, the gears in her brain working overtime. After nearly a minute she continued.

“I seem to have lost my train of thought.”

I often wonder if she was going to ask what it’s like to die, and her sudden lapse was the supernatural’s way of letting her know that question was against the rules.

We dismissed the specter, turned on the lights, put out the candles, and everyone cleaned up except for Lacey who stayed behind to put her bathroom back in order.

2 weeks later at least he had gone on a business trip. She had decided to visit Coney Island while she was in New York. She had heard snatches of rumors about people disappearing over a long period of time. One person speculated it was the work of the same culprit, while another person insisted that it was just how New York is sometimes and they are not connected.

During her down time Lacey had decided to investigate. Going back in internet archives, newspapers, and even microfiche, she had discovered some disappearances from Coney Island. She agreed with the second person that none of them seemed connected. The victims were all different people of all shapes, colors, sizes, and ages. They did not disappear from the same places. They did not seem to have any correlating hobbies.

Still, when Lacey came home she had become obsessed. She spent her free time hunched over a computer looking for more information on these disappearances. Trying to look into the lives of the victims to discover what it is they had that strung them all together. Maybe it was just New York, but she insisted the perpetrator was the same.

After cities started to lift their quarantine, we went out more. We did more things and we’re no longer bored to tears and childish games. Lacey, however, never left that computer. She never stopped looking for that connection.

One evening as everybody was sitting around deciding what to do for the upcoming holiday, we heard a scream, a crash, and thuds coming from Lacey’s bathroom. We all ran to check on her, being greeted by the site of her grabbing her eyes, blood running through the cracks of her fingers, knuckles torn and bleeding, the broken mirror still picking off shards falling down.

The lights went out.

The screaming and banging stopped.

A suddenly came to the realization that I had not been breathing for a while. In fact I had heard no noise even breathing coming from Brianna and Abigail. Then suddenly it was loud. I wanted to scream for everyone to shut up, the noise was too loud.

Then it fell silent again, and the light suddenly came back on. Lacey was nowhere to be seen.

I’d like to tell you what I did after that but I honestly don’t remember. I woke up the next morning, a huge chunk of my life missing from my brain. Something seemed very very wrong. I went downstairs to Lacey’s room. She was not there. I went to the bathroom and everything was fine. No broken mirrors, no blood stains on the carpet or counter, nothing that seems like it would be out of the ordinary.

But I couldn’t shake that feeling that something terrible had just happened.

I don’t know how long it took for that memory to come drudging its way back up to my consciousness again. Lacey clutching at her face. The Scarlet liquid seeping through cracks dripping down her wrists. The frantic movement as Lacey threw herself around the perimeter. It was haunting.

Soon I myself became obsessed. Just another person disappearing, but this was not Coney Island.

But I see him sometimes. And Lacey was right. The first person she had heard about this from was right. All of these disappearances were connected.

Abigail got a little too drunk and a little too high and decided that she wanted to try the seance ritual again to talk to her uncle one more time. We all agreed we would try the ritual again, but I insisted it was in a different bathroom from the master. The other two girls couldn’t understand why I suddenly held an aversion, why I wouldn’t go near the master bedroom. It was like they had completely forgotten what had happened to Lacey, like she was still on that business vacation.

I relented and followed suit to set up the ritual one more time. Once again I played coach to Abigail in the dream witch wool to keep her focus on her uncle while Brianna took up the task of gathering the candles and cleaning off the bathroom counter. Even though there were less of us it took less time to get prepared, and before long we were standing in front of that mirror, our faces glowing in the candlelight.

Abigail chanted his name.

And within seconds we all found out quickly how it was that these disappearances Lacey obsessed over were connected.

Lacey’s face appeared, her eyes had been gouged out. She was scratching her face, nails bloodied, those knuckles of her still torn. There was a crash as she launched forward, the mirror breaking, shards falling down onto the counter.

The candles didn’t flicker when they went out. Instead it was like the lights being turned off, every flame extinguished immediately as though they were connected to a switch that somebody had just turned off.

Screaming, crashing, banging, and I could even hear the faint sound of a drip. Abigail was screaming and pleading for it to stop.

The candles lit up again, and we could see that the mirror was not broken or even slightly damaged. Again there was no sign that anything had dripped onto the floor or the counters. It was like none of it had happened.

Save for the fact that Abigail was missing.

And in that perfect mirror was Abigail’s uncle. That charming smile painted across his face, his eyes sparkling in the flames though they seemed hollow.

“It seemed your friend was getting a little too close to my secret,” the man said and a voice like honey.

It was in this moment that I realized why it was that Abigail had not been told about this Uncle.

He lost his charm when his smile widened and the sparkle from his eyes faded.

“Which one of you shall I choose next I wonder.”

His voice was like an oil spill drowning me in salt water filled with decaying crawfish corpses. I couldn’t move. Brianna couldn’t move. We looked at each other, the horror we felt was palpable enough that it could be cut by one of those shards of broken glass that seemed to mend themselves so easily.

Brianna doesn’t seem to remember. But me, I am obsessed. I cannot stop learning about these people that he had abducted, wondering if he had gouged their eyes out like he had done to Lacey. Wondering what other sick things he had done to them. And I see him sometimes in the reflection of the monitor. And I know who it was he picked.

#short stories #creepypasta #the seance

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snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome.

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull.

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them.

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips.

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right.

To get it perfect.

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury.

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,” he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers.

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet.

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh.

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face. You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile.

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you.

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence.

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you.

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract.

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone.

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive.

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean.

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt.

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay.

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry.

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it.

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control.

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised.

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift.

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment.

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner.

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side.

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end.

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

1K notes · View notes

dekuskacchan · 3 years

Text

the brightest light is you

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681833

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Hi friends!! This fic is a secret santa gift for my love @lonely-rabbit (you should totally follow her) and our lovely fambly. The prompts were “First Christmas,” and “Proposals.” I hope you like it! <3

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December 10th

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Katsuki saw the sign to the pet store before Izuku did, and immediately knew he was in trouble. Why is there a pet store inside a fucking strip mall?

“Kacchan, look!” Izuku pointed at a baby, chocolate colored bunny, sleeping in an enclosure on display in the front window.

“Absolutely not.”

“But look how cute she is!” Izuku pouted.

“Deku, we already have a cat.”

“Yeah, so she’d have a friend!”

“No, she’d get fucking eaten.”

“Chip would never, she’s too polite.”

“She’s a fucking demon!” Katsuki snapped.

“Pleeeease, Kacchan? She needs a home, and it’s just in time for Christmas,” Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s middle, staring up at him.

Katsuki averted his gaze and gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't resist Izuku's pleading eyes.

“No. Don’t give me that fucking look.”

To Katsuki’s surprise, Izuku just laughed and released his hold on him.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” Izuku sighed dramatically, “let’s go before I get too attached. I’m hungry, anyway.”

Katsuki watched as he walked away, considering for a moment.

“God fucking dammit,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to snap a picture before Izuku noticed.

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December 18th

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“Look at these, Kacchan!” Katsuki looked up from an outrageously priced scarf to see Izuku holding the most hideous sweaters he had ever seen. They were bright red, each decorated with a matching design that, when held together, formed a Christmas tree that was adorned with real tinsel, glitter, and colored pom-pom ornaments.

“Fuck no,” Katsuki spat, and Izuku burst into laughter.

“Why not? They’re perfect,”

“No way in hell you’re getting me to wear that shit,” Katsuki snapped.

“I can think of a few ways,” Izuku winked. Katsuki sputtered, pink dusting his cheeks.

“C’mon, Kacchan, it’s Christmas! We have to get ugly sweaters.”

It was their first Christmas together since buying their new house, and Izuku had insisted on decorating accordingly. Apparently that also included embarrassing the hell out of Katsuki.

“I don’t have to do shit.”

“Please?” Izuku pouted his lip.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Fine,” he growled, while Izuku cheered and tossed the sweaters into the shopping cart.

“Oh, we could get matching Santa h-”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Deku,” Katsuki pushed the cart forward, swiftly exiting the clothing section of the store as Izuku giggled behind him.

----------------------------------

It had been at least 30 minutes since Katsuki had seen Izuku. Where the fuck had he gone? This shop was too small to get lost in. He had checked all the aisles twice, but Izuku was nowhere to be found.

“Goddammit, every time,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to call again.

“Oh, Kacchan! There you are!” Katsuki jumped as a mop of green curls popped up from behind a giant red bin. How had he missed that?

“Jesus, Deku! You scared the shit out of me. How long have you fucking been there?,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Way too long. I’m trying to pick out lights, come help me,”

Katsuki sighed as he approached and took in the sight before him.

Izuku was muttering incomprehensibly to himself as he knelt amongst a messy pile of packages, each containing string lights of different sizes, shapes and colors.

“Those white ones in the big box,” Katsuki pointed, interrupting Izuku’s train of thought, “they’ll match the walls and the trim on the house."

Izuku looked up at Katsuki and beamed.

“You’re so smart.”

“Damn right,” Katsuki grinned, “and we’re getting a shit ton. We’re gonna have the best fucking house in the neighborhood," he pulled five boxes of lights from the bin, tossing them into the cart.

“Okay, Kacchan,” Izuku laughed as he cleaned up his mess.

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Their shopping cart was practically overflowing with decorations now, but Izuku didn’t seem to notice, excitedly pulling Katsuki all over the store.

“We already have three of these, nerd,” Katsuki watched as Izuku pondered over a vast selection of snowglobes.

“Yes, but not little ones! We could put these all over the house,” Izuku turned to face Katsuki, holding up a miniature globe with Dynamight’s signature gauntlets inside. Katsuki sighed and draped an arm around Izuku’s shoulder, knowing his mind was already made up.

“Could give this one to your mom,” Katsuki pointed to one that was large, green and orange, with “Wonder Duo” engraved on the front. Inside were little statues of Dynamight and Deku, posed dramatically in battle.

“She likes-,” Katsuki paused, abruptly letting go of Izuku and all but sprinting away, disappearing behind a shelving unit.

“Kacchan what’s-,” Izuku called, startled. He gasped when Katsuki returned with a box three times his size.

It was a giant, twelve foot tall statue of a Yeti wielding a staff. Katsuki poked his head around the side, grinning wickedly in delight.

“Kacchan, where would we even put that?” Izuku stared in disbelief.

“We’ll make room,” Katsuki grunted.

“Make room where?”

“We can put it next to the fireplace.”

“Kacchan, that’s where the stairs are.”

“Fuck the stairs.”

“That thing is taller than our ceiling,” Izuku stifled a laugh as Katsuki struggled to balance the weight of the box.

“Then we’ll put it outside,” Katsuki huffed in frustration.

“I don’t think our neighbors would like that, it’s scary.”

“Fuck the neighbors, this is badass.”

Izuku was laughing in earnest now, tears coming into his eyes.

“I can’t get a bunny, but you can get a giant monster?”

“This is way cooler than a fucking bunny.”

“I’m blaming you if we get in trouble with the landlord.”

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December 20th

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“That’s not food, Chip!” Izuku cried. “Let go!”

Katsuki snickered, slicing vegetables to add to a pot of bubbling curry while Izuku struggled to protect the tree from their cat.

“Shit!”

A resounding thud came from the living room, and Katsuki sighed as he dumped the ingredients into the pot.

“I need help here!” Izuku called desperately as Katsuki entered the room.

Izuku was on the floor, becoming increasingly tangled in ropes of tinsel as Chip rolled in it like she’d struck gold.

“I give up Kacchan, she won’t let- stop laughing! Can you grab her please? She keeps nibbling me” Izuku scowled.

Struggling not to choke on laughter, Katsuki whistled, quickly catching Chip’s attention.

“C’mere, you little shit, I’ve got something that tastes better than Deku,” Katsuki kneeled, dangling a piece of chicken in front of him. The tabby sprinted to him and happily devoured her prize.

“Dumb fucking cat,” he muttered under his breath.

“She likes you more than me,” Izuku chuckled, untangling himself from his tinsel prison to finish wrapping it around the tree.

“Course she does. She only likes the best,” Katsuki grinned, scratching Chip's chin as she purred and rubbed against his knee.

“There,” Izuku stood back to admire his handiwork, “I think it just needs the star now.”

“Can you even reach, shortstack?” Katsuki teased, watching Izuku struggle on his tiptoes.

“Of-” Izuku grunted,” of course I can.”

Wordlessly, Katsuki wrapped his arms around Izuku’s middle, lifting him up with ease to place the silver star atop the tree.

“It looks good, right?” Izuku grinned as Katsuki lowered him back down, still hugging him from behind.

“Yeah. Nice work, nerd,”

“Thanks, Kacchan.”

“Hm.”

“Christmas is gonna be great,” Izuku whispered.

“Be more fun if we just stayed home,” Katsuki grumbled into Izuku’s neck.

“That could be fun,” Izuku laughed, turning in Katsuki’s arm to hug him properly, “but it’ll be good to see our parents. It’s been over a month.”

“Tch. I guess,”

“Thanks for making dinner, Kacchan,” Izuku squeezed him tight and tilted his head up for a kiss.

“It’s gonna fucking burn if you don’t let go of me,” Katsuki murmured against his lips, but kissed him back.

“Hmm. That’s fine,”

Katsuki snorted.

“Hey, I think the demon spawn is ready for round two,” he nodded at the sneaky cat, who was quietly approaching the tree again.

“Dammit,” Izuku whipped around, tearing out of Katsuki’s arms, “Chip, stay out of there!”

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December 25th

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Katsuki woke to soft lips on his forehead

“Good morning, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered in his ear.

“ ‘S too fuckin early, Deku,” Katsuki groaned, eyes still closed.

“It’s almost 10.”

“I said what I said.”

Izuku yelped in surprise as Katsuki grabbed his waist and unceremoniously tugged him down onto the bed.

“Kacchan, it’s Christmas,” Izuku laughed, snuggling into his side, despite himself, “we’re supposed to be at your parents house in three hours.”

“Mmm, fuck’m,” Katsuki grumbled.

“I have coffee brewing,”

Katsuki’s ears perked up, the scent suddenly filling his nose. Sighing, he stretched his free arm above his head and cracked his eyes open to see Izuku smiling at him, wearing that atrocious sweater he’d picked out. Katsuki tucked a stray curl behind his ear.

Too cute for his own damn good.

“Come on, Kacchan, I made breakfast too,” Izuku pulled Katsuki by the arm as he sat up.

“You made breakfast?” Katsuki was dubious as he slid his glasses up his nose.

“Yep. My specialty,”

“Canned cinnamon rolls?”

“Canned cinnamon rolls.”

“....fuck yeah.”

Katsuki had long since accepted his role as the chef in their relationship, because Izuku couldn’t cook to save his fucking life, but canned pastries were a guilty pleasure he knew he’d never shake.

----------------------------------

It was a peaceful morning. The sun peeked through the curtains, bathing the room in warm, golden hues as they sat by the fire, Chip asleep on the couch between them.

“Hey, nerd, go open your present,” Katsuki nudged Izuku, who had begun to doze on his shoulder.

“Hm?” Izuku yawned, stretching his arms, “oh, okay!"

“It’s that red one,” Katsuki pointed to the largest package under the tree. Izuku eyed him curiously before crawling to open the gift, excitedly ripping through the paper and tape to reveal...

Another box, wrapped in different paper.

Izuku raised both eyebrows at him in confusion and Katsuki grinned.

“What, you don’t like it?” he mocked offense, as Izuku narrowed his eyes, “I’m just fucking with you. Keep going.”

Katsuki chuckled and quietly slipped out of the room while Izuku’s attention was occupied.

“Kacchan, this is so unnecessary,” Izuku groaned, as he pulled out yet a third box.

“Maybe I’ll just take it back, then,” Katsuki declared loudly as he re-entered the room, startling an oblivious Izuku.

“Kacchan, when did-” Izuku gasped. Katsuki was leaning against the wall with a smirk, holding a familiar small, chocolate brown bunny in his arms.

“I had Shitty Hair get her after we left the mall,”

“She’s been here for two weeks?!” Izuku cried in disbelief.

“You think I took care of her on my own? Fuck no,” Katsuki grumbled, meeting Izuku halfway and carefully passing him the rabbit, “had your mom keep her. Picked her up last night while you were asleep.”

“I love her,” Izuku smiled, burying his face in Katsuki's chest, “thank you, Kacchan."

Katsuki sighed, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair.

“I just knew you’d never shut the fuck up about it."

“Did you introduce her to Chip yet?”

“Yeah. She couldn’t fucking care less.”

Izuku laughed, kissing the bunny's soft head.

“I told you they’d be friends,”

“Yeah. Friends," Katsuki rolled his eyes, "go sit, there's one more,"

Izuku smirked as he watched Katsuki stumble over the ruins of his prank to retrieve the gift.

“There’d better not be another box in there, Kacchan,” Izuku warned, warily taking the package.

“Just open it, dumbass,” Katsuki barked a laugh and joined him on the couch.

Izuku pulled the lid off the long box and stared. Inside was a tall, holographic photo frame filled with drawings Izuku and Katsuki made as children. When tilted to the side, the images changed to reveal photographs of the pair as Pro Heroes.

“Kacchan, you- you kept these?”

Katsuki shrugged.

“They were too badass to throw away,”

“Kacchan-” tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes again, “it’s perfect. You big softie.”

“Tch. I’m not the one crying,” Katsuki wiped the tears as they rolled down his cheeks.

Izuku laughed again.

“But you know I’m right. My turn now?”

Izuku didn't wait for his response, clambering over the sea of boxes for the present without putting his furry new friend down.

“Here!”

It was surprisingly heavy, and topped with a comically large bow.

“Shit, Deku, you put bricks in here?”

“Just open it, Kacchan,” Izuku watched him with excitement in his eyes.

Katsuki ripped the package open to reveal a thick, leather bound scrapbook, with Dynamight’s signature X on the front. The inside cover read, in handwriting Katsuki immediately recognized as Izuku’s,“The Legacy of Dynamight.”

His eyes widened as he flipped through the book of memories.

There were journal articles of him in action. Newspaper headings; “Pro Hero Dynamight makes his big debut!” and “Pro hero Dynamight saves Musutafu Children’s Hospital!

Then came the letters glued to the parchment paper, comprising the majority of the book. Katsuki’s mouth fell open as he read words, handwritten, that he’d never seen before.

There were letters from citizens that had watched him take down terrifying enemies, praising him for his good deeds. Letters from people he’d saved, grateful for the chance to see their families again.

Letters from sick children he’d visited in the hospital telling him how awesome he was, several thanking him for giving them the encouragement to keep fighting.

And finally, there were multiple pages filled with artwork. Most were children’s doodles of Dynamight in action and Dynamight saving the day, but there were also several beautifully drawn and painted portraits.

The remaining pages were blank, waiting to be filled.

Izuku had written on the inside back cover:

This is a book of memories, of growth, of victory, and salvation.

If you are so fortunate to see this, know you are reading a testament to the strongest person this world has ever known.

The fiercest hero and most loyal partner, who always wins and always saves.

The legacy of Katsuki Bakugou, Pro Hero Dynamight.

At the bottom, Izuku had doodled several explosions and grenades, and Katsuki grinned.

“I sent a letter to the World Hero Association Journals, asking people to send in their thoughts about Pro Hero Dynamight. There were so many! Those kids were full of stories. They think you’re really cool. And we can fill the rest of it with new memories, too," Izuku said softly, smiling at him.

Katsuki tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was speechless as he stared at Izuku.

“I just want you to know how proud of you I am. How proud everyone is. You’re amazing, Kacchan," Izuku was looking at him with those big, knowing eyes, and picked up an envelope Katsuki hadn't noticed at the bottom of the box.

“Open the last one.”

It was a page full of more doodles from when they were kids, and potential hero names they’d created. At the bottom read “Dynamight” in uneven, capital letters.

“We had the same idea,” Izuku laughed.

“Deku, I-” Katsuki stuttered, still unable to find the right words.

“I know.”

Did he know? Could he possibly know how much this fucking meant? How much he meant?

They both startled as Chip dove into the pile of wrapping paper on the ground, ripping it to shreds.

“Oh-wait, come back!” Izuku reached for his bunny as she leapt from his lap to explore the wreckage, but Katsuki grabbed his chin and pulled him back.

“I love you,” Katsuki said firmly, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It felt like hours, but Katsuki knew it had only been minutes when Izuku pulled back.

“Kacchan,” he was breathless as Katsuki’s lips trailed down his chin, “I don’t know where she went.”

“She’s fine,”

“But-”

“She’s fine.” Katsuki growled, silencing Izuku’s burst of laughter with another kiss.

----------------------------------

“It’s fuckin’ cold, Deku, let’s just take the car,” Katsuki complained, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“It’s not that cold, Kacchan. And look how pretty it is!” Izuku insisted.

Thin flecks of snow fell from the sky, disappearing into the fluff that already coated the neighborhood. Water dripped slowly from the tree branches as the snow began to melt in the sunlight. The air smelled of evergreen, crisp and cold enough that they could see their own breath.

“Besides, it’s not that far of a walk. Come on, we’re already running late,” Izuku hauled a bag of gifts over one arm, reaching for Katsuki’s hand with the other.

“Our house is the most badass,” Katsuki grinned, looking up at his prized statue. The giant took up half of their front yard, it's long shadow peering over their roof.

“Kacchan, that thing is an eyesore,” Izuku grimaced.

“Shut up. It’s cool as fuck as you know it."

Izuku laughed and shook his head.

“Do you think they’ll be alright without us?” Izuku worried as they walked, thinking of the animals they’d left at home.

“Who knows. Maybe the demon spawn will have eaten that fluff ball by the time we get home,” Katsuki teased.

“Kacchan! That’s not reassuring,”

“You asked,” Katsuki smirked, interlacing his fingers with Izuku’s, “they’ll be fine. They’re fucking animals. And she’s in her pen.”

----------------------------------

The walk was short, but still longer than Katsuki cared for in the cold.

“Oh, mom’s already here!” Izuku pointed to the small, blue car parked in front of the Bakugou household.

The house was huge, decked top to bottom in red and green lights that matched the trees in the yard.

“Hope the old hag hasn’t eaten her alive yet,” Katsuki mused.

“Kacchan, that’s not very nice,” Izuku playful shoved him, “we’d better not keep them waiting,”

They were greeted at the door by Inko Midoriya’s warm, smiling face.

“Merry Christmas boys!” She squealed, pulling them both in for a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, mom,” Izuku grinned, wrapping his arms around her. Katsuki hummed, loosely returning the embrace.

It was pleasantly warm inside, and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Oh, those are so cute!” Inko exclaimed as they discarded their coats, pointing to the abhorrent sweaters Izuku had insisted they wear, much to Katsuki’s chagrin.

Katsuki groaned as Inko poked at the ridiculous pom poms on his chest.

Deku’s lucky he’s so fucking cute.

----------------------------------

Katsuki had just finished bickering with Mitsuki when he overheard Izuku and Inko talking in the next room. He paused, leaning against the wall to listen unnoticed.

“I can’t believe you kept Nibbles a secret!”

Nibbles? Where the fuck did that name come from?

“It wasn’t easy, I was so excited! But I was more than happy to help. She’s very well behaved,”

“She is,” Izuku laughed, “thank you for taking care of her, mom.”

“Of course, dear. Katsuki came to check on us almost every day.”

Katsuki flushed as the pair laughed.

“What did he think of the scrapbook?” Inko asked excitedly.

“He liked it, I think. He was quiet, which is Kacchan for “thank you."

Inko was laughing again.

“I think it was a great idea, honey, it's very thoughtful."

“I’m just...really proud of him, y’know? He’s come so far. I don’t think words are enough,” Izuku was sniffling now, “gah, I'm sorry mom, I don’t mean to be so mushy.”

“Don’t apologize. You get it from me,” Inko chuckled, the emotion clear in her voice too, “did you like your other gift?”

“I love it, it’s so perfect. Did you know about that, too?”

“He asked me if I thought you’d like it. I said yes, of course,” Inko paused, “he really loves you, honey.”

“I know. “

Katsuki flushed deeper, leaning quietly against the wall.

Did he know?

----------------------------------

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Inko cried in appreciation for the snowglobe Katsuki had picked out, and locket they’d customized with a photo of the three of them. Mitsuki and Masaru enjoyed the cheesy as fuck digital photo frame Izuku had insisted on, with less teasing from Mitsuki than Katsuki had expected.

Everyone was delighted to see All Might when he stopped by to visit in the afternoon, but Katsuki barely even noticed him. In the crowded room, all he saw was Izuku.

Izuku, who had saved him so many times, in more than one sense of the word. Izuku, who had rooted for him his whole life, the only person who had never stopped truly believing in him, who had reminded him of his true purpose.

Izuku, who had never expected more of him than he had to give, but encouraged him endlessly to reach new heights.

Izuku, who was currently asleep in his lap, wrapped in his new blanket hoodie.

Izuku.

“Can i sit with you, dear?”

Katsuki was interrupted from his reverie by Inko’s soft voice.

“Sure,” he murmured, scooting over as best he could without waking the sleeping lump.

“Thank you for the gifts, they were very thoughtful.”

“Was Deku’s idea,” Katsuki lied. Inko laughed.

“Sure."

They sat together in a calming silence for a while, watching the flames crackle in the fireplace.

Katsuki was frequently comforted by Inko’s presence. She was a beacon of light, always warm and wise. He thought she was about to speak, but she was interrupted by Izuku’s sudden snores.

“He’s loud even in his fucking sleep,” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Inko chuckled, running a hand through her son’s hair.

“It adds to his natural charm,”

“Yeah, it’s real charming waking up to the sound of a fog horn in the middle of the night,” Katsuki grumbled, earning another musical laugh.

“You know, I don’t think I ever congratulated you on your new home,” Inko hummed.

“ S’just a house."

“Of course it is,” Inko smiled knowingly and patted his arm, “I’m very proud of you both.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, before squeezing her hand.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

----------------------------------

It was dark when they finally bid their farewells, and considerably colder outside.

“Drive safe, mom!” Izuku waved as Katsuki helped her into her car and shut the door.

“Let’s cut through the plaza on the way home, Kacchan, I want to see the lights,"

“That’s ten fucking minutes out of the way, Deku,” Katsuki growled.

“It’s our last chance to see before it gets taken down! It’ll be fun,” Izuku pleaded, hugging Katsuki’s arm.

“Tch. You’d better fucking walk fast."

Izuku grinned in victory as they left.

“Today was a nice day. I didn’t expect All Might to actually come by, since he’s so busy. It was good to see him,” Izuku thought aloud.

“Woulda been pissed if he didn’t,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Did you invite him, too?” Izuku looked at him in surprise as he shrugged, “that’s really nice, Kacchan,” he smiled, leaning his head on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“I guess.”

They hadn’t been walking long when the light show came into view. Izuku gasped, releasing Katsuki’s arm as he stared.

Silver and gold arches stretched across the narrow street, wrapped in bright, white lights. The roofs of the buildings were covered in brightly colored stars that illuminated the sparkling snow, and the lamp posts were decorated like candy canes. A large statue of silver bells sat in the green field at the center of the plaza.

Katsuki had to admit, it wasn’t all that unpleasant to look at.

Izuku was fucking loving it. Katsuki watched as he stood under an arch, beaming in delight as he admired the view.

Does he know? Katsuki thought back on the events of the day. Does he really know?

“Kacchan, come look,” Izuku called to him.

Katsuki was still lost in thought as he approached, and Izuku paused, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Are you o-,” Izuku startled as Katsuki’s hands came to cradle his face.

There were so many things left unsaid, things he’d wanted to say but didn’t know how. Katsuki had always been better with actions than words, and Izuku had always accepted that. He accepted and loved him as he was without a second fucking thought.

“The strongest person this world has ever known.”

Izuku made him stronger.

“The legacy of Dynamight.”

Staring into eyes that were as soft as the falling snow, Katsuki decided he knew.

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmured, looking him straight in the eyes.

Every moment had led to this.

“Kacchan?” Izuku breathed.

The legacy he cared for most was the one he’d forged with Izuku.

“Marry me.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Listen, I’m- I’m not good at this sappy shit. I don’t know what to fucking say. But-” Katsuki released he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Izuku’s palm brushed his cheek, “the world is a fucking shitty place. But it’s less shitty with you. And I don’t want anyone else by my side. So marry me,” Katsuki voice softened, “Please."

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of proposals, and there wasn’t a ring, but Izuku didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” he whispered. A breathtaking smile spread across his face that put all the fucking lights in the world to shame.

Katsuki met Izuku halfway, lips colliding in a passionate kiss.

The world could be ending for all Katsuki knew, and he couldn’t fucking care less.

Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, murmuring I love you against his lips, over and over again as he deepened the kiss, and nothing else mattered. Nothing mattered except for this fucking moment as they melted into each other, ignoring the world around them.

Just as their tongues brushed, Izuku pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

“We should-,” Izuku breathed with swollen lips, “should we go home?”

Reluctantly, Katsuki lifted his head and nodded.

“Yeah.”

----------------------------------

It was past midnight when Katsuki woke. They had fallen asleep on the couch, Izuku curled into his side with Nibbles, with Chip resting at their feet. He watched the shadows from the fireplace dancing on the wall, the room gradually becoming dimmer as the flames died out.

Izuku stirred in his sleep, tilting his head up to look at Katsuki with a blissful smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Kacchan.”

Katsuki pulled him closer.

“Merry Christmas, Deku.”

----------------------------------------

A/N: thank you for reading!!!!! this is the first fic i’ve ever posted so im super nervous lmao.

also: the italic lines are supposed to be Katsuki’s thoughts, I wasn’t sure if that was totally clear lmao

also!! big shoutout to @jekacatrina and @thatpinkbetch who helped me with the idea for kacchan’s present and also for the encouragement!!! (best parents ever)

#much love for my bunbun i hope you like!#and my fambly!#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bkdk #bakudeku #ktdk #katsudeku #fambly #birdie writes #my fic #its sfw but it gets a lil steamy just a heads up if that's not your cup of tea #how the fuck do you write a kiss?? i sure as hell dont know #anywho #thanks yall!

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jawritter · 3 years

Text

An Alpha And His Omega

Summary: Sometimes Alpha’s aren’t the assholes, sometimes words Omegas say things that can hurt too.

Written for: @flamencodiva and Diva’s Writing Challenge

Prompt: He was unconscious when I found him.

Warnings: Angst, virble arguments, the reader is a bitch of a bitch in this one, pining sickness, abo dynamics, sick!dean, language, smut, unprotected sex, knotting, claiming, scenting, protective Sam, (sam’s actually pretty scary in this one). I think that’s everything, sorry If I missed something.

Word count: 5860 (Whops)

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!reader

A/N: This fic was beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks again love! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy this one!

***MASTERLIST*** ***BECOME A PATREON***

There wasn’t a word to describe how angry you were right now with Dean Winchester. If you were strong enough, you’d kick his ass, and even though you were in excellent shape for an omega, you still couldn’t hold a candle to the big, brooding Alpha.

Dean had been in a bad mood for weeks now. Well, months if you think about it. You’d known Dean for years, ever since you were kids growing up at Bobby’s while your father’s went on hunting trips together, and you always got along well enough, better than most unmated Alphas did with unmated Omegas.

You attributed that to the life the two of you lived. It wasn’t exactly ideal for having any sort of mate really, and you always took your suppressants when you were around Dean.

Then you met Jamie. He was a good guy, and an even better hunter. He had all the physical attributes you would look for in an Alpha, and he didn’t want to settle down and have a litter of pups. He literally just wanted someone he could trust to help him through his ruts, and you wanted someone to help you through your heats.

It was a win, win situation. You helped each other when you needed help, and went your separate ways without any attachments. You knew Jamie wouldn’t claim you, and you knew you could go through the physical work up without being attached to him. Without getting those dreaded feelings. When you started this little arrangement, you began to take a lower dosage of suppressants because it wasn’t good to take such a high dosage all the time, and with Jamie being on call you didn’t need to fight against your biology as much.

That’s when you started having trouble with Dean Winchester.

It began with the twenty questions every time you would leave and come back from being with Jamie for a few days. Then once, you caught him layering his scent on your clothes in your closet, like you wouldn’t notice. Then it was the constant pandering behind you. Wanting you to eat the food he’d bring you, or constantly checking in on you when you just wanted to be left alone.

Then it progressed to being a dick to Jamie when he’d come around on the rare off chance he wanted to hang out with you all at the bar. Tonight had been one of those nights, and it was an Alpha pissing contest between Dean, and an uninterested Jamie, who had just come there to drink.

Dean had stalked Jamie out to his car while you went to the bathroom before you were supposed to part ways with Jamie, but when you got out to the car you found Jamie on the ground, and a pretty amused Dean kneeling over him.

You were infuriated. Jamie had done nothing wrong, and as much as Dean denied it, you knew it was him that broke Jamie’s jaw tonight, not some random guy from the parking lot like Dean tried to say it was. If it wasn’t Dean, Jamie wouldn’t have broken off your arrangement when you dropped him off at home from the hospital, and had to call Dean to come and pick you up off the side of the road because it was too cold to walk across town.

“I swear Y/N, he was unconscious when I found him,” Dean said, trailing you as you walked into the library where Sam and Jack sat with a pile of books between them.

That was it, your last straw, between being an ass hole to your friend, and being as clingy as a newly mated Omega you had, had all of Dean’s shit you could take. Not even stopping to think about what was going to come out of your mouth, you rounded on the very surprised Alpha.

“Fuck off Dean!, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m SICK to fucking death of you being up my ass all the time. Now you've gone and messed up a good arrangement because you're nothing but a pompous, self absorbed Alpha, who thinks he has some sort of claim on me because I live under his roof. Well guess what buddy, you don’t own me, I’m not your Omega, and never will be, your good for nothing but a breeder, and I’m not interested in getting knocked up any time soon, so stay the fuck away from me!”

The words had tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and the high pitched whine that seem to fall from deep inside of Dean’s chest as he staggered backwards away from you like you had burned with a brander, was almost as impressive as the surprising growl that came from Sam at the table. Even Jack jumped back and moved away from the three of you.

“I KNOW you just did not call my brother nothing more than a breeder,” Sam said through gritted teeth, using his impressive height to tower over you, and make your inner omega cower as you backed away from him. “I suggest you take your little, too good for a Winchester, ass to your room and leave my brother alone before I rip your fucking throat out. You’d be lucky to have an Alpha like Dean, but bitches like you don’t deserve the man he is.”

You could do nothing but back down and submit to the fuming Alpha, forgetting about Dean momentarily as he continued to whine like a dog that had been kicked while he retreated to his room, leaving you to Sam’s own devices. Jack stayed rooted to the spot he’d moved to when Sam had erupted from the table, taking everything in with wide, doe-like eyes.

“You know, you're lucky I don’t throw you out on your ass right now,” Sam said, stalking in front of you like he wanted to rip your head clean off your shoulders.You had never seen the younger Winchester so angry in your life. “Dean let you move in here, gave you a roof over your head, runs behind you hand over fist, and this is how you thank him? By calling him a breeder?”

“I’m sorry Sam, it just slipped out. After what he pulled with Jamie…”

“What did you think was going to happen, Y/N? Dean’s had a crush on you since we were barely teenagers, and when you stopped taking the suppressants it only got worse for him when he could actually scent you. Dean wouldn’t have hurt Jamie, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, and if he says he didn’t hit him, then he didn’t do it.”

You stood there, wide eyes staring at Sam in complete disbelief. Dean had a crush on you? It couldn’t be true, and if it was Dean had hidden it well. You had known him pretty much all your life, and while you always found him mildly clingy and annoying, it never even crossed your mind that Dean was harboring feelings towards you.

He was always a ladies man, the guy that could bed any girl he ever wanted, and you just never even suspected it.

“Sam, I…��

“Just, save it Y/N. But if I hear you talking to my brother like that again you're out of here. Got it?”

You nod, and make your way to your bedroom with your mind completely clouded and shock set deep in your bones. You paused outside of Dean’s closed door and started to knock on it, to apologize to him, but you just couldn't do it.

What if Sam was wrong, and you made a complete idiot of yourself? What if Dean didn’t like you, or have feelings for you at all? Hell, you weren’t even sure how you felt about him!

So you swallow hard, and keep walking, making your way to your own room, and drinking yourself to sleep with thoughts of Dean that you never let yourself think about before, rolling around in your mind.

The next few weeks in the bunker were tense to say the least. Dean barley left his room at all, and when he did he’d hardly speak to anyone, but he didn’t speak to you especially. Sam couldn’t even get him to go on a simple salt and burn with him upstate, Dean insisted he call Eileen to go with him.

Of course, Sam blamed you, and you felt that you deserved it.

Dean had a lot of good qualities. Sure, he could be a totally self absorbed asshat, but what person living and breathing, didn’t have their moments when they weren’t so fun to be around. Dean was loyal to a fault. Self sacrificing on a level you had never seen in anyone else, supernatural being or human. When he loved someone, he loved them completely. He gave more of himself than he rightfully should have had to in life, and that had its effect on him. It made him clingy and overprotective at times, and it made him a little bit of a pest, but looking back, you regretted ever saying that he was good for nothing but a breeder.

Dean Winchester was so much more than that. Sam was right, and the more you thought about it, the more right you discovered he was.

There was one side of Dean, a dark one that he carried from years of being in hell, becoming a knight of hell, and just having to grow up in this life in general, had left a stain on him. It told you not to challenge him, and not to push him right now. It said it in the way his body tensed every time you walked into the room since your little fight.

You wanted to apologize to him desperately, but you also didn’t want to push your luck with him, and get your ass kicked out. You were lucky you hadn’t had it done to you already.

This morning had started out just like any other. Sam had come back from his run, and was preparing his rabbit food, you were sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, and your laptop open, searching for a case, and everything seemed to be going on as it always did, everything but the blatantly empty space across the table from you that Dean normally occupied.

You suddenly lost your appetite for your coffee, or anything really, and pushed it away from you as Sam came and sat down at the opposite end of the table, his eyes scanning yours for a moment before he let out a long sigh, sitting his fork down and rubbing his hands over his face. The tension building in the room was almost tangible.

“I’m sorry Sam, I really am,” you finally tell him in a small voice, unable to look up in his eyes that you could feel staring back at you. “I didn’t mean what I said to Dean, I really didn’t. I was just so angry with him...I would go apologize to him, but I’m afraid he’ll try and take my fucking head off.”

“It’s not all you, Y/N,” he finally told you, running his fingers through his hair with a huff of irritation. “I probably made things worse when I exploded the way I did, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t handle the situation properly. That’s on me.”

A long silence passed between the two of you, and it seemed almost deafening. Until, finally, Sam spoke again, his eyes lingering on the hallway leading towards Dean’s room as he did.

“It’s not like Dean to hide away like this. I’m worried about him. He’s close to his rut, and that’s why he was being clingy towards you. He was trying to get your attention. He hasn’t been himself ever since. I don’t think he’s really even eating.”

“Do you think it would help if I left, just packed my shit and got away from him?” you asked Sam, but he just shook his head before standing with his plate.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to solve anything. I do think that years of suppressants may have deadened your senses to what Dean’s sensing, and that you need to give Dean a chance. He very well could be your true mate, and you just don’t know it.”

You thought about that in silence for a moment before you were finally able to make your voice work again. Could Dean really have been your true mate all this time? It didn’t seem real to you. Dean had never shown that he was interested in you, until recently when Jamie came around, and you had stopped using such strong suppressants.

Then it hit you. The suppressants were as strong, and Dean was probably able to really scent you for the first time.

The lump that formed in your throat felt like it was going to choke you to death, but you swallowed it, and looked up at Sam, who was now leaning on the bar watching you.

“What do I do, Sam? Where do I go from here?” you asked him, tears burning just below the surface. You had never felt so much regret in your life. Your heart literally hurt.

“Trust your instincts Y/N.This may not be easy, but what in life worth having ever is?”

For most of the morning, you spent your time pacing your room and ringing your hands, trying to decide what to do. You knew you had to do something. Dean hadn’t even come out of his room this morning, and you were becoming more and more worried about him by the second.

Consulting a few lore books had told you that the theory you and Sam had come up with this morning was more than likely the case. It said that when you're on strong suppressants long enough it can mask your scent to your mate completely, or even hide you from your true mate. It said that once you got started with the matting process that instinct would take over, and the rise in your body temperature would burn off the suppressants totally, giving you the ability to scent him as strongly as he could scent you.

You had decided that since Dean’s weakness was food, you were going to fix him some of his favorite pie, and bring it to him as a peace offering and see where things go from there. You had no sooner got to the kitchen though, when Sam slid in and told you to come with him before scurrying off to Dean’s room with you hot on his trail.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” you asked as you skidded to a stop in the open door way of Dean’s room. Dean’s back was to the door, and the covers pulled high up almost over his head. Sam was kneeling down in front of his brother with his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know, he’s burning up,” he told you, and you made your way cautiously around the bed to look at the Alpha that you had literally never seen ill a day in his life. Yet here he was, laying on his side, sweat forming just at his hairline, checks inflamed with fever, and shivering lightly.

“Dean,” you say softly, afraid to touch him, but something draws you closer to him all the same. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean’s darkened eyes looked up slowly to meet your gaze for a moment before he closed them again.

“What do you care,Y/N? All I’m good for is breeding right? So what’s one less Alpha in the world to you when you think I’m not worth your time anyway?”

If his words were intended to cut, then they did their job, because it took everything in you to hold back the whine that threatened to fall from your throat as his words seemed to slice into your very soul.

“Dean, come on, you know I didn’t mean it, I was just irritated with you and…”

“Save it, Y/N.” Dean said, not even bothering to open his eyes, and turning his back to you and Sam. Evidently, he was done talking.

“I’ll go call Jody, she may be able to tell us what’s going on with you,” Sam said, mouthing for you to stay here, and talk to his brother, earning him a death glare that you hoped showed him just how much you wanted to strangle him right now.

How the fuck where going to get Dean to talk to you if he didn’t want too? He was literally the most stubborn man you had ever met, and when he was done talking you couldn’t torture a word out of him.

‘Follow your instincts, Y/N,' you said to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you got up and went to sit on the edge of the bed close enough that you could feel the heat coming from his body.

“Dean, please, I’m sorry. I know you're mad at me, and you have every right to be. Please know that I didn’t mean a word that I said to you. You're a lot more than a breeder, and I’m sorry I ever said it to you.”

You got no response, and for a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep, until he rolled over to face you again. He looked so tired, so pale. You had never seen Dean this down. Not even when Sam jumped in the pit, and he ran off to Lisa.

“You remember when we were kids? You presented as an Omega and you were so angry about it. You were sure you were going to present as an Alpha,” Dean said, a ghost of a smile on his lips as a shiver ripped through his body. “ You told Bobby that your genetics were wrong, and you weren’t going to accept that you were an Omega.”

Your mind brought you back to that. You were sitting outside with Dean on the hood of an old Ford truck in the wrecking yard when you presented. You were so fucking angry. Now you just saw it as another sign of what should have been so obvious, but wasn’t until now, and you had to fight against the sting of tears that burned in your eyes.

“I remember. I was angry that I was going to spend my life as a pup factory for some dick Alpha, and I wouldn’t be able to hunt anymore.”

“You know, all you would have had to do was say the word, and I would have claimed you right there,” Dean said, causing you to stare at him in complete shock. Dean was a few years older than you, and had presented as Alpha long before you had presented at all, but to hear him say that outloud you nearly swallowed your tongue.

“I didn’t do it because I knew you would have resented me forever. You had so much pent up anger that I knew you needed to work through it before you were ever able to even think about something that extreme. You needed to find yourself, to have a life outside of being tied to another person. So I let you go.”

“Dean,” you tried to stop him before the water works could start, but to no avail, he just kept talking, like a pot that was boiling over with pent up emotions and there was just no stopping it.

“Then you left for a little while, but when you came back, I couldn’t scent you anymore. I didn’t understand what happened, so I just let it go, thinking that it was just young hormones raging that almost made me claim you. Then, when I had all but shoved every bit of feeling down that I ever had for you, you walked by me in a bar and I could scent you again, just as strong as I had that day. I knew I had to get your attention, but I was too late and you had Jamie.”

You looked away from him as the tears you had been holding back began to fall, unable to look at him anymore.

“I knew you didn’t feel for me what I’ve always felt for you Y/N, but I never expected you to see me as nothing more than a breeder, a mutt, a worthless piece of Alpha trash, nothing more than a knot. I never expected you to reject me this way.”

“Dean, I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know,” you tell him through tears, but he just shivered again, letting his eyes close. The fever that was raging inside of him was making him exhausted, and even you could see it.

“Let me get you something to try and bring the fever down,” you tell him, but as you tried to stand his hand caught yours, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sam already did that, and it hasn’t worked. Just, stay with me, please,” he begged you.

Words failed you as your heart broke deep down inside of you, and you sat back down on the bed beside him, watching as his breathing evened out, and his shivering seemed to relax a little.

Of all the things that you thought would take Dean out, this was not the way you saw him going, and yet here you were, feeling so helpless and lost as you watched him sleep, praying Jody would have an answers to what was going on with him, because right now, it looked like Dean wasn’t going to be able to fight this fever off much longer, and you had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

You don't know how long you sat there next to Dean while he slept. It could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been three hours. You had no idea, because to you time seemed to have slowed to an unbelievable crawl.

You did notice that the more you played with his hair, and held his hand in yours, that his over stressed body seemed to relax more. If this was going to give them some measure of comfort, then so be it.

You never noticed until now that you had never really LOOKED at Dean. You never really paid that much attention to just how painfully handsome he was. Even for the line of work you guys did, he had surprisingly very few scars on his face, and the ones he did have only seemed to attribute to his already ruggedly handsome face. The sun kissed skin, and the light dusting of freckles everywhere contrasted one another, but in a good way, it gave him an almost boyish look while he was relaxed and asleep like this. His strong, sharp jaw still held enough of an edge of softness to it that you found yourself wanting more than ever to touch his face, to feel the stubble that was actually a light beard at this point, under your fingers.

His plump, pink lips were parted slightly, and even though his breathing was still coming in pants more than completely normal breaths, he looked peaceful.

You were so entrapped staring at him, that when Sam came skidding to a halt in the door way you nearly fell off of the bed when he spoke in a voice so loud it almost disturbed Dean, who shifted a little in the bed to subconsciously get closer to you, and away from the noise.

“Y/N! Jody says she thinks she knows what the problem is…”

“SHHH!!!” you tell him, adjusting the covers over Dean’s shoulders, and gave Sam a stern look. Sam mouthed “sorry,” before coming closer to you and clearing his throat as he came to the other side of the bed.

“Jody thinks she knows what’s wrong with him,” Sam said a little calmer, pulling a chair to sit down next to Dean’s bed.

“Okay...we’ve established that. Wanna tell me what it is, or you gonna make me try and guess it?” you tell him, quickly getting annoyed that he seemed to have forgotten you couldn’t read minds.

“Right, sorry. She thinks that when you two got in a fight a few weeks ago, that the rejection triggered pinning sickness. It’s rare for Alpha’s, but apparently can sometimes happen when you get rejected by your true mate. I looked it up, and he has every symptom. Fever, weight loss, loss of appetite, increased irritation and moodiness, vomiting…”

“Vomiting? When was he vomiting?” you cut in, and Sam gives you an apologetic look.

“Yesterday, he told me not to tell anyone, and that he’d just eaten something bad. Obviously he was covering up the fact that he was in this bad of a shape, which is normal for Dean. Downplay everything until you can’t do it anymore.”

Shaking your head in annoyance, you brush it off to bitch about it later. You hated it when Dean did shit like that. He was allowed to have bad days, just like everyone else was, and you absolutely hated it when he downplayed what he was really feeling.

“So what do we do?” you ask him, and Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat before meeting your gaze, taking a moment to put his hand over his brother’s forehead to gage his temperature before answering you.

“Well, everything I can find and know about pinning sickness is that close contact with your true mate helps. Like now just from you playing with his hair, and holding his hand like that his temperature seems to be down a good bit. In order for him to get fully past it, you're going to have to let him claim you.”

You tried to hide just how terrifying that thought was to you. To have a mate in this life, to have someone tided to you, to put each other in danger, much less it be a fucking Winchester. This was something you never wanted, but now that he brought it up, you couldn’t help but picture yourself with Dean, maybe even with a pup on your hip that would have brilliant green eyes, just like his father.

“You think he will go for it?” you asked Sam. No one knew Dean better than Sam, and you were not sure how to even begin to have this conversation with Dean after what you had told him. After how you had hurt him.

“I think you won't have to ask him twice,” Sam said, standing up and making his way to the door. “Just, don’t hurt him again, okay? Cause I don’t think he can live through another disappointment.”

You couldn’t make your voice work properly for the tears that were threatening to fall if you tried to speak, so you just nodded your head and continued running your fingers through Dean’s short hair as he slept next to you.

“Wait until he wakes up, let his body recover some, when he does he should be ready,” Sam said before closing the door, and leaving you alone with Dean.

Dean slept for probably another three hours before he even began to stir again, but you could tell by the way he moved and felt when you touched him that his fever was almost gone completely.

You watched as he stretched next to you, and cracked his eyes open to find you still there next to him, then you watched as the look of relief of finding you turned into fear and rejection in what seemed like seconds. It made your heart seize in your chest to think that you had hurt him that badly.

“Good morning handsome,” you try and tease him, but Dean just pulls his hand away from yours, and pulls the covers tighter around himself.

“Morning,” he said simply, avoiding your gaze.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, and he just shrugged, continuing to stare at the wall opposite him.

“Better.You can go now, you don’t have to sit with me, I”m sure you’d rather go and try to talk to Jamie anyway,” Dean said, and you swore you could hear a whine behind his words.

You weren’t going to let him push you away now, not when you had already made up your mind that this is what you wanted, and had always wanted. Even when you were running the bars with him, it had always been Dean that you really wanted, you were just too afraid to admit it.

“I’m not going anywhere Dean,” you tell him, pulling the covers up and sliding in next to the evidently shocked Alpha, who grunted, but didn’t fight you as you snuggled into his arms and close to his broad chest where his heart was hammering away at his rib cage at the close contact of you with him.

Once you saw that he wasn’t going to physically kick you out of his bed, you took the only moment of bravery you were sure you were going to find, and brushed your lips lightly over his mating gland in his thick neck, scenting him deeply, pulling a curse and a shiver from his broad body as he pulled you impossibly closer to him.

“Fuck baby, don’t do that,” he grunted as your teeth lightly grazed the skin of his pulse point, and his hands slid down to grip your hip tightly. “If you start this, I’m not gonna be able to stop, and I...I don’t want you to be tied to someone who is nothing but a breeder, when someone is out there a lot better than me, someone that can give you a stable home and a family.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh you kick yourself again for ever calling him that, reaching up to brush your hands through his hair as he tried to nuzzle himself into your hand. His words were telling you to walk away, but everything in his was screaming for you.

“Dean, you're not just a breeder, I told you, I was just angry, you're so much more than that. I wish you could see what I see in you.”

Dean swallowed thickly and looked away from you, but you weren’t going to let him drop it that easy.

“You’re so strong Dean. Most people that have gone through half the shit you’ve faced in life would have killed themselves by now, and look at you! You’re still here, as many things that have tried to kill you, you’re still here! You’re a fucking hero, you’ve saved countless people time and time again. You love with your whole heart, you’re loyal and protective, you’re everything any Omega would want in an Alpha and then some, so don’t ever think you’re just a knot, but you’re so much more than that, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t see it sooner.”

Dean didn’t say anything, and you could see that he was shutting down, so you did the only thing you knew to do. Taking a deep breath you steel your nerves, and placed a timid kiss to his still slightly parted lips. For a moment, he just froze, but it didn't take long for the tidal wave of emotions to come crashing down over the two of you.

You weren’t really sure of a lot of things . There was so much unknown in every aspect of your life, so you just never expected anything to be constant, not for you, you would die alone on the end of a gun, knife, or at the hands of some freak, and that was the only thing in life you would ever be able to count on. But right now, in this moment, you couldn’t see anything past the two of you, two halves that had fought against becoming whole for so long that the relief was almost insurmountable and indescribable.

As tender, scared kisses turned into more needy and demanding kisses filled with passion and fire that seemed to source down to your very soul. Clothing began to fall to the floor, and shy little touches became rough and more determined. You were sure that this was the piece of your life that had always been missing.

Dean was still fairly weak from days of being sick, but the more his bar skin touched yours, the more his lips and teeth trailed their way down your throat, and over your mating gland, the more his body seemed to come alive again. Yours wasn’t that far behind either, slick quickly coating your thighs as your body seemed to know what your mate needed before you ever could have guessed it, and that was to become connected to you as quickly as possible. Years of waiting made the heated kisses and touches seem that much more intense, and as Dean slid his length fully inside of you without hindrance, you could have sworn you felt the world stop turning.

Most of the time, from what you had been told, when soul mates actually mate and are claimed by their mates it’s a rough and primal act that’s over as fast as it begins. This was so much different than that. It was deeper, more sensual that you would have ever thought to be possible. Every deep thrust of his cock into your waiting heat that was already trembling around him as he stretched and filled you over and over again felt as if it were connecting you at a level deeper than the physical pleasure that was raging through your bodies like a brush fire in the burning summer heat.

He never tried to flip you over like you expected him to, and demand you present like most Alpha’s would have, but instead he held his body over yours with his powerful arms and shoulders balancing his weight so that he wouldn’t hurt you, but kept you facing each other so that he could watch you as you began to get closer and closer to your release, as your body shuttered underneath him as his knot began to swell and catch at your entrance, forcing thrust to turn into deep rutting push and pull that only served to push you both over the edge you had been teetering on.

Even as his teeth sank deep into your mating gland, connecting you to him at your very soul, you had no regrets except that you had waited this long to figure out what had always been there, and had always been missing.

Dean flipped the two of you carefully to your sides as you waited until his knot had gone down, playing with your hair, and licking lightly at your claiming mark, while you tried to catch your breath, letting the bond cement itself as it only could between an Alpha, and his Omega. Suddenly, all the things you had always feared, a life, a family, didn’t seem so scary. Not as long as Dean was there with you each step of the way.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2 @miss-nerd95 @writers-whirlwind

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester smut #dean x reader #dean x you #alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean x Omega!reader #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #abo #abo fanfic #omega!reader #x reader inserts #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fandom #jawritter #an alpha and his omega

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nevermord · 3 years

Text

Lepus Liberation

This is a fun little gift I did for RedBand.Jackalope! We were just chatting a bit and talking about bunny rescue centers when my muse pulled out a hammer and clonked me on the head, prompting this story! Jillian the Jackalope hears about a less-than-reputable feral bunny rescue center and goes to give them a piece of her mind. However, it seems that the "good" doctor may be breaking a few rules at Trivial Matters once more. Now she's going to show them they can't just use bunnies to get money. She's going to show them in a BIG way. Jillian grumbled under her breath as she sped down the open desert road. Her blue Jeep Cherokee's engine roared in the relative desert silence as her sandal clad paw pressed down harder on the accelerator. The heat coming off of the blinding sand all around caused the air to shimmer and created phantom puddles on the blacktop. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as her mind kept going back to what she had seen that morning.

The fluffy, white-furred jackalope was practically trembling with anger as she remembered the message she had seen that morning. A news report on a so-called feral bunny rescue where the owners had no idea what they were doing but somehow operated just within the rule of law. Half of the poor things were unbrushed, their coats so matted that their fur was falling out in clumps. Not to mention they hadn't been properly separated so nearly all of the females rabbits were currently pregnant!

She had instantly decided she was heading down there to give them a piece of her mind. The staff needed to either learn how to watch over the rabbits the right way or take them across town to a real animal shelter where they would be properly cared for. Exactly how she was going to make them do this was another problem entirely.

She drove along the desert road, her temper began to cool a bit as the warm, dry air from her open window rushed through her soft fur and long, brown hair. She sighed softly and itched at the stump of her broken antler. She realized there realistically wasn't anything she could do, and the thought of a face to face conflict with these random strangers was causing a knot to form in the pit of her stomach. Checking in the rear-view mirror and seeing nobody coming up behind her, she decided to pull over to the side of the road and think a minute.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn't even hear the loud, droning buzz of the over-sized silvery mosquito as it swept in through her open window. She didn't even feel it land lightly on the collar of her black t-shirt. Even the quiet hiss as its needle-like proboscis extended went completely unnoticed. A glowing green liquid dripped from it as the tiny mechanical monstrosity leaned towards the vulnerable flesh of her neck.

“OUCH! Damn it!!” She jumped and slapped at the side of her neck, an expression of disgust on her face as she felt something fairly large crunch under her hand. Looking down at her palm, she saw some kind of green glop staining her fur and what she thought had to be a crushed bluebottle fly. What other biting insect looked so shiny and metallic after all, even if it did seem a bit big. She wrinkled her nose as she grabbed a leftover fast food napkin from a pocket on the drivers' side door, wiping the mess off of her fingers. “Ugh, just one annoyance after another today.” She tugged at her seat belt grumbling about how tight it had gotten and adjusted it a little as she got ready to turn her truck around and head back towards home.

As she reached out to turn the key she overshot it by an inch or so. She blinked, taking a look at her hand, turning it from side to side in front of her. It looked swollen somehow, the knuckles a little stiff as she flexed her fingers. “What the hell, am I having an allergic reaction to a bug bite now?”

She leaned over to pop open the glove compartment, her larger fingers fumbling with the latch. Finally getting it open, she hunted for a mirror to get a better look at the bite mark. The jackalope was sure she would find some hideous, swollen red welt on the side of her neck. As she sat back up, she winced in pain as she felt her one unbroken antler rip across the ceiling, gouging a deep tear in the headliner before scraping the metal underneath. Her eyes went wide as she ducked down a little, getting short of breath as she felt the seat belt constricting her waist a bit more. She threw the driver's side door open with enough force to rock the truck on its springs. Almost in a panic, she couldn't unfasten the tightening seat belt from around her midsection. She yanked hard on the fabric and there was a loud snap, sending the poor jackalope tumbling out of the vehicle and onto the hot, sandy pavement of the desert road. She pushed herself up off of the ground, dusting off the sand as she stood. Reaching out with one hand she slammed the door of the car shut in frustration, nearly causing the vehicle to roll over. A slight wave of vertigo swept over her as she looked more closely at the still gently rocking cobalt blue truck. It had always been about nose height on her, her eyes looking right over the top of it. Now, however it was just shoulder height, and chest height a few seconds after that. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to calm herself and failing miserably. “Okay. I shouldn’t panic. But... I think I’m definitely panicking! What? Whatwhatwhatwhat?!” The slowly growing jackalope took a step back from the vehicle and immediately lost her balance. The heel of her paw had extended back off of the rear of her sandal as she grew and offered no support as she toppled back and landed heavily on her rump! “OW! Mmmmf...” She groaned, focused on the pain in her rear for a split second before realizing that the pain in her feet was increasing. She glared down at her paws, already a bit over-sized because of her species and now seemingly expanding by the second. Her toes almost seemed to be inflating as they were constricted tighter and tighter by the sandal straps. It wasn't long before the tortured leather snapped and sent the soles flying from her big, fluffy paws to bounce off of the side of her truck. The cuffs of her blue denim jeans were rapidly retreating up her calves as the brass button on them snapped open. She gasped, grabbing at her waist as the zipper tore itself apart. Looking down, she could see her t-shirt stretching itself rapidly into a halter top as her poor, straining bra was overflowed by her furry endowments. There was an almost metallic snap as the tortured support device ended up lying useless atop the rapidly shredding denim stretched across her swelling thighs.

She blinked her big, pink eyes as her vision blurred. The rising jackalope crossed her eyes to see a tiny pair of glasses lying flat atop her snout. She leaned forwards a little and they slipped right off, landing with a soft clink atop her dwindling SUV. Scrambling back away from the vehicle before she grew into it and caused serious damage, the newly minted macro realized that just one of her paws was now larger than the dependable vehicle that had carried her all the way out here just moments ago. It was just a few seconds more before she realized that she was completely nude. In spite of her thick, fluffy fur keeping the giantess completely decent, she leaped to her feet with an earth-shaking boom, wrapping one arm over her chest and placing a hand over her crotch. Heat blossomed in her cheeks, the deep red blush forming beneath her white fur was easily visible.

The giantess' shout echoed out across the empty vastness of the desert, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” Embarrassment was quickly being overpowered by anger. She had come all of the way out here to give those so called bunny rescuers a piece of her mind. Now she was in the middle of the desert, naked, and gigantic. Frowning, she moved off of the road, into the soft yellow sand. It was actually somewhat soothing to her aching paws as she started stomping her way towards her original destination. It wasn't long before the giant had reached her goal. The so-called bunny shelter was just up ahead. Inside the building, a ferret, a deer and a mouse were racing around, trying to catch various items that were falling from various rickety shelves as they were hit by what they thought was a minor earthquake. As the tremors grew stronger they gave up on trying to save the toppling merchandise and quickly moved outside. They froze in place as they gazed up at the fluffy giantess standing before them, tapping one massive paw impatiently on the sand. They were practically throwing one another to the ground as they tried to make a run for it.

“Oh no you don't!” Jillian boomed, lifting one huge, soft paw and plopping it down on the fleeing wannabe rescuers.

She pinned them down against the warm sand as she hissed through gritted teeth, “I've been walking through the desert, my feet hurt, and you're staying RIGHT THERE until I get these poor bunnies out of here and to a REAL rescue shelter.” The gigantic jackalope slowly slid her paw through the sand. Bunching it up beside her huge foot, she ended up burying the workers partially in a pile of it, leaving their heads and arms free to cough and struggle. She turned her attention to the rickety metal building and shrugged. Gripping the front edge of the tin roof in her powerful hands she started rolling it back like it was the lid of a huge tin of sardines. Squinting her eyes as she peered through the gloom, her heart nearly broke as she saw hutches filled with bunnies everywhere, many of them in truly horrible shape. Casting about for some way to carry the poor things, she spied the company van sitting off to the side of the employee parking lot. Crouching down beside the pile of sand, she grumbled out, “I should squash the lot of you for the way you've treated these poor babies, but instead, you're going to help fix things.”

She used a finger to carefully dig out the employees who were still struggling in the sand. “You're going to unlock the back of that van and you're carefully going to secure every last bunny hutch there is into the back of it. Right now.” It took a bit of time to get everything loaded and the doors shut. One of the workers, a slinky looking ferret started to open the driver's side door, “So, where we goin'?” Jillian slammed the door shut with a single fluffy finger. It impacted the van with enough force to cave in the tough metal, making her wince internally. She would have to be careful moving it with the bunnies inside.

“WE aren't going anywhere. I'm taking these poor things to a real rescue and you're all going to learn to care for bunnies properly.” She gently scoops the van up in one hand, cradling it against her belly as she glared down at them all.

“Because if I ever hear about this sort of thing happening again?” She cocked one leg back and kicked the side of their main building. There was an earsplitting bang accompanied by the tortured shriek of tearing metal. Without the roof to help hold it in place, the corrugated metal wall shredded apart like tissue paper as her paw blasted through and slammed down inside. She crushed desks, chairs, and filing cabinets flat against the concrete floor. Turning her white, fuzzy tail towards the shocked furres and her nose up into the air, she slowly walked off into the desert to the north, her booming footsteps echoing into the distance.

Her towering legs were beginning to ache as it took a good half hour of walking before she reached her destination. Car alarms were blaring all around her as she carefully picked her way through the suburbs around town. She laid back her ears, trying to block out the piercing noise as she tried not to cause too much damage. Finally, she carefully crouched down, lowering the van gently into the parking lot outside the Happy Hutch Bunny Rescue. As lightly as she could, she used a claw tip to tap on the side of the building. It was a young dog, a retriever of some kind from the look of it, who stepped outside and very nearly turned and ran right back in before Jillian called out for him to wait. “Hold on, please. There are some rabbits in the back of this van in pretty bad shape. They really need your help.” Reaching out, she ripped the rear of the van open, no longer caring about any damage done to the vehicle. Seeing the shape that the rabbits within were in, he quickly called the rest of the staff on his radio. The motley assortment of workers formed a sort of fireman's bucket brigade to get the hutches full of injured rabbits inside the facility as quickly as possible. The giant jackalope smiled brightly and sighed, rubbing absently at the stump of her broken antler as she felt that this was a job well done. She crouched down above the crew, telling them, “Thank you all so much for your help.” Rising back up to her full towering height, she looked down at the van for a moment. “Oh yeah, you guys might want to call the number on the side of that thing so they can come get it back.” Shrugging a shoulder, she then carefully picked her way back through the sprawling suburbs and back out into the desert.

It was nearly sunset when Jillian finally saw the deep blue blur of her truck in the distance. Everything as far as she could see was a brilliant orange hue that the sunset cast upon the sand. She was completely exhausted, her feet hurt horribly, and more than anything she really wanted to just go home. “Wait. What the hell am I going to do when I get home? I can't even fit in my yard, much less my house at this size!”

Feeling utterly defeated, she slumped her way closer to the vehicle, then blinked as she realized that it didn't seem to be getting any closer as she approached. Was it a mirage? Was she actually lost somewhere in the middle of the desert? Her heart leaped in her chest as she realized the reason it didn't seem to be getting closer. She was shrinking! She was finally returning to normal! Whatever it was that had caused her to grow into a macro must have finally worn off. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she picked up the pace, hurrying back to her truck. She reached it just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first chill of the desert evening started to creep in. She stared at the road near her truck in awe. The pavement was cracked and broken, crushed into the shape of a huge paw. Her ruined sandals were flung to the side of the road underneath the truck and a few scattered rags were all that remained of her ruined clothing.

She headed back over to her truck, for once in her life actually glad she had left the keys in the ignition. She was just about to wonder if she should risk driving without her glasses when a soft glint of reflected moonlight caught her eye. She gave a little whoop of joy as she stood on tiptoe for a second, ignoring the pain in her calves as she grabbed her glasses from the roof of the truck where they had landed earlier and slipped them on. The bridge a little bent, but she could easily tighten them when she got home! She sighed happily to herself as she perched her glasses atop her muzzle, smiling to herself. A feeling of contentment and a job well done gave her peace of mind as Jillian slipped behind the wheel of the old blue Cherokee and started home.

The End?

#jackalope #bunny #growth #anthropomorphic #furry #destruction #rescue #contained #restrained #fluffy kaiju

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greekbros · 3 years

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"greek-Bros: The Return of an Old Enemy"

Chapter 11: A Joust Worth Remembering!

It was late afternoon, around 4 o'clock in the afternoon to our clock. Crowds gather to the center ring, ready for the evening's big event, Dionysus's joust. On opposite sides, Dionysus and Ares stood like two forces of nature. Ares prepared his chariot, now being pulled by Delphi's most capable mules, glared at Dionysus from across the ring. Dionysus, stared back not as a proud and fierce as the bulls he's compared to, but more of a scared fawn looking straight at the wolf eyeing it.

He glances at Hermes, Apollo and Ariadne whom were sitting within the crowd, feeling a little courage, he rides his chariot slowly towards to the ring, Ares following soon after, he clears his throat, "LADIES, GENTLEMEN AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN AND BEYOND! I give you the joust of the millenia! Me, your humble ruler versus Ares!", he reached his arm out to show the crowd a begrudged Ares. "May the best god win!", he finished his speech, he felt a cold sweat run down his tempal. "Okie dokie, just relax-", he looked again to Hermes and Apollo, he could see them both had a glint in their eyes, "-you guys better have done a good job, I can't bare losing her.", he quietly whispered to himself.

Ares however, was revved up like an angry boar, ready to once again gouge his prey. He clenched his teeth as if he was going to go for the jugular. "I'm going to wreck your shit Dio.", he growled through his teeth. He and Dionysus both stopped a little parallel to each other, setting their positions for the joust. The two chariots were ready, the lances pointing to each other....and the chariots darted to each other as if time itself slowed to a crawl. Things were looking like they were going according to plan, but fate is a force even the gods can't predict. It was going to come on four legs, orange fur and long whiskers.

Back at the food tent, the little lycan pup was still rummaging through the cloths and pillows, now all shredded open creating a storm of down feathers. He played and leaped, knawed and ravaged the pillows as if they were rabbits. Until, he heard a mew, just outside the tent. All his attention went from enjoying himself, to finding the thing that made the noise. Sniffing the air, his nose lead to the corner of ravaged tent, again a mew was heard. He poked his head from under the tent, seeing a stray cat. The pup had no idea what a cat was, but he hated it like any self respecting canidae. He gave the most hardy growl his little body could muster and barked. The cat arched, hairs on end and it hissed. The pup matched ferocity with the cat, barking again he gave chase, determined to hunt it. The car let out a yowl and ran off, the cat and pup both have way to a cat and mouse chase throughout the feild. Several Delphians saw this oddly shaped wolf pup chasing the cat, some knowing very well this was no dog, it was definitely something of a beast. The pup chased the cat....into the jousting field.

Within the meaningless seconds, Ares felt victory was a red dye tipped lance away, "oh I can't wait to see the look on that fatass's face when I get take Delphi for myself!", he thought to himself. He could feel the warm wave of confidence run down his back and the cool breeze of the chariot's speed. His face with a manic grin, contrary to Dionysus's look of fear and worry. All Dionysus could do was hope that he wouldn't lose everything he cared for.

Ares it seemed had the joust set, until he saw a flash of orange followed by a little blurr of greyish brown. "Wait wh-", suddenly just time began to start walking instead of crawling, he heard the haunting sound of something breaking. He looked to his right and saw the wheel broke right off it's wheelhub, while at the same time, the sight of the two beasts of burdens frightened the chariot mules. The mules reared back, braying in fear of the fast moving things. The same had happened to Dionysus's mules, but he quickly reacted to the situation. He tugged at the riens as hard as he could, and tugged to his right and the whole chariot took a remarkable slide. Just narrowly avoiding hitting Ares's chariot.

It's an incredible chaos! As Ares's chariot continues to crash down to the dirt, the mules struggling with the yoke and shaft, Dionysus's mules grind to a halt and both gods seem to have lost control. The two gods, now more concerned about not dieing from an unfortunate chariot accident, where orbiting the field in a cloud of dust.

The whole joust had become the world's most heavenly mess. Hermes looked at Apollo, mildly glaring at him, all Apollo could do is gawk like everyone in the crowd. He looked at Hermes to see if he was enjoying the sight as much as he was but it was clear Hermes was more mildly upset. "What did YOU do?", Hermes asked. Even he wanted to know what did Apollo do to help sabotage Ares, because even Hermes himself wouldn't have thought of something as simple as messing with the chariot.

Apollo blushed a little with childish shame, "oh nothing much.....I just loosened a thing...or two.", he explained that he loosened the wheelhub to make sure it was guaranteed the wheel would fly off.", Hermes was dumbfounded yet actually impressed at the simplicity of it all.

Next to Apollo, Ariadne was worried about Dionysus, hoping he didn't hurt himself too much. "Oh no my dearest Dionysus! Please let him be alright.", she worried out loud. Apollo gave her a friendly pay on her shoulder.

"There there, he's been through worse.", Apollo assured her. He noticed a few people shouting and asking about the joust's results. Did Ares win? Or Did Dionysus win? As the dust cleared, both chariots, both pair of mules and both gods, in a pile of a kerfuffle. Ares rubbed his hurting head, all he could remember was something whizzing through the jousting feild and BOOM, now he was laying on the side of his own chariot...belly down. His thoughts started to collect and he than quickly remembered the wheel, now fuming with anger.

Dionysus, still reeling from his epic drift, was seeing stars for a few seconds. His thoughts ran as fast as the stars did and he felt a pit in his stomach and sinking in his heart. He shook his head, as he noticed a bright, green mark on Ares's left thigh. His gaping mouth quickly transformed into a smile, he had won by luck itself. Before Ares could turn around to strangle Dionysus, a satyr shouts "LORD DIONYSUS IS THE WINNER!". The crowd roared with cheer and merriment for their patron god had won as expected. Ariadne leaps up and cheered, she hastily went to Dionysus to hug the big fool. "You could have gotten yourself hurt!", Ariadne gave him a slap on the face, but just as quickly she was furious, she hugged him again. Relieved that he's alright. Dionysus picked her up, embracing her, he was relieved that she wasn't going to be trinketed away to his war mongering brother.

Ares was confused, he looked all over his body and found that bright green paint on his thigh, it stuck out like a sore thumb, evidence of his defeat. He looked at the cheering crowd and saw Apollo and Hermes both giggling, it was clear what had happened. Those two had sabotaged him, all this because his "whiny brother was a sore loser and couldn't stand loosing in front of his adoring followers" his thoughts roared. He stood there, stewing in his own anger. He growl, snarled, and baired his teeth but he took a deep breath, knowing well that if all of this calamity happened, it was obvious it wasn't written in the stars. He huffed and snorted like a bull, he wasn't going to dignify Dionysus with a congratulations. He stormed off, to find his horses and someone to fix his chariot.

About an hour later, after Dionysus's decree of curfew had to be upheld as promised, Ares was still at the stables, waiting for his chariot to be fixed by a supposed reputable repair nymph. He sat down on a stool, brooding his loss of the perfect training ground for an army he would have to wait another century. "Bastard drunk asshole, I swear if that golden twink and thieving gnat Hermes didn't fuck up my chances...hmf. I would have won.....I want a rema-" suddenly, he heard the sniffling and whinnying of a dog. He turned his head to the sound, and slowly followed it to a pile of empty barrels. He looked inside some of the barrels, he moved some aside, he couldn't seem to find the sound. Than, he finally found the source, it was the little pup.

It had seemed that shortly after he and the cat zoomed across the field, their chase ensued. He and the cat had a tussle, they 'battled' it out but towards the end, the pup lost to the cat's claws. A scratch across his little snout, few on his body and arms, tears running down his face, poor thing had its first taste of defeat with a little side of pain. Ares watched on, just wondering who would put this poor misshapen dog in tattered clothes. "To make my day even worse, these drunken fools decided to defile an innocent dog. Well... No use having two souls suffer...", he leaned down and saw the pitiful little, "hey buddy.", he spoke softly.

The lycan pup looked up, perked his ears in shock and let out a little snarl. To the pup, Ares was a towering opponent, he was going to do everything to defend himself. Ares however, was actually curious about the pup, it was definitely a funny looking dog with oddly long arms, legs and paws. He gently picks the pup by the scruff of his tattered chiton, as he does so, the pup grabs on to his forearm and knaws on the bareskin. The pup tried to dig in deep but even his little sharp teeth couldn't break Ares's skin.

Ares gave a hardy chuckle, "You have a lot fire in you, ugh buddy? I'm not going to lie, I have no idea what kinda dog you are....Fuck it, you'll make a fine addition to my pack little one...I think I'll name you.....Ajax.", he scratched the pup behind his ear with his free hand. The pup suddenly relaxed as he felt the pleasant starching of a persistent itch had gone, his tail wagged with glee and even relaxed his grip on Ares's forearm, letting Ares carry him like a small child. Delighted, Ares carried him to his chariot to bring back to Olypmus.

Back at Dionysus's veranda, the boys were enjoying a late afternoon cup of wup. Apollo was playing his lyre while Hermes, Ariadne and Dionysus relaxed after helping the citizens put away the maritals from the games. Dionysus with Ariadne in one arm and a kylix in the other hand, "man, that was great...did you see that sweet drift, I knew Ares was going to do something weird so I ha-?", he drunkenly went on.

"Dionysus love, you know very well you didn't plan anything.", Ariadne included. She was playing with his curly, thick locks. Dionysus blushed a little on top of his rosey glow of wine, laid the side of his head on to her, "yes darling.", he responded, "shame Ares couldn't stay for our little celebration.", he said with an air of irony. Apollo looked at Dionysus and shook his head, he knew he was just mostly relieved about Ares losing.

Hermes was swirling around his kylix, he started to ponder about the event and how did it go so wrong. He knew he and Apollo had sufficiently sabotaged Ares and his chariot yet the beginning of the joust just felt odd, he felt something was going and that a perfectly simple day wasn't going to end on a high note somehow. "Say....did anyone actually see what that THING that ran in between you guys were?", he asked taking a sip of the wine.

The rest of them all started to ponder as well, Dionysus clicked his tounge, ".....maybe it was just a dog chasing a cat or something.....", he bluntly put it. "Wait....do we have dogs in Delphi?", he asked Ariadne.

"Of course we have dogs in Delphi, Dionysus. Many of our farmers have herding dogs to protect the livestock.", she responded.

Apollo chimed in, "hmm.....yes it could....but didn't the dog look off too? It looked a little lanky....and...also....did anyone knoticed the dog.....wearing a tunic?". He hopeed someone around knew what he had seen.

This comment sent shivers down Hermes's spine, he suddenly remembered his encounter with the wolf creature. "Ugh.....you guys don't think it was-", he was interrupted by the sound of Kale.

Kale strutted towards the gods, "My Lord Dionysus, the citizens would like to express their gratitude and appreciation for your entertaining performance this evening....buuuut there was a small complaint.", he eloquently noted.

Dionysus was a little surprised about this news, "what complaint?", he asked. To his knowledge the whole thing was a success regardless of the terrible bet that had taken place behind closed curtains.

Kale, with little to no hesitation, "Well the main food tent was absolutely FuCkInG destroyed, someone ate all the roasted goat, most of the breads and ugh absolutely RUINED the furnishings I worked so hard placing. I am just floored, my Lord.", he let out a depressed sigh.

Dionysus was confused, did someone break in the food tent or was this just evidence of an animal attack? He cleared his throat, "ugh, I am so sorry about that, Kale, I saw it earlier in the morning it looked really nice. Did anyone see anything?", he asked, he just hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

Kale composes himself a little with a deep light breath, "well it looked like animal was in there...but it could have been some kid in a wolf costume or something just making mischief.", he deducted. However, Delphians weren't known for pulling such pranks, even for misbehaving youths, this would be considered to be in poor taste considering the farming population.

Ariadne slowly looked to Dionysus, suspecting he knew about something. "An animal you say?", she asked. The hair on the back of Dionysus's neck stand on end, his MAN senses were tingling, and his wife was in on it. He chuckled nervously, "maaaaybe it was just a stray dog?", his reassuring comment wasn't going to be enough.

However, Kale wasn't helping. "Well....a few people did see what came out of the tent, they saw it chase a cat all over the event field. It looked a tiny baby wolf in a chiton? I mean what kind of depraved jerk would put clothes on a wolf?". This was the final nail in the coffin, at least for Dionysus's chances of sleeping in the same villa as Ariadne.

She let out a huff, crossed her arms and crossed her legs. "What is going on Dionysus,I thought I told you not to go on with this whole thing if you KNEW if there were those beasts out there.", she was stern and her eyes could be comparable to Hera's stare of marital disappointment.

Dionysus, tried to avoid the conversation and sipped his kylix. He looked off to the side like a child who did something wrong. Hermes entered into the conversation, "Ugh to be fair, it was a BABY...and..ugh...there was just one...so...ugh...I guess it didn't do anything.", Inspite of this argument, he knew this meant that there was definitely more if these wolf creatures. "Ugh...you didn't see where it went...did you?", he asked Kale.

Scratching his meticulously groomed goatee, Kale nodded 'yes', 'I believe some of the attendees saw it run off into the field or "something" of that direction.", he replied.

Dionysus leaped up, "than it's gone! Good, let's all just hit the hay and get some sleep!", he spoke in a happy voice of a man who knew he was in deep trouble. He felt Ariadne gently pull his ear, his body flowed to the direction of Ariadne.

She gave that small smile that deceptively masked her frustration, "Dio... sweetie......you're sleeping with the leopards....not for a wekk....but for a month.", she gently whispered in his ear, patted him on his face. Regardless if she was angry with Dionysus, it seemed by the end of the day no one actually got hurt. She turn around to walk back home, "Goodnight, gentlemen.", she left right back.

The four gentlemen were all standing by themselves watching Ariadne leave, Apollo sighed and turned to Dionysus. "So....where do the leopards sleep?", he asked Dionysus.

Dionysus stared at Ariadne with loving relief. "Well, they sleep....that way.", he pointed towards the dimly lit forested yard were many of his leopards roamed freely. He scratched his chin, satisfied with the whole situation, it could have been worse yet it could have been better. Now his only priority, is to find a soft place to sleep. Before he did so, he turned to Kale and his brothers. "Kale, tell NO ONE of this weird dog shit, deny EVERYTHING and ugh....tell anyone who asked it was leopard. Hermes, Apollo, tommorow....we go and talk to dad about this. Now...I'm going to get serious.", as he said this, tripped on a raised rug and fell over on a pile of lounge pillow. "I'm ok... actually this is pretty comfy....", he muffled.

Apollo and Hermes looked down at Dionysus, wondering if they should help, but there's a likely chance he probably has already dosed off.

#greek bros #greek-Bros #greek bros: the return of an old enemy #chapter 11 #short story #greek mythology #greek gods #dionysus #apollo #hermes #ares #blood of zeus #hellenistic #Ariadne

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thejacketandthehook · 4 years

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The Art of Pretending 3/?

Title: The Art of Pretending 3/?

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary: Killian Jones needs a family and needs one now. In order to impress his boss, Killian hires a single mother and her son to pretend to be his wife and son for the weekend. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Rating: Teen (for language)

Words: 9746

Author’s Notes: Hello all! Here is my submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! This is based off of the Lifetime movie, “Borrowed Hearts,” starring Eric McCormack and Roma Downey. The movie came out in 1997, and I consider it to be one of the first made-for-tv Christmas movies.

A couple of years ago I was watching it and thought this would be a fantastic scenario for our favorite Captain and Savior. I wrote it and then stopped, and then started it again, only to stop again. When I saw this movie marathon, I knew instantly this was the movie I wanted to do and I wanted to make sure that I finished it this time.

I hope you enjoy it!

A30

Chapters: 1 | 2

Killian rubbed the back of his neck before sitting down on his couch. After a moment, he bounced up and began pacing in front of said couch before he sat down on one of the armchairs. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he used both hands to rub this neck before he jumped back up again.

“Would you calm down?!” Regina all but screamed at him as he paced once more. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“You have to say that because you got me into this mess,” he commented.

She sighed. “I’d apologize, but if this works, then you can send me a very expensive bottle of champagne as thank you.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes – barely – before continuing, “Let’s get through this before anyone starts celebrating.”

Regina sighed before looking at her phone once more. “It’s going to be fine, Jones. I’m sure this…Emma person is fine and so is her son. Besides, it’s only two days. It’s not like you’re going to have to be married to her forever.”

He sighed. He knew she was she right. It wasn’t forever; it was barely even 48 hours. Mr. Woodman would be arriving Friday night, and be leaving Sunday morning. So it was only Friday evening and all of Saturday that he had to worry about. By Sunday night, his life would return to normalcy – except for the fact that he could be moving to London and being the manager of the London branch. Which he would love, since that would bring him closer to his brother and his family.

He sat down before leaning his head back on the chair. He actually spoke to his brother last night about this whole…arrangement, and well, Liam had a few chose words for him.

“Are you mad, brother?!” he yelled. “What the bloody hell are you thinking?! Lying to impress your boss?! That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of!”

He wasn’t wrong, which made this whole situation worse. Liam was right; lying to Mr. Woodman would blow up in his face, surely. What would happen when Mr. Woodman goes to London and wants to visit Killian and his “family”? There are so many times he could say “They’re visiting her family” until it looks like he just made them up. Which he did. Well, at least, Regina did. But at that point, who the bloody hell would care?

Not that Killian wasn’t worried about who exactly this Emma woman and her son were. He can’t believe that he never met her before, seeing how close he and David are. After David told them that he would ask Emma if she would even consider it, he told Killian that his wife and Emma were the best of friends, almost like sisters. In fact, he went on to say, “Emma is kind of like my sister too.” So, how in the world have they not met before?

But, putting that aside for the moment, what was this woman even like? They had to pretend to be married, for God’s sake, hopefully there would be some kind of…attraction. Killian wasn’t the best actor on a good day, his brother’s words ringing in his head: “You always wear your heart on your sleeve, Killian. I always know how you’re feeling with just a glance in your direction.” If he wasn’t attracted to Emma, this could be a small problem.

“It’s just for weekend,” Regina’s words echoed. Well, that was true too. He could pretend for less than 48 hours. At least, he was sure that he could.

But what about her kid? What if he was a horrible little thing, totally spoiled? Killian was…okay with kids. He wasn’t really around them enough to decide whether or not he had a strong opinion about them. They seemed fine, from a distance. But now he was going to have one. In his house. What the hell did he get himself into?

Before he could really start panicking, which honestly was going to be any minute now, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God,” Regina sighed before she got up to get the bell. “Honestly, they must have taken the long way to get here.”

Killian was hot on her heels, following behind. He tried to look confident, but was afraid that his nerves were just overcoming his face. Regina had her hand on the doorknob before she looked back at him.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

Regina opened the door to reveal David, a young boy with light brown hair and brown eyes, and a woman that was probably the same age as David, if not a little younger.

The woman, though…

Bloody hell.

She was beautiful. She had a heart shaped face, with a small dimple at the chin, light green eyes and blonde hair that even in a ponytail touched between her shoulder blades. But even though she looks a little different now, he would know her anywhere. When she noticed Killian, her eyes grew bigger and her mouth dropped a little.

“Oh. You” was all she said.

David looked at Emma before looking at Killian. “Do you two know each other?”

“I’m Henry!” the little boy piped up. He was a cute kid, with some bottom teeth missing, and his eyes bright. He ran over to Killian before putting his hand out like he wanted to shake hands. “I’m going to be your son.”

Killian chuckled before taking the kid’s hand. Well, if nothing else, the kid at least broke some of the tension in the room.

“Nice to meet you, Henry. I’m Killian. I’ll be playing the role of your dad.”

Henry let go of Killian’s hand before tilting his head. “You speak like the people on that television show Mary Margaret and Mom watch. Are you British?”

Killian nodded. “I am indeed. I’m from a small town outside of London. My brother lives there now, with his wife and child.”

“Cool! I always wanted to go to London!”

“Since when?” Emma asked. Killian’s eyes found hers and for a moment they looked at each other before she looked down at her son.

“I just do,” Henry insisted before taking a step further into the house. “Can I see my room?”

“Er, sure.”

Regina stepped up and said, “It’s upstairs and to the left. Let me show you. I’m Regina, by the way.”

“Are you the Evil Queen? That’s what Uncle David calls you.”

“Uncle David” became fascinated with his shoes and wouldn’t glance at Regina, even though she was giving him the death glare.

When they went upstairs, David repeated his earlier question, “Do you two know each other?”

Emma nodded. “I…I think so. We might have" she cleared her throat, "…met before.”

Killian agreed. “Yeah. About two years ago?”

She nodded again. “Right. Yeah.”

David looked at the two of them before asking, “Do I want to know what happened?”

Killian and Emma looked at each other, and for a moment all Killian could feel was her skin under his hands, and his lips against hers.

Emma spoke up, bringing Killian back to the present. “Probably not,” she muttered before looking down, her cheeks a light red. He wondered if she was suddenly brought back to that moment too.

“You both were so sure that you didn’t know each other,” David insisted.

Killian clear his throat before looking at his friend. “We never got each other’s names.”

He looked at Emma, his heart pounding even harder than it was earlier.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about being attracted to her. Because he knew for a fact that he was.

~*~

It had to be him, didn’t it? Of all the freaking people in the world, the man that she might be “married” to for 48 hours had to be him!

Emma cleared her throat, trying to get moisture back into her mouth. She was a nervous reck all morning, wondering just what in blazes she was even thinking to even agree to this stupid idea. She almost backed out about three times, before Mary Margaret calmed her down, claiming that this would be a good thing. An extra two thousand dollars could help her as she goes looking for a nicer (or at least bigger) apartment.

But him?

“Where did you two meet?” David innocently asked.

Emma looked over at…Killian and answered, “Actually, at your birthday party about two years ago?” she finished as a question, unsure if her time was right.

Killian nodded. “Two years sounds about right.”

“I didn’t know that,” David exclaimed. He thought for a moment before saying, “That’s when we went to The Rabbit Hole. So you two have met?”

Emma looked down, her cheeks blushing though she wished they wouldn’t. “Yeah, something like that.”

All three were silent for a moment before David asked, “I really don’t want to know, do I?”

Killian gave a smile that was almost dashing as he proclaimed, “No. No, you do not.”

Emma looked up at Killian and gave a small smile. Killian winked at her before gesturing to the hallway behind him. “Shall we?”

For the first time since seeing the outside (which, yeah, David told Henry and her that it was huge, but damn it was big), Emma looked around the house. They were currently standing in the hallway/foyer which alone was tremendous. To her left was the formal dining room and to the right looked like a bathroom. As they moved further into the house, the staircase was to the right, going straight up to the second floor, and to the right was the doorway to the kitchen. The back of the house was a massive living room, that had a couch big enough to fit the three of them comfortably, two winged chairs, and a fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s ever been used.

As Emma looked around, her mind still racing with discovering just who exactly she was helping out, she couldn’t help but notice that though the house was gorgeous, it lacked…something. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly.

“Have a seat,” Killian said, gesturing to the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

“It could be your home,” David smiled at Emma. When she just looked at him, he cleared his throat once before saying, “You know for two days.”

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Henry yelled, running down the stairs.

Emma stood up and said, “In here, Henry!”

Regina must have told him where to go, for it took a few seconds longer for him to run in than it should have. But when he came into the room, his smile was bright and he looked thrilled with what he just saw.

“Mommy, the room is huge! So big! And the bed, Mommy, the bed is so bouncy. And it’s a big bed, like you have!”

“You need toys,” Regina said, sitting in one of the winged chairs before looking at Killian. “You need way more toys.”

Killian shrugged. “I figured Henry could bring some.”

Regina sighed and David shook his head. “Man, I know that you aren’t around a lot of children, but they have a lot of toys.”

“Fine. We’ll get more toys.”

Emma, who was admiring the art work in the room, piped up, “You might need to get new things.”

Everyone was looking at her, which made her self-conscious. “What do you mean?” Killian asked. “What more could you possibly want in this house? It has everything.”

She nodded. “Yeah. It does. I mean, it’s beautiful, but…” She looked down at Henry, who smiled at her before taking off his school bag and taking his toy car out.

“But what?”

She looked up at him. “It doesn’t look like…like a home, you know?”

Regina, David, and Killian looked around. Regina and David started to nod, as though in agreement with Emma, but Killian looked almost insulted.

“It’s a fine home,” he insisted.

“It is!” Emma proclaimed. “It is, it’s just…it doesn’t look lived in. At all.”

“I agree,” Regina said with a nod.

“What in bloody hell are you talking about?” Killian said, louder than he should have.

“Temper,” Regina muttered as a warning, loud enough for Killian to hear.

Henry looked up at him. “We have to use our nice words.”

Killian looked at him like he could not believe those words were just directed at him. Before he could make another comment, David piped up, “I agree. It’s kind of…cool.”

“Exactly! We need to make it look like we’re all here, living together.”

Killian rolled his eyes before asking, “And just what did you have in mind, oh wife-of-mine-for-48-hours?”

Emma crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Do you want my help or not? Because I can leave here and not look back, fine by me.”

Killian took a deep breath and counted silently to ten before asking in a calmer voice, “Sorry. What do you have in mind?”

Emma still had her arms crossed for a moment before she released them and opened her purse that was slung across her body. She took out some pictures before holding them up. “Family photos. Surely families have pictures of themselves around the house.”

Killian nodded. “Yeah, okay, we’ll get some picture frames for them.”

She handed them to him before she looked over to an empty space that was almost in the shape of a hexagon. “And here,” she added, “We could put the tree here.”

“A tree?” Killian asked, as though he never heard of such a thing. “But Mr. Woodman is only going to be here for 48 hours!”

Emma turned to look at him. “A family with a young kid would definitely have a Christmas tree up the weekend before Christmas. Not a huge tree, mind you.” She looked back at the spot and for a moment and got lost in thought. She could almost see herself and Henry laughing as they put up the tree, and getting some old ornaments that Emma was able to scrounge around for. She smiled as she pictured Henry anxiously making sure the star on top was just right.

“Emma?”

She quickly looked behind her to see the three adults looking at her a bit curiously. “Sorry,” she said, before clearing her throat. “I just got lost in thought for a moment.”

Killian put Emma’s picture down on the coffee table before he sat down besides David. “Okay, so I imagine that you have some questions. Perhaps we should make sure that everyone involved knows their role before we start changing my house around.”

Emma nodded before going over to the other empty winged chair, and rubbed Henry’s head as she sat down. “Yes, I have some questions.” She cleared her throat before asking, “I’m getting my own room, right?”

“Yep. Next to the master’s suite is a small guest room. You’ll be sleeping in there.”

“And Mr. Woodman is staying here too?”

“Yes, there’s another room next to the library, which is where he will be sleeping.”

Emma went to ask another question before what he said registered in her brain. “Wait, next to the library…how many rooms are in this place?”

“A lot,” he said with a cocky smile.

Emma froze, looking at Killian and trying to remember how exactly she was supposed to breath. She hated that a small part of her was still….

No. No, she couldn’t think about that moment. She would get lost in her own thoughts again.

Shaking her head, she continued, “What do we do with cooking and such? Because I can’t cook and I am certainly not cleaning up after you.”

“Well, I can cook if need-be,” he said, leaning forward. “As for cleaning, I have a maid.”

“House keeper,” David corrected.

Killian sighed before repeating, “House keeper. She’ll make sure everything is clean.”

“She knows what’s going on?”

“Yes. If you agree, she’ll meet with you and Henry to get acquainted.”

Emma nodded. “And this is next week, right?”

“Yes. The weekend of the nineteenth.”

Emma nodded once more. So the nineteenth and twentieth, Emma and Henry would be “working” for Killian. That still gave them four days to prepare for Christmas. Plus, Henry will be off from school for the Holiday break that week, so it’ll be even better.

Killian cleared his throat before asking, “So, do we have a deal?”

Emma looked at him and for a moment was brought back to that night three years ago.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” she could see him smirking in her mind’s eye.

Shaking her head now, she cleared that imagine from her mind as she looked at Killian and replied, “Not so fast. I need to talk to my son.”

Putting her hand on his head, Emma leaned forward and said softly, “Listen, Henry, what—”

But she didn’t get to finish, because Henry yelled loudly, “Mommy, take it!”

Emma looked sheepishly up at Killian before standing up. She held out her hand and said, “It looks like you have a deal.”

Killian stood up and shook her hand as Regina jumped up and announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

#captain swan #captain swan movie marathon #fanfiction #csmm #csff

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 20

May 10, 1984.

I have been down in the Pit for about two weeks now and I feel as though I am at my wit’s end. Not only have some of these passages collapsed in on themselves but it seems as though this map, which the people at the Natural Resources office assured me was the most up-to-date map of the area they had, is horribly wrong. I keep returning to the same landmarks I have seen a dozen times now, taking passages that the map says ought to lead to the areas I am trying to reach, but I end up right back at the same spot again.

There are none of the call boxes down here; I am very far off the trail. I have the radio phone that they gave me at the office but I have not tried to use it yet. Even if I did call for help, I doubt that any of the rangers would be able to find their way to me. I have heard stories that even the people who live and work down here get lost more often than not. They don’t like to tell these stories but after having worked with them for so long, you overhear things.

I am fine on food for now, and if worse comes to worst I can always cook up small hunks of the walls and floors. I know it is frowned upon but I would rather not starve when there is a wealth of food all around me.

If I don’t return with at least a sample I will be in deep water. I am already on thin ice as it is, so to speak; when I returned from my last expedition the administrator told me that whatever I had done to the copepods had stirred them up something fierce, and that they had already taken three rangers that week. I pretended ignorance but inwardly I was terrified; if he had found out what I knew…

Sometimes I think I may be being followed, but I have seen no evidence of it. It is just a feeling. I do my best to laugh it off.

After all, who would be crazy enough to follow me down here?

May 12, 1984.

Made it to the Village but the bridge is out. Spectacular view, a vast churning ocean of acid and various fluids surging out of the orifices above and pounding down the long gullet-like drop below. The Village is taunting me from the other side.

The metal of the bridge looks befouled somehow. I’m not sure, I have not seen anything like this before. Not rust or corrosion but like the inch-thick metal has been crumpled or wrinkled like the wrapper of a candy bar. The majority of the bridge is simply missing, having probably fallen down into the abyss below. I spent an hour cursing my luck. I will have to turn back.

May 13, 1984.

Took a triocanth today. Like Rainier said, the meat of its abdomen was savoury, not unlike lobster, but with a faint and offputting aftertaste that became gradually fouler the more I ate. I had to discard the majority of it. I did not need to eat it, I still have some food left, but I wanted to see how bad it would be when I ran out.

Later in the day I began the ascent back up. I am not entirely empty-handed; I managed to retrieve some of the smaller ‘pearls’ from Oyster’s Shame. Of course they are not pearls at all, more like gallstones, but they are valuable. If you can preserve them they make a perfectly fireproof and perfectly flexible material, and I have heard that ground into a paste they can be used as components in electronics, although I haven’t the faintest idea how exactly that works. I doubt the pearls will be enough, though. If only I could have gotten to the village! I am still cursing my bad luck from the day before. I spent all evening trying to find some way to get across but there were none. It all depended on the bridge and I had not even thought that it might have been destroyed.

At least the rangers will be glad to know of it; from what I hear they venture down here only rarely.

Still feel as though I am being followed.

May 16, 1984.

I am being followed. I’ve seen the man following me, I caught him in the shadow of an ancient, halfway-drained gizzard when I happened to turn around. He was huge, twice as big as I am, and when I called out and shone my light on him he burst apart into a thousand worms or snakes or leeches and they all fled.

I would have thought that my eyes were playing tricks on me or that my mind was beginning to go but when I made my way back to the spot where the man had stood I found a leech there caught under a fold of flesh that had fallen over on top of it when it had tried to flee. It was nearly the size of my arm, but deflated and wrinkled, with a mouth full of flanged teeth. I hacked it into five pieces but some reflex still allowed it to bite me, albeit shallowly, when I picked it up.

I thought I had found the way back up but when I checked the map the passage I was in was not there at all. After about five hundred feet of treacherous twists and turns the stents ran out and the passage compressed down to nothing and I had to make my way back. I made a bright fire tonight and did not sleep much.

May 17, 1984.

I woke at three A.M. to vomit. Pounding headache. Do not feel well. Have rations gone bad?

May 17, 1984.

Not the rations. The bite is swollen and infected. I tried to climb further today but was too weak to. My arm feels like it will fall off. Something in the saliva. Why did I pick it up?

May 17, 1984.

Saw it again today. It is massive. Came to the edge of my camp and stared at me while I pointed at it with my knife and shouted imprecations. I was delirious.

It is somewhat like a starfish, in that it forms itself into a five-pointed shape, but it goes upright on two of the ‘legs’ while two others hang by its side and the other stands straight up towards the ceiling. It seems to be composed of thousands of leeches but why they band together in this manner I do not know. It did nothing to me and eventually vanished, but I passed out from the strain soon afterwards and when I came to a few hours later I was not sure if I had really seen it.

Still feel awful, but not as bad as yesterday. Think I may pull through. I will still have to find some way out of here, but I got here somehow, therefore there must be a way out. I wasn’t able to make it to the village but maybe Rainier and Duke LaVerne will understand.

I think this will be my last time coming down here. One way or another.

I look up at Elena. “That’s the last one?” I ask her, and she nods.

“That’s all they found at Tim Beaufort’s campsite down there in the Gut. There might have been more but they weren’t able to find it. Or him.”

“So that’s where the story of the Leechman comes from, then?”

“Initially,” she yawns. I close out my wrist screen like she taught me to do and then lean back, glare around the interior of Oyster’s Shame like I’m expecting the Leechman to be standing there in the corner like Mike Myers staring at Laurie Strode or something. “There’ve been other sightings through the years but nothing really concrete. Not that Beaufort’s story is very concrete either, but it was spooky. I’ve always thought it was just the Pit’s version of Bigfoot, just something you scare rookies with.”

I glance over at her. Back inside the station someone bangs into something and curses. Fumi is messing with the stove again but the mood isn’t nearly as jovial as it was before.

The Sergeant’s been trying to get on the radio with Makado for the past couple of hours but there’s some kind of interference. Elena thinks it’s from the nerve clusters surrounding this place; evidently it’s packed full and sometimes when the Pit…thinks too hard? Or something similar, some sort of equivalent, it blanks out every connection from here to the Village.

Whatever the Village is. I asked Elena but she started a couple of times and then just shook her head. “You’d have to see it to believe it,” she told me, and no matter how much I pestered her she wouldn’t budge, just giving me a secretive little smile and telling me to buzz off and then tickling me when I’d persist.

“Why’re we all dead, Elena?” I ask, after enough silence has passed. The field heating pouch is working on my MRE so I don’t have anything to do at present besides chew on a fairly grainy shelf-stable cracker and watch her eat her goulash. She looks up at me alarmed and gives me a concerned Tim Allen-esque grunt and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Everyone looks round at us and I let it fade fast, try not to blush, but then I’m blushing and I feel awful. “I mean,” I say in a low whisper, once everyone’s returned to their meals, “you know how earlier you said that we were all dead? After I showed everybody the video I took? What did you mean?”

“Oh,” Elena waves, taking another bite. “Yeah, that’s just like, part of the myth. Supposedly if the Leechman catches sight of you or gets your scent or however the hell it works, that’s it, it’s going to hunt you down no matter what. No way of stopping it, no nothing. Like Jason from Friday the 13th.”

“Spooky.”

“So yeah,” Elena smiles, wiggling her fingers at me, warbling her voice. “You’re next, Roan!”

“I take it you don’t think that was a Leechman on the video, then.”

“The Leechman. There’s only one, supposedly.”

“The Leechman, then.”

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, stabbing at her pouch of food. I’ve just taken mine out of the bag and nearly burned my fingers it was so hot. “It might have been the Leechman, sure. But I think if there was something like that down here, there’d have been footage of it before today.”

“There’s not?”

“There is one grainy photograph, that’s it.”

I think about that for a while, roll it around in my head like a particularly distasteful morsel of food that I know I have to eat.

Well, Roan, break it down. What if it’s true? What if there really is a giant monster made out of leeches stomping around out there and it’s going to come for you and that’s that, nothing to be done about it?

I almost, almost shove it out of my mind and forget about it, don’t even bother to entertain the notion, but I catch myself, force myself to feel that heady quake of fear that I feel rising up my throat like a hot flash when I realize that I don’t want to die, that for all of my bluster and bravado, for all of my playacting by taking up chain-smoking and coming down to Gumption on a damn-fool errand, I don’t want to die.

It’s a new feeling and not one I enjoy. It makes me feel weak. When I felt like I was hollow I think I also felt stronger.

“There something wrong with your MRE?” Elena asks, and I frown, look over at her.

“What?”

“You were just giving it a very strange face,” she says, gesturing with her fork.

“Oh,” I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” she asks. “You’re acting –“

I reach over and squeeze her knee gently. “Don’t you worry about me, alright?”

“I’ve been doing nothing but,” she says, and I smile at her and start to say something else, when the Sergeant comes walking out of the station behind us and gestures at me.

“Merriweather,” he says, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, “I’ve got Miss Veret on the line finally, she wants to speak with you.”

“With me?” I blurt, while Elena studiously avoids my gaze. I haven’t really prodded at it but I don’t want to push my luck with her concession about not rocking the boat until the mission’s over. She’s still quietly furious at both Peter and Makado; I’ve caught her staring at Peter several times, something close to hate in her eyes. Well, maybe that’s being melodramatic. She blames him, though, I’m certain of it, and I – well, I don’t blame her.

The Sergeant ushers me in to the back room – I can’t stop myself from glancing over at the lumpy mass in the corner, trail of blood still leading to it, now hidden beneath an emergency blanket – and holds out a wired phone receiver to me. Immediately a blast of static assaults my ears and I jerk the handset back, but then I can hear Makado’s voice and the static quiets.

“Makado?” I ask. I see the Sergeant’s eyes narrow fractionally as he registers that I’ve called her by her first name but I turn away from him, lean up against the wall.

“Hey, Roan,” she says. She’s put on a brisk, clipped tone but her voice is full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. There’s a lot going on down here, though.”

“Trust me, I know,” she groans. “We hadn’t heard from the Listening Station in a while but that’s normal, the electrical disturbances in the area can sometimes cut off communications, so nobody here had thought anything of it. I’m going to have to fill out a lot of forms in triplicate tonight. But you’re fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing happened to me, I’m okay.”

“Okay, good. I, uh.”

I frown, glance down at the handset. It isn’t like her to prevaricate. “I wanted to call you first because the situation is evolving up here just as much as it is down there and…the mission might become more dangerous than I’d initially anticipated.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can get you out of there,” she tells me, and it’s like I’ve been hit by a bullet, like I’ve been electrified. I look up at the Sergeant without even meaning to and his face is as unreadable as a bare concrete wall. “But you’d have to leave now,” Makado tells me, ploughing through my moment of stunned confusion. “If you wait much longer I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you out.”

I open my mouth and close it again. I let the seconds roll on so long that Makado says my name again, voice hesitant, as though she’s afraid we’ve lost connection. “I’m still here,” I breathe. I close my eyes. “If I say yes, could you get anybody else out?” I ask her. “One of the other rangers, I mean.”

“No,” Makado says. “I need all of them down there. You can hand off the camera to someone else, I know it’s your camera but I’ll buy you a new one like I said.”

“Definitely not?”

“Huh? Oh, as far as someone else coming out? Yeah, I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be here tracking you on the map and I’ll be able to talk you through the way out.”

I smile faintly. “That’s really kind of you, Makado, but I’m staying.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence before I hear Makado cough. “You’re staying?” she asks, and I nod.

“I’m not a quitter. I appreciate it, I really do, but I’m going to see this through.”

I hear her sigh over the line, a whispery gust barely distinguishable from the interference surrounding it. “Well,” she says, “I guess I underestimated you.”

“I’m used to it.”

She starts to say something, then stops, and I smile a little to myself and cut her off. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay down here.”

“You’re…doing better?”

“Yeah. I, ah…took a little field trip the other day. Felt a little better afterwards.”

The Sergeant gives me a dubious look but I ignore him.

“All the more reason to get out while you can,” she says, “but I guess you’re determined. Well, I – I admire your character. Jesus Christ,” she laughs, “listen to me, I’m losing it in my old age. Good for you. Don’t die down there, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yes,” she says softly, “I imagine you will. Can you put Mr. Van Der Leeuwen back on the phone, please?”

“Who?” I blurt, before my eyes flick over to the Sergeant and I realize. I smile at him and I am only a little shocked when he smiles back. “Oh,” I say, “right.”

“See you.”

“You as well,” I tell her, and then I pass it back to the Sergeant and wander back out of the station, feeling like there are wings spreading behind me and trailing dust on all the surfaces as they squeeze through, feeling, infinitesimally and unplaceably, as though the Roan of even just three days ago would have jumped at the offer not quite before it cleared Makado’s lips.

Elena’s finished her meal by now and has mine sitting idly on her lap, saving it for me probably, and when she hears my footsteps behind her she leans around and cranes her neck up at me and then nearly does a double-take. I smile at her and ask what the matter is and she just says that I look happy, and when she says that it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning down and taking her head in my hands and kissing her long and hard and slow right there.

“I am happy,” I tell her, plopping myself down next to her on the stairs and squeezing her tightly for a moment, just a moment – even if what Slate said the other day was true and we weren’t being as inconspicuous as I’d hoped, I still don’t want to make a production out of it. Not in public, anyway.

Oh, poor Slate. He’d begun to grow on me, he really had. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that he’s gone now, that the guy who was flirting with me three days ago and grinning at me just earlier while we all swapped stories just…disappeared, without even a body left behind to show for it. Now he’s nothing but memories and a bloodstained helmet.

Now Elena asks me why I’m happy and I tell her briefly what Makado had told me, and Elena’s face brightens immeasurably. “Oh, thank god,” she groans. “You’re getting out of here? You’re going to be safe?”

“I – what – no,” I tell her, spluttering a little, “I told her no, I said I wanted to stay down here. I asked her if I could get someone to come out with me and she said no, so I told her I was going to stay. You’re not smiling,” I observe, stupidly. She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Roan,” she says, starting to get up before she remembers the tray of food on her lap. She settles for just twisting around and pointing back at the station. “Go back in there while she’s still on the phone and tell her you’ve changed your mind!” she hisses at me.

“What?” I blurt, and then realize everyone’s looked round and lower my voice “Are you crazy?” I ask her.

“Are you?”

“Elena, I – I thought you’d be happy!”

“You thought I would be happy? Happy that you’re choosing to stay here, in danger, just so you can spend a little more time with me? The thing that’d make me happiest, Roan,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek, “is if I knew for a fact you were up there waiting for me, not hanging around down here where you’re liable to get eaten or dissolved or spiked or skewered or what the hell ever else. If I knew I would be coming back to you and that you’d be safe and sound.”

I have, I realize, at some point during that little speech, bitten my lip hard enough to leave a mark. She looks at me with mixed mournfulness and resignation and finally I manage to unstick my jaw long enough to offer a plaintive and unsatisfactory “oh,” and Elena laughs.

“This is pointless,” she murmurs. Her eyes are flicking over my face and for a moment I want so badly that it’s painful to know what she sees when she looks at me. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I nod, slowly. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t think –“

“You stop that,” she says, prodding me in the ribs with a sly smile. I yelp and cover my mouth reflexively, glaring daggers at her, but her smile latches on to me and then I’m grinning back at her like a damn fool. “Stop being sorry for shit like that,” she tells me, a little more seriously.

“But you’re going to worry about me,” I point out. “About if I’ll die down here.”

“Anything that’s going to want to kill you has got to go through me first,” she says, and I feel as though a massive warm hand has taken my heart in its palm and squeezed. I open my mouth to tell her – well, I don’t know what I wanted to tell her.

The door behind us bangs open and I jump. “Everybody into the meeting room!” The Sergeant calls, and then me and Elena share a glance and file in along with everyone else.

“Hi guys,” Makado says, voice crackly on speakerphone, once the Sergeant’s confirmed that everyone’s inside. What passes next is about an hour of the dullest game of verbal chicken I’ve ever had the misfortune to be witness to. Makado is trying desperately to convince the team to keep on going, down to the barrows to get the crystal and then back up, and something about the subtle and quiet note of underlying nerves in her voice makes me realize something – she really doesn’t have any power over us.

I mean, think about it – what would she do if we all decided that we had had enough, that we weren’t going to go through with it, that we were just going to make our way back up to the surface and hit the canteen? She’d be furious, of course, she’d be beyond pissed at the team, but it isn’t like they were doing anything illegal. This is a company now, they’d get fired and life would move on. Maybe they wouldn’t even get fired; someone like Elena, for instance, someone with cave diving and rescue skills, would probably be impossible to promptly replace, if at all – maybe the Pit pays well, better than a place like the Coast Guard would, but you’d also have to find the people who can cave dive and don’t mind operating inside of a living nightmare like the Pit. Cuts an already slim pool in half, or more.

I think I understand now why Makado’s seemed always to behave so chummily with the people nominally under her command, something I’d noticed up on the surface; the few times she’d come to visit us in the barracks she was welcomed like one of the rangers, like a favorite boss who doesn’t rock the boat very much. It’s because as soon as the team is down here, doing something important, every decision from above becomes a negotiation instead of just an order to be obeyed.

And it also makes more sense to me why the Sergeant is such a hardass – if he’s the bad cop to Makado’s good cop, the people on the team are more likely to listen to her, just cause she’s more sympathetic – and then, double-duty, while they’re down here and under his command directly, they’re more likely to do what he says without any argument because they don’t want him pissed off at them.

Right now, though, it looks as though the Sergeant isn’t entirely holding up his end of the deal. He’s stood there like a statue for the last half an hour, only disappearing for a little bit towards the beginning to grab himself a cup of coffee, not uttering a word, his granite-like expression not slipping, not even a little. He ought to be cracking down on the dissent that’s being thrown her way but he’s not, he’s just letting Ellis and Fumi and Crookshank practically demand to know what is so goddam important about this fucking crystal that it was worth Slate dying for, and it’s got Makado in a bind because she very, very clearly does not want to tell us. She talks around it, never flat-out saying that she won’t but avoiding it. This goes on for a while until Crookshank, fuming, slams his hand on the table, making me jump. Elena, who’s been holding my hand in both of hers in her lap, glances over at me and squeezes my hand lightly, and when our eyes meet she gives me a faint smile.

“Makado,” Crookshank says, in a surprisingly level tone of voice, “if you can’t tell us what’s important about this crystal, we’re not going to get it for you.”

It would be Crookshank that put voice to it that baldly, but as I look around the table I see slow nods. “Yeah,” Fumi says, and although many of us glance over at the Sergeant, he remains silent.

Makado sighs and in it I can hear a note of defeat, trickling down plainly through however many hundreds of feet and flesh and rock.

“Alright,” she says softly.

The crystal is important, she says, because in the 2007 disaster the thing that they used to make the Pit stop from waking up entirely was an array of three carved crystals that had been found back in the 70s at the original Indian ritual grounds, and it had been determined through rigorous and secretive testing that striking the carved crystals produced vibrations of a certain wavelength impossible to replicate by any other means that exerted some sort of influence or control over the Pit. Striking them in a certain way could make it wake up, striking them in another way could make it convulse, and so on. These crystals had been incorporated into some sort of machine that was supposed to, if there ever was a disaster as serious as the one in 2007, spin the crystals up and strike a certain tone that would have been loud enough to pound downwards into whatever the Pit used for a brain and get it to go into a coma, or to kill it – they weren’t entirely sure.

The plan had worked, though not without a few hiccups, Makado says, but the biggest hiccup of all was that the crystals had shattered when that tone was struck, and since then this is the first time they’ve had one within their grasp. If they can get the crystal, get it up to the lab and carve it out the way the natives of the area must have, thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago, they might have another ace in the hole in case the Pit starts to wake up again.

I wonder, briefly, what might happen if a person were inside the Pit when that tone resounded through the creature, a tone so powerful it was able to knock out something like the Pit. I wonder about the cause of that mysterious psychic illness Peter and Makado had alluded to, I wondered about the nosebleeds Makado had told me about, when she was telling the story about the amalgam.

Perhaps -

“Because,” Makado says, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this – it is going to wake up. We’ve been hearing rumblings, down there in the depths, in the Gut and elsewhere, muscle contractions, palpitations, activity in areas that have lain dormant since 2007. I’ve been speaking to Science and their opinion is that the Pit is building up a tolerance to the sedative we use, and without that, all the other measures, the deliberate starvation, nerve clipping, muscle relaxants – they won’t be enough to stop something like 2007, or something worse, from happening again.”

I hear her blow out a big breath.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like if it wakes up again. You all know that the Pit’s too big to be ambulatory, but it’s got appendages it can move and feed with, and its size makes it a threat to a very big chunk of Texas if it were to be able to move them with coordination. Thanks to us, if it wakes up again, it’ll be hungry. You decide if it’s worth it.”

The line clicks off and we sit there in silence for a moment. The Sergeant levers himself off the wall and plonks his empty mug down on the table. “Think about it,” he says to all of us. “We’ll sleep here tonight and then tomorrow we’ll make a decision.”

So we sleep there tonight and tomorrow we make a decision. Despite the dead body in the Station nothing comes poking around to bother us, or at least if anything does it took one look at Joker and scampered off. Elena and I stayed up for a little but again we found that there was nothing to say; I contented myself with stroking my hands along the naked expanse of her body, not in a sexual way, just because I liked the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips. She held very still, a ghost of a smile fluttering over her lips. I found her hips and squeezed them, traced circles around her nipples, ran my hand down the toned flat expanse of her belly, the dark patch of stubble below beckoning me, but I controlled myself. I stared at it for a moment, then flicked my eyes up to her face, to her unruly mop of blonde hair.

Elena shifts her hands along my backside, squeezing at me, and I made a little noise deep in my throat. “You’re like a cat,” she told me. It’s the first thing either of us said in about a half an hour. Her other hand was tucked up beneath me and tangled in my hair. I leant in and kissed her.

“Do you dye your hair?” I asked her, and she laughed.

“That’s such a random question.”

“I was curious.”

“I do,” she said.

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t like brown,” she said primly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

“I have brown hair,” I pointed out, and she smiled, looks up at it.

“Yes, you do. But it looks good on you.”

“I think you’d look good with brown hair.”

“We should go to sleep,” she told me. I pull her closer against me, knocking against one of the tent’s metal support struts with my elbow.

“Shit,” I grunt, and she laughed.

We said a few more things but nothing important. I kissed her on the neck and she giggled, and then we fell asleep, arms and legs tangled together like knots. I was afraid I’d dream but instead there was nothing, not even a sensation that I had dreamed and forgotten it as soon as I’d woken, just closing my eyes and then opening them when Elena had sat up, the alarm on her watch beeping at us. I looked at the shifting muscles in her back, at the long thin scar along one of her shoulder blades, and then I reached out for her and pulled her back down into me and nuzzled my face all along the soft, smooth places of her body and she kept laughing and saying that we had to get up, that it was going to be a long day, but I told her that if that was the case we ought to make the most of our morning, and she considered that and then turned with a feral grin and fell on me and all was well for a while.

Then, when we were through, we got dressed and clambered out of the tent and found that a consensus had been reached without us, although it was one we’d agreed with – that if Slate’s (presumed) death, and the (presumed) deaths of the other four people who worked at the Deep Listening Station, and the (definite) death of the one we’d found were to mean anything, were to be worth it – I felt something like a shudder at that phrase, at the notion of a death like that being ‘worth it’ – we would have to continue. If it was as important as Makado said, we would have to continue. And when the Sergeant told us this, that we’d been outvoted, he nodded to me and said that if I wanted to take Makado’s offer up anyway, she’d informed him that she’d be able to guide me up out of the darkness, and that nobody here would think anything less of me for taking the easy way out.

And then I looked at Elena and she’d looked at me, and I thought I saw something imploring in her eyes, so I looked away from her, but I couldn’t say anything to him, not just yet. I knew that we were going to make it to the barrows today and some freakish mortal fear had taken ahold of me and its teeth were so deep and cold and serrated that I didn’t trust myself to speak. I thought of the stories Peter and Makado had told me, I thought of poor Eileen, dragged off by a copepod, and for a moment I wanted so badly to say yes, okay, tap me out, I’m done, you guys have fun down here, but it passed quickly and replaced itself with something hard and cast-iron and heavy sinking into the pit of my stomach. It took me a moment to recognize it as determination, and then I was smiling at the Sergeant, I imagine rather beatifically.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive. Why dip out when it’s just getting exciting?”

And with that, after a little more puttering around and making sure everyone was collected and on the ball with what was to be done today, we took the second-largest vent out of Oyster’s Shame, leaving its spongy and beautiful luminescence behind, leaving the dead body behind, leaving, I certainly hoped, the Leechman behind, and began the long, slow, treacherous climb downwards to the copepod barrows.

Continue with Part 21

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #original writing #Michael Crichton #alt lit #spilled ink #rejectscorner #novel #disaster #caving #horror

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fazbear-security · 4 years

Text

Secret Tunnels & Surprise Visits

Mike hadn’t had a week off in nearly two years, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He’d slept as late as he could, but that had only taken him to 1pm, and most of his siblings had extra curricular activities that would keep them out until at least 6pm. His mother was working until at least then, when she picked up the kids, and Sasha’s curfew wasn’t until 11pm (and boy, did she wring it for every minute she could get). He’d tried cleaning up around the house, but that had only taken up part of his Thursday, and as much as his mother had appreciated his hard work, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy the itch in his idle hands.

The pizzeria was being renovated that weekend, and was closed from Thursday to the following Wednesday, so Mike had a good full six or seven days all to himself. Already out of things to do around the house after day one, he’d decided to tackle the one task he (and everyone else in the house) had been putting off for years.

Organizing the basement.

“You have a lot of stuff down here.” Puppet commented as he climbed up on top of an old gear locker shoved against the stairs. A pair of old workout gloves and a rolled up mat were still stuffed in it, along with a set of resistance bands. Mike made a point not to look at it. “Like, a LOT a lot.” The slender animatronic that had taken up residence under his bed poked at the curling edge of an old sticker on the side of the locker. “Don’t you guys throw anything out?”

“Does it look like it?” Mike asked rhetorically as he surveyed the mess. Where was the best place to start? Christmas ‘91? His old college stuff? That box of yearbooks that stretched all the way back to Tara’s freshman year of high school? “That’s what we’re down here to do today - pare down all this junk and get rid of the stuff we really don’t need.”

“That’s easier said than done…” Puppet eyed the mess from his perch up on the locker before jumping down, and curiously opening the nearest box. “You’ve got more stuff down here than the old location had in storage….oh!” The little animatronic leaned over the edge of the large box - almost falling in - before scrambling back out with a little box clutched in his striped fingers, and a wide smile on his mask.

“Hey! I remember these!!” He popped open the lid and ran a cloth fingertip over the enamel pins on the board inside while Mike picked another box in a stack across the room, and started to dig through it. “These are the commemorative pins from 1987! They had me give these to employees as a gift at a big party!” Puppet tilted his head curiously. “How’d they get down here?”

“The night shift isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you know.” Mike made a face at the musty books inside the box he’d chosen, and closed it back up. His mother still might want to donate these to the library - best to just set these aside, for now. “I spent a few months making pizzas for the other location across town before I went to college. I was out sick when that party happened, but management gave me those pins the next day.”

“You mean...we could’ve met sooner?” Puppet looked down at the old pins - at the cutesy, cartoony faces of Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and the pizzeria’s logo - and some of his smile faded. Mike looked up from the box of old clothes he was sorting through at the heavy silence, and frowned.

“Don’t...don’t think too much about it, Puppet.” He advised, folding an old shirt that had stopped fitting a decade ago and setting it aside. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was eighteen, anyway. I was kind of an as-...uh...kind of a jerk.” He quickly amended. Puppet frowned, and put the lid back on the box before jumping up and sliding it on top of the locker. He was absolutely keeping that.

“So?” The animatronic moved to Mike’s side, and stood as high as he could to try and see into the clothing box. “I’ve dealt with sulky teenagers before.”

“I was a lot more than just ‘sulky’...” Mike winced. He’d been a jerk with a capital ‘J’ before he’d gone to college and gotten knocked off his pedestal. It was a miracle his parents had been able to put up with him for an entire year, honestly. “Be glad we met after I got my head on straight. It was for the best for both of us.” Puppet’s mask twisted into a frown, but Mike was determined for that to be the end of the topic, and moved the clothing box to get at the yearbooks beneath it.

“...huh?” Mike paused in the middle of opening the last box in the stack, and closed the flaps again to tilt it back, and get a better look at what had caught his attention. Puppet quickly perked up as the young man shifted the box across the floor, and off of a mysterious, rectangular shape still half-buried by all the clutter.

“Oh, cool! A secret door!” Puppet grabbed another stack of boxes and tried to push it off the shape, while Mike scratched his head in confusion.

“I...don’t remember this.” The human frowned, even as he helped Puppet to move the stack that weighed more than him. “I wonder if Mom or Dad knew about this?” He frowned as he cleared the last of the boxes off of what was now obviously some kind of old trapdoor. “Kind of seems like they tried to bury it.”

“Maybe it leads to a secret tunnel!” Puppet suggested eagerly. “Just like in that cartoon with the dog Pippa likes!” He started to bounce on his heels, and started to reach for the seam in the floor. “Let’s open it and see where it goes!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Puppet!” Mike snatched the little animatronic up under one arm, and stepped back before he could get his striped fingers into the crack. “We can’t just open it!” He argued. “We have no idea what might be down there - there could be rats, or spiders, or-”

THUNK.

“......” Both Mike and Puppet froze at the sound, and looked down at the trapdoor. “.....that’s a big rat.” Puppet whispered. Mike slowly - quietly - stepped back from the trapdoor, and the sound came again, only louder. He dropped Puppet back to his feet, and the little animatronic quickly hid behind the human, and dug his striped fingers into Mike’s red jacket as they both nervously watched the trapdoor.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something pounded on the trapdoor from below - something big - and a small puff of dust was kicked up from the space. Mike looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a baseball bat from another pile of junk. Luis hadn’t used it since his high school days. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

The trapdoor began to rattle, and Mike swung the bat up over his shoulder as the rusty lock creaked and bent. Finally, the old metal snapped, and the trapdoor was thrown open by-....by Chica?

Mike’s brain ground to a halt as the animatronic chicken mascot from his workplace popped up through his floor, looking around with a curious hum at the cluttered basement before she laid optics on him, and broke out into a wide, toothy smile.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt!! How’d you get here?”

“.......” The baseball bat fell out of Mike’s limp hands, and clattered to the floor. Puppet flinched at the loud sound, but Chica didn’t seem to register the human’s obvious shock, and came up the rest of the stairs and into the basement.

“Guys!” She shouted back down the stairs. “Mike’s here!” Behind her, Bonnie’s ears appeared before the rest of him, and Foxy’s hook scratched at the edge of the trapdoor hole as he hauled himself up out of the tunnel that yawned beneath the basement floor. Mike sucked in a breath through his teeth as the pirate fox - and other figures that, in no way, should have ever been in his house - rose up from beneath the floor, and stretched his limbs.

“Aaarrr, ‘tis about time!” Foxy grumbled, leaning back as if to stretch out a kink in his spine. “We’ve been walkin’ fer hours! I thought we’d be ‘alfway t’ Tortuga by now!”

“We were only down there for twenty minutes, at best.” Bonnie argued as he climbed out. “Your internal clock must be broken!”

“Jus’ like th’ rest o’ me, ey?” Foxy turned an irritable glare upon the rabbit, but his expression immediately softened when he noticed the audience Bonnie had not. “Oh! Mike! How ye’ be, lad? Ain’t seen ye’ since Wednesday eve’!” Puppet looked up at the human he hid behind with wide eyes, and Mike found the presence of mind to lower his hands from their raised position.

“....you’re in my house.” He said eloquently. Bonnie and Foxy both tipped their ears forward, and looked around the basement.

“This be your house?” Foxy flipped up his eyepatch for a better look. “It be….uh….cozy?” Bonnie shook his head and smacked the fox on the arm.

“This isn’t the whole place, buckethead.” He scoffed. “There’s an upstairs, see?” He pointed to the basement stairs, and Mike looked over just in time to see Chica’s tailfeathers disappearing at the top. His heart skipped a beat or two.“This is just a basement!” The rabbit hopped over a box on the floor, and headed up the stairs himself. “Chica, wait for me!”

“I knew that!” Foxy huffed back with a lash of his tail. The basement started to feel a little small, and Mike pulled another breath in through his teeth. Oh, god. He’d had nightmares just like this, back when he’d first started on the night shift...except he wasn’t sleeping now. He was awake, and this was real-

“I, ah, don’t suppose I could get a hand?” Mike froze, and slowly looked back down at the trapdoor to see Freddy himself seemingly wedged in the stairway opening. Behind him, he could also see the glow from Sam’s LED hat band, somewhere back within the tunnel. “I’m not as slim as the rest of you, you know!” The bear admitted.

“Aye, let’s get’che out o’ there.” Foxy reached out with his good hand to grab Freddy’s and started to pull, with Sam - presumably - pushing from behind. After a few more seconds of staring, Puppet edged out from behind Mike to help. Mike, however, remained frozen in place, and a few shades paler than he probably should have been as he tried to comprehend how one of his darkest nightmares was becoming reality right before his eyes-

“Oh, wow!” Chica’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs - somewhere on the second floor. “It looks like Parts & Services up here, only better lit! Bonnie, you have to come see this!”

“That’s my-! Oh no.” Mike’s eyes popped wide, and he finally broke out of his frozen stupor to bolt for the stairs, leaving Puppet, Foxy, and Sam alone to try and pry the pizzeria star out through the too-small trapdoor in the floor. “That’s my room! Don’t touch anything!”

He passed Bonnie in the living room, seemingly enamoured by the many framed photos hung up behind the couch, and nearly tripped running up the stairs before he caught himself on the banister. It wasn’t until he’d made it up to the landing and thrown open his bedroom door that Mike realized that he...had no real plan for confronting the animatronic inside. He froze again in the doorway, panting, and struggling for words as Chica ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over the variety of drawings and unfinished projects strewn about his desk.

“Whoa!!!” Chica picked up a pipe-and-wire hand model that he’d given up on three months ago, and cradled it in her hands with the reverence of a child holding a coveted toy for the first time. “This is just like our endoskeletons! Mr. Schmidt, I didn’t know you could build things!”

“I-. Uh. Um.” The unexpected praise made it even harder for Mike to find his words, and he stumbled for an embarrassingly long time before he heard the creaking of the stairs, and felt a towering presence at his back.

“Oh, neat!” Bonnie pushed his way into the room, causing Mike to stumble forward, as well, and gleefully batted at the punching bag still hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. “Heheh, what’s this thing? Does it make noise?”

“No, it-. It doesn’t make noise.” Mike reached out a hand to stop the bag from swinging, and hoped the feeling of the synthetic leather against his hand would help snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much. “It’s for hitting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie seemed to lose interest at this answer, and turned to face Chica, who had moved on to looking at the posters and pictures hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Bonnie zeroed in on one in particular, and Mike winced internally. “Who’s this kid? I haven’t seen them at the pizzeria before.”

“Yeah, you have. That’s, uh.” Mike found himself wishing he’d never framed that dumb childhood photo. “That’s me.”

“That’s you?!” Bonnie and Chica both crowded around the frame, now, and Mike prayed to any deity listening that his floor would hold under them. “Aww! You used to be so cute!”

“Bonnie!” Chica gasped, and tweaked one of the rabbit’s ears. “That’s so rude! He’s still cute!”

“......” Mike pressed both hands over his face, and leaned back until he was sitting on his bed as the two animatronics began to squabble.

Maybe, if he just sat here for long enough, his brain would get tired of this nightmare, and he’d wake up?

#fnaf #fnaf fanfic #mun's writing #Mike Schmidt #Freddy #Chica #Bonnie #Foxy #Puppet #Safety Officer Sam

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ludi-ling · 4 years

Text

Romy Prompt #1

Fair & Square

It’s still strange to kiss without being scared, without the crazy avalanche of memories.

Hell, it’s just strange to be kissing at all.

Especially now, here, with him.

Don’t get me wrong – it isn’t like this is the first time we’ve kissed, or even the second or third… or maybe even the tenth, if I think about it.

What’s strange is the both of us being absolutely powerless; and what’s even stranger is that only a couple of days ago I’d dragged him away from the pearly gates of heaven itself, and I could’a sworn ever since then he’s been angry with me.

Nah – angry don’t even cut it. He’s been worse than angry – distant, stand-offish.

I’d stolen his redemption from him, and now he’s powerless and vulnerable in a way he’s never been before. I know it don’t sit well with him – hell, it don’t sit well with me – but I did it because I love the man, and I don’t regret it for a moment.

I have no idea what he’s been through, but the hell we shared with Vargas made me sure of one thing – I ain’t done with him, and I’m gonna fight tooth and nail to keep him till my dying breath. I want more, and for once, I ain’t afraid to tell him so.

I want a lifetime, I’d said to him.

I’d asked him for everything.

And he hadn’t said no.

He ain’t given an unequivocal ‘yes’ neither, but I’ll take what I can get from Remy LeBeau.

Our kiss is over all too soon, and I don’t dare to press for more – I feel like I may be pushing for luck. For a moment we sway together in time to the band, neither of us saying a thing. It ain’t too often we get moments, let alone kisses, like these – the best we can do is savour it.

“You wanna go back?” I finally ask him. “Join the others?”

His swaying slows slightly.

“Do you wanna?” he asks me instead. I barely need to think about my answer.

“No,” I reply simply. “Not if you don’t wanna.” I raise my head and look at him, feeling the need to finally speak the unspoken.

“Listen – sugar. I know what I took away from you, Remy. But I want ya to know I did what I did ‘cos I love ya. ‘Cos I ain’t ready to lose ya. And—”

“Shh.” He places a forefinger against my lips, silencing me – the texture of his skin on mine still so wonderfully alien. “I know why you did it, Rogue,” he says. “You don’t need t’explain.”

“Don’t I?” I say, doubtful.

“Non.” His thumb caresses my lips softly. “I ain’t angry at you, chere. I may’ve been, a li’l bit. At first. Not anymore.”

I slowly release a pent-up breath. Till this moment, it ain’t hit me how much I’ve needed him to give me that reassurance.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Silence follows, interrupted by the sudden swell of laughter from the nearby party. He starts swaying again and I follow, our arms around one another.

“You wanna head somewhere more private?” he asks, resting his chin in my hair.

I lean back, press my hips against his, and quirk him a smirk.

“Private, huh? Private as in what exactly, sugar?”

He cocks a lazy smile.

“Well, you got the best room in the house, cherie. Mind if I take a li’l peek?”

I roll my eyes. When we’d first got here, in this incredible house Destiny had secretly bequeathed to me, right in the Garden Quarter of the Big Easy – Remy had been in terrible shape. He’d gotten his own room, and his own carer, in the person of our old friend, Beast – and, under doctor’s orders, I’d been careful not to ‘excite’ him. His brooding had made sure that wasn’t a problem. The past few days he’s been up and about, almost like normal – as normal as he can be, after nearly losing his life – and while there have been touches and kisses, he’s still been holding something back. Which is why I’m kind surprised he’s choosing now to be flirty.

“Remy LeBeau,” I scold him sarcastically, “you passed out on my bed last night – don’t pretend you ain’t seen inside my room!”

“That was on top of your covers,” he drawls, “I was thinkin’ more inside o’them.”

I slap his cheek playfully.

“Are ya even sure ya even got the strength to go messin’ around, Cajun? I thought doctor’s orders were not to get over excited!”

“Doc just gave me a clean bill o’ health,” he grins too smugly for my liking. “As good as I ever was, Hank says. Superb shape. So I think that’s permission for some ‘excitement’, neh?”

Well, knock me down a feather! Seems like the boy might be recovered after all!

And I can’t say I ain’t been anxious to try things out between us without anything but skin in the way… …

“All right, sugar,” I say, half turning and drawing his arm firmly round my waist. “Lemme give ya that ‘sneak peek’ you’ve been waitin’ for.”

-oOo-

I lead him up through gorgeously furnished and decorated corridors to my room.

I’m on tenterhooks for this, like some kid in a candy shop.

I love him, and he loves me – he told me so, at the gates of heaven no less. Doesn’t matter if we’re still too dumbfuck, even at this point, to translate that into anything more than ‘taking things day by day’ and ‘seeing where it leads’.

Hey, you know what really sucks? I ain’t never had this boy fair and square. First time was in some godforsaken cave in the middle of Antarctica, fearing that either one or both of us would die the next day. And the second time was when his powers were at maximum control thanks to Sinny, and the static charges any contact created between us was, while fun while it lasted, hardly conducive to no-holds-barred fucking.

I want him on my own terms.

I’m about to.

I can hardly contain myself, I’m so excited. Nervous too, but… …

We’re kissing as we enter the bedroom; he kicks the door shut behind us, and we’re already undressing each other as he backs me up towards the dresser with this dominating masculinity that in normal circumstances would have me pushing back just by instinct, but right now is the sexiest damn thing he could be doing.

As soon as my ass hits the dresser he hoists me up onto it, wedging up in the space between my legs as his mouth leaves mine and blazes an angry trail down my neck. I’m on horrible, all-consuming fire, a familiar hot wetness blooming up inside me. I fumble between us for his flies, and my fingers are shaking with impatience as I finally unzip him free… and suddenly, he’s in my hand.

He moans.

Lord, but you do not know what the sound of that does to me.

Then he cusses through his teeth, backs away slightly, hooks my legs at the knees and lifts them. My feet slam noisily onto the dresser. I’m wide open to him, and he grabs at the waistline of my pants and underwear, yanking them roughly down past my ass and thighs, and I wriggle to accommodate him, eager to shake off my clothing.

He’s impatient, animal almost, intimidating in a way that thrills me. I feel… weird, but not in an unpleasant way. This ain’t the first time we’ve done this, and it’s a long time since I’ve been a virgin, thanks to him. We’ve messed around as much as we’ve been able with my toxic skin, which has been… an education. But the power differential has always been lurking there between us. He knows I could kick his skinny Cajun ass into the middle of next week if I wanted to, and I’ve always wondered what it felt like for a man like him to acknowledge that his woman could physically beat him into a pulp if he tried anything funny.

Hell, maybe it turns him on – maybe I should ask him.

Not that it matters anymore. Now I’m just like any woman, and the weirdness I feel is from the thread of vulnerability not having my powers anymore gives me. It isn’t like the first time. The first time he was patient, tender, loving. Now he’s… something else.

My pants are off.

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and suddenly he’s slapping a condom into my hand.

Gotta love this Cajun – he always comes prepared.

This is something we’ve practiced scores of times before, and between him shucking off his pants and my quivering desire, I somehow get it on him. Ha – don’t have to worry about skin on skin contact this time round – he always swore the long drawn-out, uber-careful methods I’d had to take before were hot as fuck, but slow is not what we’re aiming for right now, not by any stretch of the imagination. We’re both as rabid as a couple of rabbits on heat, and as soon as he’s suited up, he grabs my ass, scoots me forward to the edge of the dresser and—

He’s surging up inside me so hard and fast I’m crying out into his shoulder.

Damn.

My body is suddenly reminding me that I don’t have invulnerability anymore.

He freezes right up there inside me, says shakily, breathlessly into my hair: “S-sorry.”

I breathe in deep, sucking up the scent, the taste of his skin. The stars behind my eyes start to fade a bit.

“I-I’m okay,” I whisper back hoarsely – my mouth is dry.

He backs up a bit, kisses my forehead softly, looks into my eyes.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya…” he says, and I grab his face, saying:

“I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

I pull his face down into another kiss.

And neither of us stops, for a little while at least.

-oOo-

We’re lying side by side, listening to the sounds of the party outside.

My body is still a tingling fuzz of pleasure, swimming lazily in and out of the haze of exhaustion.

“They’re probably wondering where we are,” I murmur aloud. Beside me, Remy chuckles softly.

“No, chere. They ain’t.”

I huff a lose strand of hair out of my face. No, they probably ain’t.

“Speakin’ of the others,” I say after a moment. “What did ya think of Jean’s pitch about headin’ back to the mansion?”

“Sounded good,” he answers drily, “but that pitch wasn’t aimed at me. It was aimed at you folks. And y’all know I ain’t part of your ‘X-Treme X-Men’ outfit.” He pauses, adds under his breath, “which is the dumbest team name of all time, by the way.”

“Oh, quit bein’ a baby,” I nudge in the ribs with an elbow – I ain’t strong enough to even elicit an oof from him these days. “Ya know you’re one of us! And you know as well as I do that Jean was includin’ you in her invitation!”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, staring at the ceiling. “I was havin’ fun wonderin’ round thievin’. Just like the ol’ days. Shame that Vargas fella had to come along and ruin it all.”

He sighs, and I can read the unspoken easily – he’s missing his powers. I sure as hell ain’t.

“Remy,” I roll onto my side and lean my head into my hand, “if you wanna talk about what happened with Vargas, I—”

His eyes flash to mine and he silences me.

“Hey, listen. Let’s not get back on this track again, Rogue. What’s done is done. I don’t regret it now. Honestly.”

I’m still not sure I believe him.

“You would’ve died,” I say quietly, averting my eyes and tracing the line of the already-fading scar marring his breast. “I couldn’t let you. Y’see, I realised somethin’,” and I raise my gaze to his again, ready to be honest. “I can’t live without you. So many times we’ve been apart, and you know what? Knowing you’re still out there keeps me going. I didn’t even realise it until I nearly lost you.”

A slight smile curves his lips – he raises and hand and tucks a lock of white hair tenderly behind my ear.

“Same,” he murmurs. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and the smile drops as he says: “What do you want, chere? Do you wanna head back to the mansion? Join back up with the X-Men?”

I think about it. And all I can really say is that I want what I wanted before. Everything.

“I want our lifetime,” I reply simply. “Even if it means havin’ t’ take things day by day.”

This time his smile is kinda sad. I know he’s not the type to promise everything – he never has been. I don’t expect it from him. I guess I never really have.

“Okay, well,” he finally says, “I got a better idea.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than goin’ back t’the mansion.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Really? Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Well,” he begins, massaging his fingers through my hair luxuriantly, “how ‘bout you and I take t’the road… see where it leads us? Just you, me and whatever we have with us right now.”

I stare at him.

I can’t get words out. I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not.

“What?” I finally blurt out.

“You want more,” he replies, his eyes tracing my mouth, that oh-so-familiar cocky smile forming on his lips again. “I guess I do too.”

“Oh,” I snit back at him pointedly. “Ya ‘guess’ ya do?”

He stops massaging my hair, locks his eyes onto mine again, all trace of that smile gone.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do. And we ain’t gonna go nowhere together bein’ back at that mansion. No offence to the Brady Bunch an’ all – I love ‘em to pieces, sure I do – but all they ever do is stick their noses in and stir shit. B’sides,” he addes nonchalantly, “we ain’t got no superhero powers no more. What good we gonna do the X-Men?”

I pout, knowing they’d take us back anyway – but that’s not the point.

“Listen, chere,” he continues, this time in a more pressing tone, “I wanna figure out what we got goin’ together. And we ain’t never gonna be able t’do that with the X-Men always in our lives. Now we have the chance t’be a normal couple – whatever ‘normal’ means. Hell, I don’t know what the hell it means, but I’m willin’ to find out. We hit the road, we get to find out what bein’ together means on our own terms – no pryin’ eyes. No distractions but each other. Whaddya say, Rogue?”

I think about it. For a second I wonder whether he’s charming me, before I realise – he doesn’t have that power anymore. This is all just me.

I can’t believe he’s offering this to me – I can’t believe I could say anything but yes.

“Anna,” I say.

“Huh?” He blinks.

“My name is Anna. And yeah. I say we hit the road.”

He smiles, slow and sexy.

“Y’know somethin’?” he asks, his fingers kneading my scalp again, sending shivers down my spine.

“What?”

“Your hair. I miss also those sexy, wild curls o’ yours. You gonna grow it out again any time soon?”

I scoff.

“I’ll consider it, Cajun.”

He laughs softly, teasing me back towards him.

“All right, Anna.” He pauses a moment, adds, “I’m gonna haveta get used t’that.”

“Ya don’t have to, sugar,” I assure him, leaning in closer. “I prefer Rogue.”

“Me too,” he murmurs; and we seal our deal with a kiss.

-END-

#Romy fanfic #Romy #prompts #Rogue and Gambit #Rogue #Gambit #SMUT FIC

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Winter Solstice - Chapter One (undergoing re-work; new chpts posted on Patreon)

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS AN OLD, FIRST DRAFT, AND IS CURRENTLY UNDERGOING A COMPLETE RE-WRITE. I’ve left it up in case you’re interested, and I intend to release it in full as a self-published novel. Consider this a tease/sneak peek.

Who remembers my Fae Realm? Well, here's Chapter One of a new story set in that universe, released on Winter Solstice night (it happens at 4.19am on Sunday 22nd December in the UK, so I think this counts).

I hope you enjoy it! See the links at the end for more stories set in this universe.

It’s been up on Patreon for only a couple of days (to keep it roughly Solstice-relevant), but the second part will be up on there for longer before it gets its Tumblr debut. As it was a surprise post, it was also available to all patrons, from the Shadows tier up.

Content: female character attacked in the woods by a mysterious dark fae creature, rescued by a shadowy fae with one wing, and the Prince of the Winter Court himself... Wordcount: 1678

___

On the longest night of the year, when the veil between the Mortal Realm and the Fae Realm is at its thinnest, its weakest, she, like the chump she was, found herself riding alone through the forest between the harbour town and her little village.

Foxfire danced between the trees as the sun’s last rays dissolved in the watercolour sky above her, and she tried to keep her heartbeat steady as she trod the familiar path back home with her saddlebags empty and her coin purse full. She’d finally sold the last of the pendants that she’d made from old iron horse-shoes to protect mortals against the advances of the Fae, but of course, she’d not left enough time to get home.

Her ears picked up almost nothing save for the whisper of snow falling all around her. The woods were silent and empty save for the hiss of the wind in the bare branches and the steady, creaking crunch of her horse’s hooves on the old forest track. No birds sang; no deer moved between the sentinel trunks of the ancient trees; no rabbits scampered through the thorny arcs of purple-limbed brambles.

She had just leaned forwards to pat her mare’s coarse, white mane, the dapple of her coat blending in with the winter around, when the silence of the woods exploded into chaos.

Something erupted out through the trees with such force that her ears rang from the crack like a thunderclap, and snow sprayed in a thirty foot arc, spattering against trees, and sending her horse rearing up, hooves lashing out as the mare neighed an equine scream of pure terror.

She fell from the saddle and landed heavily on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs and her vision sparkling. The heavy-set mare launched herself into a plunging gallop away through the trees, tail streaming behind like a banner, leaving her rider exposed beside the frozen, woodland stream and wondering what in the name of all the realms had just happened.

Then she heard it; a slow, deep growl, and the prowling footsteps of something creeping through the mist of disturbed snow up ahead at the point of impact. Her heart thudded in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of the creature, but as she scrambled backwards in blind panic, she saw it crawling out of the debris on all fours, turning its head this way and that, snuffing and scenting the air like a hound trying to find a trail.

Its body was as big as a bear’s, but it was skeletally thin, hairless, and with gangly arms and long, spindly fingers. Its skin was a mottled greenish grey, and as it swivelled its head around and fixed its gaze on her, she was met by two enormous, moon-like eyes, glowing with a horrid, dead light.

The scream that tore itself from her throat sounded foreign to her ears. She scrabbled to her feet and grabbed the first thing her hands fell on, which happened to be a stout, fallen branch. The creature skittered this way and that, bouncing playfully off the trunks of the trees, lunging after her like a cat at play, and then it opened its maw. Horrifically, its jaw split into four, fringe-like sections, like some hideous flower, and the inside of its mouth was blood red and filled with row upon row of needle-like teeth.

She scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to find traction in the mucky slush beneath her, and swung at the creature as it made its final dash towards her, quick as a spider and as unstoppable as a charging bull.

The branch collided with the side of its head, and it staggered and veered away, snarling and snapping that grotesque mouth and narrowing its enormous eyes. The drool that dropped from its four-fold lips hissed and sizzled as it hit the snow.

A blueish light shifted in the trees a little way off behind the monster, but she didn’t have time to call out for help as it darted for her once again.

This time it was too quick and she screamed again as its vile mouth clamped down on her neck and collarbone, sinking its myriad venomous teeth into her skin. Searing pain shot through every nerve and she dropped the stick, her fingers going almost instantly limp. Its disgusting breath stung her nose, its continuous and delighted snarling filling her ears, but she could barely breathe through the pain as it tightened its grip on her and brought its long, gnarled fingers to her waist and drew her close to its foul body.

She was going to die. It was Winter Solstice, and she was going to die in the rotting claws of some foul creature from the Fae Realm.

Her arms were clamped to her sides by its terrible grip on her, but as the long, hard handle of her belt knife dug into the inside of her wrist left, she thought vaguely of freeing it somehow so she could at least try to gut the creature who was going to take her life. It had to be a Fae creature, though she had never heard of one like this before. As the best blacksmith and farrier within thirty miles of the lord’s castle, she had seen the Fae pets that the nobles kept on iron chains, parading them around like exotic animals for everyone’s entertainment. Fae on this side of the shield between the realms were not supposed to be able to access their powers. This one, however, was strong and quick, lithe, and gods above, her neck was on fire with its venom.

Finally loosing the knife as she twisted, choking on the pain and screams which lodged together in her throat, she rammed the six inch blade deep into its gut. Foul black liquid gushed out, burning her hand, but the creature released its hold on her neck immediately. She staggered and fell backwards into the snow, her right hand darting to her neck that was a mess with ragged puncture wounds. The pain was indescribable, searing beneath her skin in waves of rippling needlepoints and clenching her lungs and throat so tight that breathing became almost impossible.

The creature writhed on the ground, reaching for her with its taloned fingers, scraping them through the churning snow and mud as if determined to drag itself towards her and finish her off, no matter the cost to itself. She managed to kick it in the face with her heel before she slumped back into the snow, dizzy, cold, and sweating.

“I don’t want to die,” she rasped, turning her blurring vision up to the lacework of black branches above while the snow pattered down around her. “Please…” she prayed to no one in particular.

Hoof-beats pounding through the slush made her turn her head dazedly, and a second later, a burst of darkness exploded out like a drop of ink in water, and the creature screamed. A human-shaped figure now stood beside it, and she squinted as her own vision began to dim. She thought the figure that had erupted from the pure, writhing darkness had wings, but when he turned, she saw that in fact he only had one wing, and where there should have been a second protruding from the special slits in the back of his leather armour, there was only a ragged, black stump. The right wing hung like a giant bat’s wing down his back, and she could see dapples of moonlight through its shredded membrane.

Before she could take in much more about the figure, he had clutched the creature’s head in his hands and torn it clean off in a spray of gurgling, black ichor. The thundering hooves drew close and a second person swung down from the saddle of a huge grey stallion. The horse’s hooves danced in the snow while he whinnied and snorted at the scent of the creature’s blood.

“Is she alive?” she heard a rasping male voice ask from above her.

“Yes, highness,” the winged figure swathed in shifting darkness replied. “Looks like she did our work for us though.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, and suddenly he was crouching beside her.

His clothes were simple fighting leathers, but they were tooled with silver filigree and studded with a glimmering metal that was not of the Mortal Realm. His long, silver-white hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck to reveal tapering, elegant ears, and he wore a simple band of white metal around his head. As he turned to look at her, she caught a glimpse of the right hand side of his face and gasped. Where his left cheek was smooth and pale as polished marble, his right seemed, to her blurred and fading vision, to be made of quicksilver, or iridescent ice. All the planes of his face were hard as crystallised ice and his eyes were a blue so pale they were almost white.

Their voices warped, her hearing failing as the poison in that creature’s maw got to work on her body in earnest.

“She’s going to die,” the prince remarked, in much the way that a housewife might comment that someone was nipping out to the market.

“Please,” she hissed, her fingers - slick with the creature’s black blood - groping for a hold on him. She found his hand and he wrenched it back from her clutches with a look of disgust on his beautiful face. “Please… I don’t want to die. I…” Her throat closed, but as the world tilted back into darkness in a wash of agony, she caught the flare of curiosity in his grey eyes and hoped it would be enough to move him to pity.

It didn’t occur to her that asking a Fae for her life without waiting to hear the price - and on this night of all nights - was a very, very foolish thing indeed.

Part Two

Fae Realm Stories

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#fae realm #fae #fae lover #fae boyfriend #fae prince #exophilia #fae x female character #sfw

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freewithyourtempo · 4 years

Note

Highschool cherik au firsts? Like first date, kiss, first time, etc.

Thank you for the prompt, anon!

Let’s start with first kiss…

Charles hisses.

It isn’t as bad as it looks, he is sure. It is just that the sweat rolling down his temple and upper lip is dragging down the blood as well. The wound itself isn’t deep. Obviously.

That being said, did Alex have to aim so freaking high with his free-kick?

Charles shakes his head. He is being unjust: it wasn’t Alex’s fault, after all, but Charles’ own, who had been distracted by a very recognizable silhouette, shaped by the shadows under the bleachers.

Charles bites his lip and keeps on dabbing mercilessly at the cut at the angle of his mouth, which is now turning an ugly shade of purple. It stings like hell, the paper rough against his ruined skin, but he can’t bleed for the whole period. He has already missed half of it. He huffs.

He notices with a grimace that the piece of toilet paper in his hand is crimson-spotted and crumpled up. He throws it in the overflowing bin next to the door and tears another one from the roll he has wisely put on the sink.

The soaked, muddy, unsanitary sink of a high school gym toilet, as clean as the bottom of his soccer-shoes. He will consider himself lucky if he doesn’t catch tuberculosis by the end of the day.

In that moment, the door of the locker-room slams open, and Charles jumps.He stares dumbly at the newcomer, hand still mid-air, and blinks. He realizes with sinking horror that his reflection in the mirror is a mess, with smears of blood around his mouth and sweaty, messy hair stuck to his forehead and temples. He glances down at his soccer shorts, low on his hips and covered in brownish stains, and at his socks, rolled-up mid-calves.

It looks like he has been dragged across a cricket pitch by his shoelaces.

And, really, Charles isn’t attracted to bad guys. It would be predictable and so two-thousand and ten.

It isn’t the black leather jacket that does it for Charles, but the back that stretches it thin. It isn’t the cigarette, but the mouth enveloping it. It isn’t the piercing… Yeah, no. It definitely is the piercing. And the eye-liner.

Erik Lehnsherr stops on the threshold of the locker-room and blinks at him, unsurprised to see him there, with the expression of perpetual boredom of an underpaid kindergarten teacher who has to explain to you for the third time why you shouldn’t shove mud in your mouth.

Charles doesn’t take it personally: he shares a few glorious classes with Lehnsherr’s unpredictable moods, and that seems to be the expression that inconveniences him the least to be seen wearing. That, and the smile he hides with a twist of his lips every time a professor mistakes his boredom for incapacity to follow their lesson.

Not taking his eyes off of him, Lehnsherr orientates the cigarette dangling from his lips towards the lighter in his left hand. A sparkle, and the tip turns instantly red-hot.

Lehnsherr’s cheeks are momentarily sucked into his mouth, and Charles finds himself as a guest in the control room of his vocal cords.“You can’t smoke in here,” he says. And pursues his lips for good measure, which means that a fat drop of blood happily slides down his chin. He slaps a piece of paper on the wound. Sexy. Lehnsherr predictably rolls his eyes - God, his silver piercing dances so prettily on his eyebrow - and leaves with no comment. A cloud of smoke signals his departure.

Charles clenches his jaw and decides that, once he will be tucked in his bed this night, banging his head into the mattress, he will blame his stupidity on the blood-loss.

Charles isn’t into bad boys, but who could resist a daily assault of one Erik Lehnsherr hitting the brakes of his big bike in the principal’s parking spot, then proceeding to take off his full-face helmet, neck bent backward and long throat bared under the sun. When his jeans-clad thighs release the saddle from their relentless grip, Charles can literally see the leather decompress.

There’s a limit to what a boy can endure. And Charles’ limit, specifically, is fingerless, leather gloves that squeak under Lehnsherr’s sharp teeth when he unfastens them right before getting to the blackboard and proving a mathematical theorem in three steps.

Charles feels sympathetic: he would squeak too.

It isn’t a “he doesn’t even know I exist” type of situation, as Charles would prefer. Lehnsherr, unfortunately, knows who Charles is, and on one particularly memorable occasion, they were even paired up for an Art project.

Charles had been more or less (he hoped less) evidently bursting out of his skin, but if his deep frown had been any indication, Lehnsherr hadn’t shared his excitement. The ring on his eyebrow had almost touched his cheekbone for the whole duration of their professor’s speech about how he would have to mark only half of the essays that way.

But the more Lehnsherr had glared at him - a sight that had given Charles goosebumps -, the more Mr. Howlett’s grin had grown satisfied.That particular staring contest was therefore won by the latter.

One afternoon in the library and the research had been completed, despite Charles’ attempt at miniating the bibliography and taking coffee breaks.Lehnsherr had been even more brooding than usual, content to just swing on two of his chair’s legs, play with his lighter and shoot Charles weird looks every other minute.

And Charles had done what he always does when the silence gets too heavy: he had talked. And talked. And waved his hands. He had only stopped blaring away when he had noticed Lehnsherr staring intently at him from the other side of the table.Damn.

The bleeding has thankfully stopped and he has just washed his face when something falls on the sink right next to him, and Charles jumps again. “Would you please stop doing that?”, he complains, and turns off the tap. Lehnsherr has come back undetected, and his hip is propped up against the sink. His cigarette, still impenitently fuming between his lips, is now noticeably shorter than before. He stares at him. Charles blinks.After a few moments of silence, Lehnsherr exhales an exasperated puff of smoke and nods pointedly at the first aid kit he has just dropped between them.Charles slowly reaches out and unzips it under Lehnsherr’s scrutiny, suspicious. He looks for the green lid of the hydrogen peroxide’s bottle and is about to open it.

He doesn’t have the chance to do that.

Lehnsherr curses under his breath, squashes his cigarette into the sink to put it out and pries the bottle out of Charles’ hands. Still mumbling what sounds like words of incredulity, he chooses another bottle from the first aid kit and brusquely wets some cotton wool red. Then he reaches for Charles’ face.

Charles steps back, hands up in a defensive stance. He’s not sure it would be a good idea to have him closer and actively touching him. Lehnsherr tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. And steps forward.

He smells of smoke, and leather, and of something else rich and full that goes for Charles’ throat and squeezes.

Charles swallows and takes a deep breath to untie his back. He reaches out to grab the cotton wool, hand unsteady and slightly shaking, but Lehnsherr is faster. He bats Charles’ hand away and gently cups his chin in the same movement. Charles’ eyes widen, but his head obeys like putty and is turned to expose the injury.

Charles is very, very aware of every finger holding his face, but he’s especially wary of the thumb, hovering above his lower lip. He can almost feel its warmth projecting onto his skin. He goes still like a rabbit in the torchlight.

Lehnsherr shifts slowly, carefully, his eyes flickering for a moment to Charles’ face, and bows in half to inspect his mouth.

There’s warm breath tickling his cheek now, and this is a position Charles never would have thought he could find himself in, not in a million years, not in his wildest dreams. Maybe the ball has knocked him out.

Lehnsherr’s eyeliner is smudged and glues together two of his eye-lashes. If the hairs of his short beard were to brush his chin, Charles’ soul would spiritually leave his body.

He tightens his hold around the edge of the sink.

His heartbeat is so fast his heart is vibrating under Lehnsherr’s delicate fingers, and he tries to focus on the cheap decoration of the tiles on the other side of the room. Don’t think about leather gloves.One orange triangle, breathe in, one blue triangle, breathe out, one orange triangle, breathe in, one blue triangle…Then his vision shifts.He lets out a sudden shout as he is lifted and dropped unceremoniously on the sink. It feels shockingly hard and cold through his flimsy shorts.

Lehnsherr nudges Charles’ knees open to make room for his own body between them, and Charles is ashamed of how easily they move under Lehnsherr’s guidance to welcome him. He spreads his legs as wide as possible to avoid any kind of contact between rough jeans and naked skin.

Charles stares into Lehnsherr’s electric eyes, frozen like a puppet waiting to be dropped. A hand slides unashamedly from his hips to his thigh, which is now cold below and hot on top. And bare, bare as it has never been before.

A rough palm starts to trace the outline of Charles’ knee in calming circles. At least, Charles thinks they are meant to be calming.

Charles isn’t calm. In fact, he can feel himself redden and fry under Lehnsherr’s amused stare, now right in his line of sight.He starts sputtering, and feels his wound stretch at every word. “Really, my friend, this is quite unnecessary. I’m sure, perfectly sure I can do it myself.”Lehnsherr huffs in disagreement. “No reason to do all of this. I thank you for your concern-”Lehnsherr growls in warning, probably because the wound has started bleeding again. “You’re probably missing out on your lessons and-” Lehnsherr kisses him.

It is quick, little more than a press of lips, hot, dry lips that embrace his mouth, and so very gentle. Charles is so astonished he doesn’t even close his eyes, simply gapes like a fish on a hook. His mouth starts fizzing and pulsing for a whole different reason, now, as if marked with fire.

When Lehnsherr steps back, Charles is so caught up he leans in and almost falls off the sink. He is saved by a very firm hand pressing a piece of cotton wool against his mouth and pushing him back.

Regained his balance, Charles lifts his eyes to look up at Lehnsherr’s face.

He’s not smirking, but his mouth is disclosed. His eyes are elsewhere and terribly intense at the same time. And he’s… Blushing?

Charles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Lehnsherr steps back and flees the room before he can emit a sound.

***

Charles hasn’t told anyone yet.Firstly, because he is sure no one would believe him.Secondly, because he doesn’t believe it himself.It just doesn’t make any sense. Someone like Erik Lehnsherr shouldn’t even look twice in his direction, let alone kiss him.Charles is a blubbering mess with a knack for cardigans. Don’t get him wrong, he is proud of who he is. But who he is is most certainly not Erik Lehnsherr’s type. Type of victim, yes, maybe. Type of boyfriend, unlikely. Charles is more some nice girl’s type, with golden hair and a Bronte’s novel on her nightstand.

Maybe he did kiss him just to shut him up.

Sure, a “shut your mouth” could have been equally efficient, but Lehnsherr is not exactly known for his loquaciousness.

And what was he even doing in that locker room, anyway?

So, Charles hasn’t told anyone, and hasn’t planned to do so in the near future. Until English Literature on Friday.

He’s minding his own business when-

No, that’s a lie. He isn’t minding his own business, he is minding Erik Lehnsherr’s business. Specifically, the business that keeps him from being sat at his usual spot in the classroom.

Charles is staring at his desk like a middle-distance runner waiting for the gunshot to sprint. Sprint where, he doesn’t know. Maybe out of the window, because the mere thought of Erik Lehnsherr stir-fries his blood, and he doesn’t dare think what would happen if he actually saw him crossing that threshold.

That’s why, when Emma Frost leans against his desk that Friday morning, and asks, with her usual air of polite casualness, what happened to his mouth, he blurts out: “Lehnsherr kissed me.”

Emma stops scrolling through her phone and actually looks at him.

Now, Emma Frost is Lehnsherr’s type: tall, sharp-minded and silver-tongued enough to get away with anything. She’s the kind of girl one thinks about when in need to cast a new Charlie’s Angels movie.

Their prole would have a set of chromosomes to die for.

The thought inexplicably saddens him.

An excited, conspiratory smile spreads on Emma’s face, and she stretches on his desk to half-whisper. “You mean your first kiss with Lehnsherr has been so wild he broke your lip?"

"Wh-what? No! No, no, no. No. No!"

"Oh.” Emma pursues her lips in blatant disappointment. “A pity.”

Charles frowns. “Why aren’t you surprised? Erik Lehnsherr kissed me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that. Congrats, he’s hot!"

"He’s not hot, he’s the hottest thing to ever set foot in the district since that Bunsen burner’s explosion in the chemistry laboratory three years ago!” Charles hisses. “Why me? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe he wanted to make fun of me.” His eyes widen in horror. “Maybe he wanted to humiliate me. You are his friend, what do you think?"

Emma slowly straightens and looks at him with an unreadable but serious expression. She opens her mouth under Charles’ feverish stare, then closes it. "You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmurs to herself. Then raising her voice, “listen, Charles, I don’t know what makes you think he would-”

The arrival of the professor cuts her sentence in a half, and Charles never gets to know what Lehnsherr wouldn’t do, because at the end of the lesson Emma flees the classroom.

***

“Erik Magnus Lehnsherr!"

Erik grimaces and shoves a cigarette into his mouth even before getting off his bike. This conversation is not going to be pleasant.

He looks to the left and sees Emma Frost stomping in his direction, stabbing the ground with her heels and throwing daggers with her eyes.

This conversation isn’t going to be pleasant at all.

She stops next to his bike, hands imperiously on her hips and demanding eyebrows up in the middle of her forehead. Erik lights up the cigarette and exhales a puff of smoke in her direction, just to rile her up. "What’s up, love?"

Emma glares. "Don’t you what’s up love me! I have just talked with Charles Xavier.”

Erik averts his eyes and fights down the blush that is threatening to crawl up his neck. He straightens the collar of his leather jacket.

Getting to know Charles Xavier has been like craving a black coffee and being pawned by the Starbucks’ employee a seasonal pumpkin-spice frappuccino instead, only to bring yourself to drink it and begrudgingly finding it delicious, soft on the tongue and addicting.

Erik drinks bitter, uncorrupted coffee, not sugary hybrids that never stop blubbering intelligent nonsense with cherry-red lips.

He fixes the mirrors of his motorcycle, which don’t need any fixing, and emits a carefully uncaring mmmh.

Because he doesn’t care.

At all.

Everyone fucking loves Charles Xavier, but Erik intends to resist. He will not yield to messy curls, disarming smiles and eyes that are blue and kind but sometimes flash with cunning humor and suck you into a parallel universe where Charles Xavier could really be looking at Erik Lehnsherr like that.

Emma smacks her lips and folds her arms, too satisfied with his reaction for Erik’s comfort. “Don’t try that bad-boy bullshit on me, Lehnsherr. I can see you blushing from here.”

Erik growls but doesn’t try to deny it. It would be useless.

“He says you’ve kissed him.”

Erik rubs the back of his cigarette on his lower lip. “I didn’t take him for one who kisses and tell.”

Emma acts like she hasn’t heard. “What I don’t understand is why he would think you did it to make fun of him.”

Before he can think better of it, Erik’s head snaps up. He must have inhaled abruptly, too, because there’s smoke in his throat and he starts coughing.

Emma smirks and Erik hates her a little bit. “Why would he-”

“Yeah,” Emma interjects forcefully. “That’s what I was about to ask him, too. Why would he ever think that?” She puts her perfectly manicured hand on her chin to mimic someone deep in thought. Then she just as unnervingly brights up as if she’s had a revelation. “Oh, yes! Because you’re an emotionally constipated punk who probably jumped on him in a dark alley and then ran away without a word. Am I right?”

Erik clenches his jaw and glares, but Emma doesn’t budge. She bats her eyelashes.

“It was the locker-room, actually.”

Emma springs towards him, and for a moment Erik is convinced she’s going to strangle him. She stops just as abruptly, instead, and looks at him with fire in her eyes. “You’re… unbelievable! Why would you do something like that? I know you like him.”

Erik doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know what to say. Or he knows, but it’s too much and he doesn’t want to. He falls back onto his bike and flicks away the remnant of his cigarette.

“You didn’t-,” she twists her hands, and looks actually hesitant for the first time in this conversation. “I know he’s nerdish, and clumsy, and talks. A lot. And he’s like… The furthest thing one would imagine from your type. But he’s so sweet, and bright… You didn’t do it to make fun of him, right?”

Erik stares at her for a few moments, chest heavy. He opens and closes his mouth a dozen times. And then.“To make- To make fun of him?” He jumps off the saddle of his bike and starts waving his arms around like a stressed-out windmill. “How could kissing the boy I’ve had a crush on for years ever qualify as making fun of him? It just happened, all right? He was so pretty, and so messy, all alone in that locker room and with a split lip. And he was about to use the freaking hydrogen peroxide to clean it. But I kissed him like an idiot and didn’t know what to say. So I ran away! And now I can’t even face him because I am the creeper who has assaulted him in the school locker-room!”

When he stops shouting, he realizes he’s panting. Emma is staring at him with wide eyes. Erik clears his throat and straightens his back. His face is hot; he’s not sure if it’s due to the anger or the embarrassment, but he feels twitchy all over. He tries to light up another cigarette, but his hand trembles and he has no control over his thumb. He throws everything on the ground and massages the root of his nose.

Emma takes a step towards him. “A split lip, mh?” she comments, and there’s gentle humor in her voice, so Erik lifts his head from his hand just as she says: “Kinky.”

He snorts. “It’s the librarian attire that turns me on, actually.”

Emma chuckles, then sighs. “You should tell him, you know? You’ve been astonishingly stupid, but the only thing that has bothered Charles about that kiss is the fact that it ended.”

Erik bites his lower lip, mainly to hide his erupting smile. He’s not successful. “You really think so?”

“Yes, stupid.” She rolls her eyes and amicably hits him on the shoulder. “I really think so. That kid is head over heels for you as much as you’re for him.“

Erik tries to be dignified even if his face is splitting at the height of his mouth."Head over heels is maybe a bit much…” “Oh,” says Emma delicately, eyebrow risen. “If you’re not that interested, maybe I could try my chances with-”

Erik’s throat tightens and he shows his teeth to hiss. Emma just laughs at him.

***

Emma knows three things for certain:

One, there’s nothing you can’t do in heels;

Two, white will never go out of style;

Three, power is a question of paying attention to the right things.

That’s why, that morning, she’s rocking high boots, wearing white cashmere and ignoring Azazel’s gross attempts at flirting in favor of keeping an eye on Charles Xavier on the other end of the corridor.

She can see his mop of chocolate hair fumbling tirelessly in his locker, until he freezes.

Emma smiles.

There’s an unmistakable roar of engines approaching the school. It lasts a few moments, then it is abruptly cut off.

Emma can see Charles’ nape redden, and knows that he, too, is counting the seconds.

Erik Lehnsherr, the asshole, makes his entrance as loud as possible. The door slams on the opposite wall and the sole of his combat boots scratches against the floor at each step.

Everyone in the hall turns and stares for a moment. When the students resume their buzzing, their eyes seem to keep sliding sideways.

Charles tries to not-so discreetly glance over his shoulder. Emma can pinpoint with millisecond accuracy the moment he notices Erik’s leather trousers, because his face flares up and his mouth swings open. He turns around again and stays very still, facing his locker, back rigid.

Emma chuckles behind her hand.

Erik is frowning, his eyes thunderous. He looks around for a bit, then he patently zeroes in on Charles’ figure and his frown deepens. He tightens his jaw and starts marching forward. The corridor is crowded, but no one dares to be on Lehnsherr’s path when he’s clearly in a foul mood.

Poor boy, Emma thinks. It’s not his fault if his sentimentally crashed face is also his angry face.

He stops right behind Charles, clenches and unclenches his fists, shifts from one foot to the other.

Charles turns around, slowly. He blinks his eyes open wide, and they are very big and very blue.He squeezes his books against his chest and forcibly removes his gaze from Erik’s thighs. “Yes?”

Emma bites down on her lower lip and almost squirms. Come on, come on, come on. She’s so patently distracted that Azazel takes his eyes off her cleavage long enough to focus on what has drawn her attention.

Erik takes a deep breath that puffs up his leather jacket. He opens his mouth and mumbles something that has Charles gaping. Then closes it. He shakes his head and withdraws it into his shoulder. When he steps back, Charles’ hand outlines a jerky movement.

Emma grabs Azazel’s arm and sinks her nails into his skin. He wails.

In that moment, the door of the classroom next to Erik flies open and bumps into his back, then gets stuck. Erik is forced to step forward to keep his balance, and glares dangerously over his shoulder.Mr. Howlett stumbles out of his classroom, almost invisible behind the gigantic toothpick-diorama of a half crumbled Eiffel Tower he’s carrying.

Emma notices with horror that he has a cigar in his mouth, and it is seeding red-hot ashes all over the floor. There’s an alarming smell of smoke coming from that class.

Mr. Howlett stops on the threshold, deliberates for a moment and decides there isn’t enough room to get through. He gains momentum and pushes the door wide open with a tremendous shove of his whole weight.

The door gets unstuck with a rattling sound, vibrates and goes flying against Erik. Again.

This time, the impact sends him crashing into Charles with a bottomless thud.

They stumble into one another in a mess of limbs, knock their foreheads together and almost deform the locker they fall into.

The show ends with a loud groan and the splat of Charles’ books on the ground.

Azazel, who has the social receptiveness of a sweaty sock, takes the opportunity and chants: “Fight fight fight!”

Half the students in the hall enthusiastically join him.

Emma downs her head into her palm.

Mr. Howlett patently ignores the mess he has caused, exhales two puffs of smoke in quick succession, smirks and turns away as if nothing happened.

Erik and Charles are frozen in place, Erik’s hands on either side of Charles’ head and flat against the locker. His leather jacket has ridden up his back, leaving a naked strip of skin exposed. Charles’ arms have flown forward and are now hanging between their chests, unsure of where they should rest. His fingers finally grab Erik’s waist to keep him steady, just to realise they are digging into soft skin and not into rough leather and squirt away as if burned.

Erik’s nape is red, Charles’ face is crimson and their chests are heavy.

If Azazel doesn’t stop the chorus of blood-thirsty imbeciles, Emma is going to crush his foot with her heel. She has just risen her boot, when silence dawns on the hall.

She snaps her head up and almost squeals.

Charles’ arms are locked behind Erik’s neck to drag him down into his reach, his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is pressed against Erik’s, lips tight. His blush hasn’t receded a bit, and seems to spread on his skin like wine on a white tablecloth.

Erik is unresponsive for a few moments, eyes gaping in place of his mouth. The he jolts awake.

He wraps his longs arms around Charles’ waist and holds him tight against his chest.

Azazel twists his lips, shrugs, and prompts another chorus. A moment later, the hall is chanting: “Kiss kiss kiss!"

#you asked #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #highschool!au #my fic #cherik fic

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ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

A Gekkering Mess

Summary: Renata and Minnie go to a toy store where something interesting happens.

Word Count: 2605

Read on AO3:

It was a beautiful day in the town of Richmond. The sky was a bright, clear blue, the white clouds were rolling lazily by and the air had a freshness that made the huldra’s tail curl into a question mark. Renata’s tail twitched this way and that as she felt a cool breeze blow and tickle the opening in her back. Her brown eyes caught sight of a small flock of birds that flew through the sky. Her animal instincts kicked in and she wanted to run after them and see what would happen. But she quickly shook that urge away with a feeling that was much stronger. There was a different bird that she was really excited to see. A tall, cool, redhead harpy that had flown in and stolen her heart. The way Minnie made her feel was exhilarating and made her heart all warm and fuzzy each time she saw her. Renata was practically counting down the seconds it took her to get to the harpy’s house as she ran forward. The fur on her tail blew through the wind as her shoes whacked against the pavement. She couldn’t help but sprint towards her house, ignoring all the strange and horrified looks she got because of her monster features as she made her way down the street.

Once she saw the house in the near distance she skidded to a halt and began to walk casually forward, a little bounce in her steps as her excitement bubbled over. Any second now she’d get to see her girlfriend. The huldra walked to the front door, gave it a friendly knock and waited as patiently as she could for the door to be answered. Her body swayed back and forth as she waited until she noticed that the doorknob was turning. Her eyes grew large as she waited to see Minnie’s warm smile. Instead her head tilted to the side when she saw no one there at first. It only took the huldra a second to get what was happening.

“Hey, Tenn,” Renata’s fangs poked out with her friendly smile as the ghost boy slipped out of the door and formed into his usual fairly transparent appearance.

“Hey, Renata,” Tenn returned the smile with a shy expression and began to fidget with his fingers. “Minnie should be ready any minute now, but you’re welcome to come inside.”

“Thanks!” Renata strolled forward and heard frantic chirping and other sounds coming from the second floor. After a few minutes the soft clicking of talons could be heard coming down the stairs and Renata’s face immediately brightened when she saw it was Minnie.

“Hey, Ren,” Minnie jogged down the last few steps and stopped in front of her girlfriend. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” An apologetic twitter left her lips as she looked at the huldra.

“Nope! Not at all.” Renata leaned forward, getting on her tippy toes and placing a soft kiss on Minnie’s cheek. That made the harpy’s face turn a bright red. The huldra smiled proudly at that; she loved whenever she flustered Minnie. Minnie cleared her throat “Ready to go?”

“Yep!” Renata’s smile grew when she felt Minnie’s hand slip into hers, her fingers intertwining with Renata’s as they headed towards the door.

“We’re heading out. Make sure to not let Sophie eat all the chocolate chip bug cookies.” Minnie looked back at her brother who gave a nod in understanding. There had been far too many times that Sophie had gotten overwhelmed by the deliciousness of a snack and eaten all of it in minutes.

With that the couple was off, walking down the sidewalk slowly as they made their way towards the location of their date: A monster-friendly toy store run by a human the different monsters around Richmond swore was one of the most welcoming and friendly in the whole town. Still, on the way there there would still be humans that would give odd looks and whispered comments, but neither of the monsters seemed to mind. Minnie and Renata were happy in each other’s presence, enjoying the casual conversation and knowing it was a short walk to Swellington’s Toy Emporium.

“So have you ever been to the store before?” Minnie looked over at her girlfriend with a soft expression.

“Hmm, nope! But I’m happy to have my first time at the toy store be with you!” Renata’s tail curled around and brushed Minnie’s feathers. Minnie’s feathers puffed up for a second due to the sudden touch but she quickly gave a smile and continued on.

“Me too. I’ve never been but I’ve heard from Brody that they have really high-quality, soft plushies.”

That caused an excited smile to appear on the huldra’s face, her fangs poking out as she moved a bit faster. “Ooo, now I definitely can’t wait to get to the store!” Renata hummed happily as the two continued down the street. After a twenty minute walk they had reached the store. It was bright and colorful with a big sign. A train display was slowly making its way around the front of the store’s window causing a curious tweet to leave Minnie’s lips. The couple moved forward and opened the door. They were immediately greeted by a lady with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Fuzzy toy animal ears were on her head and she was showing them off to some kids who seemed in awe of them.

“Welcome to Swellington’s Toy Emporium,” She gave a friendly wave. “My name’s Edith. If you have any questions just let me know.”

“Thanks, we will,” Minnie gave a friendly smile and was surprised for a moment that for the most part everyone in this store seemed fine with them being there. Without having to worry about that fear, the two monsters wandered around the store. Their eyes admired all the different types of toys and exhibits on display. Renata’s tail was constantly curled in the shape of a question mark and her eyes were bright and shiny.

“Ooo! Ooo!” Renata’s soft hand gripped onto Minnie’s tighter as she pulled her forward. “I found the stuffed animal display!” The huldra and harpy stood before a display that towered over them. All types of creatures stood before them. Dragons, chickens, cats, bears, if there was a stuffed animal you wanted it seemed like this store had it.

Minnie’s eyes searched the different options. Excited, happy chirps left her lips as she saw the array of choices before her. Her hands immediately went to a fox plushie. Its orange fur reminded Minnie of Renata’s tail and the happy yet slightly mischievous look in its eyes was spot on. The harpy shook her head; maybe she was just reading too much into the fox plushie. She placed it down and decided to give herself time to consider purchasing it or not when suddenly a throaty sound appeared beside her.

The harpy glanced over and was alarmed to see Renata’s teeth bared and her tail slightly puffed. A high pitched sound emitted from her throat as her eyes were glued to the fox plushie. She began to slowly move towards it and continue the sound, the hole in her back vibrating from the volume of her gekkering until she caught sight of Minnie’s surprised face. Renata felt her tail go limp and she awkwardly scratched the back of her head.

“Oops, guess my animal instinct kicked in and all. Again,” She awkwardly picked up a rabbit plushie that she had chewed on. Her fangs had bits of fluff on them from the innards of the plushie. The poor thing looked rather sad now. “I’m gonna go pay for this and apologize. I’ll be right back,” Renata jogged over and gave Minnie a quick kiss on the check then scampered off towards Edith.

The harpy watched as the huldra apologized again and again. Edith simply waved her hand and put it on Renata’s shoulder which surprised the huldra. She gave some kind words with a soft smile and Renata handed over some money. Minnie turned her attention back onto the fox plushie. She wondered what gave Renata such a strong reaction. Was she jealous of a plushie? If so that was actually kind of cute. The harpy smiled and picked up the fox plushie; now she felt like she had to get it. Sneaking over to the cashier she purchased the plushie, tucking it away safely in the bag given to her. Suddenly she felt arms wrap around her waist. The harpy let out a surprised yet happy twitter and looked back at her girlfriend who gave a warm smile. “Hey, everything go alright?” The harpy’s question made the huldra nod her head.

“Yep! Wanna check out some more plushies? Ooo, or I saw this really cool display over by that corner over there.”

“Let’s check out the display,” Minnie’s words caused the huldra’s eyes to sparkle more which made the harpy’s heart flutter. Minnie leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Renata’s cheek. The sudden romantic gesture had Renata’s eyes flickering with surprise before the playfulness returned to them. Her tail brushed against Minnie’s feathers and she grabbed her girlfriend’s hand, guiding her over to the display.

The two continued to explore the wonders of the toy shop, both of them getting overwhelmed by the sheer amount of cool stuff they saw. Minnie ended up buying a Lego set and Renata bought a yo yo that supposedly lit up whenever you spun it. Happy with their purchases, the couple walked out of there hand in hand and back to Minnie’s house. When they had reached the destination and said their goodbyes, Renata snuck in one final kiss, capturing Minnie’s lips and making her feathers bristle in happy alarment. With a playful smile, Renata began to walk backwards. “I’ll see you soon,” The huldra had a happy, casual smile on her face that Minnie matched as she waved goodbye.

“Can’t wait,” The harpy watched her girlfriend for a moment longer then closed the door. Her hand immediately got out the small fox plushie, a giddy twitter slipping from her lips as she ran up the stairs, her talons whacking against the wood until she couldn’t wait any longer and flew the rest of the way. “Come on, Foxy, I got the perfect spot in mind for you.”

------

“So what do you want to do today, Ren? Bug eating contest? Go Fish? Want me to fly you over the neighborhood again?” Sophie leaned forward in her bed, her talons tucked comfily away in her little nest.

Renata sat on the floor and tilted her head to the side. “Hmm, those all sound great… Let’s do them all!” Her fangs poked out with her smile when she saw that her best friend was clearly just as excited.

“Awesome! Let me just grab some stuff and we can start with the fly over the neighborhood.” Sophie fluttered her wings and got out of her nest. The harpy went over to the desk to grab something when suddenly she heard a throaty, high pitched growling sound. Alarmed, Sophie spun around to see her best friend slowly moving towards Minnie’s bed. There, tucked away in the nest was a small fox plushie with a cute smile. Sophie was confused for a second until she remembered Renata had mentioned before that foxes gekker when they see a rival. Which meant that Renata was jealous and competitive of a small, soft fox plushie. Renata’s tail was puffy and her teeth were bared as she lunged forward.

“Renata, no!” Sophie ran forward but it was too late. Renata’s teeth were already tearing apart the fox plushie, her eyes holding nothing but jealousy and anger for this innocent toy. The harpy flew up and wrapped her talons around the huldra’s arms. As she began to try to pull Renata away, a familiar voice called out.

“I’m home!” Minnie’s talons clicked up the stairs. “Hey, do we have any more grub ravi-” Minnie froze when she saw the scene before her. “Oli…”

Renata’s eyes grew large and her tail went limp as she spit out the toy.She looked into Minnie’s eyes for a moment then tried to speak but nothing came out. An awkward silence filled the room before the huldra spoke once more. ‘I’m really sorry,” She ran past Minnie and down the stairs.

“Ren, wait!” Minnie called out but the front door slammed shut and the twins were left alone, confused and with a torn up toy. Minnie took a spot on her bed and held the toy. She really didn’t think that this would happen. Her pale blue eyes wandered over to the open door. She just hoped Renata wouldn’t kick herself too much over this.

-----

The next day Minnie was surprised when she heard a knock on the door. She flew down to open it, hoping to see her girlfriend’s playful smile and bright eyes. But instead no one was there. The harpy’s eyes traveled down to the ground. There lay a dozen fox plushies and a big apology card with the words I’m sorry I got jealous over a plushie. Minnie picked up the card and was immediately hit with the familiar, comforting scent of cinnamon. Renata had definitely left this. The harpy stared at the collection of plushies for a moment before scooping them up and plopping them inside the house by the door. She didn’t want Renata to feel guilty over this silly thing. “I’m heading out for a bit!” Minnie didn’t wait for a response and sprinted out the door, pulling her hoodie over her feathered arms as she made her way to act out her brilliant idea.

-----

Renata lay on her bed. Her poorly resewn bunny plushie from Swellington’s was on her desk next to a pile of homework she hadn’t done yet. She hugged her pillow close to her chest. She hoped Minnie liked the apology gift. Her mind continued to focus on that until she heard a knock at her door. Curious, the huldra walked forward and opened the door to be surprised to find Minnie who was out of breath. A big yellow bird plushie was wrapped in her arms.

“Hey, Ren, I thought...” Minnie took a moment to catch her breath, “Since you gave me a bunch of plushies that remind me of you I’d get you one that hopefully reminds you of me.” The harpy's arms shot out, red feathers falling to the ground as she held forth the big plushie. Renata’s tail twitched this way and that as she accepted it.

“It's a big bird because, y’know, I’m a big bird,” Minnie gave a nervous smile.

Renata hugged the plushie close to her before she set it down and tackled Minnie with a hug.

“I love it!” The huldra peppered the harpy with kisses.

Minnie laughed and wrapped her arms around Renata, embracing her warmth. “I’m glad.”

The pair cherished that hug for a moment longer before Renata pulled back. “So, you're not mad at me?” “Mad? Nah, I think your gekkering is pretty cute.” Minnie’s smile grew when she saw that she had flustered Renata for a moment. “But just between you and me, those plushies have got nothing on you.”

Those words made Renata beam as she pulled Minnie into another hug. The harpy looked down at her girlfriend and laughed. Yep, there was no one like Renata. The huldra who had snuck her way into Minnie’s heart. The harpy hoped she stayed there for a really long time.

#twdg #twdg renata #twdg minnie #twdg tenn #twdg sophie #twdg edith #twdg minata #fanfic #we are monsters we are proud au

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winterromanov · 5 years

Text

we will grow taller together - bucky x reader

PART TWO - NO KID HATES CUPCAKES

parts: zero | one

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

extract: Before you accept his request, you hand him the box of cupcakes. He looks at you with surprise and uncertainty, mouth dropping open a little. You snort a laugh. “They’re cupcakes. Steve told me about Clover and I saw them on the way here. Couldn’t resist.”

genre: nanny x single father!au

taglist:@blindedbyyourgrace17 @verygraphicink @chubby-dumplin @igotkatiepowers @welcome-to-my-studylife (still open, reply/message to be added)

“This is so weird.”

As soon as work had finished a text had appeared in your notifications from Steve, detailing an address of a small apartment block in Brooklyn, and to meet him there. There didn’t seem an option in Steve’s world to decline the invitation. You were going to meet James Barnes and you were going to do it now. Well—within the hour, because despite having lived in New York for the last few years you were still heavily reliant on Google maps and sheer hope that you’d turn a corner and randomly appear at your destination. You’d ended up passing the same indie bakery so many times that it felt rude not to go in and buy some of the cupcakes displayed beautifully in the window. Now, you clutch a white paper box in your hand filled with a strawberry cheesecake, two Oreo and one that is peanut butter and jelly, because even if whatever is about to happen goes horribly, you figure no kid hates cupcakes.

Steve shakes his head, leaning across to press the buzzer. The apartment block is, admittedly, much nicer than your own. There is a lot of exposed brickwork in an edgy, retro way rather than a neglected way, and no drunks loiter in the stairwells. James lives in one of two apartments on the fifth (and top) floor of the complex and when you clambered into the elevator no-one was peeing in it.

It’s practically five-star luxury.

“What did you say to him about why I’m here?” you ask. You fight the urge to slap him when he looks back at you in faux-innocence. “For fuck’s sake, Steve! Have you not even told him—“

Your sentence is cut short when the lock on the door clicks and a man appears in the doorway, rubbing his left eye tiredly like he’s just woken up. His hair is a little too long, dark and dipping into his eye-line, and he’s wearing a scruffy Columbia hoodie and sweats. James Barnes. You do recognise him. Maybe not this exact version of him, but you do recognise him all the same.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets, a bit too brightly. James blinks, as if he’s going to reply, but the action causes him to do a double-take when he sees you standing there.

“Hey…” he says, eyebrows knitting together. You offer him an awkward smile. “Sorry—I, uh, I wasn’t expecting visitors. I thought Steve was just dropping by.”

“Yeah,” you reply, glaring pointedly at Steve. “I thought he was going to mention that I’d be tagging along.”

Steve shrugs simply, like this was his plan all along. He claps Bucky on the shoulder, but his eyes remain on you, sussing you out. “Sorry, man, completely slipped my mind. This is (Y/N), by the way.”

You offer a wave which, in hindsight, is super dorky, but Bucky’s look of suspicion softens to elusive recognition. “Yeah, yeah, of course. You knew Natasha from college.”

You’re so surprised he remembers a detail like that at all and it must show on your face, but James doesn’t react either way. “Yeah. We were roommates in freshman year.”

“Right.” Bucky nods once, before ushering off to the side. “Please come in. It’s a bit of a mess, but I didn’t—I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep for.”

You walk awkwardly into a fairly large living space, the flooring a light wood laminate other than a bright striped rug in the centre. The walls are plain but spotted with photographs and prints, the sofas a dark red fabric and positioned round a glass coffee table. A television is positioned on a cabinet on the central wall and while much bigger than yours, it’s not that catches your eye—there are books everywhere. Books stacked haphazardly on shelves along all the walls; an antique mahogany bookcase full to brimming in an alcove; books spilling off the coffee table and onto the floor. There are standard paperbacks you’d find in every single Barnes and Noble, fat black Penguin classics, leather-bound first editions that may have fallen out of Belle’s library in Beauty and the Beast. You are that blown away by the sheer volume of literature you almost forget why you’re here in the first place.

That’s when you notice a set of illustrated Harry Potter hardbacks on an armchair and tiny mismatched socks drying on a clothes horse, a stuffed Paddington Bear and Peter Rabbit chilling on top of a chest that matches the bookcase. You also notice the absence of a certain child.

“No Clover?” Steve asks, sitting down on the sofa in a naturally comfortable way that suggests he’s a consistent visitor to the Barnes household. He pulls out a cuddly kitten that must have fallen between the sofa cushions and places it gently beside him.

Bucky shakes his head. He rubs his eyes again. “No—Becca takes her on Thursdays. She’ll be back in a couple of hours or so. Gives me the chance to mark papers or, uh. Nap. Apparently.”

A laptop is also open on the coffee table, and a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. “Are you a teacher?”

“No—well, kind of. I lecture in literature at Columbia.” Well, that explains the sweater, then. And the books. He gestures towards the couch. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Before you accept his request, you hand him the box of cupcakes. He looks at you with surprise and uncertainty, mouth dropping open a little. You snort a laugh. “They’re cupcakes. Steve told me about Clover and I saw them on the way here. Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh.” James says simply, looking down at the box. It’s like he doesn’t receive kindnesses from strangers very often and makes you wonder just how much he distrusts the world. You mean—from what you’ve heard, he’s got a right to be unsure. “Thank you. She’ll love these.”

“No problem. The lady in the shop said the peanut butter and jelly ones are unlike anything you’ve ever tasted. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but she was wearing a hat shaped like a red velvet cupcake so obviously I trusted her opinion.”

His mouth cracks into a glimmer of a smile. Muted, subtle, almost reluctant. He may be one of the saddest people you’ve ever met. It burns off him like a bonfire. The ashes gather in piles round your feet.

(Gosh, you thought empathy was Steve’s thing.)

Steve suggests making coffee and James doesn’t disagree, considering he’s still got about thirty quizzes to grade by tomorrow. As they both disappear off into the kitchen, Steve gives you a pointed look and closes the door behind him. It feels all kinds of wrong to corner this hurting, confused man into whatever arrangement Steve has in his head; an arrangement you’re not even sure of yourself. But you find yourself wanting to help him anyway. James is sad. But he’s gentle, and clever, and trying to make the best of a situation nobody wishes on anybody.

As you try not to eavesdrop on the muffled voices in the kitchen, you walk the outline of the living room, pausing in front of items that catch your eye. Each of James’ photos sits in beautiful, ornate frames, winding wood engraved with flowers and leaves that you assume must be gifts. You recognise Clover immediately—most of his pictures include a tiny girl with frizzy blonde hair, varying in age from new-born to recent. One sat in front of a grey screen, showing off the gap in her front teeth. One in a swimming pool wearing flashy pink sunglasses. One where James is clutching a small white bundle, his cheeks flushed red, looking down at the baby like she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. There’s a couple with either Steve or Natasha, another with a tall, dark-skinned guy you’ve seen on Steve’s Facebook, a few others with two unnamed brunettes—one, you think, must be his sister or at least a close relative, the same bright blue eyes and dark hair.

The other—well, it must be Connie. Petite and elegant and totally gorgeous, with a small upturned nose and big eyes like an animal in an old Disney cartoon. She grips Clover tightly and the girl is frozen in a giggle, a kiss pressed to her cheek. You can almost see James on the other side of the camera, totally unknowing that it’s one of the last times he’ll see the two of them together in the present.

You deliberately force yourself away before spiralling. Real loss stories. The last thing you need is for your heart to completely spill over. Instead, you drag yourself over to his beautiful bookcase, running your hand over the faultless dark wood. The glass inside is dusty and probably needs a once over with a cloth but you can see inside anyway, eyes skimming over titles. You see some Ford Madox Ford, Woolf, Joyce, Plath, a massive collection of Keats offset by Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. There’s no consistency to his interests. Instead, there’s a bit of everything (in the English speaking canon at least) and to your delight, even some philosophy.

(Admittedly your philosophy major hasn’t come in that useful, but at least it’s fucking interesting.)

A few minutes pass before the kitchen door opens again. Both men look flustered like they’ve just had a fraught, whispered argument, which doesn’t bode well for you—but instead of addressing it, they sit down on opposite sofas in silence. Steve’s arms are crossed, mug loudly placed on The Chamber of Secrets. James’ eyebrows are arched in a scowl. No-one has made you a drink, clearly forgotten in the process.

Well. This is fucking awkward. You don’t know whether it would more weird to sit down or to just leave. You quietly start to make your way to the couch next to Steve but he abruptly rises, muttering something about going to the bathroom. Suddenly, you’re left alone with James, the tension sitting uncomfortably in the air like storm clouds. You fold your legs over each other, mouth pressed in a thin line.

“I—“ James begins, before locking his jaw closed. He’s pensive. Choosing the right words. “I don’t know what Steve has said to you, exactly, but I’m fine. I don’t need anybody. And it wasn’t his place…”

“Oh my God, I know,” you interrupt hastily, not wanting him to think you’ve forced your way into his home with intent you had no right to have. “Trust me, James, I’m only here as a favour to Steve. He always thinks he knows what’s best and, like, I know his intentions are good but his best isn’t always everyone else’s.”

Not for the first time since you arrived, James looks surprised. The tension seems to dissipate slightly, the atmosphere less fraught. His shoulders relax. “It’s not that you don’t…I’m sure Clover would like you, but I’m still getting used to…”

“You really don’t need to explain. Like you said. It isn’t anyone’s place but yours to decide what you need.”

James’ smile is soft and tired. “Thank you for caring enough to turn up, though. That’s more than I can say for some people I actually know well.”

Ouch. His bitterness singes on his tongue, still raw and swollen. You can allow Steve to be right about one thing—maybe you could be a good friend to him, or at least someone you could get to know better. You have a distinct lack of any real relationships in your life and his ridiculous collection of books is enough to convince you he’s someone worth befriending. You reach out for a wad of neon post-it notes and a biro, scribbling down your phone number, slapping it unceremoniously onto his knee. He rips it off with bemusement, curling it into his palm.

“If you want to complain about students or laundry or how life is sometimes incredibly shitty,” you grin, “Call me. Unless it’s eight-to-six most days, because my boss is a tight-ass and won’t hire anyone else so I can have more than one day off every year. Other than that I’m totally free.”

“Wow. You have even less free time than me. At least Clover wakes up past eight on weekends.” He blinks slowly, clutching your number tightly. “And thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

Steve has been in the bathroom for an awfully long time and you’ve known him long enough to realise he’s doing it on purpose. Instead of hanging about while Steve and James chat uneasily in your presence, you take it as your cue to leave. Bucky tries to explain that you don’t need to leave so soon, but you’re genuinely worried Steve will sit on the toilet playing iPhone games for literal hours in order to leave you two to ‘talk’ if you don’t walk out the door.

“I hope Clover enjoys the cupcakes,” you say, once you’re stood back in the hall. “You should have one too. The endorphin rush you get while eating cake is unparalleled.”

James laughs, like actually laughs, his hand curled round the doorframe. “Maybe I will. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

The door eases shut and you shiver now you’re out of the warmth of James’ apartment, but you can’t help but think this whole weird thing didn’t go as badly as you thought it would.

#mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #we will grow taller together

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