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soulmate-game · 4 years

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Maribat March 2021 @maribatmarch-2k21

Day 1: Found Family

“Ah! Bonjour!” A cheery voice called, as a short Eurasian girl bound over to the unfairly intimidating mob of tall people with sharp eyes. Chloe had called in a favor. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe told me that your tour guide cancelled at the last minute, so she blackmail—sorry, begged me to fill in for them. You are the Wayne’s, non?”

The one at the front of the group, clearly Bruce Wayne since Marinette didn’t live under a rock and had seen the man on several American news broadcasts before, nodded and cleared his throat. Man, was he intimidating. Even when he shot her a dazzling smile that was sure to blind Paparazzi with fake cheer. It was a nice smile, Marinette wasn’t about to deny. But it was empty. Distant. And Marinette wasn’t going to buy it for a second.

“Yes, that’s us. Mademoiselle Bourgeois mentioned she had asked a close friend of hers to take care of our tour.”

Marinette nodded again, clasping her hands behind her back. “I guarantee, you won’t miss anything the tour guide would have shown you. In fact, Chloe mentioned that you all were very curious about the now retired Parisian heroes, right? My former best friend ran the Ladyblog back when they were active. I am more than confident that I can answer any questions you have while we go through the city.”

A boy with a white streak in his hair rose his hand, as if he was in a class and needed to wait to be called on. Which, considering the sheer size of their family, Marinette was actually grateful for. But damn, this was another imposing figure. Slightly taller than even the six-foot-three-inches that Bruce Wayne owned, he was solidly built and rocked a brown leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Marinette smiled and nodded for him to speak.

“How old are you? Because I don’t know if twelve year olds are allowed to do guided tours,” there was an obvious tease in his voice, but there was also legitimate concern in his blue-green eyes. Marinette almost missed that concern amid her quickly building annoyance. She even felt her eyes twitch.

“I’m turning eighteen in a few months if you need to know, Monsieur,” she evened out the bite in her voice with an overly sweet smile. “And if you want to get lost and possibly pickpocketed in the busy streets of Paris, then please continue to make comments on my height. If not, we can begin our tour and you might even enjoy it.”

Several Wayne’s snickered at her comeback, one man in particular elbowing the white haired gentleman with a little too much glee. Even the stoic Bruce laughed softly, and a boy with enough bags under his eyes to make the airport jealous nearly fell over himself with his suppressed laughter.

The man himself just snorted, sending her a lopsided smirk that oddly radiated approval. It was almost as if she had passed some sort of test.

“My name’s Jason, Pixie. You already know B. The guy trying to break my ribs,” he pointedly shoved off the one who had elbowed him, “is Dick. He’s Bruce’s first adoptive casualty. The one that looks like a zombie is Tim, we might need to take a break to get him more coffee before he passes out halfway through. The one who hasn’t stopped glaring at you is Damian, the badass redhead is Barbara but we all call her Babs. The annoying blonde is Stephany, the other cool badass over there is Cass. She doesn’t talk much. And the one trying to pretend he doesn’t know us is Duke.”

Each member he introduced gave her a little wave or nod. Even Damian managed a short nod of acknowledgement before resuming his glare. He looked to be a couple years younger than her, so she just brushed it off as teenage drama.

“Alright then! It is very nice to meet you all. Now, Chloe did inform me that you guys are very multilingual, which is another reason she asked me instead of one of our other friends. If you ever need it, I obviously am fluent in both French and English. But added to that, I am fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Italian, and I know basic survival Japanese. I also know French Sign Language, though I’m not sure if that’s very useful for you unfortunately. If you ever need to communicate non-verbally, I will do my best to accommodate that. Now, I believe you guys were scheduled to start the tour with a visit to the Louvre, non? Right this way.”

As Marinette led the large group out of the Grand Paris, they didn’t bother taking time to admire the sights before asking questions.

“Have you ever met one of the heroes?” Dick, who might have been shorter than Jason and Bruce but was muscular enough to still inspire caution (and admiration), asked. His blue eyes seemingly stared right through Marinette as he continued; “If you’re almost eighteen, then they must have been active through a lot of your school career.”

Marinette smiled. “They did only retire last year,” she agreed with a nod. “Yes, I have met all of the Parisian heroes at least once,” she snorted at a stray thought. “In fact, I met Chat Noir quite a lot. You see, my old College was basically ground zero for a lot of akuma attacks. And by a lot, I mean a majority of them,” she shook her head before pausing to get everyone to cross a street. “After a while, Chat Noir started calling me ‘princess’ to make fun of how often he had to save me. He’s an annoying ass.”

Despite her words, everyone behind her could easily hear the fondness there. They all traded glances. What if this was a Lois and SuperMan situation? Regardless, they all had a suspicion that Marinette knew more about the heroes than she let on. Or, at least more about Chat Noir.

“When you say that your school was a hotspot for Akuma attacks,” Bruce spoke up cautiously, his Dad Senses going haywire. He didn’t like how nonchalantly she had said it— she was far too casual. Sure enough, he watched as the muscles between her shoulders stiffened slightly at the conversation change. “What do you mean? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad if the school is still around.”

Marinette sucked her teeth, grimacing. “The school is still there, yeah, but only because of Ladybug’s ability. You’ve heard about the Cure, right?” It was Tim who answered her;

“Yeah. It fixed the damage done during a fight, right?” He asked, tilting his head a little. Marinette ignored her brief thought that the gesture made him look like a curious puppy. She sighed.

“Yeah. But when they say damage, they mean everything. Injuries, collateral. Death,” she said the last example darkly, far too much weight behind the word for it to be meaningless. She heard Jason hiss in sympathy. “But there are good things. The Cure also erased anyone’s memories of dying besides the vague knowledge that it did happen, so there isn’t much trauma there to unpack. Not as much as there could have been anyway,” she assured them. “And I’m one of the lucky ones. I never died, and I was never Akumatized.”

“Hmph,” Damian’s voice cut through the brief silence that followed her admission. She looked back at him to see his sharp green eyes staring right into her. “You don’t honestly believe that’s lucky.” It wasn’t a question. Marinette clenched her jaw, turning around and ignoring him.

Because, no. It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t lucky that she was the only one that remembered everything— all of the deaths, all of the Akumatizations, everything that others mercifully forgot. Since she lived through all of it, she remembered all of it. And survivor’s guilt is nothing to scoff at.

But she wasn’t about to reveal her trauma, or at the very least the full scope of it, to people she had just met and was leading on a tour.

“If you look to the left, you’ll see a statue that was made depicting Ladybug and Chat Noir back during the first years of their activity,” she suddenly told them, gesturing to the still-standing statue. Nobody missed the obvious topic change, but nobody commented on it either. Turns out the statue was something they had been looking forward to seeing in person, Tim even went up to take a few photos with his camera. Barbara took a few circles around the statue, easily pivoting her wheelchair around it as if she was trying to see every angle and imperfection possible. Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight.

“Your family are pretty big fans, huh?” She asked Cass and Duke, the only ones that had stayed back with her. Duke snorted, and Cass gave her a small grin.

“They like to keep up to date with all the heroes,” Duke answered with a shrug. “Since we’re so high profile, it isn’t weird for us to be saved by one here or there even when we’re away from Gotham.”

Marinette just gave him an odd look, furrowing her brows. “But the Miraculous team has been disbanded since HawkMoth was defeated,” she reminded them. “There’s no need for them to save anybody anymore.”

“Old habits,” Cass spoke up softly, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes locked with Marinette’s. “Not easy to break.”

The smaller woman had a feeling that Cass wasn’t talking about her family’s habit of keeping up to date on heroes.

“Alright! We need to head to the next stop or we might not have time to see everything!”

The tour went pretty similarly. The walks between stops were pleasant, and filled with questions about the period of time where HawkMoth was active. Marinette wasn’t even the least bit surprised nor put off; everyone was curious about those years now that the tourism restriction was lifted and people could ask freely about it. Besides the many questions about the Heroes, Marinette found the group to be very pleasant company. They were polite, but also rowdy in a very endearing way. She caught a lot of inside jokes they had with each other, and a lot of good natured teasing and fighting. They even managed to rope her into it somehow, and she found herself snidely teasing Damian or casually threatening Tim with not allowing them a coffee break. She even got to ride on Jason’s shoulders for a bit after he made another comment on her height that she Did Not Appreciate. But the ride she got made it worth it.

But soon the sun was high in the sky, and it was about time for them to take a lunch break. They had all been walking for hours with only a few chances to rest, and honestly Marinette was impressed that none of them seemed too tired out by it.

“Alright,” she put her hands on her hips proudly. “Since some of you won’t stop whining about needing coffee or being hungry— Dick, don’t you dare buy anything from that vendor! I’m gonna lead you all to my parent’s bakery so we can have lunch and caffeinate all of you. And conveniently enough,” she smiled widely. “The bakery is right across the street from my old College! So you’ll be able to get a look at where the majority of Akuma attacks happened, and maybe I can tell you a few specific stories if you want,” she offered. There were a couple cheers (Tim and Dick) from the crowd and everyone seemed pretty pleased with the next step in their tour. Smiling, Marinette turned and began to lead them in the direction of her home.

Sirens blared, a fire truck zooming down the street next to them.

Headed in the same direction.

Marinette frowned, watching it go. “That’s weird. I hope everyone’s okay, whatever happened,” she mused idly. But as they kept going forward, the sirens didn’t get any softer. If anything, they started getting louder again after a while. Marinette was visibly concerned by then, her pace picking up. “This is my neighborhood,” she told the solemn group behind her. “I know everyone on this street—“ they rounded the corner, and Marinette stopped in her tracks. Her world ground to a halt.

There was the fire truck, stopped right in front of her bakery.

Which was completely ablaze.

A string of curses flew out of her mouth, the little Eurasian wasting no more time before sprinting towards the building. She could hear people yelling at her to wait, slow down, stop! But she ignored them. The only thing on her mind was that her home was on fire.

“Marinette! Wait!” Dick reached out to grab her arm, but like a snake Marinette easily slipped out of his grip and continued forward. Steph was next, deciding to just tackle Marinette— to no avail. The Parisian just shouldered the bigger woman off of her with pure adrenaline fueling her muscles, and everyone else knew by then that they could not stop her. The Wayne’s decided all they could do was jog behind Marinette, keeping her in sight as they tried to gauge the damage.

“The top floors don’t look like they have even been touched by the fire yet,” Tim whispered, though his eyes flew between the building and their tour guide. Marinette was speaking rapidly with a firefighter that wasn’t immediately busy, trying to get information. But before anyone could decipher what was said, Marinette tore a large strip off the bottom of her shirt and tied it in a hasty mask around her mouth.

“Wait!” Bruce was the first to realize what was happening, with his years of experience with self sacrificing children and their stupid stunts. But Marinette managed to kick him away before he could grab her, dashing into the inferno without paying any heed to the many protests that followed her.

The group of Gothamites could do nothing but watch the flaming building, then. If they went inside, it would only overcrowd a hazardous area. Minutes passed, and there was movement in the fire. Out of the doorway came Marinette and a firefighter, both having to work together to carry the body of a large man outside. The sight of the man made the Gotham family blink— he was as big as Bane! And that was nothing to scoff at. But despite his unusual size and muscle mass, the man had all the signs of being a normal civilian.

Marinette didn’t stop there. She ran back in. Coming out a lot more quickly this time with a barely conscious Asian woman— everyone saw the resemblance between her and this new woman immediately.

It had to be her mother.

“Shit,” Duke hissed. Nobody else could say a word. It wasn’t looking good, and this wasn’t a situation where random vigilantes showing up out of nowhere could actually help. Not this late into the fire. Bruce’s hands curled into fists.

The woman that everyone guessed was Marinette’s mother was suddenly struck by lucidity; she gasped and grabbed at Marinette’s hand without seeming to see who she was even talking to. A single word that none of the Waynes could hear left her throat, and judging by Marinette’s returning panic it hadn’t been good.

She rushed right back into the building, and came back out with the last firefighter who had been searching inside.

Marinette carried a child. She screamed out in panicked French;

“She’s not breathing! I need first aid now!”

That was their cue. The firefighters started their hoses, focusing on getting rid of the flames now that nobody was left inside the building. Bruce and Damian got to Marinette first, and this time she listened as they instructed her to set the child down. Damian, being smaller and having more hands-on medical knowledge, took charge of the resuscitation. Marinette sat there silently, eyes riveted to the small child— a girl.

But Marinette wasn’t reacting like a normal civilian to tragedy. She was eerily calm, eyes focused and barely concealing a terrible rage. She took over chest compressions when Damian started to lose momentum, not giving up.

But then the EMTs arrived, and it was only five minutes with the child hooked onto oxygen that the news arrived—

Marinette heard the monitors on the ambulance flatline before she even registered what people were trying to tell her. Manon. Manon was—

Marinette didn’t register Nadya Chammack at first. She was just another body in the quickly growing sea of them. That is, until she heard Nadya’s pained shriek. A mother who had just lost her baby girl.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Bruce offered softly, giving Marinette space but keeping a keen eye on her. He saw her begin to tremble, then shake. He was pretty sure he could hear the grinding of her teeth for a second before she went still. Just… all movement stopped, the tears that had been building just falling silently for a second before they ended.

And he recognized that carefully practiced emptiness in her bluebell eyes. The same emptiness he had seen in Damian’s eyes when he had first arrived at the Manor. The same emptiness he saw in Dick’s eyes in the days following his parent’s deaths.

The same emptiness he saw in the mirror, every time he had another nightmare about the day Jason had been taken from him, years ago.

Suddenly he could imagine all too well exactly what kind of strength she had to have, to avoid her negative emotions ever being used against her during Hawkmoth’s reign. Especially if she had constantly been dealing with her friends and family being Akumatized and/or dying on multiple occasions.

She didn’t even seem to have heard him. Bruce sighed.

“I called Chloe,” Barbara informed everyone solemnly, holding up her phone for emphasis. “She’ll be here in five.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Chloe hadn’t come alone. With her had been Adrien Agreste, former model when his father hadn’t been… well, in prison. Nowadays he was just a normal student who occasionally gave lectures on neglect and child abuse, and how to help children in those situations.

And, apparently, he was also Marinette’s closest friend. Even more so than Chloe. As soon as they arrived back at the Grand Paris, Chloe herded everyone up into her suite and she and Adrien surrounded Marinette with pillows and blankets. Adrien curled around Marinette like an affectionate cat, and Damien even swore he heard the guy purr at some point

“We should probably leave,” Bruce whispered to their hostess, who looked inbetween him and her friends for a moment before jerking her head towards the door.

“I wanna talk to you first,” Chloe whispered back. Once they all filed out into the hallway and the door was safely closed, Chloe took a breath. “First, I want to tell you that I got a call from the hospital. Marinette’s father is stable, but in a coma right now.”

“Is that the man who looked like he could bench press a car for fun?” Dick asked, earning a weak grin from the Bourgeois heiress.

“Yeah, that’s him. But…” Chloe’s face fell, and she looked around as if to double check nobody was eavesdropping. She still lowered her voice anyway. “Her mother, Sabine. She…” Chloe swallowed a lump in her throat, images of the extremely kind Chinese woman flashing through her mind without permission. “She didn’t make it.”

Several people took a sharp breath, acknowledging everything that had gone so wrong for Marinette on a day that had started so perfectly.

“The smoke?” Cass asked gently, but Chloe winced and shifted on her feet.

“No. They… there were rope marks on Sabine’s neck,” Chloe clenched her eyes shut at the admission. “Marinette’s dad might be big, but he’s not a fighter. Sabine, though… Sabine was. She was raised in a martial arts family back in China. I’ve seen Sabine take down five men at once, all twice her size,” Chloe kicked her lips, shaking her head in disbelief. “Somebody knew… somebody knew that the little Chinese woman was a threat but the big baker with tons of muscle was harmless.”

Nobody took that well. Not only had Marinette just lost her home and half of her family, but her father was in a coma and it had all been foul play.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded once the news had time to sink in. They could help with this; this was their specialty. They might have only known Marinette for six hours, but she had made a big impression. It wasn’t just anybody that could mesh with his family so seamlessly in that short span of time. “Is there anything else?”

“I want you to get temporary custody of her,” Chloe said it the way only Chloe Bourgeois could. With her back straight, chin high, and the tone of a woman who expected to be listened to or else she’d make life Hell for the person that didn’t take her seriously. Bruce could only blink.

“Can I ask for your reasoning?”

“Marinette has been closing herself off more and more over the years,” Chloe admitted. “Hawkmoth’s reign was hard on her. Only Adrien really knows everything she went through during those years. But even after the disbanding of the team, she hasn’t… she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anybody new. That’s why I tricked her into doing your tour. She needed to socialize with new people, and if she wouldn’t do it herself then I had to pull some strings.”

A few eyebrows raised at the admission that Chloe had fully planned for Marinette to be their tour guide the whole time. It honestly seemed like the kind of well meaning manipulation that one of them would try to pull off.

“She likes you,” Chloe’s voice went soft again, showing how uncharacteristically serious she was about that fact. “She was comfortable enough to let you guys carry her back here. To let you try to help Manon. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but it says a lot to me and Adrien. And… getting her away from Paris for a while is probably a good idea. She was planning to go to Gotham for university anyway.”

The Waynes traded glances before Bruce crosses his arms and asked some more questions first. Doesn’t Marinette have other family? Answer; only her grandmother, who travels all the time and nobody ever knows where she is until she shows up. Bruce agreed that Gina Dupain didn’t exactly seem like a good candidate for Marinette’s new guardian with that description. But finally, to none of his children's surprise, he did end up agreeing.

“But,” he held up a single finger. “We’ll Wait here in Paris for a week, so that she can try to salvage everything she can from her house and so we can get an idea on how her father is doing. There’s still a chance he’ll come out of his coma fairly quickly. And of course, we will only go through with this if Marinette agrees when we ask her tomorrow.”

Chloe agreed to those terms, looking like a weight had been lifted off of her.

Chloe never cut corners when taking care of her hive. And if that meant making sure that her brave soldier bee could move on to start a new hive, one that was better equipped to take care of her, then Chloe would do everything she could to help that move. And really; Chloe was far more resourceful and observant than people gave her credit for. The butts definitely matched, and Bruce Wayne was her last hope to get Marinette the support she needed. Outside of Adrien, anyway.

Chloe took a breath, watching the Waynes trickle off into their own rooms. Marinette was like the little sister she never wanted, but grew to love more than anything. Though, Chloe knew she really chose Marinette as her sister the same way they both chose Adrien as their brother. She just didn’t want to admit she was sentimental like that. But Chloe knew that someone like Marinette needed a bigger family. More support.

She could only hope that Marinette and the Waynes grew to become family for her like she and Adrien had. Kwami knew that Marinette needed all the help she could get for the foreseeable future.

“You did good, my Queen.”

“I know, Pollen. Now we just have to find out who dared hurt my hive.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Dude this took so long to write, but I’m actually really proud of it. Probably gonna take this Maribat March a little differently than last year, and make a few longer stories by connecting some of the prompts together. Maybe each week will be a full story? Idk I’ll figure it out. I know I’m behind but I’m working on it.

I tried to keep the angst out, but it found it’s way in here anyway. Oh well!

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat #maribat march 2021 #Maribat March 2k21 #platonic brucinette #found family #day 1 #Maribat March #day 1 found family #I was a little late but oh well

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writingtoforgetreality · 3 years

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Guarding Your Heart (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

Request: THE ENDING WAS PURRRRRFECT i'm gonna miss tfatws sm. I don't know if on the raft they allow inmates to be visited but let's imagine it: you visiting zemo for the first time since he was sent there, a little angst cuz you can't have skin-to-skin contact anymore but you two talk about some things and how life is going, if everything is okay 🥺🥺🥺 (by anonymous), [Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: Inmate: Helmut Zemo. Accommodation: The Raft. Visitors: Generally prohibited. Exceptions: Maintaining a friendly relationship with an Avenger.

Words: 3,547

Warnings: angst, jail (is that a warning?), fluff, feels, my emotions, I didn’t use any pronouns!, TFATWS spoilers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Countless attempts from your side had been ignored. You were an average citizen. No superpower, no higher-up. Ordinary. It appeared that the Raft did not think highly of such people. Not when they proposed to visit an inmate. And definitely not when said inmate was the same Baron who broke out of a high security jail in Germany. But he was yours. His imprisonment in Europe had not been as restricted. For his sake, you had moved to the other end of the world. Simply so you could spend a bit of time together every day. Your old life had been completely abandoned. And for almost ten years, Germany had been your home. Until Sam & Bucky entered your lives once again. Though you started off on the wrong foot, this time around, you were more than grateful for their presence. Without them, especially without the former Winter Soldier, Helmut would still rot away in that tiny prison cell. Your time together had been adventurous. Often hazardous. Life threatening. In the end, you made it out alive. Coming back stronger than ever before.

It could have been a fairy tale. A long awaited fulfillment of a seemingly impossible dream. Were it not for the Wakandans crushing your reverie at the worst place imaginable. The Sokovian memorial. Where you held one of his clothed hands in both of yours. Shedding tears, remembering his old life. His wife. His son. You would never replace them. At the same time, you did not even intend to. His past was part of him & made him to the man you loved endlessly. Bucky did not receive your blame. Were you mad at him for handing Helmut over to the Wakandans? Absolutely. Then again, the super soldier was the reason why he was out of jail in the first place. It was a fine line between resentment & gratitude.

Luckily, throughout the various missions you had been a part of, you gained Sam’s trust. He took a liking in you & when he saw you struggling, he was eager to help. Obviously, the Raft yielded when the Captain America himself transmitted an inquiry. Only a few hours passed & you were on your way to Helmut’s current accommodation. A small jet that had been arranged just for you. In this instant, you did not feel average anymore. For a second, you experienced what it would feel like to live this kind of lifestyle. The one of a Baron. Why you were still unfamiliar with that even though your boyfriend was rich? Truthfully, you did not touch his money at all. It was his & when he did not have access to it while imprisoned, you did not dare using it either. Loyalty. Of course Zemo suggested utilization for you but you declined politely. After reasoning enough, he swore he fell even harder for you. The staunchness of you was remarkable.

It was bizarre. Entering the Raft with multiple workers circling you. You were told that these were the security measures that had to be met if someone wanted to visit an inmate. To you, it sounded like a poor excuse but you would not speak that thought out loud. Prisoners needed social contact. Physical contact could not be provided, that much you understood. But one would go insane without having the opportunity to see another human being that was not a guard working here.

Your body was a mess. Heart hammering at your chest with such a force, you believed it would burst any second. Irregular breaths left your lips. Trembling hands fiddled with each other in order to prevent others from noticing. Weak knees that threatened to no longer stabilize your body weight with each step you took forward. To bystanders, you probably appeared as a put-together person. On the inside, there was chaos. Nothing but chaos. How would you react? How would he react? Would you have privacy? An audience? Observers? Innumerable questions flooded your mind. Seemingly, having only one purpose. To drown you. To drown every bit of you. But you would not succumb that easily. You were so close to where you wanted to be. The fight could not end now. Disappointment would cloud you. More importantly, it would cloud him.

Four guards. It took four guards to guide you through the facility. To your surprise, the insides radiated a calm, almost content atmosphere. The walk lasted an eternity. At least, that was what it felt like. Your Helmut occupied a cell at the very end of the building. No explanation had been given to you as to why they decided to accommodate him there. Maybe, with Sam’s assistance, you could change his quarters & move it further up to the entrance. That way, if you visited again, you would not have to waltz through every narrow hallway. Listening to the whimpers of some inmates. The screams. The bashing. The…pain. There was only one person here who you were familiar with. Helmut. The others? You had no idea what crimes they implemented to end up at a place as dark as this.

“He’s at the end of that corridor.” one of the guards motioned for the others to leave you alone. His hand gestured to a tall white door that had a small built-in window. Your sight was obstructed by the frosted glass of it.

“Will you join me?” you questioned, wanting to prepare for it if he had to accompany you.

“Generally, yes.” he breathed out, putting his hands in the pockets of his uniform. Then, he sighed quietly & eyed you once more. “But since it was requested you speak to him alone, I’ll leave you be.”

“Whose request was that?” your eyebrows furrowed. The Raft was not an institution for exceptions. At first, the mere thought of getting to see Helmut again was an impossibility.

“Captain America’s.” he stated monotonously. The way his face scrunched up made it obvious that he was less than pleased about this decision. As soon as you were out of here, you had to call Sam & thank him for making this feasible.

“Oh.” it was all you could muster at the moment. There was an overwhelming feeling you had to handle. And it was not exactly one of your specialties.

“The door is unlocked. Walk down the hallway & the cell will come into view. If something happens, there’s an emergency button that should be operated whe-“ you stopped him during his speech.

“Thanks for your concern but I’ll be just fine.” a genuine smile formed on your face. The guard nodded at you, still slightly uncertain, & turned around without another word. Letting the uncomfortable silence envelop you. Your legs were frozen in place, preventing you from running to him. Maybe it was the thought of having to say goodbye again. As wonderful as it was that you were allowed to visit him, the concept of abandoning him broke your heart. The difference between the jail in Germany & this one was that you could not linger close by. The trip lasted for a while. Daily visitations were out of the question.

Slow but steady steps moved you over to the door. A hand raised to the doorknob. The coldness of it grounded you the slightest bit. You had to take a few deep breaths, just like he had instructed you multiple times before, in order to reduce the fast, almost unhealthy pace of your beating heart. Your hand twisted the doorknob to one side & when you heard the lock click, you pushed the door open with your entire body weight. Otherwise, you would have been too weak to do so. Bright lights had you squint your eyes. A hand was used as a shield to block most of the luminosity. When your eyes adjusted to the different setting, you straightened your back & brushed non-existent dust from your clothes. This motion gave you something to do with your hands. It was a much needed distraction. You held your head high, looking straight forward to the very end of the corridor. At the sides, the walls were painted bright white. Almost too bright for your liking. It resembled a hospital & you had never enjoyed them. The consistency of it was broken with the glass wall you were staring at. The one which was straight ahead. His cell, you figured. But there was no silhouette you could make out. Considering the size, you should have noticed him already. But he was not there. So you no longer moved in slow motion but jogged over to the pane.

Fast footsteps echoed in Helmut’s ears. Time was fluid in a jail like that. But it had not been long since a guard brought him breakfast. Whoever visited him now, it seemed to be urgent on the basis of the fast pace they approached. He scooted closer to the frigid wall behind his bed. Something he did to mess with the employees here. At least it gave him something to do. Besides reading tons of books & listening to the radio that had been prepared for him. That was luxurious enough for an inmate. All of a sudden, it was silent. Too quiet for his liking. The next thing he heard was music to his ears.

“Helmut?” your broken voice whispered & filled the room. Was he turning hallucinational? Nobody would blame him in a place like this. But not even his imagination could recall your softness so perfectly. He stood up, carefully, & widened his eyes at the sight of you. There you were, on the other side of the transparent wall. Separating the outside world from the box he found himself in.

“(Y/N)? You’re here.” no time was wasted. Helmut dragged his body as close to yours as his cell allowed him to. One of his hands touched the smooth surface & you mimicked his actions. There were tears threatening to escape but you tried everything to keep them locked inside. “Don’t cry.” the volume of his voice had lowered. Nobody could listen to you in here but it almost felt illicit to talk at a normal volume.

“I’m sorry.” you chuckled shortly, your free hand coming to your face to wipe at your cheeks. How he wanted to be the one to touch your tender skin. To have you lean into his palm.

“What are you sorry for?” the proximity was given yet unattainable. Your gaze averted, staring at the pavement floor.

“I don’t know…For everything?” you shrugged your shoulders, laughing at how incomprehensible you sounded. Helmut shook his head. That was how he knew you. Always being the one to carry everyone’s burden on your own. Though you did not need to.

“Stop that.” it was an order but not a forceful one. One that eased the tension immediately.

“Okay.” you mouthed.

The floor was everything but comfortable but you made do. Sitting cross legged opposite of Helmut was dreamlike. In your dreams, you had skin-to-skin contact but that delight had been denied. Simply having him next to you was enough for now. Helmut had his elbows on his knees, watching your every move. Reminiscing every small detail he could get a glimpse of. But there was nothing new he came across. He remembered you like the back of his hand. Sometimes even more precisely than you did yourself. And yet, his observation resembled the first time when his warm, chocolate brown eyes fell onto your frame. Usually, you handled his stares well but something inside of you told you to inquire.

“What?” you asked with a playful, teasing tone. His eyes locked onto yours. You giggled at his confused state.

“Is there a problem?” Helmut turned insecure for a second. And people who knew him were aware that he was barely ever uncertain.

“No, not at all.” you shook your head to emphasize your words. “Just…you’re staring.” you called him out. It made him laugh, his head falling back briefly.

“Is it forbidden to stare?” one of his eyebrows perked up. “I believe most people are flattered by the attention.” though he played the serious act quite well, you could tell that he was joking.

“You’re awful.” you laughed at his antics.

“I am aware.” he saw you opening your mouth to disagree with him but Helmut was faster. “(Y/N)?”

“What is it?” you rested your intertwined hands in your lap. But he had noticed the trembles. He had noticed you struggling. And he realized that it was because of the position you were currently in.

“How is it like? Outside, I mean.” he skillfully changed the topic before the atmosphere between you two could shift in a negative way.

“You have a radio.” your finger pointed to the one sitting on a small table inside the cell right next to a stack of read-through books. “I’m sure you have an idea of what it’s like.”

“But I would love to hear it from you.” there was an encouraging smile on his lips that you could not resist, no matter what.

“Well, Karli’s dead. Sharon took care of her.” you began & watched him nodding approvingly. “Bucky finished his amends & it really looks like he’s doing much better. He’s taking baby steps but he’s doing well.” you could not suppress the small smile when you spoke about the super soldier. Helmut was not jealous. Bucky & you had become fast friends over time.

“Could you deliver a message from me?” he continued after a hum from you. “Tell James that I am happy for him. And thank him from me.” that warmed your heart. All of the previous disputes aside, they had started tolerating each other. You would not go as far as calling them friends but what was not could still be.

“I will.” you promised with certainty. “Right, um…Sam is Captain America. This job is made for him. I truly believe, with him, we’ll achieve great things.” you quieted down, not exactly knowing how to continue.

“So you established Sam’s & James’ success. But what about you?” he read you too easily. No other person saw through you like he did. That affirmed the close bond you two shared even further.

“What about me?” a phony dumfounded expression was plastered on your face.

“How have you been doing?” it was a question with so much emotion & care hidden beneath, it brought tears to the corners of your eyes instantly. Your attempts to blink them away were gratuitous. They started rolling down over your cheeks. So fast, in fact, you could not even wipe them away with your sleeves in time. Helmut’s heart broke at this sight of you. It was clear as day that you experienced a rough patch. The cause of it was him being imprisoned, that much he knew. “Talk to me.” he whispered & cursed the guards for not granting his partner access inside his cell. But they thought he would plan another escape. At the same time, they were unaware that he would not take the risk to jeopardize your safety with a second try.

“It’s…” you took a deep breath to steady your voice & avoid the wavering & cracking. “It’s been hard.” you admitted quietly. “Without you.” you finished. Your eyes flickered up to his face. His look brought you the tiniest bit of contentment. The way his body language could comfort you in such a way was prodigious.

“Love.” the nickname gained your entire attention. It was like all of your worries melted away by the simple sound of it rolling from his lips. The tears did not stop but they were mixed with happiness now. Gratitude that you shared this moment with him. You were here. Helmut was here. Similar to how it used to be. Yet, entirely different. “Please look at me when I tell you this.” & you obeyed without a second thought. “You are my world. If I could change this situation, trust me that I would instantly. I understand your struggles. And I abominate that I cannot dispose of your demons. Or make them part of my own. Your pain causes me aching ten times worse. It is painful seeing you like this. My love, you must promise me one thing.” it was hard for him to get through this speech without his voice fading at the emotions he was experiencing. But he had to stay strong for you. It would only cause you more distress if you noticed him showing how affected he truly was.

“Anything, Helmut.” your reply followed straight after. If he asked you for something, you would do your very best to make him proud of you.

“Promise me to take care of yourself. I would hate to watch you disappear because of me.” the sincerity assured you how important it was to him.

“Helmut, I don’t think I coul-“ he shushed you when he spotted what you were intending to do.

“Promise me, my love.” he repeated & you closed your eyes briefly, releasing another wave of tears.

“I promise.” your eyelids slowly opened & you could detect the relief in his at your words.

“How did you persuade them into visiting an inmate?” the atmosphere had shifted to a relaxing feel once again. And his attempt to start another conversation was welcomed.

“I didn’t do anything. Though I’ve tried multiple times…Sam came to my aid.” you chuckled at the memory & the excitement you emitted after his call. The news had been the best in a very long time.

“Ah, of course, if Captain America requests a visitation…” Helmut started.

“The chiefs are on board in an instant.” you finished his sentence & the both of you laughed at the tomfoolery.

“Means that Sam is the reason for your stay.” you confirmed his thought process quietly. “Please express my gratitude for him as well.”

“Will do.” you wanted to maintain the dialogue with him but a loud noise from behind you caught you by surprise. The same guard who had instructed your appropriate behavior inside these hallways was back. There was a look on his face you could not quite identify but it left you uneasy.

“Time’s over.” the statement felt like someone stabbed you with a knife. Not once, not twice. Multiple times to cause as much damage as possible. Helmut then stood up from the floor, gesturing for you to do the same. The moment you were on your feet again, your knees were close to giving out. Digging deep inside, you mustered all the strength you had left & fixed your posture. You did that to avoid radiating a fragile appearance. “Bid your goodbyes, I’ll wait by the door.” the guard took his place in the doorway, waiting for you to approach him. Your body faced Helmut’s & you rested both of your hands on the glass in front of you. He mimicked you & if it were not for the transparent border, you would have touched.

“I’ll miss you.” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against the boundary.

“I will miss you more.” he followed right after. “But you are always here with me.” one hand rested above his heart. Goodbyes were difficult. Especially with the ulterior motive of not returning the following day. It would most likely take a while until you would face him again. Secretly, so nobody could discern what you were doing, you pulled a small paper out of your pocket & pushed it through one of the many, tiny holes in the glass wall. It dropped to the floor on the other side. Helmut sent you a questioning glance which you retuned with a soft, gentle smile. Coughing behind you brought you back to reality. You had to leave. As much as it hurt, you turned your back to Helmut & distanced yourself from his cell. Arriving at the exit, you looked over shoulder one last time. One last time, your eyes locked. One last time, you let your tender features speak. One last time. While you walked away from him, he picked the small paper up from the ground. Unfolding it with much care, his eyes got stuck on three little words that were neatly curved in your handwriting. So when your eyes met, he returned that favor without anyone realizing it. His lips moved & you saw him mouthing that same phrase back. Your smile grew wider, as did his. And then you were gone. Of course, you would come back. And with Sam’s help, it would probably be sooner rather than later. He stared at the door where you just walked through. His gaze then turned to the paper in his hands. Never would he let go of it again. He would treat it like it was made out of gold. To him, it was. And it was worth so much more. The feeling it triggered inside of him could not be purchased. It could only be provided by a special someone. That special someone was you. Reading through the note one more time, he sat down on the uncomfortable mattress. The displeasure was ignored for now. For a minute, he bathed in the loving emotions you brought to him.

“I love you. -xo(Y/N)”

Published (05/09/2021) by Cathy

✨MY Ko-fi PAGE✨

Tags: @there-will-be-p-e-a-c-e, @simply-skeletons, @weareironmanbitches, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @trelaney, @bibliophilewednesday, @msmarvelsmain, @takacsgram, @ya-boi-is-dead, @deamus-liv, @therenlover (thanks for your support <3)

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clandonnachaidh · 4 years

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Light Across The Seas That Severed

Read on AO3

It always surprised Jamie Fraser, the things that made him think of Claire Beauchamp. Along with the usual triggers—the gut punch when he caught a whiff of someone wearing her signature perfume, the seizing of his heart when his eyes were automatically drawn to messy brown curls on a stranger walking down the high street, the ache in his chest when someone walked past who had the same cadence as her laugh—it was the small, unexpected ones that hurt the most.

He could be walking into the village and see her hair in the colours of the water as it ruffled over the rocks in the burn, so real to him that it felt as though he could reach out and tangle it through his fingers. His carefully curated playlist would end and Spotify would betray him, blasting a song that he had kept at bay, conjuring memories of the two of them dancing like fools on the nights that they laughed so loud that it seemed even the walls shook as they brushed their teeth in the cramped bathroom of their dorm.

It was torture. A delicious kind, but torture nonetheless. One that he had thought to turn into prose—at the recommendation of his therapist. It had been explained to him that grief and loss were themes that could be explored in ourselves if we attempted to write them from another’s perspective. And so here he was now, years after she had left him, sitting at his late father’s desk with a whisky in one hand and a pen in the other, trying to make sense of what had happened and how he had ever been stupid enough to watch silently as her light, his Sorcha, slipped from his life.

On yet another night spent in the same position—the room dark with only a lamp beside him to illuminate the black moleskin notebook—he reclined, the chair creaking under his weight. His father’s old office chair, with it’s worn leather and rusty hinges, wasn’t built to accommodate a man of his size but he’d found that it actually helped to coax the words from his brain, as though the physical discomfort made his emotional pain easier to access. He seemed to need a little nudge to allow himself to sink deeper into parts of his past that he had spent so long trying to keep locked away.

When the whisky finally made him brave enough to open the door, the memories flooded out onto the paper: the sight of her pink lips pouted in frustration as she struggled to lift her belongings from the boot of the taxi on the first day of university, the first time she laughed at one of his terrible jokes (why do the French only use one egg to make an omelette, Sassenach? Because one is an oeuf!), the first time he helped her into her coat and his fingertips brushed the skin behind her ear (their maiden voyage to the on campus coffee house, faces taut in disgust as they realised that their unrelenting back and forth had caused their coffees to go cold). He wrote about falling in love with his best friend and why he had wasted so much time worrying about how to tell her.

Jamie had spent hours, days, months, sitting in his father’s chair, consumed by the fruitless pursuit of trying to plot the points of their relationship. Although he could vividly picture the scenes, he didn’t recognise the people anymore. He had been young, too young by half to know what he wanted out of life and she had been more than he could have dreamed of. He had fallen in love with her instantly, as he was sure most people did at the sight of one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. But that was years ago and they had both changed, she was living her life in Boston as a brilliant surgeon while Jamie languished in Lallybroch, living in his old bedroom while his sister and her family had the run of the house.

The burn of the whisky slipping down his throat was a pleasant distraction but the batch still made his eyes water slightly and he made a mental note to tell Ian that the recipe could still do with some tweaking before it could be sold under the Mac Dubh name. He had made a modest success of himself, that was true, now the creator of the fourth highest selling whisky in Scotland. Broch Tuarach had changed from a small farming village that nobody really knew of to the home of one of Scotland’s largest and most successful distilleries, and Jamie was often credited with bringing jobs and tourists to the village in numbers that hadn’t been seen before. There had been a boom in the local economy allowing the village to thrive and he was seen as a pillar of the community, people jokingly referring to him as Laird, or the more familiar Himself, when he passed them in the street although the official title was held by some landowner that lived down south somewhere and had only stepped foot in the area once.

Still, he thought, this batch wasn’t ready for marketing just yet. Jamie put the glass down, rubbed his tired eyes with his even more tired fingers and decided to call it a night, making his way down the hall to his bedroom. His limbs felt heavy as he went through the motions of getting ready for bed. Finally stripping off his shirt and jeans and crawling under the covers, he cast a cursory glance at the phone he had left charging on the bedside table.

Sassenach

Missed call 23.02

He screwed his eyes shut before opening them again as if to knock some sense into them but the notification was still there. The rough pad of his thumb hovered over it, almost afraid that if he attempted to open it, it would cease to exist. He pressed the lock button once to blacken the screen, paused, and then pressed it again to bring it into view and still it remained.

It must have been an accident, a slip of the hand while she was trying to call someone else. He reminded himself of the time difference, it would be the early evening where she was and she could be tired after a long day or maybe even rushing between surgeries. She probably hadn’t even noticed that she had called him. He had to fight his inflating ego when he considered the fact that she still had his number, but blushed in shame as he recalled the frightened face of the poor spotty teenage lad in the phone shop who he had made swear that he wouldn’t lose any contacts or photos when he upgraded to his new handset.

Realising that he was now sat straight up in his bed, his heart beating a slightly faster staccato than usual, he opened the notification. Just seeing her name (or rather, his name for her) on his screen again did things to his body that he wasn’t in control of. His hands felt clammy while his mouth was dry. This was different than just scanning her Facebook page in the dark, looking at her perfectly posed pictures that she chose to share, and lamenting the absence of candids that he had so loved taking when they were friends. She found one of them once, one he had snapped of her the day that they had taken the ferry over to the Isle of Arran for a few nights. Knowing that she didn’t have any remaining family, he had insisted that she spend the summer break from university at Lallybroch with his family and she had happily accepted. However, after a few nights in Jamie’s massive ancestral home, filled with more Fraser bodies than they could count, he promised to take her away for a few days of peace and had driven her to the ferry terminal at Claonaig without divulging their destination. They had been blessed with a beautiful summer’s day for the crossing to Lochranza and he’d thanked God that he managed to keep his breakfast in his stomach. Or rather, that he almost had until they were in sight of the island. Jamie had burst from his seat and had made it to the toilet just in time for his stomach to erupt, sweat dampening his brow until his wame was empty. Shivering and definitely worse for wear but at least grateful in the knowledge that there was nothing else to come up, he had returned to the deck of the ferry to see Claire out in the sun, her forearms resting on the railing as she looked out over the water. The way that her hair whipped up in the wind made Jamie’s chest tighten and before he knew it, he had taken out his phone and snapped a picture.

Months later, Claire had snagged his phone from the table of the bar that they were sat in, too quick for Jamie. She quipped an eyebrow at him in victory, chastising him that he had yet to show her pictures of his latest niece when she stumbled across the photo. He watched as her throat bobbed, swallowing emotion that he wished he could taste before looking at him straight in the eye. Without being asked, he told her that he couldn’t help himself. And she smiled shyly before cooing about Jenny’s new daughter.

The memory flooded his senses and Jamie closed his eyes, filling his lungs with a deep breath for a count of four, holding it for a count of four and then letting it out for six in a vain attempt at calming his racing mind. His whole body felt as though it was vibrating, alive for the first time in what he could remember at the mere <em>thought</em> of Claire Beauchamp.

It took Jamie a second to realise that the vibration wasn’t coming from his body. Or rather, it was, but from a specific part of his body. His hand, the one that was holding his phone, was shaking rhythmically, the screen bright against the darkness of the rest of the room.

Sassenach calling…

The breath jittered from his lungs as he tried to take a steady breath. Watching, almost as though someone else was moving his body as he thumb accepted the call and he slowly raised the phone to his ear.

“Claire?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard her let out a heavy breath. His heart seized as he listened to her break, all too familiar with the sound of her crying.

“Claire, are ye hurt? Tell me what’s—“

“Frank is dead.”

Ice fell heavy in his chest at the sound of her voice before he even took stock of the words that she had uttered. To hear her voice again.

“Oh, lass… Mo chridhe, I am so sorry,” he whispered the words, truly meaning them as he wished for nothing but her happiness. Anything to bring her from the pain that she was feeling.

“He— oh God, he’s dead. He’s really dead.”

He knew in that moment that he would cross oceans for her simply to bring her peace. He had always known the truth of what they shared, how he responded to her call but nothing had prepared him for the tsunami of pure need that he would experience when he heard her cry down the phone about her dead husband.

“I’m sorry, mo chridhe, I’m so sorry,” he repeated at the sound of her hyperventilating, his shoulders creeping up around his ears as he wished he could bear the pain for her, “What do you need, Claire? Anything.”

“He’s in the ground,” she whispered as though saying it out loud would make it more true, “God, Jamie, I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips was a balm that he didn’t know his soul needed. The hairs on his arms stood to attention as a shiver rippled through him, clenching his jaw to steady himself and give her his full attention.

“Do ye have people around ye, Claire? Have ye folk in Boston?”

#light across the seas that severed #clandonnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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pterodactylterrace · 4 years

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Guys Like You Chapter 16

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 16

Chapter Summary: Meet the family

Rating: 18+

Warnings: None for this chapter

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12} {Chapter 13} {Chapter 14} {Chapter 15}

"How well does she do on flights?" Henry asked quietly, nodding for Faye to slide in first to take the window seat.

"She gets sick on longer flights." Faye explained as he sat down in the aisle seat, resting the snoozing child in his lap, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest as a small bit of drool tumbled from her lower lip.

"It's a little under an hour, do you think she'll be ok?"

"She didn't get sick until after the third hour when we came to England."

"Hopefully she'll just sleep the whole time." Henry sighed, smiling fondly at the child snoozing on him. To say he was excited to introduce his girls to his family was an understatement. He had been practically vibrating with giddiness for the last two days. That in turn wound up Kal and Briar, which meant no one wanted to go to bed. Faye had counted herself lucky to get the child tucked into bed and finally asleep before 11pm the night before. Certainly not enough time for any sort of decent rest before their 6am flight. She could also tell Henry hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, the dark circles under his eyes a dead giveaway, no matter how many times he insisted he was fine.

Maybe they could all catch a nap during the flight. That sounded incredible, though Faye wasn't sure if her nerves would allow her to actually sleep. Henry had assured her over and over that his family would love her, but she had a nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept asking her 'but what if they don't?' Would Henry leave her if his family didn't like her? What if they didn't like Briar? She could be a bit much at times. Maybe they would think she was an awful mother who couldn't control her child. She just had to keep reminding herself that Henry wasn't like that. He wasn't a controlling abuser. He wanted to see her happy. He actually loved her and she was slowly learning how to be loved in return.

Henry reluctantly slid the child from his lap and into her seat before take off, buckling the now grumpy toddler in while Faye gave Briar her stuffed bunny in an attempt to pacify her for the time being. That only resulted in the rather amusing image of an incredibly angry looking toddler hugging a very well loved stuffed bunny, glaring daggers at the seat back in front of her. The second the fasten seatbelt sign went off, Briar was back in Henry's lap, smugly snuggling back into his chest with her bunny tucked under her arm.

"I swear, she likes you more than she likes me." Faye sighed, shaking her head at her daughter.

"I never tell her no." Henry shrugged, giving the child a small squeeze.

"I've noticed." Faye grumbled.

"How do you expect me to say no to that face?" Henry challenged, nodding down to where Briar was already sleeping on him, her cheek squished up against his chest, more drool slowly soaking into his shirt.

"What if she wants to do something dangerous?"

"That's why I have her wonderful, strong, beautiful mother nearby." Henry smiled at her, chuckling at her annoyed look.

"So what are you gonna do with any future children?" Faye shot back, not missing the way Henry's entire demeanor lit up.

"I'll just have to follow your lead." He offered, trying to tame the smile from his face. This was the first time she had mentioned any more children since their scare, and just the thought was enough to make him dizzy with excitement.

"Breastfed that kid for a year and a half, and this is the thanks I get." Faye grumbled to herself, moving over to the middle seat to use Henry's bulky shoulder as a pillow.

"As much as I'd like to say I'll help you every step of the way, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be useless when it comes to that."

"Such a shame, your tits are bigger than mine."

"They are not." Henry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Mmhmm. Mine only look nice when I roll them up into a bra so you can't see how deflated they are."

"They're the perfect size for my hands."

"And your tits are still bigger."

"Fine, but I still don't think I can breastfeed a baby." Henry relented, his face heating up when he realized the flight attendant had made it to their row with the drink cart. Her look of confused horror was one Faye would remember for years to come.

"I think we're good." Faye half laughed, Henry dropping his head in embarrassment. Sometimes people just walk up at the wrong time in a conversation.

Faye was apprehensive at first when Henry told her his brother would be picking them up from the airport. What if he instantly didn't like her? Would he just leave her there or something? It would make for a very uncomfortable car ride to say the least. Thankfully Niki and his wife turned out to be just as nice and accommodating as Henry kept assuring her they would be. Naturally, Niki stuffed his younger brother into the back seat, allowing his wife to stay up front in spite of her half hearted protest. Faye had the feeling this was an ongoing thing between them.

The sight of a toddler seat in the back, hooked in and ready to go made a strange happiness swell in her chest. Faye was grateful they had taken steps to keep her daughter safe, while Henry was slightly annoyed that he was now crushed even more. With a simple look from Niki's wife, Faye understood that this was just how the brother's were, antagonizing each other whenever possible. Niki wasted no time filling Faye in on a few stories from Henry's childhood, telling her about the time he brought a turtle home and tried to keep it in the bathtub to hide it from his parents. Then he moved on to the time he split his pants at his cousin's wedding when he was fifteen and spent the entire reception trying to talk to the bridesmaids with his underwear showing. The last one he squeezed in before his wife stopped him was when they were all younger and buried him in the snow, having convinced him that's how an igloo was built.

No one hesitated to get out and start unpacking the car once it was parked in front of a rather quaint looking house, Niki tossing Henry's bag at him, Henry 'accidentally' shoulder checking him into the back of the car good natured retaliation. Niki's wife had already gone inside to announce their arrival, giving Faye a chance to talk with her daughter before meeting everyone.

"Now remember sweetie, we need to be on our best behavior for Papa's family today, ok?" She reminded, crouching down and straightening out her daughter's jacket.

"I a good girl." Briar stated firmly, nodding her head in self assurance as she grabbed her mother's hand with her mitten covered fist.

"Yes, you've been a very good girl, even though I can tell you're really tired. I'm very proud of you, sweetheart." Faye praised, giving the child her stuffed bunny before leading her after everyone else.

"And then-" Simon wheezed, pausing to catch his breath through his laughter. "And then Henry comes back inside, covered in mud, sticks in his hair, and he's just like "well, he's not under THAT bush!'." Faye wiped a tear from her eye, holding her aching stomach. She had lost count of the stories that had been retold, everyone seeming to take a turn at ribbing each other. Henry even told the story of Faye accidentally gluing her hand to a makeup brush when she was trying to apply prosthetics. It felt almost too easy settling into his family. He had been completely honest, they were very accepting.

His mother was warm and inviting, pulling her in for a hug and whisking Faye off to the kitchen, putting a glass of wine in her hand before she had even said hello to anyone else. It felt so good to be around a family again. Faye had been close with her parents and her siblings, especially her twin sister, and it was times like this that reminded her of what she had given up to chase her dreams. She had promised to try and be home for Christmas, but life got in the way of her going back the year before. Now it was coming up, and she was wondering if Henry would be alright with going all the way across the ocean just to meet her family. Were they really that serious? She knew they were pretty serious, having moved in together, but she didn't have any prior experience to compare her current relationship to. Would he want to spend Christmas with his family? They were all really nice and probably always spent the holidays together. Would she be interfering with a tradition by asking him to spend Christmas with her family?

"So how did you two meet?" Marianne interjected, everyone suddenly shifting their attention to the couple.

"Uhh... met at work?" Faye offered up, turning to look up at Henry to see if he had anything else to add. Always the eloquent half of the pair, Henry had plenty to tack on, telling them about how this sassy little makeup artist wouldn't give him the time of day no matter what he did to get her attention. He'd tried talking about her tattoo's: nothing. He'd tried talking about the show: nothing. He'd tried to ask her about her life: nothing.

"It wasn't until Briar's birthday that I got anywhere. I swear, if you weren't such an awful baker, you would have never even looked my way. Poor Briar made sure everyone knew you were no good at it too. Briar!" Henry called, smiling when the little girl came running in the room, a dinosaur in one hand and the other covered in a sock. "Briar, how's mummy's baking?"

"Yucky." Briar informed flatly, the adults roaring in laughter while she rushed off to go play with the other children again.

"She's actually managed to simultaneously burn and completely undercook a tray of brownies once. It was amazing."

"Wasn't that also the time I mixed up the salt and the sugar?"

"It was." Henry confirmed, pressing an adoring kiss to her temple.

"That reminds me of the time you accidentally used garlic powder instead of nutmeg in the apple pie one year." Piers turned toward his wife, laughing at her loving glare.

"Alright, alright. Enough." Simon jumped in. "We all know what needs to be discussed. Who is stronger, Superman or the Incredible Hulk?" The entire family seemed to groan in unison; this must be an age old debate.

"Superman, obviously." Henry scoffed.

"No way, the Hulk is indestructible!" Niki threw back.

"So is Superman." Charlie pointed out.

"A little bit of kryptonite and Superman is useless." Simon intervened.

"What are the odds of having kryptonite on hand, though? If we're going to be using weaknesses, when Banner couldn't shift into the Hulk during Infinity War should definitely be brought up." Faye countered.

"But we're not talking about Banner, we're talking about the Hulk, as in he already shifted." Niki complained.

"Didn't the Black Widow have some lullaby thing that turned him back?" Charlie mused.

"Come on, Faye. We all know you're just siding with Superman because you're sleeping with him." Simon teased, Faye rolling her eyes in response. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time they returned home just two days later, Faye was utterly exhausted but filled with joy. His family was so warm and inviting. They actually liked her. They didn't look down on her. They didn't question why Henry was with someone like her. They just accepted her and her daughter as one of their own. Two more to add to the Cavill Clan.

Now that they were back at home, it felt almost empty compared to the jam packed house they had just been in. Kal was all too happy to meet everyone at the door, his food bowl still full from the last visit from the dog sitter while their mail was stacked neatly on the kitchen table waiting for them.

Henry left the bags by the bottom of the stairs to take up later, sorting the letters into two separate piles. A large envelope addressed for Faye caught his eye, curiosity prompting him to bring it straight to her.

"What's that?" Faye asked, tossing the clothing from the bags into a laundry basket.

"I don't know. Looks important. Maybe it's informing you that you just became Queen a small unknown country."

"I've always wanted my own country." Faye chuckled, ripping the envelope open and pulling out the papers inside, her face falling more and more with each passing second. Her blood ran cold as teardrops stained the paper.

"What? What's wrong? Faye, you're starting to worry me. What does it say? Is something wrong?"

"My ex... my ex is trying to sue me for custody of Briar."

@weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @nostalgicb-txh

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #guys like you fic

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woah-were-halfway-there · 4 years

Text

Island In The Sun

A/N: Finally the highly requested little (very long) vacation one shotttttttt, enjoy :)

Word Count: 7.8k

To you, summer was the best time of the year.

The weather was beautiful, the days were long, and the best part, Auston was off. Although you had nothing against hockey, you always loved the offseason because it allowed the two of you to relax and be together without worrying about being separated. As a parent, you loved it even more.

One of your favourite things ever was seeing Auston and Mia interact together, and the summertime allowed you to witness that all the time. Whether it be them cuddled up on the couch watching a movie together, splashing around in the pool as Auston tried to teach your one and a half-year-old to swim, or even just the two of them walking ahead while you and Frank trailed right behind; you loved watching their bond grow. And there wasn't much more you appreciated than those special moments you got to share with your little family.

However, since Mia was born, it had been a bit harder to find time for yourself. Not that you cared, though, because you loved your daughter more than anything in the world, but compared to before, it was much more complicated to do things and not have to worry about Mia's wellbeing as you did them.

It was even more challenging whenever you and Auston tried to have some alone time together. Sure, the two of you would cuddle up on the couch and watch Netflix every once in a while after putting Mia to bed, but going out or doing anything that was just the two of you for more than a couple of hours, simply had not been doable.

Hockey season didn't help with that either.

With Auston consistently coming and going for roughly six months of the year, the two of you struggled even more with getting some alone time. When Auston was home, of course, he'd want to spend time with you, but he also would be determined not to miss any time he could get with Mia. Therefore, making that much-needed husband and wife time more challenging to achieve. Sure, the two of you always took what you could get, but leading up to the end of the season, your friends and family would always go off on both you and Auston how a night to yourselves was necessary.

Still, nothing extravagant happened. In complete honesty, the two of you were content with nights in that consisted of cuddling on the couch while Mia was asleep upstairs. It was simple. To you and Auston, it was perfect. Neither of you needed anything more than that, but then the opportunity to go on vacation with Auston's family came up.

The Matthews family had plans to go to Cabo San Lucas in Mexico for a week-long trip at the end of July. They had vacationed in the same area a few years prior, back while you and Auston were still dating and long before Mia arrived, but you couldn't tag along for the trip because of things going on at home. That was fine, though, you still loved seeing the pictures and hearing all the stories, but this time around, you were very excited to join.

Seeing as Mia was almost a year and a half old, it was the first time you and Auston were travelling outside of the US or Canada with her. You knew the flight from Phoenix to Cabo wouldn't be an issue seeing as she was ok on the much longer trip to Toronto, but you were still very interested to see how she was with being in a completely new setting.

You were most excited to see how she'd like the Beach, and luckily for you, she loved it.

The first half of your week-long trip flew by. The day everyone arrived mainly consisted of getting settled into accommodations and relaxing a bit before the fun actually started during the following days.

Speaking of accommodations, they were unreal and so lovely.

Along with some family friends, the entire family was set up in three different places within walking distance of each other along the Beach. The first house was a little bungalow where Brian and Ema stayed, giving them their own relaxing space to go back to after a long day with the fam. The next one was a much larger house that was able to accommodate more people. It had a pool, games and all different types of activities just there and ready to use. That was where Alex, Bre, as well as the friends that tagged along stayed. It was also where everyone spent the most time as a group unless you were all out doing other things.

The last house was a kind of villa type thing. It was a bit larger than where Brian and Ema stayed, but nowhere near as big as the house between the two, and was the perfect size for your little family. The villa had two bedrooms, one smaller one that wasn't even used but was stunning, and a huge master bedroom with a large ensuite and walk-in closet. It had a little kitchen and living room with massive floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the Beach and was the perfect little oasis for you, Auston and Mia. Sure, it felt a little empty without Frank roaming around, but you knew he was living it up back in Scottsdale while being watched by a close friend of Auston's.

Your first full day in Cabo was nothing short of amazing.

You started the morning off by meeting up with the rest of the group for breakfast at a restaurant nearby. Everyone discussed how things were as they settled in the night before, then moved on to talk about what the day's events would consist of. It was established that after breakfast, the guys and Bre were going to do a round of golf. As they did that, you and Mia decided to spend some time on the Beach with Ema and Alex.

It was super peaceful.

You spent a fair bit of time in the water, gently pushing around a standup paddleboard while Mia sat on it with her little lifejacket, smiling widely and giggling as you moved her around. After doing that for a little while, Alex said she'd watch Mia so that you and Ema could explore a little bit. That went on for a couple of hours before eventually being joined by everyone else.

"Hello, Miss Mia," Bre chimed as she sat down next to you on the beach blanket later that afternoon, immediately earning a response from your daughter from where she sat between your legs playing with a shovel.

"Look who's back, Mia! Is that your Auntie Bre?" You asked your daughter as she held onto your hands to pull herself into a standing position before wobbling towards Bre.

"Tee!"

"Hi, sweet girl," Bre responded with outstretched arms so that she could pull Mia in for a hug once she was close enough. Mia hugged her tightly and let out a happy squeal before Bre set her down in her lap and looked back to you. "How's it going? What have you guys been up to all day?"

"Good, we've just been hanging around here," you told her with a smile. "I explored with your mom for a bit, then Alex and I got smoothies a little while ago, now they're out on the jet skis. Mia has been absolutely loving the Beach, but I haven't taken her swimming just yet. How was golf? Did you kick their butts?"

"You know it," she said matter of factly, making you chuckle. "Auston was a little cheesed."

"Of course, he was. Sore loser."

"Always!"

She then explained how Brian had plans to surprise Ema with a little dinner that night, so he was back at their bungalow, setting up a reservation for just the two of them. She also mentioned how Auston had gone back to your villa to shower and should be joining any minute.

As the two of you chatted, neither of you noticed Ema and Alex as they docked their jet skis and began walking towards you until Mia got all smiley again.

"What's got you all excited, huh?" Bre asked as Mia started reaching towards something behind her aunt, making you glance in the same direction to see who it was approaching.

"She sees your mom," you replied while smiling and waving to the two women approaching.

"Ah, no wonder," she chuckled and stood up from her spot to go greet them with Mia.

"Oh, hello there," Ema said as Mia tackled her in a hug, indicating that she now wanted to be held by her grandmother.

"Wow, Mia, nice to know who your favourite relative is," Alex joked as she sat down next to you, nudging you with her shoulder. "You ready to go shopping?"

"Yeah, whenever you guys are ready!"

"Is Mia coming?" Bre asked as she, Mia and Ema joined you and Alex again.

"I don't think so," you replied. "Auston wants to take her for a bit to hang around the pool before she needs a nap, I believe."

"Fair enough," Alex nodded and watched as Ema walked with Mia to where the tide flowed onto the shore. "We probably have a few minutes before he gets here, do you mind if I take Mia in the water as we wait?"

"Not at all, I'll have her towel ready."

"Wait, I'm coming!" Bre called after her sister as the two walked towards the water.

You sat back and watched as your mother and sisters-in-law took turns wading into the water while holding onto Mia until a small waved formed and brushed passed them. It was so simple, but Mia loved every second of it. Each time she touched the water, Mia would let out a squeal of delight and laugh before splashing around a bit, earning some dramatic gasps from Alex and Bre.

As you watched, you couldn't help but smile as your heart swelled with so much love. These three women had become such important people in your life throughout your relationship with Auston. They always loved and supported you, welcomed you as one of their own, and built a significant and lasting relationship with you. That love was shared with your daughter from the moment she was born and had only grown ever since. You were well aware of how much Mia adored her aunts and grandparents, and it just made you so happy that she was going to grow up with these amazing people always watching out for her.

After a few minutes went by, there was a sudden presence of a person sitting on the sand behind you and pulling you close to them. You didn't need to turn around to tell that it was Auston with the way his arms instantly wrapped around you protectively, and his facial scruff brushed against your skin as he leaned his chin onto your shoulder, quietly observing his mom and sisters play with Mia as well.

"Hey, you," you said after a moment of just sitting there in comfortable silence, before looking at your husband and smiling. "How was golf?"

"Oh, I'm sure you already know how golf was," he responded with an eye roll.

"You lost that bad, huh?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the way he was acting, as he let out a huff and looked at you with a pointed glance. "Well, if it's any compensation, I'm glad that you're back even if you did lose to your little sister. Can't be better than everyone at everything, babe."

"Yeah, whatever, I'll take it," he replied with a grin. "Besides, I've got my prize right here, anyways."

He then leaned towards you, and you closed the remaining space between the two of you by meeting his lips with yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel him smirk against you and had no intention to break away from him either until a voice interrupted.

"Geez, get a room," Bre spoke up from where she stood in the water, sticking her tongue out jokingly once you looked at her.

"Leave them be," Ema scolded her daughter before smiling at you and Auston.

"Way to ruin the moment, Bre," Alex scoffed and stepped out of the water with your daughter. "But, I do think someone's excited to see you, Auston."

"Daddy!" Mia exclaimed and reached towards you and Auston as she and Alex approached.

"Hi, baby," Auston grinned widely and reached up to take Mia from his sister's hold, not waiting any longer to snuggle her into his chest. "Did you have fun in the water?"

"Uh-huh," she replied as she leaned back to look at him and smile.

The two then started chatting, and you subtly moved from your spot between Auston's legs to grab Mia's towel so she wouldn't get cold.

"Are you ready to hang out with me while your mom leaves us to go shopping with your aunts?" Auston asked Mia, making you roll your eyes as you stood up. Alex gave you a knowing look as the two of you just shook your heads.

"Yeah!" Mia said and cuddled closer to you as you took her from her dad and wrapped her in the towel.

"Mia, tell your dad that he's a drama queen," you spoke up and pecked her on the cheek.

"'Rama, daddy."

"Yes, drama!."

Alex started chuckling from where she stood beside you, while Auston huffed and looked at you with a pout. "You make it seem like Bre, and I are stealing her from you."

"Uh, have you seen the way the three of you shop? You guys won't be back for hours."

"Like you're any better," Bre deadpanned and gave her brother a look as she and Ema approached. "We'll be back before dinner. You'll be fine."

"Whatever," he said with a sigh before standing up and walking towards Ema. "At least mom wants to hang out with me."

Ema chuckled and shook her head.

"I'm going with them. What do you mean?"

The look of absolute betrayal that washed over Auston's face as she said that was comedic and made everyone laugh but him. "Wow."

"Oh, babe, I promise next time you can come with us," you stated and walked towards your husband. Once you were close enough, Auston wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close as he took Mia in his other arm. "We'll be back soon."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied and winked at you before glancing at Mia. "Looks like it's just me and you, baby girl. Is that alright with you?"

She didn't respond, just nodded before leaning against Auston's shoulder and knuckling at her eyes tiredly. You and Auston looked at each other knowingly after that.

"I think I'm just going to take her back to the villa, cause someone needs a nap," your husband stated and brushed a little curl away from Mia's face. "You tired, mini?"

Whenever he called her that, you couldn't help but smile because of how true it was. Mia really was Auston's mini-me, and you loved it so freaking much.

"Mhm," Mia replied before letting out a loud yawn. "Nemo, daddy?"

"Yes, sweets, we'll watch Nemo together," he said and leaned down to kiss her cheek before looking back to you.

"We'll be back soon," you assured both Mia and Auston, but earned yourself an odd glance from your daughter.

"Mommy, come."

"No, baby," you responded quietly, your heart breaking a bit thanks to how she looked at you with her tired eyes expectantly. "Mommy will be back in a little bit, ok? I promise."

"Ok," she repeated before cuddling closer to Auston, showing just how exhausted she was.

You then looked to Auston, who didn't miss a beat as he leaned down to peck your lips again. "Call me if you need anything, ok?"

"You know, I will. I'll see you soon," Auston said before giving you another quick kiss and then looking at his mom and sisters. "Have fun, ladies."

"Bye," the three of them said as you stood and watched him walk away with your baby.

A moment later, someone nudged you with their shoulder to get your attention.

"Ready to go?" Alex asked, already holding her folded up beach-blanket and other items.

"Oh, yeah," you stated and moved to pick up your things before heading back to the house she and Bre were staying in. "Lead the way."

It didn't take long for the four of you to get where all the little shops and stores were, and it took even less time for the actual shopping to begin. You found a couple of cute clothes for yourself and even more adorable things for Mia, thanks to Bre and Alex's help. After that, you and Auston's sisters helped pick out a new outfit for Ema and somehow convinced her that she should wear it to dinner that night, although she was still unaware of her little date night with Brian.

Once you finished shopping, the four of you returned to the Beach to get ready for the night ahead. Ema went back to the bungalow, while Bre and Alex helped you with the stuff you bought back to your villa. You were all excited to be back and see Mia again, but the house was empty when you entered.

"Where do you think they went?" Bre asked as each of you set down the bags you were holding and looked around.

"No clue," Alex replied and glanced at you. "Has Auston messaged you?"

"No, he hasn't," you told her and pulled out your cell phone to see that Ema had texted you instead. "But your mom did. She says to go over to your guys' place."

"That's where they must be," Bre said and started walking towards the door again. "Let's go. I wanna see my niece."

"I'm sure she wants to see you too," you chuckled as you followed after her and Alex back outside.

The three of you walked down the Beach to the two-storey house you assumed everyone else was. It was early evening, so the sun was still up and would be for a few more hours, and you couldn't help but wonder what Auston and Mia had gotten up to while you were away.

As soon as you stepped foot into the house, you got your answer.

"Y/N, go take a look by the pool," Ema said as she greeted you, Bre and Alex again. "I think there's something you might want to see."

Confused, you looked at Bre and Alex unsurely before walking by them and towards the back of the house. You could hear them and Ema following behind you and didn't know what to expect when you went outside, but your heart melted once you did.

Brian waded in the pool with the other guys, while to the left of the door, Auston was passed right out on one of the lounge chairs, with Mia asleep on his chest.

Mia was still wrapped in a towel, which made you think she mustn't have gone to sleep right away, so Auston brought her to the pool in an attempt to wear her out even more, but ended up making himself tired during the process as well.

"They've been like that for an hour and a half now," Brian chuckled as he climbed onto a pool floaty. "Didn't even make it inside the house, they were both so exhausted."

"Please, I love them so much," you replied and couldn't keep yourself from awing at how cute the two of them were.

"They are pretty freaking adorable. I must admit," Bre spoke up as she placed her elbow on your shoulder and leaned against you as she observed the two sleeping beauties as well.

"My favourite pair," Alex chimed in as she stood beside you and smiled.

"Mine, too," you stated. "I don't want to wake them up."

But just as you said that Mia began stirring awake and started looking around as if trying to remember where she was.

"Mama," she said with a yawn once her eyes landed on you, and Bre wasn't long in taking her arm off your shoulder so that you could go over to your little girl.

"Hi, baby," you responded as you ducked under the broad umbrella and sat down on the edge of the lounge chair beside them, making sure to gently brush away some of the curls that fell in your daughter's face and smile at her. "Did you have a good nap with daddy?"

"Mhm," she nodded while still leaning against Auston's chest, which gradually woke him up as well.

He stretched and groaned while wrapping his arm protectively around Mia before even opening his eyes, but when he finally did and saw you, he immediately grinned widely.

"Hey, you're back," he said and sat up straight, his voice husky as he spoke. "Did you have fun?"

"We did," you replied, smiling as well before looking to Bre and Alex and winking at them. "Looks like you and Mia had some fun too."

"I don't even remember falling asleep," he admitted before looking down at Mia. "I guess we were both tired, huh, little miss?"

"Yeah," Mia smiled before reaching towards you so that you'd hold her.

"I bet," you stated while hugging your daughter close and looking back at your husband. "What do you say we head back to the villa and get changed for dinner?"

"Tee!" Mia called once she noticed Bre and Alex standing nearby, no longer paying any attention to you.

"Well, I think that's a solid plan, but we may have trouble separating Mia from those two," Auston said as he stood up and glanced towards his sisters.

"Hi, baby girl," Alex spoke softly and crouched with her arms open as you set Mia down and watched as she wobbled to her aunt.

"You know, you could always leave her with us as you went and got ready," Bre suggested as Alex stood back up, holding your daughter, and gave her arm a little squeeze.

"Please, you'd never give her back," Auston scoffed, making you chuckle as you stood next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"And what about it?" Alex challenged while moving so that Bre could hold Mia. "I swear, you two never take any time to yourselves. This vacation is for the both of you too, you know?"

"Yes, and we love it," you answered honestly. "But, it's a different type of vacation now with Mia here, which is fine. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Bre and Alex both sent you soft smiles after that, before glancing at each other as if they were silently planning something. Auston seemed to notice their plotting too and glanced down at you before looking back at them suspiciously, but Bre spoke up again before either of you could say anything.

"Fair," she shrugged and looked back to you and Auston. "But go get changed, we can watch her for twenty minutes. I'm sure you'll both be fine."

"But-," Auston started, but cut himself off as his sisters both turned around and headed back into the house with your daughter without saying another word, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched them go. "Did they just steal our daughter from us?"

"Looks like it," you giggled and turned around so that you'd be facing your husband. "C'mon, let's go get changed, and we'll have her back before you know it."

And so you did. The two of you headed back to your villa, telling Auston's family that you'd both be back in a few minutes. But what neither of you noticed was that both Bre and Alex came back outside with Mia and looked at their mom expectantly as soon as you and Auston were gone.

"How are we supposed to get them to have a whole night that's just the two of them with Auston being so stubborn?" Bre asked as she sat at the edge of the pool, still carefully holding onto Mia.

"I definitely think Y/N will be easier to convince that it's a good idea for us to watch Mia for a night than Auston will be," Alex stated from where she stood before looking at Ema. "But we need to. Those two haven't had a date night in who knows how long, and what better time to do it than on vacation?"

"Exactly," Ema agreed as she walked into the pool and waded over to where Bre sat with Mia. "We're going to have to just bombard them with the fact that they're going to be alone for a night. Don't give them a chance to argue. They'll be fine if they keep busy, and besides, it's their anniversary soon. They deserve some alone time."

Bre and Alex nodded in agreement, and both began thinking of ways to make their plan work, while Brian continued floating around and became curious about how their plan would work out.

~*~

The evening was relatively lowkey after that. You and Auston returned to the house after getting changed, and everyone headed out to dinner. Once you all at the restaurant, Brain and Ema went their separate way away from everyone else for their little date night. While they were gone, the rest of the group ate a massive meal before eventually calling it a night and heading back home with plans to meet at the big house the following morning.

The next day, everyone met up and went boating. Some snorkelled, some went tubing, and others just chilled on the boat and made the most of it before going back on land and doing other activities.

That was what each day consisted of.

There was always so much to do, as a whole or split up in groups, and being with Auston's family made it extremely enjoyable. Each busy day ended with everyone grabbing dinner together before going back to their respective homes to unwind and go to bed. But on one particular night later in the week, that changed.

Everyone had finished eating and was just getting ready to start walking back to the houses when Ema picked Mia up from her chair and started walking away.

"Are you going to stay with me tonight?" She asked your daughter as everyone started following after them, you and Auston being the last ones to trail behind.

"Yeah," Mia replied as she hugged her grandmother, making you and Auston come to a complete halt.

"Wait. What?" the two of you asked in unison, not noticing how Bre and Alex covered their mouths, attempting not to burst out laughing.

"What's going on?" Auston questioned, still obviously very confused.

"Mia is going to stay with your dad and me tonight," Ema said as a matter of factly while she glanced at the two of you over her shoulder, making sure to send you a wink before looking at her son. "You and Y/N can have a night to yourselves tonight. Mia will be fine with us. We'll keep her busy and then tomorrow after dinner; I'll bring her back to the villa."

"I think they planned this," you whispered as you leaned against your husband's shoulder while he stared back at his family completely dumbfounded.

"Exactly," Bre stated. "You two have barely had any time that was just the two of you since Mia was born. Go, have a date night. Be a little reckless. We've got Mia."

"But not too reckless," Brian chimed in, making everyone but Auston chuckle. "Have some fun. The two of you are on vacation, one night away from your daughter won't kill you. Relax a little bit."

"But-," Auston started until you cut him off.

"It's just a night, Aus," you told him, noticing how both Bre and Alex let out sighs of relief. "She's in safe hands. If anything happens, we're not very far away. I think a night to ourselves would be… nice."

"You should listen to your wife," Alex said while smiling at you and Auston. "We'll follow you back to the villa to get Mia's things, then let the two of you be."

"I-," he was ready to argue, but when he looked down at you and started thinking of how one night with you away from Mia wouldn't be too bad, he sighed in defeat before looking back at his family. "Ok, fine."

"Perfect, let's get going," Ema said and started leading the way back to the villa.

"They definitely planned this," Auston grumbled as he wrapped a hand around your waist and continued walking next to you.

"I know," you replied and shook your head while laughing. "Everyone has been trying to get us to have a date night, didn't know it was so bad that we'd have to be forced to do it."

"A date night with you isn't something I need to be forced to do. I'll take that any day."

"Good answer."

"Yeah," he chuckled too. "I've just gotten so used to being around Mia and not having to leave. This feels kind of weird, her leaving me for once."

"Oh, how the tables have turned," you teased and gave him a squeeze, to which he responded by leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

"It'll be nice getting you alone," he said huskily, not noticing that it was loud enough for others to hear.

"Ok, at least keep it PG until we get Mia's things and leave," Bre groaned.

"Hey, you can blame yourself for this," Auston replied before reaching down to squeeze your butt, trying to get a rise from his sister.

"Auston!" You scolded and stepped away from him. "God, you're such a pest."

"You love it," he responded cheekily as you let him pull you close again.

"Debatable," you told him with a wink, before standing on your toes and pecking his lips before linking your hand with his and pulling him after everyone else. "C'mon, it's getting late, and Mia is going to need to go to bed soon."

"Yes, dear," he said and followed behind you all the wat back to the villa.

Bre and Alex came over to help Ema gather Mia's things, but they didn't stay long. Before you knew it, they were all heading towards the door; getting Mia to blow kisses at you and Auston as they went.

"Bye, mommy. Bye, daddy," she said while waving goodbye.

"Bye, baby," you replied while leaning against Auston, suddenly feeling emotional over the thought of your little girl leaving.

"We'll see you tomorrow, princess," Auston said and held you a little tighter as you both said goodbye to his mom and sisters, and they eventually disappeared out the door. Once they were gone, you looked up at Auston curiously. "Guess it's just us now."

"What do you propose that we do?" You asked.

"Well, there's that jacuzzi tub in the washroom that hasn't been used yet. What do you say I pour us some wine, and we relax in there a little?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

And that was how the two of you spent the night together. You relaxed in the tub, chatted, and just enjoyed each other's company before eventually getting out to shower off. However, neither of you made it to the shower because soon after wrapping yourself up in a towel, Auston was behind you, placing kisses along your exposed collarbone and holding you close. It didn't take long for things to get heated after that, and the night soon faded around the both of you as you made your way back into the bedroom.

~*~

When you woke up the next morning, the space on the bed beside you was empty. A few beams of light peaked through the drawn blinds and danced across the room, illuminating the area just enough for you to take in the clothes strewn all over the place, and the thin bedsheet that clung to your body.

The half-empty glasses of wine still sat on the bedside table, and your bra hung across the lamp on the other side of the room, but you didn't care. You were at peace as you snuggled into the pillows a little more and listened to the sound of waves as they crashed against the shore outside.

The waves soon faded into the sound of running water coming from the ensuite, and it was then you realized where Auston had gone off to so early on this day that was meant for the two of you to relax.

Wasting no time, you scrambled off the bed and wrapped the sheet around your body so you'd at least be a little covered as you greeted your husband and quickly made your way to the ensuite.

Once you entered the room, Auston immediately made eye contact with you in the mirror and smirked. His mouth was full of toothpaste as he finished brushing his teeth, and his eyes were very sleepy, indicating how much the activities from the night before seemingly wore him out. However, he still looked ridiculously hot to you as he stood there in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

Without breaking eye contact, you walked up behind him and placed some soft kisses on the back of his shoulder before stepping beside him and beginning to brush your teeth as well.

You kept sending each other glances as he moved on to shaving around his moustache a little, and once you both finished what you were doing, you were all over each other again.

The next thing you knew, you were sitting on the vanity with your back pressed gently against the mirror and hands tangled in Auston's hair as he kissed you hungrily. You could feel the sheet slipping off with each movement you made and were quick in pulling it back up before too much could get shown off, making Auston chuckle as he continued kissing you shamelessly.

A moment later, you both pulled away to catch your breath and look at each other knowingly.

"Good morning," you were the first to speak as you leaned up to peck his lips once again, noting how swollen your's were already beginning to feel.

"Good morning to you, too," he responded and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear as a smug grin danced across his lips. "Did you have a good night last night?"

"Cheeky," you responded while rolling your eyes at how he referred to what the two of you did once you got back to the villa. "But, yes, I did, and I think today will be even better."

"I don't know. Last night was pretty great. Pretty sure I'm going to have to wear a T-shirt all day to cover the scratches on my back."

"Auston!"

"I'm just messing with you," he laughed and leaned down to catch your lips in another sweet kiss, before moving away and walking towards the shower. "Well, we better start getting ready. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

"Busy?" You asked as you hopped off the counter and followed after him. "I thought we were supposed to, and I quote, relax. I mean, I'm down for anything. But I am missing Mia, though."

"Me too, which is why I think my family booked a bunch of things for us to do today. They want to keep us busy until we get her back tonight."

"What did they plan?"

"I honestly don't know," he shrugged and turned back around to face you. "I just woke up to a text from Alex saying we have to be down at the marina in an hour and a half, that's all I know. So I'm going to shower and get ready. Something is waiting for you in the kitchen if you want to check it out. Or you could join me in the shower, wouldn't be opposed to that either."

"Get in the shower, Matthews," you replied and rolled your eyes at his cheekiness again. "I'll make us some breakfast, then wash my hair."

You didn't leave much room for argument, because after that you were striding out of the washroom and back through the bedroom, not caring that you were still wearing a bedsheet dress.

As you walked into the hallway, you wondered what the hell could be waiting for you in the kitchen, and was unable to keep yourself from gasping as you rounded the corner and saw a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter. It wasn't hard to spot the little card resting in the flowers that had your name written on it, but before you could walk over and read it, a pair of hands gripped your waist and spun you back around.

Auston's lips immediately crashed to yours, and you let out a surprised squeak, but quickly returned the kiss before pulling away slightly.

"Happy anniversary," he mumbled against your lips before stepping back and smiling.

But you were beyond confused and looked at him weirdly.

Anniversary? Anniversary of what? You raked your mind for ideas of what it was he talked about until something clicked, and your eyes went wide.

"Holy shit," was all you said before bolting back down the hallway towards the bedroom.

You could hear Auston following behind you, but he was quiet as he watched you walk over to where your cell phone was sitting on the table and check the date. Sure enough, the date was exactly what you thought.

July 30th, otherwise known as yours and Auston's first wedding anniversary, which you completely forgot about up until that moment.

Not a moment later, your phone chimed with a text from Steph wishing you and Auston a happy anniversary. Then came one from Mitch, then Alex, then Bre, then even more friends and family from home, which did not make you feel any better about the situation.

"Oh, my God," you groaned and ran a hand down your face before eventually glancing back at your husband, who was looking at you with pure amusement.

"You forgot our anniversary, didn't you?" He asked and stepped towards you.

"No," you lied.

"Yes, you did, or else you wouldn't be so flustered."

"Ok fine, I forgot," you whined and flopped onto the bed, completely ashamed. Auston chuckled as he sat on the bed next to you and watched you sulk for a minute before finally looking back to him. "I'm sorry. We've just been having so much fun during this trip. I knew it was coming up, but I completely lost track of the days and didn't realize that it was today. Wow, I'm a terrible wife."

"No, you're not," Auston stated while shaking his head at your dramatics.

"Yes, I am! Who forgets their first freaking wedding anniversary? Also, how are you so calm about this?"

"Because I'm not mad, Y/N."

"You're not?" You asked and lifted your head from the pillow to look at him better. "How? I mean, I would be. I suck."

"Because, babe, I get it," he told you seriously. "And no, you don't suck. Life gets crazy sometimes, and it's hard to keep track of things. Remember when I forgot Valentine's Day that one year?"

"Valentine's Day is not as important as our anniversary."

"Doesn't matter, I'm trying to prove that it's ok you forgot. I'm not going to hold a grudge against you over it."

It was impossible for you not to melt a little bit as he said that.

"Why are you so good to me?" You asked as he reached a hand towards you, and gently linked your fingers with his.

"Because I love you," he replied. "Simple as that. How do you like the flowers, though?"

"I love them," you stated as you sat back up and quit your sulking. "They're beautiful, Auston. Thank you. Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he chuckled and shook his head before standing up. "I may never let you live it down, but no, I'm not mad."

"God, I think that might be worse than you just being pissed off at me."

"Not my fault you forgot our anniversary, now is it?"

"Auston!" You groaned and leaned back against the headboard, knowing that he most definitely would never let you live this down.

"Love you," he singsonged as he leaned down to kiss you once more.

"Love you too, even though you're a pain in my ass," you pouted before returning the kiss.

"Your favourite pain," Auston stated as he moved back towards the ensuite. "But we really do need to get going, or Alex is going to be pissed that we missed whatever reservation she made."

Once the two of you were showered and dressed, you both made your way to the marina to see what the day had in store, but not without glancing at Ema and Brian's bungalow to see if you could see Mia as you went.

When Auston gave the man who was waiting on the docks his name, the two of you were told that he was taking you both on a boat tour to see The Arch Of Cabo San Lucas and other tourist attractions such as the infamous Lovers Beach.

"Fitting name," Auston said to you quietly as the two of you boarded the boat.

"This kind of thing has Alex written all over it."

"You think that's bad, Bre just texted me saying she booked us an hour at the driving range after this."

"Oh, god," you replied dramatically, but had to smile at how thoughtful and considerate it was of Auston's family to set everything up for the two of you. "As long as there's some type of alcohol, I'm game."

"Perfect," he responded as he sat next to you and the boat set sail. "Anything else you want to do before dinner?"

"I think I'll book us something at the spa," you told him with a smirk. "My treat."

"Sounds good to me."

The day couldn't have gone more perfect, and the fact that you and Auston spent it entirely together made it even more special. When evening came, you went to a dinner reservation for two, which was so lovely, but you were both a little antsy by the end of it.

"Think they'll let us take our daughter back now?" You asked your husband as you sipped on the last little bit of wine you had with dinner.

"God, I hope so," Auston said dramatically. "Not that I didn't love this time with you or anything, but I really miss her."

"I do too. This was needed, but I'm ready for us to get our little girl back."

"Couldn't agree more."

After you finished your drink, you and Auston walked hand in hand to Bre and Alex's house and couldn't wait to see everyone, especially Mia. Once the two of you arrived, it wasn't long before Ema opened the front door and pulled you both in for a hug.

"Happy anniversary!"

"Thank you," both you and Auston replied while returning the hug.

"Did you two have a good day?" She asked and stepped back to let you enter the house.

"It was amazing," you told her honestly. "Thank you for doing this, Ema."

"Oh, don't thank just me. There was no way I would've been able to do it alone. Now, come."

You looked at Auston suspiciously as Ema began leading the two of you down the hallway, but he just shrugged.

"Don't look at me," he started with a laugh. "They're up to something else, though. I feel it."

"Let's go you two," Ema's voice called from down the hall, not giving you a chance to respond.

"Guess we'll find out," you told your husband before making way down the hallway after your mother-in-law.

But neither of you were prepared for what you saw once you entered the living room.

"Happy anniversary!" Everyone who came on vacation exclaimed.

"'Versary!" Yelled Mia from where she stood between Bre and Brian.

It was then you were able to take in your surroundings finally. The room was decorated with balloons and banners all with 'Happy Anniversary' written across them. There was also a cake resting on the table in the corner with a framed photo of you and Auston from your wedding day standing next to it.

"You guys," you started as you covered your mouth and looked around at everyone with teary eyes. "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Auston said, and just couldn't stop smiling. He then looked down at you and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. "Happy anniversary, babe."

"Happy anniversary," you repeated before softly kissing him again, then pulling him in for a hug.

"Maybe I won't tell them that you forgot."

"Matthews, I swear to-."

You were ready to ream him out but were interrupted by a small force tackling yours and Auston's legs. Immediately, you moved away from your husband and looked down to see Mia hugging you both tightly.

"There's my girl!" Auston exclaimed as he bent down to pick up your daughter and hug her tightly, to which she returned.

"Hi, sweet girl," you greeted as Mia looked your way and was soon tackling you in a hug as well. "Your daddy and I missed you today."

"'Versary!" She replied excitedly.

"Yes, it's mommy and I's anniversary, princess," your husband said before leaning down to kiss her head. "Man, a lot has happened in a year. I just keep thinking of how small she was the day we got married."

"I know," you responded with wide eyes as you thought back to a year prior. "But, you know, although this past year was pretty amazing, I still think the best has yet to come."

"I think you're right," Auston agreed. "Can't wait to see what the next year brings us, and all the years after that."

"Me neither."

Both you and Auston were soon surrounded by everyone in his family, hugging and congratulating the both of you. They then went on to ask how yours and Auston's day went and had the biggest smile on your face as you relived it all. That smile remained for the rest of the evening as you mingled with Auston's, no, your family, and got even more excited with what the future was going to hold because you knew that with all of these amazing people in it, it was bound to be special.

// please let me know what you think! <3 //

#auston matthews fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl headcanon #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagines

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caspersscareschool · 4 years

Text

Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave.

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

don't look at me

Surface Tension

Giyuu had spent so much of his life indulging in mourning.

He used to think that to mourn was to punish himself for his selfishness. He’d blamed himself for the deaths of his sister and the boy who had called him a brother, so he’d carried the two of them on his back along with the sword at his hip. He’d occupied his meaningless time on this earth with repentance. He’d hoped the weight of his guilt would bury him in the earth.

He’d lived here with Sanemi for months, and not much changed throughout that time. Funny how the most suicidal of them all had become the only two to survive. They’d bonded over this, fallen into a fast, unspoken rhythm, and when the time came to leave the Flower Estate, they’d built their own cabin, feeling like strangers in their own separate homes. They moved in together. Took care of each other, when necessary. And they stayed in the same routine.

More loss made Giyuu realize that his loved ones couldn’t live with him forever and that mourning only distracted him from what he still had. After Muzan’s fall, he came to terms with this. What he couldn’t come to terms with, with the weight off his back, was the absurd lack of guilt--and the foreign feelings that had come to replace it.

It was a rare day that Giyuu woke up earlier than Sanemi, but once he got up these days, he stayed up, not liking to wallow in depression as much as he used to. Sanemi looked exhausted, so Giyuu tiptoed outside, resolving to stay there until he woke up. The sun just barely kissed their greying garden. With all the birds gone south and the frogs in hiding, silence hung thick. Giyuu sat by the pond for nearly an hour, fall chill biting his face.

The sound of Sanemi’s footsteps, then, and the brushing of his clothes as he sat down sounded deafening in the dead silence, the same way a dim torch looked bright in the pitch black: like a lighthouse. Then, quiet overtook the pond again. Sanemi studied him. He must have noticed his pensiveness, because he tread carefully. Giyuu stared ahead.

"How are you?" Sanemi tried.

There's something wrong with me, Giyuu thought. I'm feeling things that I shouldn't. I'm not feeling the things I should.

"Fine," he answered.

"What are you doing?"

Mourning something that hasn't died yet. Maybe that hasn’t been born.

"Enjoying the quiet."

Sanemi was more perceptive than him--maybe if Giyuu thought loud enough, Sanemi would hear. Then, they'd never have to say it out loud. They could go on like this forever, just the two of them, and Giyuu found he wouldn't mind being alone so much if it was with Sanemi. As long as they could stay like this. Usually, Giyuu spoke his mind and took what he wanted, but he knew there were invisible lines somewhere dangerously close that if he crossed, would make Sanemi leave forever. He just had to keep absolutely still.

"I'll enjoy it with you."

Giyuu felt like the two of them were sailing, swaddled in a shriveled leaf barely light enough to stay afloat on the pond. The water cradled them, but if it rained, they would grow too heavy and drown. The wind rocked them, but if it grew too strong, it would blow them away and they'd lose their ship forever. Neither moved a muscle, on opposite sides of their fragile vessel, for fear that the weight of them both might break the surface. The surface tension of silence was the only thing keeping Giyuu and Sanemi from unknown depths.

Still, he reached for his hand.

The two of them said nothing for what felt both like seconds and hours. Sanemi said nothing of Giyuu's hand finding his own, sending ripples in the water, absently rubbing the stumps where his index and middle fingers used to live. Giyuu said nothing of the naturalness of that gap: the fingers must have hurt to lose, but the space they left was the perfect size for Giyuu's thumb. It felt like home. So did Sanemi’s hand when he slotted it under Giyuu’s right stump to prop him upright sometimes, though Giyuu would never say so out loud.

They'd both lost so much. Saying it out loud would only give them something more to lose.

Giyuu was selfish at heart.

“It’s so still, huh?” Sanemi mused. “You’d think it was frozen over.”

Giyuu hummed in reply.

“You cold?” Sanemi asked.

“Not really,” Giyuu answered, but found his shoulders tucked under Sanemi’s haori anyway. More ripples. He froze.

It had occurred to Giyuu from the very start that Sanemi embodied everything Giyuu wished he was. A true pillar. Someone able, even eager, to protect others, even at the cost of his own life. He didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe that was why Giyuu had resented him at first: he was just like Sabito. But in the end, despite his bravery, confidence, and ineffable strength in the face of loss, Sanemi was every bit as dumb as him, and on some level, maybe that had spurred Giyuu to let a little bit of that strength possess him toward the end. He only wished it had come sooner.

“I’m gonna start on breakfast.” Sanemi ruffled his hair. He leaned towards him standing up so that his nose--and lips--brushed the top of Giyuu’s head before he tipped back to his center. “Don’t stay out too long.”

He walked away.

Before Muzan's defeat, Giyuu had thought of Sanemi as stupid. He still thought as much. But Sanemi was brave, and selfless in a way that Giyuu never was. Giyuu had never so desperately wanted to make another person happy. Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave.

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

When Giyuu slid back inside, the smell of eggs and rice welcomed him. Sanemi’s back faced the entrance, clad in that faded purple yukata, and not for the first time Giyuu wondered how he managed to spend so much of his life killing and still look so at home in a kitchen. He must have been born to provide.

Giyuu could stare at that back from the door all day, but he was tired of being selfish, so instead, he squeezed in beside him at the counter and picked up a knife. The tension between them wavered again, but he ignored it. Saying nothing, Sanemi held a bundle of chives still with one hand so that Giyuu could chop it, his attention still on the eggs he was whisking, trusting Giyuu completely not to chop his fingers off. Giyuu worked slowly in comparison to Sanemi’s confident dashing, sprinkling, and whisking; he aligned each chop with care.

Even without the pond in front of them, Giyuu still felt that he could slip at any moment and drown. He considered going back to bed until he felt more stable. He didn't.

There wasn't much else Giyuu knew how to do in the kitchen department, but Sanemi never asked him to leave, only gently elbowing him aside when he stood in the way. Giyuu watched Sanemi season the egg and roll it, with unreal gentleness, into a lovely cylinder.

"You wanna eat in bed?" Sanemi offered. It was a habit Giyuu had picked up over years of living alone, and Sanemi never teased him for it. In fact, it felt a little less pathetic when someone joined him.

"Sure," he said despite himself.

They only ever ate on Giyuu's futon, because Sanemi liked to keep clean and Giyuu didn't give a shit. Dim light seeped in through the walls. Plates sat in their laps. He was glad Sanemi sensed his need for quiet, because he thought that if he spoke now, something he'd regret would slip out, and there would be no going back. At the same time, Sanemi's presence at his side, and the fact that he knew Giyuu well enough to stay quiet, drove him crazy, and he might just say it anyway. Giyuu stuffed his face to keep from talking.

Sanemi picked at his food. Giyuu forced himself to speak.

Don't be selfish, don't be selfish, don't be selfish.

"Is…" Giyuu swallowed, restraining his thoughts. "Is something wrong?"

Sanemi blinked as if he'd forgotten Giyuu was there. "Huh? No, I…" He met his eyes, making Giyuu's breath hitch. "Actually, I should be asking you that."

"Nothing's wrong," Giyuu whispered.

After a long moment, Sanemi averted his eyes again. Then, just as fragile as Giyuu:

"Okay."

The two were sinking. He could feel it. He tried to stuff his face some more, but he'd already cleaned his plate. He pointed to Sanemi's.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Sanemi misread his concern, pushing the plate toward Giyuu. "Knock yourself out."

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

"No, I…"

Sanemi looked so earnest, and Giyuu realized that every time he tried to show concern like Sanemi showed for him, it turned out like this. He always twisted it around so that he was accommodating for Giyuu, like he couldn’t imagine Giyuu wanting to be around him for any reason other than to take and take and take. Infuriating; endearing.

He thought about little Genya, and the happiness he'd wanted for his brother. Giyuu was the only one left to make that wish come true, if Sanemi would only let him. Their ship wavered dangerously. He wanted to scream. Finally, he couldn't stop himself:

"You're an idiot," Giyuu breathed.

Sanemi frowned. That hadn't come out right.

"Excuse me?"

Giyuu couldn't stop. "You're an idiot. Oh my god. You're so fucking stupid." The unmistakable urge to laugh bubbled up in Giyuu's chest, something he'd only learned to recognize over the past few months. "I can't believe this."

Giyuu laughed, clear as a bell, cutting through the tense quiet. Ripples exploded throughout the water, but the more he tried to stop them, the more the boat rocked. Sanemi had an unreadable expression, but he didn't look amused. He didn't even look angry. The closest thing Giyuu could compare it to…

Concern. Giyuu laughed harder.

"Moron," Giyuu wheezed, knocking the empty plate off his lap. "You absolute moron."

"Giyuu--"

"Sanemi." None of it mattered anymore. Giyuu was selfish, but that was okay; Sanemi was selfless to the point of stupidity, and if Giyuu didn't take what he wanted, no one would. "I want to take care of you. I care about you."

Sanemi stared dumbly. To get it through his thick skull, Giyuu moved closer, cupped his hand on Sanemi’s cheek like he always did for him, and spoke with absolute clarity:

“I love you.”

Any lingering doubt in Giyuu’s mind dispersed. Sanemi’s eyes went huge, reverent, and he stilled like if he breathed, Giyuu would turn to dust and disappear. Brave Sanemi--usually so brash, so confident. Giyuu felt a surge of pride that he could reduce him to this. He wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

"... Oh."

There was one more thing left to break.

"Sanemi," Giyuu breathed, breaking the last wall of silence, "can I kiss you?"

Sanemi didn't look away this time. He didn't even answer. He leaned in, so no barriers stood between them...

And he kissed him. And there was nothing left to mourn. And Giyuu kissed him back. And over the pounding in his ears, Giyuu couldn’t imagine ever sailing in silence again. And they kissed. And they kissed. And they kissed.

Giyuu drowned.

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

thank you so so much again louie and aya for beta reading this!!!❤❤❤

#kny #writing tag #sanegiyuu #i was going to post this in the middle of the night to avoid everyone's dashes but now i realize that's when everyone's online #so middle of the day let's go #EDIT i am so stupid. just added the title<3

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libermachinae · 4 years

Link

Tags: Teen and Up Audiences, Major Character Death, M/M, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Dreadwing/Optimus Prime, Optimus Prime, Dreadwing (Transformers), Skyquake (Transformers), Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), Canonical Character Death, dead characters meeting in the afterlife, Mutual Pining, Enemies to Lovers, speed version, First Kiss, DreadOP Day Word Count: 3148 Summary: Deep in the Well, Optimus runs into a familiar face. Twice over, in fact. Notes: DreadOP Day, you say? 👀 No way I wasn’t going to put something together for this.

---

Heat.

Like the friction experienced by a meteor hurtling down, destined to expire, Optimus flew into the light at the center of his world and felt welcome.

His Autobots had stood under many foreign stars and held under lights curious, interrogative, and revealing, but he knew none would ever hold such presence or penetrate so deeply as the one they all emerged from. It sunk into the seams between plating, prying and leveraging until the gaps yawned and with a click, the excess plating fell away.

And he was a protoform again: delicate mesh and wires and struts exposed to the impossible light. It was in him, sinking between the atoms of his body until they shivered and shook, dancing away from each other. Metal melted, edges dulling and structures collapsing, and drop by drop Optimus felt it all fall away, one billion beads sprinkling away like shards of glass in a night sky.

There was no pain. Not here. Optimus stepped out of his body while it was still partially solid and let all of it fall away, into an abyss he could not see against the light.

And from there he had no way to tell which direction was which, or if he was still moving. All he knew was light, to such an extent that it took him another moment to realize he was seeing it, that even without a body the world around him persisted. He pressed in on himself, felt it out. He considered his name. Time passed, as he explored the boundless confines of his new existence, and he considered for a time whether he might try to close his eyes, or let the light pull him micron by micron into eternity.

As it turned out, he did not need to worry so much about his choice. Time finished passing (which, if he recalled correctly, was not in the nature of the thing, and yet) and he saw a point, what he could only describe as a single unit of contrast against the light. Its darkness grounded him, reminding him who he was and where he had come from (though not for how long he had been away) and he endeavored to draw himself to it by mechanisms it did not occur to him to consider closely.

It was a point, then a spot, then a dot. It developed variation in its tone, darker splotches on the bottom that developed into shadows, its squirming edges sharpening into corners. It took on dimensions, stretched, vertical expanding while the horizontal stayed squashed. Lighter grey tones highlighted the darker: reflections, though he could not tell their source, when every particle between here and there blasted the same white light.

Still, somehow, shadows slid and clipped together, and forming the façade of a simple Cybertronian house. Minimal decorations outside and the windows were closed, but still it had the appearance of a place lived in: a couple of oil cans sat on the front porch, behind two steps that led down to empty, and in one of the upper windows he thought he saw the shine of aged crystal growths. There was also noise coming from inside, voices too dulled to understand.

Directly in front of the building now, he could not see either side and so did not know how far back it extended. He had the impression, though, it was a comfortable size. Only as big as the space its occupants needed, no room for unwanted excess.

His momentum carried him the rest of the way, until he could place his pede on the first step and walk up to the door on his own. He did not need to send a ping, which was a lucky thing, since his comm suite had fallen away with the rest of his processor. The door slid open for him, and he stepped inside.

The gray shading of the exterior persisted inside, clear shadows that built around him the image of a home almost like what one would have found on Cybertron before the war. The metal walls were painted with a matte finish, the seams between them cut with delicate patterns of straight lines and right angles. Like the door, the entry way was large enough to accommodate him twice over, a feature of lower caste residences, but he could feel the hum of complicated circuitry throughout the foundation, optimization the caliber of which only the upper caste could have afforded.

“Optimus!” He startled at the noise. “Stop staring at my walls and come in.”

He stepped walked down the main hallway and turned at the first open door. Within was a sitting room, a couch on one end with a table and chairs closer. Two identical figures sat there, a cube of energon in front of each of them with a third before an empty chair.

“Well?” Dreadwing asked. Skyquake said nothing but stared at the intruder.

“Am I welcome?” He did not know what this place was or what it meant for him to have found himself here, but it clearly belonged to Dreadwing and Skyquake both. He had no wish to insert himself somewhere he did not belong.

“My brother has been waiting for you,” Skyquake said. “It seems that somehow, in the months I missed, you managed to gain his respect.”

Optimus glanced at Dreadwing.

“I would be honored if that were so,” he said.

Dreadwing’s lips twitched and his helm tilted to the empty chair. So much of the way they had spoken to each other in life had been based on the unspoken, it was no surprise it would continue here, where they were stripped to their purest elements.

Optimus stepped inside and took the seat. Sitting here, he faced the windows, but even through the cracks in the shade none of that overwhelming light came through. In here, it was peaceful, comfortable, like it had been designed with the intention that they might stay here for some time.

Dreadwing raised his cube to his mouth.

“How did it happen?” he asked around the rim.

“I sacrificed myself,” Optimus said. “The Allspark was at risk, so I drew it into my own frame and returned it to its rightful place.”

“Then the Well is back online?” Skyquake asked.

“Yes. Cybertron will awaken to new life once more.” He smiled, imagining new beings waking up, drawing themselves to the surface of a world that was theirs to build upon. He wished he could have been there to see it, but with his Autobots to guide them, he knew the next generation would be well looked after.

“And the war?” Dreadwing asked.

“Megatron followed your path, actually,” Optimus said, turning to his former assassin. “He renounced the cause and turned his back on his army. He will not be back.”

But Dreadwing’s lips curled down, and he set the energon back on the table with force. It seemed he had drunk none.

“Do not compare me to Megatron,” Dreadwing said. “He made a mockery of a cause we dedicated our lives to fighting for. I betrayed the Decepticons because to continue supporting them would have gone against my beliefs. If he simply left, then the Decepticons remain a flawed entity, and there is no honor in abandoning something one has the power to change.”

Optimus listened and nodded along.

“I will refrain, if that is what you prefer,” he said. “But if the Decepticons are as far gone as you say, are you sure it is still possible for anyone to change them from within?”

“Megatron could,” Skyquake said. “If any force in the universe were powerful enough, it would be him.”

And Optimus found he could not argue with that, so he nodded and attempted to take a sip of the energon he had been given. It tasted like energon, and he felt the impression of it moving down his intake, but the cube itself did not seem to drain. No matter how long he drank, it seemed to stay at the same level.

So curious he was about the phenomenon that he did not realize how long his silence had passed before he heard snickering. He lowered the cube and looked around: both twins were laughing at him.

“This place operates on its own rules,” Dreadwing explained. “Too many to bother explaining in detail. You will find discrepancies and you will adapt, and eventually it will become as natural as life once was.”

“So, this is death?” Optimus confirmed.

Dreadwing tilted his helm, first to one side, then the other.

“Something like it,” he said. “You will find the specifics don’t matter so much. We are here.”

“And occasionally we are not,” Skyquake said, rising from his seat. His cube, also full, remained on the table.

“You’re leaving?” Optimus asked.

“Stepping out,” Skyquake corrected. “My brother has been looking forward to your arrival.” He grinned, and Optimus turned to catch Dreadwing’s reaction. Too late: his expression had already shifted back to annoyed-neutral.

“I suppose so,” Optimus said. “Your revenge has been achieved, after all. though unfortunately not by your hand.” It was easier than he might have expected to make light of his own demise, or the effort both these mechs had expended to hasten him toward it. Perhaps such things dimply did not matter so much, here on the other side of the Well.

“You think my mission was for revenge?” Dreadwing asked, leaning forward on the table. “For what? Skyquake’s death was just another in a long line of our being separated by Cybertronians who thought themselves worthy of making such decisions. It was a question of honor, Optimus: Skyquake was denied an honorable death, and as his kin it was my responsibility to secure that honor in his name.” He traced patterns on the table as he spoke, like he was drawing the concept of honor and the way it could be passed around like energon siphoned between lines.

“In my estimation, you did,” he said. He glanced at Skyquake. “If you are unsatisfied, though, I would be willing to duel again.”

“Perhaps,” Skyquake said. “If Dreadwing decides you are worthy enough to stay.” He gave them a short bow, then ducked away, disappearing into the same hall Optimus had entered from. He heard a door activate elsewhere and was not sure whether it was to the exterior of the house. It didn’t seem there was anywhere to go out there, but then, he still had a great deal to learn about this place.

He turned back to his remaining host.

“He seemed to imply that I’m being tested,” he pointed out.

“Somewhat,” Dreadwing said, leaning back in his chair. Optimus didn’t think he had ever seen the Decepticon lieutenant comfortable before.

“What is your determination so far?” Optimus asked.

The corners of Dreadwing’s lips pulled up. A grin wasn’t the right work for it, nor a smirk; it was the attempt of a mech who had never tried to form a single cordial relationship in his life to look friendly.

“You are entirely too optimistic, Optimus,” he said. “Don’t you remember the last time we spoke?”

“You handed over the Omega Keys and offered us an opportunity to revive Cybertron under Autobot control,” Optimus said. He could never forget it: the memory often replayed in the last few moments before he fell into recharge.

“I also refused to join your cause or leave my own,” Dreadwing pointed out. “We were enemies for most of our lives, Optimus.”

“And now all those matters rest in our past,” Optimus said. He gestured to the window, though he had no idea which direction the living world lay in. “Cybertron lives again, headed toward a peace founded on the same ideals you fought for. We may not be able to witness it, but we can know that all of our actions, battles fought and sacrifices made, were building to this end.” He glanced to the hallway. “Perhaps it is bold of me to assume, but I feel it worthwhile to ask: have you found happiness?”

He looked back. Dreadwing was watching him, that forced smile eased into something more natural for his handsome face.

“There is no simple way to answer such a question,” he said.

“We have time,” Optimus pointed out. He stood from his chair, taking a moment to look around the room. It was a utilitarian space, but there were a few decorations that betrayed some sentimentality on the part of its owners: image displays on the walls, a mantle with a collection of = stones from other worlds, and a tin of wax that had been left out all contributed to a personal feeling that allowed Optimus to relax a bit more.

For Dreadwing and Skyquake, this place was home, and they had welcomed him into it. Whatever hostility might remain between them, nothing could overshadow that fact.

He made his way to the couch, its back against the windows, and sat down. It was comfortable, though he had no way to know whether that was because of the strange magic of this place, the make of the furniture itself, or the fact that he no longer had a body in which to feel discomfort. Dreadwing remained at the table, and he watched Optimus as he settled, helm rested on one hand.

“I wished to live to see Cybertron’s revival,” Dreadwing said. “I wished to watch if from the air once more, the way its inhabitants moved as if in a perpetual dance.” His hand moved across the surface of the table, imitating traffic. “I was assigned to energon drilling, and occasionally tasked with passing rapid communication between facilities. It was during my flights I started to get a sense of how truly large Cybertron is, and how much was being denied to me and others of my caste.”

“I had a similar experience,” Optimus said. “While working in the archives, I would receive data that indicated a much wider world than I had experienced myself. Until Alpha Trion’s intervention I had no means to reach beyond.”

“So, you understand what a gift it is to behold Cybertron as it lives,” Dreadwing said. “Not everyone does. But I digress, I did not live to witness it, and so in that way I do not know if I can call what I have here happiness. How can I claim a peaceful afterlife if I did not first achieve that which I desired in life?”

It was a valid question. But by the way his wings relaxed down, and how he gazed at Optimus with a look like a familiar friend, it seemed Dreadwing already knew the answer.

“I have spent more consecutive days with Skyquake here than I ever did in life,” he said, ducking his optics. His voice was gentler suddenly, as though speaking too loudly would make his joy obvious and break the spell. “It is what I imagined security must feel like. We part ways, and I know he will always come back; neither of us will ever be forced to choose to leave the other. Even if we had lived to see Cybertron again, any number of things could have intervened to separate us. To exist without that fear is, I believe, what happiness might feel like.”

“Then I am happy for you, old friend,” Optimus said. He smiled and hoped Dreadwing recognized his sincerity.

There was a beat of contemplation, and then Dreadwing stood and approached, broadcasting his movements before he made them. Optimus was not sure the sofa would be wide enough for both of them, but when Dreadwing sat the space was perfect, just wide enough that their knees could have touched, though Optimus kept his own drawn in for now.

“And you?” Dreadwing asked.

“Hm?”

“What will it take for you to find your happiness here?” He was facing forward, but Optimus still got the sense he was being paid attention to.

He turned over the question for a moment, inspecting it, though not too closely. He trusted the Allspark would do him no harm, which meant he trusted Dreadwing and his questions, and wanted to give them as honest an answer as he could fathom.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not something I’ve considered in a very long time.” This was a good start, though. Knowing that Dreadwing had made it here and found peace gave him hope. He had lived a long life and done so much; he was ready for a place where he could rest.

“If you leave here and wander a bit,” Dreadwing gestured behind them, toward the window, “you will find the Pious Pools, as they were before the channel was blown up and they were drained. Perhaps a walk will give you guidance?”

Optimus misunderstood him.

“Anywhere I could go with you would be a gift.”

That wasn’t a bad thing, though.

By the time Optimus realized Dreadwing had meant for him to go on his own, the latter was already watching him with a smile on his face like it had snuck on and was hiding from him. He leaned closer, hand up to trace a delicate claw over Optimus’ audial.

“If we had lived,” he said, “would you have walked with me then? There was a trail from the lower end of Staniz that led up into the foothills, a dented trail formed by the weight of all the mechs who walked it. A mile out, the city disappeared, and the wind would blow so strong it would threaten to knock you over and send you tumbling back the way you had come. Would you have preserved that path while the rest of Staniz was restored? Would you have walked it with me, allowed me to hold you against the strength of our planet?”

“Why would it not have been me holding you?” Optimus asked, and then what must have been lips, warm lips, were pressed to his own.

He shut off his optics, leaned in, chased Dreadwing when he started to pull away. It did not matter that they were without frames: they kissed, held each other, phantom plating slotting together. Dreadwing had a scent and Optimus locked onto it, archived it, saved it to what might have been the fabric of the Well itself. He trailed his fingers along a ghostly wing and felt a shiver run through Dreadwing, strong enough to break them apart and force their optics back online.

They stared at each other, panting. Optimus did not know his mouth was still open and he wouldn’t have cared regardless.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted.

And Dreadwing smiled, and there was no fleeing from it, no hiding. He smiled at Optimus, and happiness no longer seemed like such an unknowable thing.

“The wonders of life yet to be lived,” he murmured. And then he kissed Optimus again.

#maccadam #transformers #tfp #dreadop #optimus prime #dreadwing #my writing #oneshot #wanna share it with you #im gonna sleeb now

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

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the-odd-job · 4 years

Text

Harem AU Chapter 2 - Descent to Depravity

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Motormaster, Vortex, Wildrider, Brawl, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker, Motormaster/Sideswipe, Motormaster/Sunstreaker (extra brief), Wildrider/Sideswipe, Vortex/Sunstreaker, Brawl/Sunstreaker, Ravage/Sunstreaker, Frenzy/Rumble/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Gangrape, Purging, Humiliation, Size Difference, Double Penetration in One Hole, Penetration from Both Ends, (Mild-ish) Torture, Face Slapping, Physical Abuse Words: 11799

Did I just write over ten thousand words of nonstop rape? Yes. Yes I did.

Sideswipe’s portion with Megatron I already posted once here and it’s only gone through some very minor edits, but there’s... A lot of stuff added around it.

Complete Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 3 I already posted here, though it may still go through some minor revisions. Revised Chapter 3 is here!

Sunstreaker had never seen anything quite like it. The room was beyond spacious, decked up in warm colors that washed away any chill it might’ve otherwise had. Poles, thin enough for him to have wrapped his arms around, rose up from wall to ceiling at steady intervals, although he in all of his lack of knowledge about architecture didn’t think they looked strong enough to actually support the ceiling.

What were they there for, instead?

At the center of the room there were several tables grouped together in a rectangle with an empty center, clearly intended for mecha larger than him and Sideswipe.

They had no chairs around them, though. Instead, a little ways away from the tables, there were large pillows and thick mattresses strewn about the floors, surrounding the tables completely.

But as much as the surroundings caught his attention, they didn’t keep it.

Because the room was occupied by several mecha, almost all of them larger than they were, almost all of them with red optics. They were standing along the walls or reclined on the pillows and mattresses. There were drinks and conversation–

But it all halted when they were shoved in through the doors that closed decisively right behind them. There was music coming from somewhere, but for a second it was the only sound in the room.

Then… Engines began to rev, and one particularly sizable mech in brown-grey and black spread his arms and said something in Kaonite. They didn’t understand a word, but something made it seem like a greeting.

The other mecha in the room laughed.

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but a few of the mechs closer to them began to approach them regardless. Sideswipe shrank away, back against the door, and Sunstreaker only barely kept himself from doing the same.

But he managed to push through the fright and trepidation in their spark and stood his ground.

The mechs made a grab for them when they got close enough, but both him and Sideswipe dodged out of the way in their respective directions. It only got them more laughter and more mecha stalked their way until there were no more ways to go that didn’t have waiting arms ready to catch them.

Sunstreaker’s face pulled into an ugly snarl and Sideswipe’s engine was growling with fear and anger as they pressed against each other in the center of a circle of hungry mecha. The big one that had spoken up earlier said something, and another equally massive mech that looked like they turned into a tank of some sort also spoke up.

The mecha around them made noises of disappointment right before the circle closed on them entirely and harsh servos clamped on their plating.

“Get your fragging servos off of me!” Sunstreaker growled at once and Sideswipe cursed the lot of them next to him.

They just laughed and dragged them to the center of the room, past the mattresses, all the way to the tables. The two big mechs came closer as the brothers were shoved against the tables onto their fronts—and then all of the smaller mecha moved away.

Before they could beat it the hell out of there now that there were no hands holding them, the two brutes had already closed in.

Sunstreaker was forced back against the tabletop by the tank, and the other big mech did the same to Sideswipe, bringing one of his brother’s arms behind his back for good measure.

Then he bent that arm until joints were stressed, and even past that point until pain multiplied in Sideswipe’s frame and he cried out.

Much to the amusement of everyone else in the room, from the sounds of things.

Sunstreaker counted himself lucky that he was only pressed against the table by his neck, held there by a grip applying enough pressure he knew he’d never be able to push himself free of it under his own power.

He tried anyway. “Let go of me, you fragging scrapyard reject!”

His struggles didn’t get him anything more than an amused rumble. The mech holding Sideswipe outright laughed, although Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if that was aimed at him or his brother. Sideswipe had stilled, venting hard under the pain in his straining arm.

They both knew where this was going. There wasn’t any uncertainty about it even before Sunstreaker felt a servo slipping to his aft, slapping it with a clang of metal that made him jolt, then venturing further. A growl rose in his throat. “Hands off.”

He went completely unheard. Thick claws dug into the small seams of his valve cover, pushed in, and ripped it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted, but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Sideswipe did release a muffled yell when the same was done to him despite Sideswipe’s own words of refusal. The onlookers laughed once more and the mech holding his twin purred—at Sideswipe’s sounds, at his pain, at his helplessness, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which. Or maybe all of them.

There were two clicks of an interface panel retracting, one directly behind him, another off to the side. Sideswipe’s engine stalled for a moment before he bucked, ignoring the pain in his arm in a desperate bid for a miracle that would see him free. “NO! Don’t you fragging– Keep that thing away from me! Stop!”

Sunstreaker fought against the hold on him too, loud and clear in not consenting... But neither had any success beyond amusing the mecha around them.

Then the tip of something massive pressed against Sideswipe’s dry valve entrance, slowly forcing its way in. Sideswipe’s whine gained in volume as the spike pushed in deeper, scraping against every sensor, stretching the mesh and spreading the calipers around it to a combined effect that was nothing but agony. His brother wailed towards the end of the long and arduous moments his assailant took to sheathe his spike in the frame far too small for it. “Get the slag off of him!” Sunstreaker raged, fighting against the hold on him, but no one reacted to it with anything more than amusement.

As much as every Cybertronian was built with size difference in mind considering the vast size range of their species, there were physical limits to everything.

And Sideswipe’s limits were pushed, and pushed past. His frame could accommodate the length of the spike inching into him, but not the width. His hips might have spread at the seams designed for the very purpose, but just as quickly they were spread too far until there was nothing but pain left. His valve was filled past capacity, the walls trying and failing to fit the spike stretching him—and forced to do so anyway.

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to say beyond yelling at them to stop it—didn’t know what to do except feel every excruciating second right along with his brother.

Around them the mecha were chatting, leering, pointing and laughing, calling out over the general noise, just… Enjoying themselves.

Sideswipe was sobbing by the time the mech had seated his entire spike into his brother, his groin flush with Sideswipe’s aft.

As soon as that was true, he was already pulling back and Sideswipe cried out all over again at the rough scrape of a too large intrusion against desert dry walls. If they weren’t built so sturdy, Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe’s entire valve would’ve gotten ripped straight out.

He didn’t know how much better this was. The mech shoved himself back in after he’d pulled himself all the way out and Sideswipe didn’t manage to stay silent as he was split open all over again, his thrashing frame only adding to the pain via the arm pressed to his back at an unnatural angle.

“This one’s a screamer,” the mech raping his twin laughed in standard as he set up a punishing pace that definitely drew a lot of noise from Sideswipe.

But it was overwhelming. Sideswipe was no stranger to rough interfacing, but this went so far beyond that.

This was just... Madness. Sunstreaker could barely think straight from the pain and distress flooding their spark, and Sideswipe was doing much worse. The torrent almost distracted him from the words the two mechs were exchanging.

Almost. “Why don’t you try that one?” The tone of the mech abusing his brother was nothing short of lecherous, and Sunstreaker barely had the chance to feel a burst of alarm before the tank behind him shoved in and rammed his spike all the way into his valve in one violent thrust. His hips clanged against Sunstreaker’s aft even as his back arched off the table, or tried to, despite the grip holding him down.

Conscious thought was overridden for a moment by the desperate need to get away, to escape the explosion of pain in his groin and up his frame. Static filled his vision when the mech drew back without even a second’s pause, only to repeat the whole process and drive him into a land of anguish.

But he didn’t make a sound. His vocalizer seemed to have forgotten how to function.

“Ah, he’s a quiet one,” he could hear through his pained delirium, and all of a sudden he really wished the mecha had continued speaking Kaonite. He didn’t need to hear any of this.

“I like those better,” the mech assaulting his frame rumbled. “It makes it more rewarding when they finally do scream.”

Primus, neither of them had ever hurt this much, and definitely not this intimately. Sideswipe was only spitting static at this point as he was driven into time and time again, his walls chafing raw, sensors abused past their ability to perceive anything as pleasure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta as he was given the same treatment, but he would not give them the satisfaction of screaming. The way his engine hitched and revved unevenly was bad enough, giving some voice to the agony raging in his lower frame. But even through that he could see the other mecha in the room, stroking their spikes while watching them hungrily.

And he feared he knew what they were waiting and preparing for.

He would’ve probably felt fear at the thought, if he had been able to push feelings past the hurt overcoming their spark from both sides. He was pretty sure both of their afts were going to dent from the way the two mechs chased their pleasure with no need for their comfort—or maybe in an attempt to make this as bad for them as they could.

Sunstreaker had to give it to them, they were doing a good job of that. Not that it was difficult when they were already too big for them to take.

They lasted longer than he would’ve ever believed them to, too. It was like they were already so used to doing things like this they knew how to draw it out, and maybe they were used to it—maybe he and Sideswipe were far from the only ones dragged here for the lot of them to use them as their playthings.

How many of their predecessors had walked out of here alive?

But eventually there was a burst of warmth in the depths of his valve, registering as nothing but searing hurt against his abraded sensors. His frame was shivering when the tank pulled out and released him, and Sunstreaker tried to get up the instant he was no longer pinned down.

He got far enough to turn around, just in time for another mech to approach him—barely a helm shorter than the previous one.

Sunstreaker didn’t want him anywhere near him anymore than he’d wanted the last one. Reflexes kicked in, literally, and he kicked with both pedes at the mech once he came within range. The mech—another tank—stumbled a step back from the force of his double kick, though given their size difference it was probably only because he hadn’t been expecting it.

His first rapist laughed. “Careful, Brawl. This one’s feisty.”

Sunstreaker bared his denta at the both of them, growling hard.

“I’ll frag that out of him yet,” Brawl threatened with a snarl of his own, stepping forward again. This time he was prepared for Sunstreaker’s kick and kept coming in spite of it, proving at once that his strength really was no match. His legs were grabbed and spread, a spike was bared, and then he was impaled all over again before he’d had the time to do more than dig his claws into the seams on the larger mech’s chestplates.

It didn’t hurt any less this time, and his processors swam too badly from the simple pain of it for him to put up a proper fight when his wrists were grabbed, his arms pulled above his helm and slammed against the table until he was laying supine across its surface.

And then he was in perfect display for the mech, Brawl, to frag him at a pace that rivaled the previous mech’s.

He was somewhat distracted from his own frame’s suffering by the splash of transfluid into Sideswipe’s valve, burning him just as it had burned Sunstreaker. The mech with his attention on Sideswipe pulled out, and there was a brief moment of relief before dread took over—for a good reason, it turned out. Sideswipe wasn’t released even for a moment as Sunstreaker had been, but instead turned around until it was his helm facing the spike that had just finished battering him.

“Lick it clean.”

Sunstreaker’s engine revved harder in unison with Sideswipe’s staticky but furious words. “Lick it yourself!”

There was laughter across the room, and someone piped up with, “You really think that’s gonna work, Motormaster? You’re just gonna get bitten!”

Motormaster growled, a sound that was pure aggression and nothing else. “Let’s do it your way, then.” He grabbed Sideswipe by the helm and slammed it against the table, his helmet barely even withstanding the force of the impact. He groaned weakly, but Sunstreaker could still feel the fight in him even as his focus was partially torn from Sideswipe by a particularly hard thrust into his own frame.

Force of will kept his vocalizer silent even as every slam of hips against his turned more painful with Brawl’s nearing overload.

When he’d managed to push that aside enough to concentrate on his brother again, Motormaster had already gotten his mouth open, Sideswipe’s daze too deep for him to have prevented that. But he was still ways from giving up, and as soon as Motormaster’s spike was directed into his open mouth, Sideswipe bit down on it.

As hard as he could manage.

And this time it wasn’t Sideswipe that made sound. Motormaster roared in fury even as the mecha in the room laughed in a chorus to that one mech’s, “I told you so!”

But Sideswipe was the one that paid the price. It wasn’t just one time his helm was slammed against the table after Motormaster had removed his spike from the proven dangerous mouth.

No, Motormaster repeated the motion again, and again, and again, until someone yelled, “Don’t beat him unconscious! That’s no fun!”

Motormaster did find the restraint to stop at that, but he’d already gotten what he wanted. Sideswipe was mostly out of it and couldn’t resist this time when Motormaster opened his mouth and thrust in.

All the way in. Sideswipe’s throat stretched far and wide when the massive spike forced its way into it, and Sunstreaker was very relieved Sideswipe wasn’t alert enough to fully appreciate the feeling of it. The only upside to this was that there was actual lubricant in his mouth where there had been none on his valve, but that did nothing to the fact throats weren’t designed for fragging. There was nothing in place to aid the tubing and the calipers to adjust to the massive girth that had suddenly been forced down Sideswipe’s intake.

On the next draw out a pained moan managed to work its way from Sideswipe’s vocalizer despite the snail pace of his thoughts. “That’s right! Show ‘em who’s boss!” someone yelled from the rowdy crowd and Sunstreaker bucked up beneath Brawl’s frame, in some effort to… He wasn’t sure what.

“Get the frag away from him!”

Some effort to help his brother, but he had no idea how he would have done that. They were outnumbered and outmatched, at the nonexistent mercy of these mecha.

And as if Sideswipe wasn’t already going through enough, another mech—although this one blessedly a grounder in their own size class—hopped onto the table and went behind him. Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and spread to give the grounder room between them.

“Aft up, you little whore,” he grinned before grabbing Sideswipe by the hips and hauling his lower body higher.

He had to keep it there himself, because as much as Sideswipe tried to fight to regain his senses, he was still hopelessly far from having full control over his frame.

“I’m getting ideas here,” yet another mech spoke up, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention back to his own frame. He glanced towards the voice at a rotorflier that climbed over the tables to the empty space in the middle of them.

And headed for Sunstreaker.

“Give him here.”

“Frag off, Vortex,” Brawl growled, but all the same Vortex came over and snatched Sunstreaker’s arms from Brawl’s hold, tugging him to the other side of the table until his helm fell over the edge.

It did remove Brawl’s spike from his valve, and Sunstreaker closed his legs as soon as he could. The tank made a noise of aggravation but didn’t bother climbing up to the table.

Someone else did bother, but he couldn’t see them from the rotorflier grabbing his helm.

It freed one of his arms though, and he instantly dug his claws into the nearest gap of plating.

Vortex moaned. “I love it when they fight.”

“You fragging masochist,” the mech at his lower end snorted, a second before his legs were grabbed and pulled apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them closed. He suspected with a great deal of trepidation that it was once again someone considerably larger than him, and that was confirmed without any excess delay when another spike far too big for him entered his body.

He bit back the groan that wanted to rise from his vocalizer, intent on denying them his voice. His servo fell to try to push Vortex away instead, not that he really expected that to work. Although not as large as some of the others, Vortex was still considerably larger than him.

Almost everyone was.

The rotorflier’s sharpened claws dug into Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed for all the good it did. Vortex had already admitted he liked his resistance, but Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to just give in, no matter how much it might’ve denied the other some of his pleasure.

Whoever it was between his legs wasn’t moving near as fast as the previous two. Nothing could erase the constant, tearing pain of having his frame pushed past its limits, but the slower pace was at least… Not quite as bad. It was no reprieve and he had to fight himself with every thrust to keep his vocalizer silent, but it could be even worse.

Somehow that thought wasn’t a particularly big comfort.

Claws pushed into his mouth past his lips and dug into the gaps between his tightly clenched denta as a distraction from what was happening to his valve, eventually prying his mouth open despite the strength of his biting jaws. A spike was slipped past his parted lips in short order, and taking a cue from Sideswipe, Sunstreaker bit it as soon as he could.

But instead of rewarding anger, he got another moan—and maybe the other mech hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Vortex a masochist.

Pits, how did you even fight a mech that enjoyed it when you fought? He could give him pleasure by resisting, or he could give him pleasure by letting him use his frame.

It was a win-win for the rotorflier, and a lose-lose for Sunstreaker.

The spike was shoved deeper despite the scrape of his denta and Sunstreaker gagged hard when it hit the back of his throat. He’d never let anyone push that deep the sparse times he’d even agreed to give someone oral, never having liked the feeling of it.

Now there was no agreeing to anything. His denta clamped down tighter, Vortex moaned louder, and the spike was thrust deeper no matter what he did. It slipped down his throat and his gag reflex went haywire in an instant, pushing out the contents of his tanks with no further warning and no fanfare.

Raucous laughter echoed in the room when what energon he’d had in his tanks pushed past his stretched lips, splattering across Vortex’s groin and legs, and dripping down Sunstreaker’s face.

“That was fast,” the rotorflier commented, not sounding particularly displeased over the mess. Sunstreaker felt nothing more than disgust though, and wanted to wipe even some of it off his face—but when he tried, his arm was caught and pinned to the table.

The mech at his valve increased his pace for a final few thrusts before he felt more transfluid paint his valve walls, diverting his mind for a precious second.

Then Vortex started to move and his attention was snapped right back to his upper end. Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds as his helm was grabbed with two servos and the rotorflier began to use his mouth like he wasn’t a living thing at all. He tried to buck, but someone else was already positioning themselves between his legs, pinning him in place and grabbing his momentarily freed arms before he could put them to use.

The need to get away was overwhelming under the assault on his mouth—harsh, jarring thrusts, violent withdraws, his throat forced open with every push in until the tubing felt bruised and his calipers stopped resisting.

It wasn’t often that his fight or flight instinct was triggered. Now it was all he could think about. He didn’t know where to focus, on his mouth or on his valve, the two points he was rocked between when the mechs used him with no coordination between them. “You hate this, don’t you?” Vortex panted at him, a damned grin in his voice.

The answer would have been a resounding yes, were he in the position or mood to answer.

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

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all Sideswipe knew at this point. His valve—surprisingly, that wasn’t hurting terribly much. Someone was fragging him, hard, but from the feel of things they were someone he would’ve even, you know, agreed to berth under better circumstances. His valve was beyond sore from Motormaster’s treatment and the worn walls and sensors didn’t appreciate any manner of intrusion, but at least his specs weren’t pushed.

Down there. His mouth was an entirely different matter.

His helm throbbed from the times Motormaster had seen fit to slam it against the surprisingly unforgiving table, but even that was nothing compared to what his throat was going through.

He was getting a good taste of the larger grounder’s sheer cruelty. Motormaster moved fast and hard like a mech possessed, completely disregarding the fact he was pushing Sideswipe’s frame past capacity. His faceplates were drawn tight over the girth of the massive spike, but that he could’ve handled.

He couldn’t handle the relentless assault on his intake, getting worse and worse the more of his faculties he managed to gather. It made him think that maybe he didn’t want to be conscious after all.

But then he wouldn’t know what they’d do to his frame.

Then he wouldn’t be there for Sunstreaker.

As little as he was being there for Sunstreaker right now. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening to Sunstreaker, not when Motormaster shoved his massive spike down his throat over and over. Tears streamed down his face. “Ha, look at the little bitch cry! Aw, what’s the matter? Never had it that big before?” someone cackled.

The tubing of his intake was beyond raw at this point, despite the oral lubricant trying to pave the way. His calipers ached. He couldn’t keep himself from gagging every few push in, his frame tensing in painful waves. Warnings about minor tears and unnatural stretching were blinking on his HUD, as if he could’ve done anything about that.

It hurt. He wanted it to stop, and that feeling kept growing as the torture continued on and his senses returned to him. He tried to pull away as soon as he could, but Motormaster growled and held his helm tight. “Don’t go anywhere, you little slut. This is what you’re here for, better deliver.”

Or else? What could be worse than this?

So he struggled all the same, trying to jerk his hips away from the spike drilling into his valve, only for claws to dig tighter into his plating. “Hey! Stay still, whore.” His aft was slapped. He jerked.

But there wasn’t much beyond that that he could try to do. Motormaster had caught both of his arms and held them at the small of his back with no notable effort no matter how Sideswipe tried to twist free.

And he kept fragging his mouth, no doubt intent on punishing him for his insolence.

This is what you’re here for.

Two wet holes as receptacles for their spikes and spunk? Was that it?

He didn’t want to be that, but with Motormaster at his helm, he didn’t really have any options. Maybe he could’ve struggled more against someone else, but Primus, the mech was big and strong and knew just how to hurt. His spike kept on ramming down his throat, and as much as Sideswipe would’ve wanted to bite again, his jaw felt numb from the treatment.

Wholly uncooperative, abused beyond its limits.

“Ugh, you really loosened the bitch up,” the mech pumping his valve grunted, slapping his aft again. Sideswipe could barely focus on it past the pain of his intake, but he put in the effort to make out the words. “Wildrider! Come help me out.”

...Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Sideswipe tried to wrench away at the idea, the possibility that his addled mind presented him with. Motormaster held his grip, though, and released his arms enough to strike the side of his helm, dazing him all over again. “What did I just tell you?!”

Don’t go anywhere, yeah yeah, he remembered.

Frag him if he was just going to do as he was told!

...That was exactly what was happening wasn’t it.

He did manage to disturb the mech using his valve, which was a small victory. And extremely short lived, because before he knew it, a third mech was climbing onto the table. “Get beneath him,” the mech behind him said, and Sideswipe thought his idea of where this was headed was becoming more and more likely.

And he wanted nothing to do with it, loosened valve or not.

But Motormaster kept a hold of his helm, kept being one painful distraction, and he couldn’t think of enough things to do to escape the situation. He tried to push the new mech away when they got closer, but Motormaster caught his arms again, lifting his frame by them to give Wildrider the room to slip beneath him.

It strained his shoulders. It hurt.

So did his throat.

And Motormaster kept on thrusting like he was going to last forever.

Wildrider wiggled his way under his frame, a mech about the same size as he was. Sideswipe could feel his spike brushing his abdomen, and he again tried to jerk even just his lower frame away—but the one with their spike buried in his valve had his claws hooked into the gaps of his armor and rode out his struggles. He was made to straddle Wildrider’s thighs as the fellow grounder settled.

Motormaster jerked hard against his face, pulling Sideswipe’s thoughts back to the abuse his mouth was being put through. He ground against his face, pushing his hips forward and pulling Sideswipe’s helm against his pelvis hard enough that Sideswipe wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to get crushed like this.

Then he could feel searing bursts of transfluid down his throat too, and he couldn’t keep his frame from acting anymore. He gagged, except this time the motion ran through the whole way, forcing the contents of his tank back up—washing the transfluid from his throat on the same go, at least.

He wasn’t sure if his regurgitation would’ve even made it past the unforgiving stretch Motormaster’s spike was, but he pulled out just then until only his spike tip remained in his mouth, allowing his puke to follow him out. “Aw, he didn’t swallow,” someone off to the side said in disappointment.

Motormaster wasn’t as disappointed. “That’s it, you bitch,” he growled instead, releasing his hold on his helm as the mix of transfluid and energon came out to taint his groin and Sideswipe’s face. He reached down and smeared it further on his face, rubbing the humiliation deeper into his struts.

Then a second spike pushed its way into his valve and Sideswipe jerked forward despite himself, driving Motormaster’s spike back down his throat, and regretting the motion instantaneously when his frame heaved again. Not that there was much to bring back up anymore.

The room burst out into laughter. “He likes you, Motormaster!”

“That’s a good whore, throat him again!”

And the second spike squeezed into his valve. He could feel the vibrations of Motormaster’s amusement.

They’d said his valve was looser now, but it didn’t feel like that was true at all. Sideswipe sobbed as he was stretched wide all over again and the two mechs began to thrust in unison, not any more cautious than what he had expected them to be. It didn’t hurt that much less than Motormaster, not when their angles of entry hit different parts of his valve, jabbing in horribly.

But Motormaster pulled out, slapping his face on the withdrawal before he turned and walked away like nothing major had happened.

Like he hadn’t just raped him on both ends.

But there was nothing holding him in place now except the grip on his hips, and neither mech currently abusing his valve was any larger than he was. This time when Sideswipe yanked forward, he was able to pull away from their hold, dislodging the spikes from his valve and scrambling off the table to sounds of indignation from the two mechs.

Everyone else was either laughing or whistling, not looking that perturbed that he’d escaped them.

Temporarily. Which way was out? How could he have even gotten there? There were mecha all around him; there was barely a gap that wasn’t in someone’s grabbing distance.

He headed for one of those anyway, dashing between two mecha that didn’t look like they were that ready to catch him.

Surprisingly, he got past them and into the room beyond, only to stumble and turn partially around at the sound of one familiar cry.

Sunstreaker never screamed.

But as soon as he focused back on his twin, pain assaulted him and knocked him onto his knees. His vision swam from the amount of it, sending his thoughts into utter disorganization.

Primus, what the pit were they doing to him?

No, not them.

Just one mech.

The rotorflier had his spike down Sunstreaker’s throat—Sunstreaker hated giving oral—and his claws buried in the gaps of Sunstreaker’s armor.

Not… Not just claws. A prod of some sort too. Or was it a knife?

Whatever it was, the mech was expertly using it to hit sensors they didn’t even know they’d had, sending current through them hard enough that there was no way in a million years it could’ve registered as pleasure.

“Be careful with that thing, Vortex!” he could hear over the noise in the rest of the room. “I don’t want to get shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Another deep thrust, down his throat, up his valve, stab of sharp claws against sensitive components, armor plates bent out of alignment, another burst of current. Sunstreaker’s scream was a hoarse thing as his frame jerked in a desperate attempt to escape the torture inflicted on it.

It was no good.

“Hah, twins are the best! Look at this wench. Vortex, keep hurting that bitch!” Servos grabbed him and Sideswipe was pulled back into his own frame as he was unceremoniously hauled upright, then thrown onto one of the mattresses covering the floor and providing seating for the mecha present. He sprawled onto it.

“Someone keep him down, we want to have a turn,” he heard someone say, turning his helm to watch two little mechs approach him.

Symbiotes.

Too small to hold him down themselves.

Sideswipe got back to his pedes as quickly as his frame allowed him to despite the bursts of pain in his groin, and made another run for it. It didn’t look like anyone had expected him to get that far that fast, and he managed to slip from the circle of mecha all over again.

The only question was where to from there. There were several doors leading to locations unknown, but they were all closed, and he had no idea which were locked to top.

And… He couldn’t really leave Sunstreaker, could he?

His spark was pulsing in his chassis, fear and hurt mixing with powerlessness. He didn’t know which way was out, and even if he had, he couldn’t have left without Sunstreaker.

He was so stuck.

And there were mecha all around the room, watching him with amusement even as some of their comrades started to approach him.

What could he do?

Trying not to get raped again would be a good start.

Even if he was pretty sure that was an effort doomed to fail.

Sideswipe endeavored to stay one step ahead of them, dodging around the room and trying hard to ignore Sunstreaker’s muffled sounds of pain he tried to bite back—Sideswipe could feel him trying to bite them back, but failing anyway as Vortex flat out tortured him.

And the rotorflier was getting off on it too, his thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth turning more and more arrhythmic.

If Sideswipe thought about any of that, he wouldn’t he able to stay out of the reach of the servos making grabs at him–

But he was already thinking about it.

Three mechs cornered him against one wall, blocking his escape routes and just taking a hold of him. He was dragged back to the mattresses and showed into his front on one of them. Sideswipe managed to get his arms under himself, but someone grabbed his wrists and yanked them forward, above his helm, and he faceplanted into the mattress anyway.

Two other mechs caught a leg each, pinning him securely against the mattress.

And the symbiotes closed in again. “Finally. You’re a slippery one, aren’t you,” one of them cackled as they came up behind him, little digits pushing into his valve.

He grunted at the discomfort, but it wasn’t outright pain–

Up until one of them shoved an entire arm up there. Raw sensors lighted up with pain all over again and he tried to pull his hips away with an agonized whine, but the arm just followed him, and he wasn’t allowed enough movement to do anything more than that between the three mechs holding him down.

“Bro, I think we gotta do this together,” the one with their arm in his valve said. Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s all stretched up already. Basic slut, they never stay tight for long.”

“What you donna do!” the other symbiote, the first one’s brother, intoned.

Neither sounded very displeased.

Sideswipe’s only comfort was the thought they were far smaller than the mecha that had already taken their turns with him. This probably wouldn’t hurt as much.

He hoped, anyway.

“Bring the other bitch here!” someone said, and Sideswipe spared a thought to Sunstreaker. His brother was venting heavily, lightly bleeding past his armor from where Vortex had damaged fuel and coolant lines, but the rotorflier had wandered off by now.

One spike shoved up his valve, then a second, as the symbiotes seated themselves and started fragging him. They had a rhythm about them that made Sideswipe think they were pretty used to fragging mecha together.

It burned, it hurt, but he could bear it.

Sunstreaker was hauled up from the table and shoved towards the mattresses. A moment later he fell next to Sideswipe, aching all over, his throat and valve the greatest points of pain but far from the only ones now. His optics were clearing out though, now that Vortex was done inflicting more damage on him.

“My turn,” came a hiss somewhere behind them, and when they both turned to look, another symbiote was stalking towards them. This one was a felinoid, walking silently on all fours.

Sunstreaker expected him to aim for his valve, but instead he walked up to his front, and the twin’s spark sank all over again. Maybe it had been too much to hope they’d leave his mouth alone.

Someone else did take the gaping hole between his legs as an invitation though, and hiked his hips higher only to push in. They were big, but not the biggest he’d taken so far. He still moaned in pain, his valve protesting the intrusion and his stubborn silence long shattered. His arms were caught and pulled back, forcing his chest against the mattress.

“He’s just going to bite you,” someone laughed as the felinoid parked in front of him.

Sunstreaker snarled at him.

The cat snarled right back.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “You get that spike anywhere near me and you’ll lose it.”

Primus, his valve still burned despite the transfluid being spread around–

The symbiote scoffed. “Empty threats. You’re in no position to resist.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker wasn’t going to fragging well try.

He revved a warning when a mech crouched next him, jerking his helm away when they tried to grab it. That earned him a harsh slap on his cheek and his helm was taken a hold of despite himself. A digit pushed into his mouth in short order, lifting his helm upward and forcing his denta apart far enough that the felinoid could rear up, place his front paws on Sunstreaker’s back, and shove his pelvis forward, the spike pushing into his open mouth smoothly.

The intrusion was smaller than any of the spikes he’d taken before that, but that didn’t make him hate it any less.

“He’s gonna bite any second now,” someone guessed.

And that was exactly what Sunstreaker did.

Or tried to, but the mech with their digit in his mouth only wedged it further back, forcing his mouth to stay open. “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, and Sunstreaker glared at him.

The felinoid began to frag his mouth now that there was no danger of injury on his spike, just as the bipedal symbiotes fragged Sideswipe, just as the mech behind him fragged Sunstreaker. None of it was hurting as much as some of the slag they’d already been put through, but that was a despairing thought.

Raped and abused, and the best they could hope for was it’d hurt a little less than it could?

Where was the end to this? Where was their escape?

None of the symbiotes lasted long, though Sunstreaker got the impression that was just because they weren’t even trying to. The bipedal ones with Sideswipe finished first, releasing dual loads of transfluid into his valve before they pulled and slapped their servos together in satisfaction.

Sideswipe was panting, trying to close his legs, but he was held too thoroughly for that to work.

“I don’t want to get down. Someone bring him back to the tables,” a mech out of their field of view said, and in short order Sideswipe was dragged to his pedes by his neck.

But what had they called Sideswipe before? Slippery? His brother managed to tear himself free and staggered away from the mecha trying to grab him, his engine growling as he bolted away from everyone.

There were sounds of amusement all around the room as Sideswipe went back to his game of evasion with their abusers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t focus on it after the symbiote at his mouth started to overload.

Started to, because it didn’t look like it was the short process to him that it was to most others. He humped against Sunstreaker’s face until he could feel the first burst of transfluid down his throat.

And while it just kept coming, far more worrisome was the way the felinoid’s spike started to expand. Sunstreaker thought he imagined it at first, but once his faceplates started to sting from the stretch, he couldn’t deny it.

A knot. The fragger had a modified spike.

And it got to be absolutely massive in comparison to what the spike had been before swelling. It jammed behind his denta, and his faceplates simply didn’t allow him to open his mouth far enough for him to even try to pull off of it. It locked them together in the most humiliating way possible, and all the while transfluid streamed down his intake. The mech at his valve came too, but that barely registered past the desperation of getting away from the spike in his mouth—partway down his throat.

It was no good though, absolutely no good. He could tug all he wanted, but it only earned him irritable growling and a servo at the back of his helm, pushing him against the felinoid’s groin.

There was a mech at his valve again, and he could recognize the voice. “Your brother was pretty good. How about I try you out too? Sluts like you just love big mecha like me, don’t you?”

Motormaster.

Sunstreaker screamed around the spike stuffing his mouth when he was split open all over again on the mech’s fragging spike–

And Sideswipe’s voice joined his as his brother was penetrated from both ends elsewhere in their torture chamber.

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

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously laughing while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even would be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt like he was on the long road to that destination, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t exactly given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the sets of double doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark shrank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified gamin, could recognize.

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in Kaonite—and Sideswipe still couldn’t understand a word of it—his red optics passing between him and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning lackeys at Sideswipe’s feet responded to Megatron, in Kaonite as well. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something—Sunstreaker—with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his feet with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the waiting arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, hmm?” Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even feel his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and pinned there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and fear at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. Open.”

Like hell.

Sideswipe bared his clenched denta and growled.

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his intake was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping hole, just for him to push back in again in the next moment.

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his pain.

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him alone!”

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically could have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get away from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than hold on.

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged—past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus.

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and feel Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. “Cry for me.”

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his anything, just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure.

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the leader. He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel that much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

Endure.

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Wasn’t this what they’d been brought in for?

What would be his way out? Death?

He didn’t want to die.

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his intake. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The last thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point.

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron didn’t stop there but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging continuing. He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and didn’t push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered onto Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own vomit. His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this was going to repeat.

“You were so eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

Please, not Sunstreaker.

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

“Don’t touch me,” Sunstreaker hissed as Megatron took a step towards him. He jerked in the grasp of the mecha holding him, but they wouldn’t let go of him—keeping him in place as the tyrant approached.

“Changed your mind already?” the grey mech asked, stroking his spike. “Did your brother’s fate make you think twice?”

Megatron knew, he fragging knew what he’d done was messed up.

And he did it anyway.

Sunstreaker growled, trying to pull himself free so he could slug the arrogant fragger straight on his privates.

It didn’t work, but no one was holding his legs.

The size difference between them was absurd, but Sunstreaker was flexible enough. As soon as the tyrant was close enough, he kicked up, aiming squarely at Megatron’s groin. Unfortunately for him, Megatron had reflexes he couldn’t rightly laugh at. He rendered his kick perfectly harmless with a simple step to the side, grabbing Sunstreaker’s leg instead.

The mechs that had been holding him let go just when Megatron yanked, pulling him entirely off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. His helm hit it with a clang and a blossom of pain, but Sunstreaker managed to keep quiet. He glared up at Megatron as soon as he’d centered his senses again, trying to pull his leg free.

Megatron didn’t let go, though. Instead Sunstreaker was the one that got pulled as the larger mech simply lifted him off the floor by his leg, hanging him upside down.

Sunstreaker stilled for a moment before a growl rumbled in his engine, rising in his volume as his fury grew. “Let the slag go of me!” He tried to kick out with his free leg, but as much as he managed to hit Megatron, it glanced harmlessly off his armor. “Slagging let go of me and I’ll kick your ass back to the assembly line!”

“Fightful,” Megatron said with approval, ratcheting Sunstreaker’s anger all the higher.

But it was fully impotent against the tyrant, just as it had been impotent against his followers before that. He was slammed to the nearest table in short order, his chest impacting with it with enough force that his already sore frame pulsed pain at him from all the sensors tested by Megatron’s subordinates. His vents gasped, but Sunstreaker strangled his vocalizer until no sound emerged.

Whatever satisfaction he could deny from Megatron, he would.

“Has my court turned you into enough of a whore yet?” Megatron asked casually as he grabbed both of Sunstreaker’s arms and pulled them behind his back, shackling his wrists together with one servo.

He’d been in a similar position tonight more times than he cared to count.

“Frag off,” Sunstreaker growled, and fought against the tight grip on him despite how futile he knew that to be. “Don’t whores usually get paid, anyway?”

“You’re paid by being allowed to keep your life,” Megatron rumbled at him, just at the edge of outright laughter. Sunstreaker revved until his engine hurt. There was little left of fear anymore, drowned out by sheer rage.

Yet there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Megatron pulled his hips up, placed one of his own pedes on the table’s edge, and drove into his valve.

And Motormaster had been bad. The big mech that had the first go at him had been bad. Every time someone had gotten the bright idea of shoving two spikes into his valve at once had been bad.

But none of them compared to Megatron. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if his spike was any bigger than what he’d already taken over the course of the… Day, night, how long had it been? It didn’t matter, even less so when his processors were assaulted with the agony of having his frame stretched past capacity all over again. Maybe Megatron wasn’t any bigger than Motormaster or his friend, or maybe he was smaller even, but he was still too big.

What mattered most was the strength the tyrant put behind each and every thrust. It wasn’t just about taking his pleasure from Sunstreaker’s frame, it was about making Sunstreaker hurt in the process.

And by Primus but it hurt. The ceiling of his valve was battered with every rapid, hard push in, and Sunstreaker worried for the rest of his internals. His valve, now nothing more than one big point of pain, wasn’t a vital component by any measure. No matter how it would hurt, it wouldn’t kill him.

But there were parts beyond it that did matter.

And it was as if Megatron was gunning for those directly with the amount of oomph he put behind his thrusts.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan of pain when Megatron struck in particularly deep, ramming into components past his valve. Spikes were supposed to be sensitive too, but it was as if Megatron didn’t even feel hitting parts that yielded considerably less than a valve did. He only pulled back out and repeated the motion.

Over and over again. Sunstreaker could only keep quiet for so long before Megatron found the right angle to hit the hardest and deliver the most pain.

His resulting screams echoed among the laughter and cheers that rose in the room, but he could hardly make sense of the words of approval, encouragement, and admiration that Megatron was showered with for getting the quiet one to scream so loud. Maybe that was because some of them were spoken in Kaonite.

Maybe it was just because his processors were bombarded with too many signals for them to work through all of them in time. He drowned in the tidal wave of agony Megatron was delivering on and in his body—gasping for air, trying to press his hips down and away from the abuse.

But Megatron’s claws dug into his hip and kept him in place.

It just would not end. When Megatron got bored of drilling him from behind, he was effortlessly flipped over, his back clanging into the table to another burst of pain from all around his frame. Vortex’s work, he had the time to think before Megatron plunged into his valve again, and found even more points of pain to exploit.

His anguish filled his frame, his mind, and his spark. A heavy servo pressed against his chest, pinning him against the table—his legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips–

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, now not only because Megatron was simply too strong, but because his thoughts were assaulted with more hurt than he’d ever experienced before in his life.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to take it, but here he was, not dying no matter what he felt like. He could hear Sideswipe’s screams distantly, but for whatever reason that was all that came of it—pinned down, couldn’t help—and all the while the room continued to be a thing of brouhaha around him. Megatron himself didn’t join in on it with anything more than the revving of his engine, arousal kicking it into a higher gear.

Sunstreaker held onto the arm pinning him down, not quite managing to find the wherewithal to try to push it off of him by any means necessary. No doubt none of that would’ve worked.

Then there was a servo in front of him, long, thick claws dipping into his open mouth. They pushed in, struck the back of his throat, made him gag, then pulled out, and repeated the motion in time with the thrusts into his valve.

Megatron’s pace quickened both down there and up here and Sunstreaker’s frame pressed up against the servo pinning him down for an entirely different reason. Gag after gag Megatron kept fingerfucking his mouth, kept pounding into his valve, until his frame couldn’t take it anymore. Like he hadn’t already done that enough times, his frame expelled the contents of his tanks—others’ transfluid, little else—pulsing it up around Megatron’s digits until it streamed from the corners of his mouth and dirtied his face further.

The tyrant said something Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of, and he wasn’t sure it was even directed at him. The wet digits withdrew from his mouth as he tried to swallow back down what had already come up once, just to get it out of his mouth.

A massive palm struck him across the face before his jaw was grabbed into a vice grip. Sunstreaker struggled to focus back on the reality around him, barely surfacing from the tides of torment that wanted to wash him under for good—that he wished would pull him down all the way, just so he could escape all of this, however momentarily.

But Megatron had slowed in his pace, now staring at him with intent. “I’ll put that mouth to good use later,” he growled, and it wasn’t as much a threat as it was a promise.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, willing away the tears that wanted to fill them.

Megatron slapped his face again. “Optics open,” came the command before his helm was grabbed, bending it down until he was forced to watch Megatron’s spike disappear into his frame time after time through reluctantly opening optics.

But he refused to cry.

He didn’t know if that impressed Megatron or what did it, but the tyrant’s field pulsed approval a second before his spike pulsed transfluid into the depths of his valve. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was true or imagined, but he could’ve sworn the come trickled straight into his internals.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his valve really had torn through from the ministrations of countless spikes, Megatron’s the worst of all.

But at last the tyrant pulled out, a flood of transfluid following his retreating spike. Sunstreaker went to close his optics again, but the further tightening of the servo on his jaw brought them back open. His helm was tilted up now, until he had no choice but to meet Megatron’s piercing gaze.

“These two,” he spoke up with enough volume that the room silenced, “belong to me now.”

Sideswipe’s engine hitched somewhere off to his side, and Megatron used his other servo to reach to Sideswipe–

To shove his digits straight into Sideswipe’s valve. His twin jerked at the contact and tried to pull away, but the claws hooked until he would’ve torn his own valve if he did that.

They were both venting hard, both in pain, both scared out of their minds as the implications of Megatron’s words broke through to them.

“And you will remember that,” Megatron continued more quietly, leaning in. His spike flirted with the entrance to his valve again, but didn’t push in.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he had ever been as grateful for anything before, than what he was for the small mercy of not being assaulted all over again on the heels of the first time he hadn’t even recovered from yet. “You will do everything I say,” the tyrant kept on, yanking at Sideswipe’s valve to a pained mewl from him, “and your frames will serve me until I choose otherwise.”

Sideswipe was crying.

Sunstreaker wanted to cry.

Instead he bared his denta and snarled.

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#transformers #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megatron #vortex #motormaster #wildrider #rumble #frenzy #ravage #brawl #harem au #fic #2020 #megaswipe #megasun #twins

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darksunrising · 5 years

Text

Sola Gratia (14/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : No particular warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 14/? (2638 words)

Author’s notes : I’m back, babey ! Anyway, here is the Second Act Opening (yeah, changed the Act stuff, i am unreliable at best.)

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The ride to Vlad's estate was eerily silent. Nestled on the backseat, hugging my knees to my chest, I tried to find some comfort in the pale light of the moon, bathing the countryside in a silver haze. I felt like I was wrapped in cotton, sounds coming off muffled to my ears, filled with the low humming of the car. Vlad and Carmilla were whispering to each other, and beside me, Leah seemed completely lost in thought. She had a lot to process, after all. Maybe I should have told her sooner...

To the valleys succeeded an endless plain, covered in fields and woods, and the occasional farm. Not that far over the horizon, I could barely make out the dark, shimmering line of the sea. It grew as we left the main road, following a smaller one, that soon converted to a paved path, barely large enough to let the car pass. We crossed a large iron gate, opening a mossy stone wall. The inside was wild, the wind sweeping across tall grass, overrun by wild flowers and poppies. Tall umbrella pines cast a moving shadow under the full moon. At the end of the path stood a large house, practically a mansion. The walls were white, large limestone blocks neatly laid out at the corners, while the most part were rough stones, held together with a thick layer of white mortar. A large portion of the wall was overrun with ivy.

The car stopped. I unfolded myself and tried to get out once before I remembered to take off my seatbelt, then trying to adjust my bodice to accommodate the now half open corset. Gods, my kingdom for a change of clothes. A quick look beyond the house confirmed that It was built over a cliff, the sound of the waves crashing down below soothing me like a lullaby. Leah's arm curling around mine quickly set me back into the present situation, and I took hold of her hand, hoping to be reassuring. We followed Vlad through the main door, which he closed behind us.

A good number of cardboard and wooden boxes piled up in the hall, unopened. Vlad apologized for the mess, arguing he didn't expect company so soon after moving. Still, everything except for the main hall was pristine, the furniture very well assorted, much more than in his Romanian residence. I figured he must have picked everything himself, as it all seemed in good accord with his usual sense of style. In the living room, I went to the windows, which opened on a large terrace, directly giving out onto the sea. Vlad's voice, softly calling out to me, had me turn back, and sit with them around the coffee table.

Leah was nervously fidgeting with one of the ribbons of her dress. Where should we even start ? I was obviously not the only one wondering about that, as the silence had now been so long it was far over the limits of awkwardness.

“So, who's gonna tell me what the fuck is going on ?”, Leah finally blurted out.

“It's... a long story”, I started, hesitant.

“Long as in 'it started during my mystery trip to Romania I was suspiciously evasive about'—long ?”, she retorted in an accusatory tone.

“Yeah. At least that.”

She leaned back into her seat, staring at me. She didn't even look mad, she just looked disappointed, which was worse. Since we met, I never hid anything from her. I could say safely that she knew more about me that I did, and I never had felt the need to not tell her something. These last months, not talking to her had been a torture. She had been my absolute best friend for years, I hated lying to her. I hated it.

And so I told her. About everything. From the beginning. Vlad had a few protests during my recalling of the Romania Events, and Carmilla looked pretty entertained by it. I could swear I heard her laugh when I told how I stabbed Vlad in the end. Leah listened intently, not once looking away from me. When I stopped, she seemed to take a moment, and looked around the room. Calmly, without a word, she stood up, and took a step toward Vlad's seat. She extended a hand, and swiftly reached for his sword, that he had set aside before sitting. Unsheathing it in an ample, yet controlled movement, she brought the tip under Vlad's throat so fast even he didn't have time to react. Surprise probably helped on that endeavor, still she had him tilt his head up, flat of the blade pushing under his chin.

Her expression was terrible, calm, controlled, yet I had never seen her eyes so dark, her lips pinched so tight. Vlad didn't move.

“You... Have hurt the one I love most, beyond all that I could imagine”, she stated, her voice trembling with anger. “You have made her suffer, and now, you tell me she could be in even greater danger because of your fucking dad or some bullshit ?!”

Her hand was steady, yet I could feel like the only reason she didn't ram the blade through his throat was because she knew it wouldn't do much of anything. I stepped closer to her, and wrapped my hand around hers. She held the grip so tight her knuckles were bone-white. I had her lower the sword, which she immediately dropped, and turned to look at me, eyes watering up.

“I-I'm so sorry, Eris, if I had known... I would never... Fuck, he could've... He could've...”

She held my hands enclosed in hers, and lost her words into incoherent sobbing for a second. Bringing my hands to her face, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and took a moment to calm herself down. Still holding my hand, she turned her attention back to Vlad.

“I was too quick to give you my trust. That won't happen twice”, she told him, glaring. “You put us into this mess, and you'd better handle it.”

“I intend to !”

“I'm not finished”, she snapped. “If anything, I mean anything happens to Eris, I will hold you personally responsible, and I'll have your dismembered limbs impaled in my backyard.”

Carmilla giggled, to which Leah snapped and promised her the same fate.

“Now, you're gonna drive us home, and I don't wanna see either of your faces again, at least not until you handled the problem.”

“You can't be serious, you'll be safer here-”, Vlad started.

“Safer ? With you ?” She had a dry laugh. “Well, isn't that the funniest thing you've ever said.”

“At least, stay the night”, he insisted, looking over to me for backup. “I will drive you back as soon as you'd like in the morning.”

She was about to protest, and I caught her arm, interrupting her. “Leah, it's late, we're both tired. Let's just go to sleep, right ?”

She took a second, and gave in, nodding. She insisted we slept together, even though the house had a good number of guest rooms, which was, in retrospect, pretty funny for someone who didn't need sleep. He guided us to the room he had prepared for me, initially. It had to be about half my apartment's size, and included a tower at the corner. Huge bay windows gave onto a balcony giving out a magnificent view over the sea.

Vlad cleared his throat. “You will find a change of clothes in the wardrobe.” Leah gave him another killer look, arms crossed over her chest. He took his leave, but not before placing a light hand on my back.

If you can slip away, I would like to talk to you.

Ah, the most terrifying thing to hear. Despite that, the way his voice filled my mind was warm, and comforting. I silently nodded, and he took his leave, his fingers trailing along my back, almost as if he resented to break contact. As soon as the door closed, Leah had a long sigh, and dropped on the bed.

“I can't believe you kept this to yourself so long”, she told me. She sounded almost hurt. “I mean, why didn't you tell me anything ?”

I joined her on the opposite side, my head laying next to her. “I didn't know how to. I felt you'd be safer if you didn't know.”

“But you weren't !”, she protested. “You could have been hurt, again, all because I had no idea what kind of monster-”

“He's not a monster”, I cut her off, almost without thinking about it.

She took a pause, turning her face towards mine, an expression of disbelief painted over her features, eyebrows furrowed in a way that didn't suit her kind face.

“Eris, please don't tell me you believe that !”

“I do. I'll give you that the conditions of our meeting were, well, less than ideal, but ever since he came here, he did nothing but try to make amends.” She groaned. “Come on”, I insisted. “You've seen it, he's been nothing but kind, and thoughtful, and actually a great help for my thesis.”

“He also eats people, Eris”, she remarked.

“He told me he didn't kill anyone since he got here, and I believe him.”

“Because he actually is trustworthy, or just because you want to believe him?”

By all means, she wasn't wrong. I mean none of her worries were anything I hadn't thought of myself. I sat up, and started un-lacing my bodice.

“You don't know him like I do”, I told her, softly, knowing this wouldn't do anything to convince her. “Let's just go to sleep, for now, I'm exhausted.”

She reluctantly agreed, and we disrobed, significantly faster than we dressed up. I though my corset would be ruined, but only the lacing on the back was cleanly cut, without even a dent in the ivory silk. In the wardrobe, I was almost surprised to find modern clothing. For the most part, he had my sense of style pretty well figured-out. Not finding any underwear was disappointing, as I had followed Leah's advice on not wearing a bra underneath the corset, but also a bit reassuring, to be honest. Leah opted for a simple plaid shirt, that would have been a bit large on me, and therefore fell almost to her knees. I found an oversize black pajama ensemble, made of the softest wooly cotton. I joined Leah under the covers, and didn't have to wait long until she dozed off, her breathing becoming more regular, and calm.

I carefully removed myself from the bed, and slipped into a large dressing gown. I slowly opened the door, trying not to make the floorboards or the hinges creak. I only opened it enough to shuffle through, and exited into the corridor.

The silence was only disturbed by the muffled sound of the waves, and my own breathing. I didn't turn on any lights, as the full moon was well enough to see perfectly well. I wandered back to the living room, and walked to the bay windows. One was open, leaving a cool breeze inside. Wrapping myself tighter in my robe, I stepped outside, wincing at the feeling of cold stone under my feet. Over at the corner of the terrace, Vlad was leaning onto the balustrade, his hair disheveled by the soft wind. He also had a change of clothes, and had only kept his trousers, his shirt, and his cape, thrown over his shoulders. I suspected this was mostly a question of style, as I doubted he could even feel the cold. His gaze seemed lost over the horizon, watching the moon go down on the ocean. As I approached him, he turned his attention to me, smiling.

“I knew you were good at sneaking around.”

“Please, I bet you could hear me breathing from the other side of the house.”

“Breathing, not so much, but I can hear your heart.” He was leaning on his elbow, head cocked to the side. Arrogant. I sighed, and took in the mesmerizing view a moment. No signs of cars, lamps, or electric poles in sight. Only the moon, and the ocean's soothing voices.

“Do you like the house ?”, he asked, softly as not to disturb my reverie.

“I love it.”

He laughed at the speed of my reply. “Well, I hoped you would.” He took a pause. “I am sorry about Leah, however. I know you did not want her dragged into all of this, and because of my blindness, she has-”

Before he could finish, I set the tips of my fingers on his mouth, effectively closing it.

“If anything, it's my fault. I should have told her a while ago, I just never had the courage to do it...”

He took my hand in his, strangely warm, contrary to what I expected. I felt my heart sink into my chest as a question rose to my mind.

“Vlad, I...”, I started, hesitant. He nodded slightly, encouraging me to continue. “What Carmilla said, back on the overlook...”

I became physically incapable of saying one more word, my heart beating out of my chest for no reason. No reason at all.

“You want to know if she was right ?”

Gods, that voice, that deep, silky voice. Maybe it was on purpose that he talked in a hushed tones, maybe to drive me mad, or not outshine the ocean singing below. I nodded, unable to look him in the eyes. He called out my name, barely a whisper. He let go of my hand, only to pull me closer, an arm around my waist, his other hand cupping my cheek. So warm... He took a moment, playing with a strand of my hair, sliding a finger along my jawline, and slowly running his hand along my neck. I couldn't help a gasp as a sharp nail traced over my veins. He hummed, seemingly amused with my reaction.

“Are you still scared of me ?”, he asked.

I couldn't tell if he really spoke, or if I heard him in my mind.

“No”, I breathed out.

Really ?

His lips brushed past mine, then on my jawline, and my neck. In a very poor instinct, I let my head fall back. The somewhat familiar feeling of his sharp teeth on my skin sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes.

“I trust you”, I whispered, leaning back onto the balustrade.

He opened his mouth, letting me feel his hot breath on my cold neck. For a second, his fangs pressed against my skin, soon replaced by a kiss, on the crook of my jaw, right below the ear. I giggled, and he closed his arms around my waist. Expectantly, he seemed to wait, for permission. For mercy.

I wasn't too long to grant it. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I closed the final space between us. As soon as my lips touched his, my heart stopped a moment, or several. I felt him sigh a second, and pull me closer. He was slow, intimate, perfect in every way. I felt electricity run through my body. His lips parted mine, and-

Everything was red.

The sea lapping at my ankles, the sky bursting with gold and blood under a starry indigo. Everything was the same as I last left. I turned around, and found him standing back.

“Here ?”

“I told you before, wherever you want to be.”

I ran to him, and threw my hands around his neck, and he wrapped his around me, lifting me off the ground.

“Makes sense it's with you, then”, I whispered, and kissed him again.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

Text

Slice of Life Dumptruck Raven Comm

Commission of a continuation of a previous fic with a hyper butt Raven with a massive appetite, continuing with her getting even bigger and more sexually charged, showing her having a regular day!

Contains hyper butt sexiness, smut scenes, giantess Raven, some mild sexy upgrades for the other Titans, Starfire being adamant about showing off Raven’s gloriousness, Beast Boy being a bit of a pest and engaging on some hyper Raven loving, and John Constantine being a bit of a dick.

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Mornings in Titans Tower were a lazy affair, and in their earlier years and Robin’s attempts at instituting some kind of schedule, trying to make them all wake up on schedule was fairly pointless.

The Titans, back when they’d been a group of superpower-tier teenagers, had enough troubles when it came to sleeping consistently. Robin’s highly demanding daily personal routine was ironically the most normal among them, as he was an ordinary human. There was consistency in what he required. The same couldn’t be said of Starfire (a broadly humanoid alien undergoing puberty metamorphosis), Cyborg (who had so little human biology left that it was honestly debatable how much of him really was that same boy who almost died in an accident), Beast Boy (a chimera with biology best described as ‘an actual mess, how the hell are you even alive at this point’), and then.

And then, there was Raven.

She wasn’t human either; her father was a demon lord of great power, and maturity had mutated her into something distinctly monstrous (if attractively so); her teenage years had been a nightmare, often literally, as she’d grown and transformed into the ravenous giantess she’d become. Sleep had been a luxury, not a nightly activity.

They were grown now; they were all adults, and those days were long behind them, but the habits remained, and they all awoke at their own pace when emergencies didn’t force the matter. They took a very casual approach to their daily schedules.

Now the horrible light of morning came through the windows, against the door to Raven’s room.

The thing about Raven’s room was that it nicely highlighted some of the ways she’d changed. As a younger woman, Raven had tended towards dour and frightening attitudes as a form of self defense, for others if not herself; getting too close for her had been... dangerous. Her door had been a a spiky and ominous thing, the sort of door that even someone who disdained flowery language would find themselves struggling not to call a dread portal.

This door was significantly bigger than in her youth. The walls in general had been redesigned, for that matter; the enormously thick walls looked fit for a blast-proof bunker hull, rising several stories off the ground to a high ceiling, with the general effect being that trucks could have parked in there with room to spare. It made a lot of open space, with clever uses of surface details preventing it from looking oppressively open. The doorway to her room reached nearly to that ceiling.

It wasn’t as needlessly spooky as memory recalled. It was still kind of spooky; Raven had her aesthetic preferences, though these days she leaned more towards ‘extreme punk’ than ‘goth that talks to elder horrors’. Dark convex surfaces had been shaped just right, and with a good polish to distort any reflected images.

More notably, though, it was enormous. The whole thing was split into a double door, wider even than it was tall; and considering that it was nearly thirty feet high, standing in front of it could be a daunting prospect.

There was some commotion on the other side, in the distinctive tones that someone was, despite their best efforts, awake. There was a lot of dragged sounds and grumbles, and the clatter of things apparently flying around and smacking into each other, and the increasing tread of something very, very big approaching.

The doors opened, and two things were clear: the first, the door was built to Raven’s size, in all its seemingly oversized glory, and that it was still too small.

The second detail was that Raven was a towering, hyper curvy giantess, and very inhuman-looking at that.

She yawned, and the sound made the windows rattle; her jaws stretched wide, impossibly wide, enough to swallow a normal human whole if she’d been human-sized. But no, she was far larger than that. She would have been a towering, terrifying sight from a human perspective, the average person only tall enough to peer up from below her knee in awe. Raven stood nearly to the ceiling, her demonic heritage having rebuilt her body into a far larger and imposing frame, properly able to harness the essence of her father (Whom she had devoured years ago, absorbing his power and speeding up a transformation into her present form).

Her body was, broadly, still human. She was a biped, she had a human-like face, she was still roughly humanlike. But her hips accounted for much of the door’s alarming width; they were enormously broad, even wider than she was tall, most of her mass concentrated into hips that were apparently (from the fluid way she swayed, oily and fascinating to watch) far broader than normal human hips, presenting some intriguing differences in the way she moved. At least forty percent of her weight was concentrated into those hips, but not just her hips.

She took a step; a good portion of that weight was in her thighs, and they were just as wide as her hips, the broad and jiggling masses barely tensing as she shifted her gait forward. She took a step, and the tower didn’t shake, but it felt like it should have. Nothing that big should land without some kind of dramatic impact. Her thighs wobble, and kept doing so after her other leg followed, and her thighs were so broad that they never stopped touching in the middle. They weren’t particularly firm either; their jiggle was genuinely fatty bouncing, and a single glance made it clear that if you didn’t resist the urge to slam your body into those legs, you’d sink in until you hit solid muscle and that would probably take a while.

Raven yawned again. Her face was an interesting matter; her features hadn’t become unrecognizable, though the multiple eyes she had sometimes developed while in the throes of power had become permanent; one pair was still shut and a hand rubbing away sleepiness, the other pair reluctantly blinking in the sunlight.

Many small, little pips across her skin suggested places where piercings had been fitted, waiting to be filled up today. There were dozens of them; on her nose, her eyebrows, on her ears, so many of them that in places she looked like she had tried to tattoo herself with traditional needles but had forgotten to use in. From the bridge of her nose to the entirety of her lips, there wasn’t a single part of her face that wasn’t pierced somewhere.

It was hard to tell on her lips, admittedly. They had swollen enormously, protruding out by half the span of one of her own fingers; they were not distended but puffy, genuinely firm, their surfaces a smooth and darker grey like colored latex, rippling and tasting at the air with their moist contours in an unique form of sensory examination. From below her nose, to past her chin, her massive lips swelled out, her mouth nearly lost within their inviting, puffed depths.

As her mouth opened wider, many monstrous teeth could be seen, and so many of them were completely inhuman, and it was hard to imagine what sort of diet would produce such a mess of teeth; long needles like an anglerfish’s grew in crumpled masses alongside the heavy tearing fangs of some dreadful apex predator. In random rows, other kinds of teeth grew, apparently at complete random. A student of dentistry might have found it fascinating, in a perverse way.

Raven yawned more, and her tongue lolled out. By the point where it had swelled out thicker around than her head and was sliding past her collar bone, it was clear that her tongue was definitely not very human anymore, either. But that was a minor matter as she walked.

Now, Raven had been moving, yes. But she had taken only small steps, essentially shuffling along. This didn’t really make it more approachable that her backside still hadn’t cleared the doorway, and with its wobbling, spherical contours gradually coming into view, it was reasonable to assume that the door had been specifically made to accommodate that enormous butt in the first place.

Raven’s hips, in all their grander, served as a framework of sorts for that butt; sticking out nearly nine feet from her body, the two globes gently swayed with the direction of her hips, the force of her steps sending rippling shockwaves through them so that each sway of her hips put her butt into a state of perpetual, never-ending jiggle. Roughly twenty tons or more of butt wobbled enticingly, even hypnotically, mostly uncovered by a nightshirt that hunt on her like a tent but was unable to fully cover her hips or most of her butt, and as she moved, the only word to probably encapsulate the sight of a massive butt roughly the size of a dump truck’s cab drifting through the air with her advance was awe-inspiring.

Raven paused, glancing back and her multiple eyes rolling back to see if Robin, asleep in a definitely oversized Raven-class bed, was looking her way. He was not, but lay in a canopy of blankets, still sound asleep from the work out her languid but extremely powerful hips had delivered him last night.

She paused, just for a moment. More than the usual pair of hands braced against the doorway, with twice the usual shoulders; Raven had grown an extra pair of arms, smaller and more splindly than her starter set, the skin scaled or perhaps chitinous, and the hands from these were heavily clawed. Her original arms had also developed claws, but not needle-like ones such as those.

They touched upon the wall softly, though, and Raven stared into the room. As she did, her nightshirt twisted around her breasts, which while perhaps not quite as large as her hips in overall mass, were far larger than a normal human. You could have fit a normal human into them, in fact; they were roughly the size of bean bag beds. They were slightly larger around than her torso, extending away from her body by several feet… all two pairs of them. Much like her arms, Raven had grown an extra set of breasts, just as large as her original pair, making a strangely attractive set of bulges against the front of her shirt. It didn’t quite obscure the healthy, distended swell of a big and very well-fed gut that was apparently just big enough to hang over her waist.

Raven leaned slightly to one side, and briefly, her stoicism cracked. She smiled faintly at Robin, who loved her as the whole team did, and still warm with the emotions of love and satisfaction wafting from him, she swaggered off, a hand against her heavy belly.

It grumbled at her touch, and loudly. Raven was hungry these days, always hungry; even when full, her gut constantly grumbled and begged for more food to churn up, and the process of digestion itself was almost unbearably pleasurable for her.

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In the kitchen, there was Starfire.

She was floating over the kitchen, cheerfully cooking breakfast for the whole team on a whim. Perhaps she floated in the air to show off, even just to herself. It was more likely, however, that she was doing it to keep herself from bumping against the counters and potentially knock things over. Starfire was a large woman, standing over eight feet tall with ease, and she was heavily built at that.

Her breasts, even bound to avoid inconvenient bouncing, were nearly the size of volleyballs. One arm, picking up a huge and overstuffed tray with one hand, was broader across than the average man, swollen with impressive degrees of muscular development. Her skin appeared to be a dark brown, but her alien physiology absorbed sunlight and turned into to the resource much of her powers drew upon so that her body glowed a faint yellow-orange color, giving the impression that a very curvaceous and humanoid star was standing there.

She wasn’t quite as imposingly massive as Raven, not proportionately anyway, but she was very big all the same. A great cloud of red hair fell past her waist, not quite obscured a butt jutting out by several feet and hips more than two feet across. Amazonian was a good description of her (though not in the sense of her having anything to do with the warrior-sages of Thymiscira, though they tended to have the same build).

By now, Raven had drifted into the room, not so much walking as skulking in with momentum, and had managed to fit her way into a table built specifically for her scale. It was already heavily laden with a massive mound of food geared for her ravenous appetites, and Starfire flew over, adding more to the pile.

Starfire floated at shoulder height, smiling at her and trying to tone down her tendency to be a morning person. “Lover Raven! You are ready for breakfasting?”

Raven nodded gravely. “Of course.” Starfire laid a tray on a specific table, laden with high calorie-meals; sausages, eggs, columns of bacon, fatty and energizing foods ideal for an apex predator.

Raven leaned close, sniffing longingly, building up her appetite. Mm.” she said, and as she did, her jaw grew wider, elongating, and a tongue lolled out. Both grew to sizes impossible for a human; her jaws telescoped a foot apart… and then two feet apart, and wider still. Her tongue seemed to swell, rolling away from masses of mismatched teeth as long as a man’s hand was wide, and the tongue lengthened, extending all the way down to her waist, still expanding out so that by the time it dipped into the nearest bowl of oatmeal, it was wide across as her waist line, tastebuds thickened into micro-spikes that wiggled and tasted the available treats.

Her tongue curled around the bowl and flexed, the incredibly strong and dexterous muscle flipped the bowl up into a mouth wide enough for a human body to slide into. The bowl slapped down, into her gaping maw, and Raven’s lips sealed around it, blind to anything else in her hunger. There was a fearsome sucking sound, like something caught in a suction pump, and a faint bulge in her throat as all the oatmeal was sucked right down. She carefully took out a bowl and set it down; it was spotlessly clean now.

“More,” Raven grumbled, to herself, sitting down and making her mouth even wider, lowering her maw to the repast. Starfire chuckled as Raven lifted a plate of waffles to her mouth with her tongue, gulping it down. After a moment she spat out the plate (already corroded by digestive fluids) and turned her attention to other food, patiently shoving it down her gullet with a complete indifference to manners, her massive quad-breasts pushing against the table.

Starfire left her to it, preparing the rest of the other’s food. Heavy plates of pancakes for Cyborg (whose organic parts required high energy foods, the rest of his nutrition dependant on his mechanical part’s intake), a vegetarian diet for Beast Boy, who had allowed his digestive system to be an obligate herbivore due to his conflicted feelings and instincts, and Robin’s own food had largely been cribbed from diets suited to athletes.

Raven continually picked up dish after dish with her four hands, holding them steady as she devoured them one at a time. She didn’t shovel her food down, though it looked like such; she tasted her food even while it was inside her body, tastebuds growing all the way down her throat and even into her guts, so she had a different concept of savoring. She ate quickly, unwilling to resist the impulse to satisfy her more gluttonous urges. By the time Starfire finished her own and fairly mysterious dishes, Raven had polished off the last of the plates. She was a considerate eater; she picked up all her plates by levitating them into stacks, and stood up with them, the double couches she’d been sitting on creaking as her massive ass rose up into the air. She nodded to Starfire and waddled towards the sink, washing her dishes.

The other titans, over the next half hour or so, gradually wandered into the kitchen, sleepy eyed and mumbling.

Lean, athletic and something of a darling among the hero community, Robin shuffled in and improbably, he was still wearing a domino mask. It was a sleeping mask, at least, so he was learning to adjust for the times.

Around the same time, a small and green fluffy velociraptor hopped into the room. “Sup, guys!” It said brightly, and, like some old-fashioned speculation about evolution, suddenly transformed into the form of a bird and fluttered up, onto one of Raven’s heavy shoulders. It was Beast Boy, their shapeshifting teammate, and he had least had the presence of mind not to pester Raven. She was definitely not a morning person.

Robin said down, yawning heavily and blinking. As he started to eat, Cyborg walked in, whistling amiably to himself; only a few feet shorter than Starfire, his mechanical body big enough to be nearly as wide as her own, he’d designed his own look to be similar to a bodybuilder’s, and today he’d swapped into a modular body that mostly resembled an organic human, if you didn’t pay attention to the seamlines and mechanical joints. While he could have passed for human, he was still mechanical and benefited from a lack of sleepiness as long as he had a full charge. Various glands and hormones had their roles fulfilled by mechanical functions, and still trying to shrug off sleepiness, Raven felt quite envious. “Morning!” He said brightly.

Robin grunted, and Beast Boy (face deep into some kind of oatmeal) made indifferent noises. “Morning, friend!” Starfire said cheerfully, swallowing up a bowl of something steamed and thinly sliced and also bright green, and she raised an enormously well-muscle arm larger across than Robin’s entire body, though it was far short of Raven’s own mass.

Raven waved vaguely at him with one of her free arms. She absently pulled up her slipping panties; the various chains tying the two pieces of lacy cloth together were sinking so deeply into her plush butt, they were starting to fall right off.

They were remarkably all indifferent to one another being nearly nude, and no one was embarrassed about it. They ate in peace, a comforting sense of stability oozing up from around them all. This was a normal morning, and the presence of one another was a contentment.

Raven had been around people who’d been married long enough to settle into a comforting routine, and oblivious to their more embarrassing habits. She was too embarrassed to admit how the easy openness between herself, Starfire, Robin, Cyborg and Beast Boy felt so very similar.

They finished breakfast in peace. The rest of the day felt almost oppressively demanding, so for the moment, they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

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Early in the day was always tense. For about an hour or two, they would wait for something to happen, and it tended to set the day’s mood. Villain activity, or more mundane criminal action, generally started then. If more happened, it would be obvious right there.

Two hours passed. The clock ticked past ten in the morning, and nothing of consequence happened. An internal sigh of relief came to them, and it became clear that today would be a peaceful day.

The morning went on, and they gradually drifted towards the living room, changing into more casual clothes.

“Come on-nnn!” Beast Boy whined, randomly morphing from any form with manipulators, trying to keep his control in his grip. His green body shifted from chimpanzee to octopus, to more exotic forms. He squinted with various eyes, wiggling furiously at the competitive fighting game on the TV, his attention span as sharply focused as a raptor that had spotted prey.

Cyborg laughed, his mechanical eye narrowed, various mental processes kicking in as he rapidly conceived of a dozen counters of an instant, and Beast Boy’s attempts to take the match were overturned instantly. “I told you to stick with a main.”

“Hey, we just got this download. I’m not waiting on a new character!” Beast Boy, settling down a bit, shifted into his native form. It was humanoid, at least; that was the most definite thing you could say about him. A baggy T-shirt and grungy pants hung over a body that was in constant, though steady, flux. Skin, fur, scales and feathers flowed across his body, and whether he was lean and muscular or thick-set and huggable seemed to vary by the moment. His mouth was full of sharp teeth and what clicked against his controller were heavy claws, though.

Cyborg sucked in air and let it out in a dismissive snort. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, man.”

From a gigantic couch that was otherwise mostly occupied by the two girls, Robin was watching, in a vague way, but mostly he was talking with Starfire. “I know the Nightwing look is really good and stylish, and I dunno, it feels good to be more nice, but lately I’ve been feeling it for the Red Hood look.” A fairly tall and fit young man with the built of a gymnast, he sat on Starfire’s lap with room to spare. He was dressed in pale blue and black, a jacket blending so seamlessly into skinny jeans that they seemed a one-piece, but he looked indecisive about sticking with that look. He glanced at the screen. “Ooh. Beast Boy, you really need to ease off on the aggressive game play. Cy’s defense game is too good.”

“Don’t be spoiling all my secrets!” Cyborg said indignantly.

Starfire leaned forward, her huge breast setting onto Robin and smothering his entire head with their sheer amplitude. Today’s outfit, a purple affair, a sports bra and runner’s shorts, seemed selected to emphasize her powerful body, and perhaps to emphasize this, Robin’s body was slimmer than either of her thighs, which his body was sinking into. “I recommend aggression! Destroy, Beast Boy! LEAVE NONE STANDING BEFORE YOU!”

“Star,” Cyborg said patiently. “He’s playing as a speedster type; one good hit and he’ll go flying!”

“You can’t prove that!” Beast Boy protested. Cyborg immediately did so, with a sound of another stock being subtracted from Beast Boy. “Doesn’t count!”

Starfire leaned back, releasing Robin’s head from the prison of her boobs; he looked totally unperturbed. “Which outfit shows off more of your body?” She asked him, in a tone as curious as it was lascivious.

“Eh. I’m not sure that’s really my thing-” He squeaked as he leaned forward, hugging him in her strong arms.

“Are you sure?” Starfire whispered into his ear, playfully. She wiggled into one edge of Raven’s butt beside her, rising up like a secondary couch, and it was possibly unintentional. Possibly.

All the same, it would have been hard for her not to. Raven’s massive butt occupied the entire couch, with Starfire sitting upon an outlying region of Raven’s butt, and Raven was mostly ignoring what the others were doing, minding her own business. She spoke into a phone, with some agitation; her two pairs of breasts wobbling indignantly beneath an expansive t-shirt she’d put on. Her belly was visible as an outward swell, though it wasn’t particularly tight; her belly was just big enough to make it a moot point.

Now she leaned forwards, her head close to bumping into the ceiling, horns starting to grow through her hair. “I am not doing you another deal, Constantine!” She said firmly. “You owe me a dozen times over, and I’m calling in that favor now!”

“Come on,” said a sly voice on the other side of the phoneline. “All I need you to do is swallow up this one demon. That’s practically a hobby for you, yeah?”

“No,” She said firmly. “We made a deal, now own up. Did you send it to this place or not?”

“I dunno. My memory’s gotten pretty sloppy lately. Maybe if I didn’t have so much on my mind I might think more clearly…”

“Constantine, I swear. I will find you and I will sit on you.”

There was a pause, as if of someone getting put completely off track and having to think fast. “...That’s a bluff, right?”

“Depends. Do you want to find out how easy it is to… disappear underneath me, first hand?” Raven said, coolly.

There was a pause. Raven’s gigantic, jiggling ass was legendary in superhero circles, and the uses she put it to were even more famous. “...Sit on me in a sexy way, or a crushing way?”

Raven licked her gigantic lips, briefly, her tongue teasing her rubbery pillows at the thought of feeling anyone pinned beneath her very sensitive bottom, no matter who it was. It was no bluff when she murmured, “It’s me. There’s no difference there.”

The other Titans gave her a significant look, contemplating their own experiences with the intimate aspects of her butt, and each of them laughed sarcastically. Raven held her head high, trying to stay dignified.

Constantine said, eventually, perhaps looking something up, “Yeah, it’s there. Take your time, girl, it’ll be in.”

“It’d better be, if you don’t want to be a seat.”

“Hey, don’t make promises you’re not gonna keep.”

Raven hung up and, banishing her phone into the instantly retrieved zones of where things go when you don’t need them anymore, sat up. “I’m gonna head out, guys. I’ve got some…” a vague sense of sexual intent pulsed at her, with her food digesting in her guts. “Business to take care of. Itch or two to scratch. Does anyone want to come with me?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Cyborg said, nodding at her.

“I will go with you!” Starfire said brightly. “I’ve my own errand to take care of. Perhaps I could go with you partway?”

“I’m in!” Beast Boy said cheerfully. “Every heroine needs a plucky sidekick, you know.”

Robin slid off Starfire’s thighs. “You guys can head on out, I should probably get to training before I slack off.”

Starfire frowned. “Lover Robin, you push yourself much too hard!” She gave Raven a look; a single glance can say a lot, and in this case this particular one said we really need to have a talk about him doing all that.

Raven exchanged a look, and this one said I’ll do my best not to break into pieces, but maybe that will get him tired.

Starfire raised an eyebrow. Not like that!

Raven shrugged with all four arms. Sorry. Misread that one.

-------

Raven got dressed thereafter, and with Starfire and Beast Boy in tow, headed out.

Her mere presence could clear out a sidewalk fast; nothing made people wary of being bowled over like the distinctive sound of her sled-sized high heeled boots stomping into the concrete and leaving holes the sizes of fists.

Now, Raven landed, Beast Boy upon one shoulder in the form of a bird, and Starfire flying behind her. Raven moved, heading in the general direction of a local club that tended to her particular desires fairly well, and now she strode down the street.

She dominated it without trying. As Starfire landed beside her, Raven’s leather jacket flapping behind her like a cape, but voluminous as it was, it couldn’t cover up the gradual wobbles of a multi-ton butt with cheeks broader across than the face of a truck, shaken by the impact she made when landing.

Raven cut a dramatic figure; all four of her breasts bound up in shiny bikinis, a pair of micro shorts so small they almost qualified as a thong by some legal definitions; very tall high heel boots mirrored by leather arm-gloves, all worn under a purple leather coat with a hemline down past her knees, a ruff of feathers around the collar, she cut a figure somewhere between ‘mega sex’ and ‘badass punk’.

Now, at this time of day, there were certainly people around, and there was enough of a crowd to satisfy Raven’s growing taste for at least being seen. She was not, on the whole, an exhibitionist, or someone who wanted to be worshiped (or at least not yet), but she did like to feel… appreciated, in a way.

Now, there were plenty of people not frightened off by her advance, turning to see her. They stopped in mid step or sat up from bus stops, turning to stare at her. Raven perceived emotional states as much as a physical one, and they radiated with the vibrant light of awe, and the pressured currents of list as well.

Starfire did her part to indicate Raven as well, patting her on the thigh and making some considerable ripples. Raven walked, and as they did, Starfire gestured forcefully at Raven, as if to remind them that here she was!

Raven tried not to smile; she did have an image to keep. Her face glowed with piercings, each little indent now properly filled up, rings and chains and studs lining her face with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“Is that really necessary?” She managed to say, even so.

“It most assuredly is,” Starfire said primly. Now she was floating up and patting Raven’s upper breast, so it was wobbling just right to catch the eye and make everyone see. “Hello, there!” She said, waving to the crowd.

Raven waved a hand. The dozens of rings on her fingers and her little claw trinkets clattered politely. “Hey.”

There were about two dozen people on the sidewalk today; even with the benefit of knowing she was coming, they were still gobsmacked by her sheer presence. It wasn’t just that Raven had an ass that could destroy trucks with an idle hip-check, nor the intriguing nature of her more inhuman features. She exuded a raw and sensual, bestial charisma that naturally drew people towards her. People didn’t seem aware of their gazes drifting towards her, their eyes magnetically drawn to the swell of her lips, the steely gaze of her multiple eyes, their backs straightening and their thighs loosening as she spoke. Their every thought turning towards her, unable to resist the siren-like draw of her.

They looked up at her, with various feelings. Some looked at the ground, too embarrassed to look directly at her, or Starfire; it didn’t help that Starfire was a hyper-sexual beacon of desirability themselves.

Beast Boy, thus far, went unnoticed, but he liked it that way. All the better to take a drama moment, he liked to say.

As they advanced, and the sheer presence of Raven was something to adjust to, a few people dared to look at her and Starfire. It was more difficult to look away once you did. It was like a planetoid falling into the orbit of a larger object and being sort of confined into that orbit and just going onwards. Some glanced awkwardly to her and back, too embarrassed to simply gaze directly at her but too drawn to her to simply… pretend she wasn’t there.

Raven glanced at them, imperiously, and even this little movement made her two rows of breasts (each one roughly the weight of a small car) quaver, with a very heavy sloshing noise suggesting rich milk; mouths watered at the sound, instinctively drawn to the thought of what it might taste like despite any normal reservations about something like that. It didn’t help that Raven’s idea of a top (and intended to look as sexy as possible at the club) was a sparkling bikini apparently made of latex, one for both sets and connected to each other with a complicated assembly running down her back, attached to piercings placed along her lower back and spine; the bikini tops were connected to coverings placed atop her heavily pierced nipples. Her nipples pressed faintly against the fabric, and the complicated swirls and bars of her nipple piercings pressed harder. Over all that, she wore a translucent black top, highlighting her upper body.

Her high heeled boots shifted. In theory, she could have just flown past these people without trouble.

Starfire glanced up at her expectantly. Some part of Raven loved the adoration, the love of people like this.

Hrm. After a moment, Raven nodded curtly at Starfire.

With a delighted noise, Starfire flew up to the crowd, looming over them even with just a small hover. They focused upon her, and she crooked a finger at them, commanding with the air of someone born to dominate. They obliged, drifting closer, as Beast Boy took flight as a bird, making sure that there weren’t any cars coming or anything like that.

Now Starfire held them still, and gestured at the towering beauty that was Raven. “Just look at her!” She said loudly. “Come now, human friends! I must ask you to be most sincere! Please, tell me; can you really look upon her and not be entranced by her, as I am?”

She said this with such sincerity, such total earnestness, that a lot of the crowd looked ashamed without being entirely clear why. Taking some pity on Starfire’s sense of drama, Raven stepped down with a foot longer than a grown man’s thigh, shod in a massive high heeled boot that could probably serve as a drilling tool with the spikes on it. From the wear and tear on it (essential for punky looks), it already had. The stiletto heels on the back seemed to be actual repurposed blades, blunted to work as heels, and brought her already massive height up to another foot or so.

“Simply behold the splendor of these mighty thighs!” Starfire demanded,and she drew quite a few appreciative looks from people who liked buff women that could crush them. Starfire seemed disinterested in encouraging them to look at her sculpted abs and bubble butt, though, and smacked Raven’s thighs, her hand briefly sinking into flesh so soft and voluminous that Starfire’s arm sank into it, up to the elbow. Raven’s many eyes closed in pleasure and her stance adjusted, and her thighs slapped into a new position to fill all available space immediately around her, for twenty-five feet of soft flesh spilling around the tops of her knee high boots. Black latex rippled up those thighs into her shorts, possibly intended to be daring pantyhose at one point until her thighs had shredded most of it, but it was a good look even so.

“Do please turn around!” Starfire urged.

Raven made a soft, hungry noise in agreement. She turned around, her hips swaying with a see-saw notion restricted to someone with an inhumanly wide pelvis.

Beast Boy flew back over head as Raven finished turning and the crowd let loose a gasp of awe as Raven’s ass faced them properly; it wasn’t quite as gargantuan as her hips and thighs, but it was still a sight seared into their memories and hot-wired straight into new definitions of lust for them; projecting out by nearly nine feet, and twenty-five feet cheek-to-cheek, it bumped against a wall as she turned and crumpled that wall inwards, and finally it wobbled into place as she took a final thunderous step to steady herself, and it took over a minute for the jiggly surface of her mostly exposed butt to slow down.

Not stop; it was too soft, for that.

Beast Boy alighted upon one butt cheek, assuming his human-ish form. He sprawled down, belly against her butt and hips resting firmly upon the wealth of Raven butt beneath him, and there was no cloth to get in the way. Raven’s shorts were incredibly skimpy, looping around the swell of her groin, curved around her butt and presented a bare minimum of legal modesty, and that was the best it could do. Her hips and butt warped and transformed all clothing it encountered, so that this kind of outfit was simply inevitable.

As it was, Raven’s butt had a lot of jiggle to go around, her shorts a thin band around the middle that pushed up both high slopes and lower regions of butt, and the resulting tension gave her a continuous jiggle.

Beast Boy exacerbated it. Sinking deep into her ass, he shifted through a wild variety of incredibly heavy forms and then very small ones, the force impacting her butts tendency to absorb and instantly squish with any kinetic force, for a truly exaggerated jiggle.

Raven’s butt simply had so much volume that there appeared to be a limitless amount of squishy butt to go around, and the jelly-like swings were… hypnotizing, the people around them found. Even the most modest or stern were unable to stop from glancing and now, they couldn’t look away. Plenty of them had a strong urge to approach… maybe sinke their hands into it, just once...

It wasn’t enough for Starfire, though. She shook her head despairingly, and briefly she clasped her hands together, as if meditating at the folly of her friend being slowly to truly learn the ways of showing off Raven’s volume. “Friends! You do well, I assure you, but…” she hovered closer, until her toned abs bumped right into Raven’s jiggling ass and actually pushed it back. Her muscular body didn’t so much as flinch as roughly 20 metric tons of butt rested upon her, and her strong arms raised out. “Lovely people of our city!”

Starfire’s hair shimmered like flame, and her eyes glowed a vibrant green as her emotion-based powers responded to the fierce joy and desire throbbing in her from her thoughts to her hips. She seized hold of Raven’s butt, her hands edging against the swells of two massive cheeks far larger than she was, and she concentrated power, a lambent light shining from her skin like a banked flame.

She glowed.

It was like a sun appearing right in the middle of the street; light, or even a liquid green fire, shone through the orange light of her skin and Starfire’s already massive muscles swelled up even bigger, her shoulders either hunching or growing so disproportionately big relative to her body that it had the same impression.

Starfire lifted upwards. Raven’s enormous posterior shelf rose up, and up, growing distinct from her thighs; the latex film around it grew more thin, translucent and stretched as it rose upwards over Starfire’s head, and an enquiring mind might have noticed that a lot of the holes in the latex were just the right size for Starfire’s hands. Those same hands sank in as the weight of Raven’s butt overwhelmed her lifting strength, flowing down and over her arms, soft butt-fat encasing her forearms, going past her elbows and continuing onwards, until the bulk of Raven’s butt was nearly back to its original position.

Starfire sank her hands in, deeply, working her shoulders and greater strength, and Raven made soft, gasping noises as she did, the enormous sensitivity of her butt only exacerbated by its open exposure to the air, and oh, Starfire’s hot hands, the dexterity of her fingers, the power flowing against her own soft and yielding flesh…

Starfire floated up, lifting more of Raven’s butt into the air, so much that Beast Boy disappeared from sight, pressed between Raven’s broad back and the rising mass of the imposing backside. And feeling them wriggle against her, almost fully pulled into her butt, contrasted by the heat of Starfire’s expert ministrations, Raven nearly moaned out loud, her iron self-control severely strained in the moment.

Her shoulders leaned back, all two pairs; her broader and original pair, her thick arms twitching towards her groin with sexual intent, before she stopped herself. And a lower pair of arms, slimmer and the hooked claws demonic in nature, so overwhelmed with lust they had to feel something, anything at all. Fortunately there were her massive breasts, all four of them. Normally she might have had to sink her hands underneath a shirt or other tops for the pleasure of it, but today she wore no shirt at all, only a translucent black cloth over her torso.

The monstrous claws of her lower arms squeezed her breasts, sinking into the wrist; her nipples moved in a way more like mouths, puffing up so much they made an indent against the fabric, and something liquid dripped against her bikinis. It was absorbed, but still, the crowd saw her. And that fact got Raven even more excited.

And Starfire, sensing her moment, let the twenty tons of butt drop. It was a slow and ponderous fall, like the descent of mountains, and there were already ripples spreading out as it went down, the eyes of the crowd glued to it, Beast Boy’s weight pressing deep on it as well, and then Starfire made her final move.

Before the ripples had even finished spreading and the full impact extended to Raven’s equally jiggly thighs, Starfire gave Raven’s butt incredibly massive double smacks, both hands rising up, and up-

And then crashing down with a thunderous clap that broke several nearby windows.

With the power of Starfire’s strength behind it, that massive butt soared up, now rippling in dozens of different directions at once, the impression of hands clearly visible, and struck together, with all the force of both Raven’s normal weighty wobbling and the force imparted by Starfire.

There was another clap, and this one was far louder as the cheeks met, Raven’s yell distinctly orgasmic. And the impact was seen from over a mile away.

When the shockwave died away, the sidewalks lay in a ruin of concrete and impact waves mashed in. The street was smashed up and in dire need of repair (which Raven went to fix, waving a hand shakily); the crowd was laying at Raven’s boots, adoration in their eyes and their mouths open, pleadingly. Starfire floated proudly behind them, hands behind her back and she beamed proudly. Beast Boy remained shaken somewhere upon her backside, and really, that was the best you could say for them now.

“That,” Starfire said smugly as Raven indulged the crowd by allowing them to grope her as she passed, too lustful to resist the opportunity. “Is how you show her body the love it requires!”

--------

Raven continued on her way, the need more pressing than ever before thanks to Starfire’s loving ministrations, and unfortunately Starfire herself had apologized but already left by now, her own errands calling her away.

Raven had waved her off, and continued on her way. She counted herself lucky that’d she had been planning on this to begin with.

Now, she, still accompanied by Beast Boy, floated down on her own towards a nightclub, the other Titans apparently gone, a thrill of pleasure still burning hot in her hand demanding it be stoked further. The meeting she’d arranged earlier did beckon, but at the moment, Raven had some other needs that needed to be satisfied.

The night club was a suitably spooky-looking one, ironically modeled to resemble a religious building of sorts; various neon signs indicated that it was a place of worshiping the body, and she was probably a regular here, given a Raven-sized doorway.

As they approached a small green bird alighted on her shoulder; Beast Boy squawked once, getting his vocal cords in order, and he was disinclined to leave at this point. “Why come here? Don’t suppose this is a meet up place for that thing you need?”

“Not really. This is a… physical need thing.”

“A what now?”

Raven gave him a look. “Please do not make me be specific. You know it’s awkward talking about that.”

A brief pause. “Oh. Oh! I get ya.” He looked a bit concerned, as much as it was possible to tell with a bird. “Should I go?”

“Actually. Wouldn’t mind your… help, if you know what I mean.”

“...Welp, guess I’m a helper, then!” Beast Boy said, nodding firmly.

Lust coursed in Raven’s body, overpowering even her usual ravenous hunger. She was always greedy for sex and pleasures now, but this went beyond her usual preference for having someone raw her while she read a book or watched some TV; now her thoughts blurred, raced together, and instinct demanded that she be pleasured, as urgently as possible.

Now Beast Boy transformed. His feathers transmuted into scales, his legs disappearing and beak lengthening. He was a bird but he became a small snake, and slithered across her shoulder (she shivered with pleasure at the touch of cool scales), and into her cleavage, safe from people complaining about his presence.

Getting through the door was a tricky business; yes, it was built for her height, but that was only one particular barrier. A bigger issue with the sheer width of her body, or specific parts of it. Wiggling her shoulders brought her upper body through it, with a heavy pinch as her breasts overflowed the door and flopped out the other way… twice, given her multiple rows.

Her gut pinched hard as she came through, and with one heavy step on the other side, Raven felt very keenly aware that she was making a bit of a fool of herself; her breasts were hanging out, her gut was stuck, and she was bent halfway over just to fit. She didn’t look about ready to fall over herself, but the possibility was presenting itself.

She wiggled hard, gently pushing her belly through, and then, she was almost through-

Her hips caught in the door. It was a tall door. It wasn’t a wide door. Raven sighed in frustration. She hadn’t been growing that fast… she assumed.

“Need some help?” Beast Boy asked in her cleavage.

“No! I can do this, I can do it.” Raven pushed her hip in, grunting as her flesh was pinched and compressed, the pressure surprisingly pleasurable to feel. It was like warmth, spreading up her butt and sinking in, and damn but it felt good.

Her thigh pushed. Gradually, one hip came through. Her other foot awkwardly swung in, the other butt cheek filled up the doorway as well, and Raven huffed and puffed and forced herself to advance through. Eventually, she finally managed to get through.

At this point, she became aware that the attention of the entire club was upon her.

Well, she thought laconically. Won’t be hard to get people realizing I’m here, at least.

The inside of the nightclub didn’t much bother with any pretense at the exterior religious vibes; there was a small bar, and an extensive dance floor; above it there was a shadowed area filled with cushioned floors for someone seeking the same kind of furtive intimacy that Raven herself was after.

She moved inwards. A few people turned to say something as they felt her presence. Their mouths were already open as they went silent, eyes wide as they took in her sheer size. Nothing quite silenced any intruding thought like thighs massive enough to fill a truck bed, and the shifting wobble of her muscles working somewhere in there exerted a powerfully erotic effect mingled with awe that shut them down at once.

Raven glanced at them as she advanced, judging them one by one. Figuring out who would be a fine partner for here and now.

She dismissed those who simply gaped at her out of hand. Normally, she might be pleased to dominate someone, and find some pleasure in absolutely consuming their entire experience, but right now she needed someone willing to be more aggressive, or at least responsive. She liked a little assertiveness, to be clear.

People around her froze, both on the dance floor, seated at the bar, and on the second-story areas that were about level with her waist had people looking up from resting couches and pausing from swooning dramatically to swoon for real at the sight of her swaying hips overwhelm them. People behind her studied her massive butt drifting by like a pair of omen moons, and filed the thought away for sudden poetic inspiration.

She totally dominated attention, and every person in that nightclub knew her as a regular enough to have the sight scored into memory, and they still were unprepared for her, freezing up and gazing at her. She was too big, too awe-inspiring, and they were caught in her orbit.

Her four eyes caught sight of someone on the floor; a handsome young man with a build similar to Robin’s, but a bit broader in the shoulders. He was slowly approaching her, like a tiny male spider scoping out what could be either a mate or predator, and that alone set him apart from the rest. He slowed as Raven turned towards him, and the wobble of her butt and the heft of her breasts presented a sense of weight that gave a nice dramatic touch to the way she suddenly stopped, staring right at him.

She studied him, her magical senses dispassionately zooming straight through the illusion of separation and right into his brain. Someone could say that ‘they seemed nice’ but Raven could actually note it for real. She examined him fast, looking for the kinds of traits she liked best; she liked her boys sweet, she liked them to be a little sarcastic, and she liked them to be daring.

He’d approached her on his own; that was certainly daring. Even a cursory examination of his mind suggested a gentle and good natured disposition he had worked hard at; kindness had a distinctive characteristic that she found difficult to put into words (the sensory details of the astral perception not translating so well to words meant to describe things informed by physical senses alone), but if she had to, might involve comparisons to fertile fields or comforting dark caves. This man had both characteristics.

Raven turned a boot towards him, cutting off any retreat. He glanced at it, and then the shadow of her bouncing breast shelves eclipsed him. “You,” Raven’s voice said, leaning over so that her breasts touched the ground, forming a valley in front of him he could have fit into.

“Y-yes?” He said, meekly.

“Come with me, will you?” She gave the words a very specific kind of inflection, so that none would doubt her carnal intent.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am!”

She leaned down with sudden violence, her hand plunging through the bulk of her breasts and plump belly, and her hand was around him. Her fingers gripped, and he squeaked as he soared up to her face. He was faced with rubbery purple lips, big as mattresses to him and heavily encrusted with so many piercings it was hard to see much flesh.

Beast Boy whistled in Raven’s cleavage, imagining that the guy was going to have one hell of a story to tell later. Together they all floated upwards, to a part of the second floor that Raven had reshaped to cope with her height, weight and definitely her physical strength after some… incidents in the past.

This upper balcony fluttered with gauzy curtains and black fabrics around what could be considered a number of stalls, though the management didn’t actually like that term; they felt it was insufficiently romantic for the image they wanted to give off; at the very least, little chimes were strung across the ceiling in rose-shaped black casings that did give a soft air, and with special noise canceling materials in this part of the club, the music downstairs didn’t spoil the mood too much. It was just audible to give a pleasant, arousing ambience.

The largest stall was designed specifically for Raven. She came down to this club at least once a day, enticing as many people as she could fit into her schedule (or herself) up here. Lust boiled in her almost constantly, and it was pretty likely she’d do nothing but breed constantly if she didn’t have other matters to attend to.

This, at least, took the edge off. It didn’t satisfy her or make the wanting fade, but it at least calmed down the panty-soaking need to get absolutely filled from any given orifice, or her body stuffed with seed, or expert hands sliding the need from her one touch at a time.

It wasn’t satisfying, no. But it was close enough.

Raven passed through the curtains of her private stall, and landed on a floor piled with thick cushions and heavy pillows that served well as mattresses. They were kept clean by automatic processes and tiny little cleaner robots modeled to look like appropriately gothic bats to get any lingering fluids off it. Raven knew it was clean, and various senses available only to her perceived that they were as clean as art exhibits, but even so, she reflexively cast a cleaning spell, just in case.

Her impromptu partner, having picked up on her mood and was awkwardly unzipping his pants, shivered faintly as a black fluid materialized around Raven. He squeaked as it rose up to about his hip level and passed through him, and for a moment it was like being plunged into a freezing-cold pool of water. “What is that!?” He watched it anxiously as it crawled up the walls and to the ceiling, bubbling faintly for a few moments.

“It’s cleaning the surfaces,” Raven said, trying hard to keep herself in check and not simply pounce on him and cover him in kisses. “It’s- ah!” Her breasts rippled with intolerable sensitivity as Beast Boy, still in a snake shape, coiled around one breast just tight enough to almost squeeze it and her supply of fiendish milk within, and the sensation was a delightful torment. She glared at him as he curled over her shoulder, made a hissing snicker, and descended past her shoulder, down towards her butt.

She felt hotter and more needful as he descended down her back. At least he knew what his job here was. She needed lots of loving to feel calm. With a grunt, Raven briefly tried to reach behind herself to undo her tops. The man beneath her eclipsed by her gigantic breasts, she tried to get at the buckle looping them all together, but normal human joints didn’t bend that far.

She didn’t have normal human joints, though. They flexed and clicked, and then her elbows pivoted her arms to a degree such that they could reach behind her… until she patted more of her sides, and realized she was too big to simply reach behind herself like that. She telekinetically took hold of the buckle and tried to untie it, but she pulled at it, the fabric of her tops rubbed against increasingly puffy nipples that strongly resembled lips kissing at her tops and it felt so horrendously, so deliciously good.

She shuddered as she realized the man below her had dropped his pants and undershorts, freeing his dick from the confines of tight leather pants; now she crouched low. A thick musk that registered to the human mind as spicy flooded the room; her thighs were so enormously wide that even as she sat down and her butt filled up the cushions, they were still touching each other, and filling up the walls out from her sides. The substitute beds were completely unnecessary.

By this point, Beast Boy was sliding atop her butt, dutifully removing his clothing (and it has to be said that there wasn’t much of that where he was concerned, these days). Raven shivered as she felt him transforming a bit to suit her requirements, an obscenely big and thick ridged dick sliding against the part of her butt exposed by her shorts. She gazed down; she couldn’t see anything from her body to the wall except her cleavage, but she sensed him down there, staring up as her cameltoe grew bigger, swelling to bulging extremes against her pants. At this point, his head could have fit into it without her having to disrobe at all.

“Take my shorts off,” Raven managed, her tone not so much commanding as apparently stating that her will would be done. The club-goer, with a respectable sense of presence for someone overwhelmed by Raven like that, reached for a zipper about as big across as his arm and pulled. There was a glimpse of decorative, lacy garments. At one point they had been an ordinary pair of panties, but Raven’s massive hips had stretched them out to the point that it was honestly amazing they hadn’t shredded.

This, too, he pulled down, and pillowy flesh jutted out, massing around as much as his whole torso. It wasn’t quite like a human vagina, exactly (and he had some experience in this matter); it was far puffier and bulging out more than some penises did, contributing to the swell of her shorts even in her cooler moments, and the inner flesh was a vibrant shade of red, glowing faintly with a purple light. Small tendrils, about as thick across as a man’s fingers, wiggled around and extended out as if to receive him, slick with various lubricating fluids where they had been pleasuring her from within.

He thought it was big enough for his whole body to fit into; his own penis alone wouldn’t be enough for her! “Am I… really enough for you?” He asked, his bravado starting to fade.

“Yes,” Raven said, and even in her lust-addled state, she spoke in a surprisingly comforting tone. “I know how to work regular humans like you.”

He had a moment to contemplate how she said that as if she didn’t really consider herself human any more (and it was hard to blame her) and then one of her lower arm pairs descended onto his shoulder, pushing him forwards with an inviting yet firm prod.

Around this time, Beast Boy had fully settled into place, sliding into her shorts from behind, fully naked and ready to do his job. His penis continued to slide between Raven’s ass cheeks, fluid oozing from him. It wasn’t pre-cum, exactly. He had simply piled a large number of animal attributes to morph it into a suitable tool for her; entering her was a dick larger than Beast Boy himself, both heavily ridged and now a prehensile, wiggling member, oozing a faint aphrodisiac substance for instant lubrication and extreme arousal.

The club-goer made a soft, murmuring sound as Raven pushed him, hip first, into herself. The size difference was enough that it wasn’t just his penis that sank into her trembling flesh but his entire lower body; he gasped and panted as alien sensations swelled over him, any objection to the fundamental strangeness of the moment silenced as her body squeezed around him. It was gentle, though the sheer strength of her labial wall was likely enough to crush him into a cube.

All that weight and power, pressing down on him, was an arousing force all its own. His breath caught as Raven’s hips swayed, her body hungrily pulling his legs in and down her tunnel they went, squeezing tight, and gaping wider, and then squeezing again.

Soft tendrils curled around him, cocooning his body in gentle, playful little curls. Her inner walls tightened around his dick, pressure mounting around him in a delightful friction. Strange as it was, it felt… good.

Raven, herself, wasn’t even really feeling anything as yet, apart from the comforting pleasure of feeling someone inside her like that. The need rose, the numbing obsession to breed and to breed now, but it was coupled with a more literal hunger. She’d gathered snacks, earlier, and now she tossed them down her throat. It was pleasurable to feel them sliding down her throat, and something kicked in as they hit her belly. The first stages of digestion ensued, the snacks beginning to melt now, and-

Oh THERE WE GO.

The thought was brief, and fast, and coupled with an electric shock; for Raven, food and desire were linked, lust mingled permanently with satisfying her need to eat. Consuming made her horny, and being horny made her hungry. One went with the other, and it was the right moment to get herself revved up nice and properly.

She didn’t gasp or moan; she growled, the inhuman noise almost drowning out the sound around all three of them, the weight of the club-goer an urgent necessity to fill as much of herself with as possible, and in that moment, there was no thought at all. Just the simple desires of a beast, or perhaps a demon, that needed to feed, one way or another.

She brought her thighs as close together as she could. Her club-goer rose up on a sea of thigh flesh as soft and chunky as a whole sea of mattresses, and she thrust out. He slid back, into her, and the motion became self sustaining, her vaginal tendrils pulling him back and forth, and he rocked inside her, pulsing at her most tender and sensitive areas.

Their momentum built up into a true tempo, her body dictating its beat, and Beast Boy chose his moment, sliding his transformed dick straight and true, right into her ass. Raven gasped, a new pulse of pleasure rising from there. He sank deeper, sliding back and forth on the lubrication oozing from him, doing his best to keep quiet at such closeness to her body.

Raven had long since ceased to eliminate in any way; her body had either dissolved those systems for waste entirely, or converted them into more recreational purposes. Raven’s ass and the associated systems were an entrance now, every bit as sexually focused as her vagina or throat might be. Rings and rings of wiggling little muscular bits tried to clamp down on Beast Boy’s dick as he swung in, and an absence gnawed at her when he cheekily withdrew before she could force him deeper.

And so, the dance between them began. Raven was both participant and the dance floor; one man halfway inside her and between her thighs, his shoulders making tingling pressure against her legs and his own body filling up her tunnel just as she liked best. Beast Boy behind her, sinking deep into her ass and lost in the pleasures of being engulfed in that massive backside, having sex with Raven from behind and he knew exactly what to do to get her most excited.

Her food melted inside her, and a steady pulse of pleasant fullness kept rising, from between her legs and inside her, from in her ass to the whole of her hyper-erogenous backside.

She rolled her head back, all her eyes closing, her body thrusting and twisting almost randomly, caught between the tides of pleasure from both the men bent on coming as close as they could to truly satisfying her. Her breasts rose and fell with thunderous impacts, arousing her further as her milk roiled noisily in her. Her vagina slurped and pulled hungrily at the club-goer, who was now too lost in lustful joy to notice he was sinking deeper into her.

Yes! Thought a faint, quiet little remnant of active thought in Raven. She wanted to be filled, wanted all of him inside her, even if that meant pulling him straight into her womb. She was too into it to reconsider it, as she normally might have.

He didn’t notice aven as his torso sank completely into her, erotic dominance completely swamping out all awareness that wasn’t feeling as much of her as possible. His hips jerked and pumped in their vaginal confinement, and when he came, it was the biggest one he’d ever had in his life. It splashed against her inner walls, and somehow her body absorbed it instantly.

She felt it, and part of her reveled in delight, and yet still she kept pumping him, using his whole body as a sort of sex toy. He didn’t protest, now so winded that he was close to collapse, and kept sinking inwards.

Beast Boy was rising high on a surf of pleasure, and to fit the metaphor, he crested as high as he could go. Raven felt the delicious heaviness inside her pumping harder and harder, and then suddenly go all at once, and it was like a firehose going off inside her, and she squeaked as many metric liters of chimeric cum filled her up all in a single shot that would have made her visible swell up, even if just a little. As it was, she straightened up, more clarity returning to her.

It was enough pleasure to scrap the edges off the constant, primordial need. More of his cum was sucked into her body, absorbed and perhaps stored in some way, and with it, Raven came back to her senses. She shook her head, hair flapping and sweat starting to drip down her thighs.

Beast Boy slouched back into her shorts, his penis still quite hard and embedded in her, and the weight of him felt very good. She murmured contentedly to herself as the lust faded into something more controllable, and became aware of a delightful sensation between her legs; a sense of completed fullness that she wasn’t too familiar with.

She became aware that a human form slowly disappeared inside her; only his head, lolled back in blissful obliviousness, remained on her plump lower lips, and even that was starting to slip inside.

She was briefly sorely tempted to let him get pulled all the way in, and for a moment, she had a wild thought of what would happen if he went all the way inside her, and it was a painful struggle to ignore the temptation. She flexed herself the other way, and out he slid in a puddle of various Raven fluids, some tendrils still desperately trying to hold onto his body.

He stirred, weakly and perhaps with disappointment.

Raven awkwardly stood up. “Hey,” she said, jolting her hips up so that Beast Boy was smacked about by her tides of butt-flesh, rousing him back into wakefulness. He shook himself, and reformed his penis into something more typical of his usual preferences. She had to work very hard to stifle the longing groan at the resulting emptiness; having so much solid, veiny, erotic mass in her felt so right.

She cast a spell, and again the black liquid from her earlier cleaning spell washed over the room, and now them with some care. Any remaining sexual fluids were removed, and when it disappeared again, the room was as spotless as it had been before they’d arrived. And as a bonus, she had also put all their clothes back on, pulling them up and zipping them up as if they’d never been unclothed to begin with.

The now fully dressed club goer groaned, blinking up at Raven. Her expression was much calmer, and surprisingly serene. “...I do good?” he managed, weakly.

Raven nodded majestically down at him, as best as she could tell with her boobs in the way. “Yeah. You did good.” She telekinetically picked him up, bringing him in range to her face. For a moment she just stared at him, her massive purple lips glistening faintly, and then she laid a kiss that covered the entire front of his body.

When Raven left, a few minutes later, the lucky club-goer was far too dazed to actually get up, but he didn’t seem to mind much.

Beast Boy was still inside Raven’s shorts, but as small as he could make himself, it wasn’t about to elicit comments when the hard part was noticing him on (or inside) that butt at all.

-------

After a brisk walk and a stop at a little diner to get some food for Beast Boy (who really needed some energy right away), they found themselves at the appointed place: a local library, and Raven paused to admire the architecture.

“Real libraries should look like this,” she said firmly, gesturing at it. Jump City wasn’t a very old city, and technically was the result of several cities growing increasingly bigger until they accidentally merged into a single larger city, but this library looked old. It was clearly modeled after the school of thought that taught the notion that libraries ought to loom over a neighborhood like an authoritative mother figure: welcoming, inviting to all, with just a hint to not get any ideas for funny business. It would have looked at home whether in the background of a romance movie or in the pages of a fantasy novel.

“Was there always a library here?” Beast Boy said, doubtfully, and in the form of a parrot atop Raven’s shoulder. “I could swear there used to be… I dunno. A parking lot here or something.”

He and Raven stared doubtfully at the building. It didn’t appear to have any reaction but in their experience, that didn’t mean the building didn’t harbor any thoughts of its own.

“...I don’t remember ever seeing this library,” Raven said. “And we’ve both lived here for years and years.” She summoned her phone in a burst of black mist, and dialed up her contact. “Did you send us to a mysterious traveling library!?”

Constantine’s voice came back, eventually. “Can you hold on a minute?!”

“I’ve told you, tell me the details! I don’t want to get stranded in another sub-plane because it decided to travel while I was there!”

On the phone, there was another voice. It was a deific voice like the crashing of waves and foaming surf, and it was a surprisingly familiar one. “Hey, man, you on the phone with Rae?”

“Yes…” Constantine said, sounding like he wanted to pinch his temples in frustration.

“You tell her to tell Beast Boy we still need to do that photo shoot of a shark man riding on a shark! Imagine the motivational posters!”

Constantine sighed. “Yeah, sure.” To Raven, he said, “You heard him, yeah?”

Raven said, eventually, “Are you dating King Shark again?”

“Hey, that better not be a speciesist remark.”

“You’ve seen the people I live with; I’m not judging him, I just think he’s way out of your league.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Constantine conceded. “But yeah, the library gets… active, but it won’t leave until at least this coming winter. It hates the cold around those coastal regions.”

“It has preferences?! It’s alive?”

“No! It’s like… it’s complicated…”

“It’s like a thinking-dude version of Danny the Street,” Beast Boy said, having listened to the whole thing.

“Oh,” Raven said. “The genderqueer, teleporting neighborhood.” The Street in question was actually an old friend of Beast Boy’s adoptive family in the Doom Patrol. She calmed down. Danny was an amiable sort, and if Beast Boy thought there was a comparison, that was better than she thought.

“Yeah,” Constantine said. “Like the Street. I think they know each other, actually.” Raven calmed down. Danny was an amiable sort, and if there was a comparison, it was a safe building.

“Fine,” she said. “Talk to you later.”

“God, I hope not,” Constantine said, without rancor. He hung up.

Raven, Beast Boy still on her shoulder, went not up to the library’s doors itself, but to a hidden entrance that was marked by a series of revolving little pedestals, marked with an image.

Puzzle entryways into secret magical chambers was a time-honored tradition among the magically inclined, and the proper thing to do would be to give Raven a mysterious clue; Constantine had little patience for that, and had just given Raven the solution straight up.

She slid the rotating image puzzles into place, so that they formed a whole new image that resembled a doorway. As she did, Raven sensed disapproval emanating from around her, and it made her imagine someone quite put out at fun being spoiled. When the wall opened up, and a pair of stairs leading down into a space that didn’t seem spatially apt for the surrounding area, Raven imagined someone crossing their arms and making a loud ‘HMPH!’ sound.

She descended down the stairs. Perhaps they were of a mystical ‘one size fits all variety’, or maybe they transformed to fit her stride. Either way her high heel boots clicked down on her route downwards. She eventually came to a large space that was a bit distressing to look at.

It just went… on and on. It continued indefinitely, shelves lining the walls, and more shelves upon them. In blatant defiance of gravity, the shelves followed the curve of the ceiling, curling upwards until there were shelves on the ceiling, their contents somehow in place.

At least, she assumed they were shelves; the ceiling continued so far up that it had to be higher up than the actual library’s roof. Clearly this was one of those ‘flexible space’ kind of magical places, or even a mystic realm onto itself.

The whole thing was unsettling to look at, but it didn’t seem particularly menacing. In the center of the whole thing was a humanoid figure at a bench, apparently measuring a container of liquid. As she approached, Raven took notice of the shelves. It felt like a warehouse rather than a traditional magic shop; the various books, potions, amulets, swords and contained micro-planes were at least clearly labeled, though in no language or system she’d ever seen. That was one way to avoid theft, she supposed; they couldn’t steal if they had no idea what they were actually taking.

She came to the bench, and paused. She blinked. “Zatanna?”

There was a curvy young woman standing there, perhaps a few years older than Raven. Her black hair was long, her hips were wide and her breasts bigger than most people’s heads, and for a superheroine who mainly worked off a stage magician vibe, the sleek robes that were apparently the local uniform worn quite well. “Oh, hey Raven. Constantine gave me a call you’d be coming.”

“Yeah.” Raven gave her a sidelong look. “He didn’t tell me to expect you.”

“He probably didn’t think it was important. Or he was trying to get one over on you, I guess.” She waved, noticing Beast Boy. “Hey, dude!”

Beast Boy fluttered a wing. “Sup?” He said, trying to hide how much the strange dimensions of this place bothered him.

Raven politely leaned back, trying to keep her massive boobs off the counter. Her butt loomed up behind her as she leaned in. “Did he tell you why I was coming down?”

“Yep. It’s all paid for.” Zatanna got up and departed past a shelf. She came back a few minutes later, from a shelf at the opposite part of the room.

Beast Boy groaned. “Ugh, i hate places that do that…”

“Just close your eyes and try to think of bouncy houses,” Raven suggested. “You’ll be fine.” He grumbled and buried his birdy head into her hair.

Zatanna presented a small brass globe to Raven. “Here you go! A genuine free-standing portal to the abstract plane of food!”

Raven took it. It was small enough to fit neatly between her fingers, and she squinted into its shining depths. She could just barely make out a faint scent of things cooking, smells mixing and interweaving into a heavy aroma that made her mouth water, and she could see the hints of a portal within the surface, and through it, the barely visible hints of tasty treats and cooked meals, free standing a realm of nothing but food.

There was a mystical reasoning: everything that COULD exist, HAD to exist somewhere. Every metaphorical concept had to be real, somewhere. So if you could put a name to something, there had to be a mystical realm out there for it somewhere. This included things like the concept of food; candies, meats, oatmeals, cereals, soups, stews, whole roast animals… in whatever form that food existed, there had to be a realm made up of food itself.

And here was a portal to such a place. Raven cast a spell, harmonizing the energies of the artifact with herself, so that her body would recognize it as a part of her, immunizing it to digestion and the like.

Zatanna studied. “Not sure I recognize that one…”

Beast Boy waved a wing, focusing on Raven. “Just wait a sec!”

Raven finished her spell, tried to work out if she missed a loophole, and then seemed satisfied.

Then she popped the priceless tiny portal right into her mouth like a candy, and swallowed it.

Zatanna stood up, her eyes wide. “What the actual hell, Raven! You can’t just eat-”

Raven waved a hand, her jewelry clanking. She raised an eyebrow, various piercings clicking together. “Calm down. The artifact is fine.” She waited until she felt it slide into her gut, coming to rest against various meaty furrows, and then she put her hand over her heavy gut, her fingers weaving into the particular portal-opening spell for this artifact.

Inside her stomach, the portal expanded wide open, and at once, a massive stack of pancakes splashed out into her body.

Raven shivered, pleasure sliding through her as neatly as water flowing down ravines. “Oooh~”

Slabs of bacon rolled down into her gut. Rivulets of syrup, bundles of roast chicken, trails of crunchy things she couldn’t quite identify, and more tasty treats fell out of the portal inside her belly, a slow and steady progression sinking into the pit of her belly, her potent digestion getting to work to them at once, puffing them up as they absorbed her digestive juices.

More came on, pushing the first servings down, enough of it to make her gut start visibly distending from the outside, her belly pressing over her waistline.

Raven’s belly gurgled in satisfaction, and the noise was nearly drowned out by Raven herself sighing in relief, the eternal torturous hunger gently fading away just enough for her to really feel like she didn’t have to devour everything in sight. Zatanna still gave her a side-eyed look of annoyance.

“The portal thing is fine!” Beast Boy insisted. “...I think.”

“I made my digestion treat it as a part of my own body,” Raven said, her voice sighing. “It’s totally immune to even my acids.”

Zatanna gave her a stern look, haltered a bit by her gaze constantly drifting to various other sections of Raven. She turned away, conceding the point. “Well, okay, but next time, warn me before you eat a priceless magical relic!”

Raven gave her a look. “And what would you have done if I’d told you I was going to eat it?”

“...Question the life choices that made you decide that should be your first option?”

“Speaking of life choices; what are you doing working in a possibly sapient magical library’s artifact dealing section?”

Zatanna had to pause. “Hey, it might be a weird spooky library that travels through space and time, but it pays well.”

#/#//#///#////#/////#my writing #fics #commissions #twitchy!raven #dumptruck raven #twitchy!dc

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raendown · 5 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5032 Chapter: 2/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

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Chapter 2

In the wake of the monster’s departure a deep silence stretched out for a long time. Izuna rested his head between Madara's shoulder blades knowing there were no words that could help either of them feel better at the moment. Neither of them said anything until his body began to shake with coughs and Madara spun to gather the other in his arms, helping him sit and patting his back gently until the fit passed.

“You’ll die in here,” he whispered, horrified. “I failed. I…”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aniki. It’s not your fault.”

Madara shook his head. Logically he understood that the chain of events had not started with him but if he could not blame Izuna then there was simply no one else to carry that burden. How could he ever blame his sibling for running towards the only visible beacon of safety if he were being chased by wolves? In all the years Madara had lived he’d never heard of wolves actively attacking humans, generally they stayed away as most other wildlife did, so he could understand why someone might panic in that situation.

“We made our best attempts to stop him!” a voice cried from nearby. Madara lifted his head to look around but despite the candelabra still sitting just outside the barred door he couldn’t see anyone there.

“Show yourself! Who’s there?”

“I am here in front of you!”

The light before them flickered but the dancing shadows revealed no new faces even when he squinted.

“Quit hiding,” he growled. “I don’t see anyone.” He rubbed Izuna’s back soothingly as they both craned their necks side to side in search of whoever was talking to them. That was definitely not the creature’s voice.

“Down here, good sir!” the voice tried once more and this time when the light wavered Madara noticed the candelabra was moving.

He also noticed there was no one there to move it.

The candelabra was waving at him. And the longer he stared the longer it continued to wave, some of the filigree near the top of the main post shifting as if to form what looked like an honest to god smile. When both he and Izuna failed to so much as move, staring with equally wide eyes and frozen bodies, eventually the candelabra stopped waving and bent both of its secondary arms down in a mockery of the way a human might set both hands on their hips.

“Well I must say, how rude,” it seemed to scold them. “Not even allowing for a proper greeting. Where are your manners?”

“Izuna can you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it…is it talking to us?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we dreaming?”

Without warning the entire candlestick holder bent as though to toss its head back and began to laugh. “Oh, how rude of me! I’m so terribly sorry. It’s been so long, I quite forgot how strange I must appear to you! I assure you that we are all quite real!”

“Merciful gods above, Aniki, are there more of them!?” Izuna moaned with despair and Madara reached back to pat him on whatever he could reach, possibly a leg.

“It must be something in the magic of this place driving us mad. Maybe we should play along?”

He jerked when his brother struck him weakly. “Are you nuts? It’s a talking stick of wax! What are you going to do, talk back?”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone else in this entire castle to talk to. Did you notice all the dust? It’s like no human has been in here for centuries.” Madara shrugged. “I’ll take a candlestick delivering my meals over whatever the hell that beast is!”

“Simply no manners at all; continuing to ignore me.” They looked over to see, of all things, that the candelabra had crouched down on to the floor and curled in to itself. As they watched it began to shake with dramatic sobs. Madara considered just waiting to see what would happen but the damn thing just sounded so pathetic and he had to admit he was curious. This place was full of strange magics. If he could ask a few questions and understand even a small bit of his own situation he would appreciate it.

“Uh…sorry about that. It’s…I’ve never talked to a candle before.” Even Izuna cringed over his awkwardness.

The candelabra, however, popped back to its ‘feet’ as though it had never been sad in the first place. “Quite alright! You may call me Hashirama! May I know your names, good sirs?”

“I’m Madara. This is Izuna. What…is this place?”

“Ah, it would be hard to explain here. Come, come, come along. I will gather the others!” With ringing plinks and plonks he began to hop away down the hall, the metal of his body echoing on the stone floor.

He didn’t get very far before Madara called after him in a dry tone, “Thanks but I think I’ll stay here. Doesn’t matter how much weight I’ve lost this past year, I still don’t think I’m going to fit through these bars!”

With a startled exclamation Hashirama turned and hopped back in their direction, leaping up to pop the latch and then backing away to gesture for them to come out in to the hallways with him. Still they both hesitated. If seeking shelter was the only crime that got Izuna locked up and trying to find his ill brother got Madara locked up as well then who knew what that crazy animal would do to them if he discovered they were wandering around freely? Seeing their hesitation, Hashirama shook what might have counted as his head.

“I beg of you to believe me, he is not a terrible person. Circumstances have made him distant and wary but inside he is a good man. If only he believed it of himself.”

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t believe that,” Izuna grumbled.

“Please, come along! He is possessed of quite a temper at times but rest assured he would never hurt me. I will convince him to see sense about locking the two of you away in this drafty tower, don’t you worry.”

Still smiling cheerfully he began to plink away down the hall again, pausing every few hops to beckon them along. The two brothers traded long dubious looks before finally Madara muttered under his breath that they might as well. If the monster was unpredictable enough to lock them away then he probably wouldn’t hesitate to eat them or something for making his magic candle thing cry twice. Either way they were going to catch hell so why not explore a little bit and get their answers before death found them?

Hashirama was an incredibly enthusiastic guide unhampered by his tiny size. The sounds of his incessant hopping were thankfully muted as soon as they exited that particular tower and returned to carpeted hallways but it hadn’t mattered much anyway as he chattered incessantly about the history of the castle and how long ago it had been built. Madara and Izuna shared a doubtful look, both of them knowing such massive grounds as it would take to house a castle this size would definitely have been noticed by at least one villager in the past few hundred years, but neither said anything. With a terrifying monster in charge of things there was obviously some kind of magic at work here, they could have deduced that much even without being told.

And to think Madara hadn’t even truly believed in magic until tonight.

Their chipper guide being the only source of light, they were sort of beholden to his long-winded tour but from the sheer amount of words spilling out of him it seemed like he hadn’t had anyone to talk to in a very long time. Madara found he didn’t quite have the heart to interrupt such earnest happiness. At least the history of the castle was quite interesting; on the rare occasion he found time for himself Madara had always enjoyed slipping in to their village’s very small library and reading up on the history of the land around them. He was proud to say he’d read at least half of the books in the library. His favorite were always the lurid battle descriptions and the long explanations of tactics or favored weapons.

“Oh but you must be weary after such a fraught evening! Allow me to show you gentlemen to your room, of course!” Hashirama paused at yet another juncture in the endless hallways and beckoned for them to come along before hurrying off in another direction.

“Room?” Izuna muttered quietly in Madara's ear. “He’s not sticking us back in the cell?”

Madara could only shrug. He was hardly going to complain about being offered more comfortable accommodations. For a fleeting moment he considered waiting until they were unsupervised and making a break for it. There didn’t seem to be any sort of guard rotation or security posted. He would bet that two able bodied men could escape if they could find their way out – as long as Izuna didn’t have any coughing fits and draw attention to them.

The moment he began to think about such things, however, he felt a twisting down deep in his soul that cried out with a sense of wrongness that he understood immediately, though he could not have said how. He was still recovering from how oddly winded the feeling had left him when Hashirama finally came to a stop in front of a door carved with the same simple design many other doors had been. Madara was startled to realize it was the same symbol burnt in to the monster’s chest across his collar bones.

“Here we are! You need only ask and I will see to your every comfort! Oh, we will have such fun together, I am so sure! Wonderful to have guests again! Come, come!” With a double hop Hashirama leapt straight up off the floor to grasp the door handle with both hands, wriggling his entire metal body back and forth.

“Do you…want help with that?” Madara asked hesitantly.

“I am most capable, fear not!”

And so he was. The door unlatched with a soft slick and swung open, carrying Hashirama's light away so they couldn’t see the inside until their guide dropped down to the floor and hustled inside ahead of them. There he went around and bent his head to light a few candles so they could get a first glimpse of their massive room.

Both of their jaws fell open as they stared in open wonder at the opulence around them. Thick carpet at their feet led the way to matching beds, each with their own heavy canopies and bedding so decorated Madara would have expected to find them being displayed as wall hangings in the mayor’s home. A matching wardrobe and vanity set stood between the two beds, all four pieces shaped from the same dark wood and intricately carved, any one of them more expensive on their own than the entire contents of the Uchiha household back home. Dust covered every inch of the room and still it was not enough to stop the two brothers from thinking it was a room fit for two princes to stay.

Yet Hashirama hemmed and hawed, tapping at his chin with one arm candle and wondering out loud if this was truly fit accommodations for them. Madara wondered silently how there could be anything better.

“If you would prefer separate rooms we could move to the apartments in the southern wing,” he offered.

“No, this is…fine. This is great.” Madara swallowed thickly. “We can really stay here?”

“This is incredible,” Izuna declared without reservation, daring to step forward and brush his fingers over the intricate patterns stitched in to the bedding. Hashirama tutted at them.

“Serviceable at best. However, if it pleases you then I shan’t keep you awake any longer than necessary. Oh we really should shake out the dust at least – but you do so look tired. I simply cannot decide!”

The metal idiot looked so distraught Madara could only lift an eyebrow in bemusement. “We can shake out our own bedding.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s just dust. Dust never killed anyone. Except you, Izuna, just sit down or something and let me get yours.”

While Izuna rolled his eyes and Hashirama continued to fret, Madara stripped the duvet off both beds and snapped them in the air a few times each, cringing for having to be so rough with such beautifully crafted pieces of art. After they were both tucked back over to the beds again he turned and flopped backwards on to the one he arbitrarily decided would be his own.

Then he moaned like a cheap lady of the night.

“Oh sweet flame…I’m floating on a cloud…”

Silence followed his statement for a single heartbeat. Then he heard Izuna scramble towards the other bed and the muffled thump of another body sinking in to layers of luxurious bedding. His brother immediately let out a moan just as he had.

“Is this what heaven feels like?” Izuna asked in a dreamy voice.

“Nnn…”

“Ah ha ha ha!” Hashirama's tinny little voice somehow managed to boom all throughout their massive room when he laughed. “I shall leave the two of you until morning then, shall I? Rest well! Tomorrow the tour continues!”

Madara gave very little thought to any sort of response. He managed to crack one eye open to see that Izuna had slipped under the blankets and disappeared, no more than a slight lump among so much fluff, then his eyes slid closed and the comfort of a real mattress under his body carried him down in to slumber as quickly as the snuffing out of Hashirama's candles.

He slept so deeply he did not dream. Or he thought he didn’t. Unless the impression of endless hours in the darkness, cool and comforting, counting as a dream.

Waking came slowly, a gradual drift from one darkness to another, and it took a long time for him to realize he couldn’t see anything because he had rolled over in his sleep and buried his face in what felt like a cloud of happiness. Upon lifting his head he determined it to be just a pillow, albeit the softest pillow he had ever encountered in his life. Which, to be fair, was a very limited number.

Slowly pushing himself in to a sitting position, Madara looked around and took a few minutes to let it sink in that everything from the night before had not been some fancy of his own imagination. He really was in a far too opulent room fit for kings and queens with Izuna just barely struggling his way up out of sleep on the far side of the room. With sunlight spilling in through the open drapes he saw beautiful details that he hadn’t been able to in the dark. Each wall was hung with incredibly delicate artwork and the edges of the ceiling looked as though they had been painted by hand. Underneath the dust he could tell that the carpet was woven with a repeating pattern of rich red and golds.

“This place is insane,” were the first words out of Izuna’s mouth as he too took in the spectacle of such grandeur in the light of day.

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life. Which is weird since, you know, prisoners and all that.”

Izuna sat up a little straighter and coughed a few times, settling his face in a serious expression. “I mean, it’s nice and everything. This is cool. But we can’t stay. We have to get the hell out of here, you know? There’s no telling why that thing wants to keep us!”

Running a hand through his hair, Madara hesitated.

“Look, I didn’t want you to worry last night. It’s been a long time since you slept well through the night and I just wanted…anyway. Here’s the thing. I can’t leave.” When Izuna opened his mouth Madara interrupted him. “I don’t know how to explain it but I can’t. You remember that creature made me swear that I would stay here and not try to leave? He said I was bound here. And…I think he meant that more literally than we knew.”

“Bullshit! Come on, we can just slip out while that candle thing isn’t here!”

“Hashirama has nothing to do with it. Look, the creature said that ancient magics were listening when I swore not to leave and now whenever I think about escaping I get this twist inside me that- I can’t go. It makes me feel wrong to think about it. I can’t say how I know but I don’t think I would survive leaving.”

Izuna slumped back down when he had been about to stand up. His entire body looked wilted with defeat and Madara could not have felt more terrible.

“You’re not the one who is bound,” he tried to offer. “I don’t think he meant anything bad would happen if you were the one that left.”

“Like hell I’m leaving without you!”

“Great. Wonderful. I knew you’d say something dumb.” Madara rolled his eyes.

“The only dumb thing here is this stupid castle!”

It was all too likely the two of them would have taken out their infamous tempers on each other if left to their own devices for much longer, something that happened all too frequently at home. Luckily they were interrupted by a knocking at the door and treated to the sight of Hashirama's metal smile as he popped his head in to the room.

“Best of mornings to you both, I trust you slept well?”

“Decent,” Madara grunted.

Hashirama tittered, unoffended. “I’ve come to fetch you for a morning meal!”

Afraid that if he refused he would have to stay here and listen to Izuna have a meltdown over the fact that he couldn’t leave, Madara hopped off the bed and gave a sharp nod. He waited until Izuna followed along and then allowed himself to be trudged off down twisting hallways that looked so different now after the shadows had been chased away by the sun.

Last night the castle had given the impression of being forgotten by time, a gloomy space caught between worlds, but now it resembled more of an abandoned mausoleum. Suits of armor and statues and expensive pottery provided decoration to keep them busy gawking in every direction until they were led down to the first floor by the same sweeping grand staircase Madara had climbed on his own in the dark. What he had taken for an empty atrium looked more like a grand receiving room well suited for social gatherings and the like. A strange place, for sure.

The kitchens, at least, had a modicum of normalcy. Madara supposed it didn’t matter how much money was involved, kitchens the world over were bound to look at least slightly similar. It didn’t matter that there were a dozen stoves instead of one or that the counter for preparations ran several times as long as his own handcrafted wooden counter at home. What mattered was that he felt some of the gathering tension drain away to know that here was a place he belonged to more than the fancy frippery covering the rest of the castle.

“My dearest, my darling,” Hashirama called in to the cavernous room. “Oh love of my life!”

“If you think to flatter me in to some favor you are sorely mistaken,” a new voice answered.

Madara almost thought his eyes might fall out when a tessen fan drifted around the corner with no hand to guide it, gliding along several inches above the floor seemingly of its own volition. When it stopped in midair he was startled to see the ribs snap open to their fullest extension, giving him a direct view of the pattern inked in to lacquered paper, and he very nearly fainted dead away when the pattern shifted across the paper to form a face with pinched lips and narrow eyes.

“Our guests, I presume,” the fan declared. It was a woman’s voice and not very warm.

“Yes my sweetest.” Hashirama blew the fan an ostentatious kiss which lit one of his candles and then gestured to the two men with him. “This here is Madara and there beside him is Izuna. Brothers from the nearby village.”

“I suppose you wish me to cook for them.”

“Would that I had any other to ask,” Hashirama responded softly.

Amazingly, the pattern-woman unpinched her lips until her expression had relaxed in to something more pensive than irritated. Dipping in the air like she was nodding, the tessen fan drifted away without another word to stoke the embers back to life under a nearby stove. Madara watched her go with his brows up near his hairline. When he looked back Hashirama was wearing a besotted expression.

“My wife Mito” he explained. “A braver woman could never be found in any kingdom.”

“How exactly does a talking candlestick end up married to an animated war fan?” Madara blurted, immediately dropping his face in to one hand at his own lack of tact. He felt a fist impact his shoulder but couldn’t bring himself to scold Izuna; he did sort of deserve it.

Luckily Hashirama took no offense, though he did fall somber once more.

“We were not always this way,” Mito said as she slid her body under a loaf of bread and bore it over to the closest countertop.

“It is a curse laid upon the castle. Once we were as human as you are.” Hashirama leapt up to the counter and looked up at them with arms folded behind his back. “I trust you know of the Sannin, the Great Three who guard the ancient magics of the lands?”

“Yeah,” Izuna drew out the word with curiosity. Every child in their village had grown up on such fairy tales.

“The strongest of the Three was once a patron to this kingdom–”

Madara interrupted without thinking to point out, “This isn’t a kingdom.”

He did not expect Hashirama to tilt his head back and let out a laugh more bitter than one as cheerful as he should be capable of.

“It was and is, no matter that the people have forgotten their lord. There were…two brothers. As is custom, the duty of ruling these lands was meant to fall to the oldest. Unfortunately illness had laid him low in the prime of his life and the throne fell instead to the younger brother who promised to hold it only until his sibling recovered. However…” Hashirama trailed off with pain in his voice.

“However, instead of recovering the illness spread,” Mito took up her husband’s tale, pausing a moment to spin through the air and remove several perfect slices of bread from the loaf. “All across the kingdom people fell ill, dying faster than messengers could seek help from the younger brother. Though he did what he could there was no stopping what nature itself can never stop.”

Feeling a chill run down his spine, Madara shuddered. “The plague.”

“Yes,” Mito agreed. “The black plague, a nightmare to behold and hellish to contain. When the death toll rose to its heights the younger brother was forced to drive all of the ill together and abandon them lest they continue their spread of death.”

“Really the only way to deal with that,” Madara nodded in sad approval.

“Yet he did not see his own actions that way. Tasked with ruling a kingdom that should never have been his own, cursed to make decisions while his people fell around him, the younger brother took responsibility onto his own shoulders and he himself held the torch when they burned the quarantine zone. It is impossible to say if any inside were still alive. Though he understood the necessity still he could never forgive himself for what he had been forced to do.”

Hashirama shook his head. “A monster he called himself and locked himself within his rooms, emerging only when it was necessary to perform the duties he owed to the kingdom he had sworn to watch over. The elder brother recovered, as some with the plague do, but it did nothing to ease his guilt. Nothing could be done to console him.”

“Sounds whiny,” Izuna muttered. Thankfully it seemed like neither Hashirama nor Mito heard him.

“We worried. That was all. We were worried for the state of his mind after what he had done.” Hashirama looked away. It was hard to tell in a face made of metal filigree but his expression took on a distant quality. “We appealed to the Sannin who watched over our kingdom and beseeched her to intervene. Forgetting, of course, her wicked temper and her utter lack of patience for fools. She revealed that she had indeed already intervened, saving the life of the eldest brother and all within the castle when the plague began, and she did not appreciate having more asked of her. It was never our intention- We could never have predicted- I believe that I will always regret, though not for my own sake.”

He closed his eyes and Mito drifted across the kitchen to hover at his size. She danced out of reach when he held out an arm to embrace her, wary of the flames, and Madara wondered if it was maybe too intimate a moment for him to watch the sadness in both of their gazes to be denied a simple touch. Finally Hashirama went on to finish his story.

“She cursed him out of temper. If he felt so strongly a beast, she said, then a beast he would be. His form changed to that which you witnessed last night and the residents present here in the castle were changed to whatever form suited her whim. Many became furniture, some became animals, a few became clothes or drapery. In a fit of pique for the lord’s self-pity the great Sannin removed us from memory across the Kingdom and hid us away from curious wanderers in the forest, trapping us in time. And so here we have been ever since, alone and lonelier by the year as one by one our numbers dwindle.”

“You’re not dying as furniture?” Madara cried out, shocked.

“Not dying, no. They simply give in. I will show you.”

Hashirama murmured to his wife and she dipped her blades, returning to whatever simple meal she was preparing for breakfast. With a wave he turned and beckoned them to the hallway they had come in from. Madara expected to be taken on a journey but he found Hashirama stopped just outside of the kitchen where he stood on the floor staring up at a massive portrait hung to face inside the kitchens.

The woman portrayed was beautiful, though severe. Her hair was long and caught up on the top of her head in a simple style. Both hands folded across her lap, eyes closed, her shoulders remained straight and stiff in a way that spoke of royal blood.

“My cousin,” Hashirama told them with regret heavy in his words. “Our beloved Touka. She was always the strongest among us and yet even she grew tired of this endless existence, closing her eyes and going to sleep the way so many others have. Now you wouldn’t know them from true furniture.”

“Well…shit.” Madara couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Incredibly, that seemed like the right thing. After a moment of incredulous blinking Hashirama began to laugh that impossible booming laugh until it echoed up and down the hall, filling one small part of this massive castle with happiness once again.

“Very well put, my good man.”

“Just…call me Madara.”

“Indeed. Well, Madara. Izuna. Shall we dine? It’s been a long time since any of us have prepared a meal. You will let us know, I hope, if there is any part you find undesirable and we will hasten to remedy that for you!”

“Right. Sure.”

Despite Hashirama's mood swinging back up as hopped away to check on his wife Madara found himself feeling saddened as he stood out in the hall and stared up at the portrait hanging before him. To know that this was a real person trapped in the oil and the canvas, a woman who despaired of her own state so strongly that she had chosen to fall asleep indefinitely rather than go on and wait for an end, he couldn’t imagine living like that. He was grateful for the hand that slid on to his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“You know he’s not telling us everything,” Izuna said in a low voice and Madara nodded.

“Hearing what we have though…do we really want the full story?”

Izuna shook his head with an expression just as sad as Madara felt. Together they looked up at the painting and Madara wondered if maybe the beast had taken them prisoner not out of cruelty but to be kind to those left awake. He supposed he would be pretty lonely too after so many years watching everyone he knew go quiet and still.

Whatever the case, there was obviously more going on here than he had originally assumed even after discovering the place was run by a horrific man-beast and a talking candelabra. Madara tore his eyes away from the portrait and spun his brother around by force to march them both back in to the kitchen. If someone wanted to tell them more about what was happening he had to admit he was curious enough to listen but until then the best thing to do would be to keep their heads down as much as possible. It had kept them both alive this long. Hopefully it would keep them safe long enough for him to figure out how the hell he was going to get Izuna to a doctor for the cough that started up again as soon as they left the hallway.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #izuna #mito #fanfiction

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mystical-apprentice · 5 years

Text

Main 6 reacting to the MC having a Dragon as their familiar

First time making headcanons in like... two years? So it might be pretty choppy. It’s gonna be under the cut since I made them too long.

Asra:

Asra is well aware that having a familiar at one point or another is important for any magician. So when you ran into the shop saying that you found you’re familiar, he was overjoyed

Of course when he went outside to greet your familiar he came face to face with the biggest creature he had ever seen. People were already running away and a few market stalls were crushed beneath their tail.

Faust was the first to react with a friendly ‘Big Snake!’, while Asra looked at the dragon, then at you and said ‘We’re gonna need a bigger shop.’

Honestly, Asra wasn’t even surprised, he knows how unique your magic is after all. Of course a dragon is a little extreme but their your familiar.

Finds a spell to turn your familiar smaller so that that can fit inside the shop without much hassle, making them seem like a large winged dog rather than a dragon.

But when you and Asra go out to travel together, that baby’s going in their full size, flying you anywhere you want, you even end up travelling much farther than you’ve ever done on foot, seeing so many new things.

Your familiar and Faust become fast friends, she tries to get them to steal stuff and do crimes and the greedy dragon they are can’t help but agree. Faust is always on the dragon’s head, where they see the world while in the air. Somehow, either they never realised it or it’s because a bad habit, but Faust calls your familiar ‘Big Snake’ while they call her ‘Tiny Dragon’. Your familiar also knows the stove Salamander, which you had to reassure wouldn’t have it’s job of lighting fires taken.

Every golden item you and Asra found now belongs to the dragon, from rings to even a coin. It’s theirs and you have to WRESTLE them to get the money you need.

On some lazy days out of Vesuvia, you can find Asra sleeping on your dragon. He’ll sleep on them while their in the air too and the familiar’s surprisingly careful of keeping Asra on him. Though Faust might be a good help in that department.

Let’s just say that now that you have a dragon, not only are less people being cruel to you because you’re both ‘witches’, but no one’s ever attempted to break into the shop for months.

Nadia:

You were planning on having it be a surprise, to bring Nadia out and introduce her to you’re new familiar

The thing is you underestimated the greed of a Dragon, and while you took Nadia out, they went in. You didn’t even realise what had happened until Portia came running to tell the countess that there was a DRAGON IN THE BALLROOM

Let’s just say the first meeting was less than favourable. And trust me, it didn’t get better when you had to admit to Nadia that the dragon was you’re familiar. She had to get someone to fix the wall you’re dragon barrelled through and had to help all the terrified servants.

But after that first encounter things got better. For obvious reasons, renovations had to be made to accommodate you’re familiar. Which would have been easy, were they not nearly half the size of the palace.

So instead she decided to have a new tower built, one that the Dragon could happily live in and close enough so you can constantly visit them. It gives them plenty of room, along with a small water pond, a large pile of food and multiple assortments of Lucio’s old treasures that Nadia finally found a good way to get rid of.

Chandra was and is still pretty neutral to the dragon. She knows that they won’t harm anyone and she knows how to keep them in line.

They behave like a baby at times, and now you’re dragon knows where the bedroom is and so whenever they feel bad you’ll wake up to find a dragon head poking through the window.

Which might be because Nadia goes to see your dragon everyday, having them pampered and entertained in any ways possible. She even sometimes reads to the dragon when she’s not too busy and can stay in the tower with you and your familiar for hours.

Negotiations with any high classed individual are almost magically in her favour now that she has a literal dragon at her disposal.

Julian:

You were so excited to show Julian you’re familiar, to the point that he too started feeling excited about it. The two of you went to the flooded district, where he was told to cover his eyes and not to peak until you said so.

Julian felt something poking his hand and a strange presence, but he didn’t think much of it until you finally gave him the okay.

Let’s just say that Julian’s screams were heard throughout all of Vesuvia. To the point that both Maz and Portia (who were in the opposite ends of the city), rushed over to see what was wrong.

After the initial scare it takes Julian a long while before he’s fully used to the fact you have a DRAGON now. Though his biggest concern is where would you put them? On the room of the shop? You have to ask Asra for help on this matter.

Once Julian’s more calm about the whole dragon thing, he’s actually pretty curious. And he’s asking you about where you got the dragon in the first place and how you managed to hide one until he met them.

Play fights with your dragon are basically a necessity for Julian. His stories of taming a wild dragon can finally ring true across the lands. (Even if you were the one who tamed them).

Also if Julian gets into a scuffle you bet the dragon will be there, grabbing Julian’s shirt in their jaws like ‘Yes, this is my idiot and we are leaving now’ before flying off. They even do this in the bars around Vesuvia, they don’t care if the door gets busted or they have to claw their way to Julian.

Your familiar and Malak despise one another and had it not been for the mutual agreement to protect Julian, there’d be a battle to the death.

Julian tried joking around with your dragon ONE TIME and nearly got burned to a crisp. He forgot that some dragons could breathe fire and the fact that you shared your magic with them. That dragon was powerful and the doctor knew it. Which is why he knows that your familiar will keep everyone safe when he can’t

There has admittedly been some times that Julain forgot you even own a dragon, and the face he makes whenever he steps out the door and is tackled by your familiar will never in a thousand years be not funny.

Muriel:

Okay, Muriel too understands the importance of a familiar. He’s grown close to his after all and judging by how you care for Inanna, he knows that whatever familiar you gain, it would be given so much love and care.

And yet here you are, standing in front of the door he had just opened, with a dragon behind you. And he just… sighs

Well, you always stood out from the others, this is nothing new.

The hunt to find them a good home was fairly easy, knock down a bit of the cave’s walls and you’ve got a perfect home for you’re familiar. Though they have a habit of sleeping in the forest most of the time.

Muriel seems to really like you’re familiar, having someone (even an animal) larger than him felt reassuring. And he found plenty of you’re traits in the dragon, which made him like them even more.

Inanna right off the bat was friendly with you’re familiar, treating them like a little cub that needed protection and lessons. And boy was she ready to teach them everything she knew.

Seeing as neither of you had any gold to give the dragon, Muriel carves small wooden figures and gives them to you’re familiar instead. Strangely, they seemed pleased by it

Flying trips become a daily thing for the four of you, though it took Muriel a while before he decided to join in. Seeing everything from up above was a strange feeling, especially since the rest of Vesuvians seemed like a small dot while that high up.

Despite liking your familiar, Muriel worries that they might hurt you or someone else by accident. They were big, bigger than the trees. Big things can hurt more. He didn’t want you to get hurt because of your familiar so he trains them to be careful. Muriel actually gets grumpy with the dragon if they do something that could hurt someone, but he never gets MAD at them.

Their the greatest line of protection you have for the forest, only an idiot with no sense of self preservation (Julian) would actually try to fight them.

Portia:

She may not be all that knowledgeable about familiars but she knows that having a familiar means that the two of you have a new pet. And THAT makes her so excited to meet them.

Portia spent hours guessing what you’re familiar was, a fox? A raven? A cat?! Oh please be a cat! But none of her theories went even close to the actual answer.

It takes her like 0.2 seconds to go from silent shock to ‘Can I ride it? CAN I RIDE IT?!’

Needless to say she becomes friends with you’re familiar right away. The first thing you do is hop on their back and fly around Vesuvia where Portia happily greets everyone, from the baker all the way to Maz and Julian.

Introducing Pepi to your familiar was quick and simple, she jumped on their head and just like that they were friends. Your dragon plays with Pepi all the time and it’s honestly cute to see them snuggled up together after a long day of playing. Your familiar’s so gentle when they want to be.

Borrows every book she can about raising dragons and even asks Nadia for help. You end up making a nice lil hut for the dragon, with the countess’ help, of course. They stay near the cottage because they love that place. Plus, not many people go there so it’s not likely that someone would walk in.

When there’s a thunderstorm or a storm of any kind, Portia grabs all her things, grabs you, grabs Pepi, and you all go to the dragon hut to stay with your familiar. Their not scared of storms but she wants everyone together and ‘comforting the large dragon’ is the best excuse.

Has to ask Nadia for some treasures to give the dragon and the next day everything that once belonged to Lucio was now in your possession. Including the arm, your dragon loves it to bits.

Portia loves training your dragon to do basic tricks like a dog. Her favourite trick is having the familiar hunt down one of the courtiers and watching the reactions that ensue. There’s no hurting anyone, she’s not evil after all.

Rides your dragon to work every single day without fail, even if she doesn’t live too far from the palace, she just wants to show off. And the dragon stays in the garden until Portia’s ready to go home. It’s shocking to see how she’s managed to befriend such a creature and all the servants have a whole new level of respect for your gal.

Lucio:

Oh a familiar? Does that mean Lucio has a new animal he can spoil rotten? Why, that’s MARVELOUS

He’s all excited to meet you’re familiar, until he actually meets you’re familiar.

He’s sees the dragon and gets jealous. How can he not be? A dragon is one of the rarest and most powerful beast on the planet and here you are, having one as a pet. Lucio couldn’t help but throw a tantrum on how it wasn’t fair that you got so lucky.

He��s grumpy about it for a few weeks, but then he comes to the realisation that if YOU have a dragon, then by the fact you two were together it meant that HE has a dragon too. And just like that he’s being extra adoring to you in case you were mad at the whole tantrum thing.

Has everything prepared for the familiar as soon as he can. A whole wing was renovated to fit a creature their noble size, filled with golden trinkets of all kinds to keep the dragon entertained. Lucio probably even gave you a list of things that he wanted to do with the dragon. It’s twelve pages long and the count doesn’t even care. Having a dragon was like Christmas every single day.

Has probably tried to get a matching dragon, but sadly their too rare to do that.

Lucio has lots of fun parading your dragon across town, with you sitting on their back. The count can’t help but flaunt it. ‘Look at my S/O, their so powerful that even a dragon is tamed by their might’

As for how the dragon handles the other animals... it’s complicated. Merchedes and Melchior are jealous of your familiar since their taking Lucio’s attention away from them. While Camio doesn’t even care that there’s a dragon now.

If anyone tries to threaten Lucio, he’ll have your dragon come forward and just… stare at the person in question until they surrender. It’s an effective way to keep his rule in tact, after all.

However, Lucio also has to be careful when around your familiar, his arm is shiny and golden after all. He’s seen how the dragon stares at it, if he’s not paying attention he’d be down an arm again. (And this time Salim and Aisha won’t be there to make a new one)

#the arcana #headcanons #Nadia Satrinava #Asra Alzanar #Julian Devorak #Muriel #Portia Devorak #Lucio #just a random thought that I ran with

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friendshipcampaign · 5 years

Text

Sweet Foods, Sweeter Words

A downtime featuring Erwyn and Palava that takes place the evening of the first full day the party spent in Wayspell after getting back from the trials.

A note: A handful of phrases have been omitted as they originally contained backstory details that haven’t yet come up in-campaign, but Scribe and I wanted to share this story anyways.

Mentally checking the address for the third or fourth time since he’d arrived following a bit of a nerve-wracking trip -- at least, for him -- through the Wayspell of the early morning, Erwyn prepared to raise a hand to knock on the door of the location Palava had told him the two planar researchers would be staying at during their time in Wayspell. Not for the first time, he half-wondered if he should have asked one of the others to come with him to find an unfamiliar place in the city, but this had been a visit he felt he needed to make alone, and he supposed so long as he had the right location now it would probably be alright.

Swallowing his anxiety and hoping this was the place, he gave three swift raps on the door.

His knocks were greeted with a skittering noise like a startled cat. This was followed by a moment of silence, several shuffling sounds, and one loud thunk. Palava opened the door, rubbing his forehead. His demeanor changed as soon as he recognized the young elf on his doorstep.

"Erwyn!" he cried. "How lovely--" He paused midsentence, apparently remembering that his normal boisterous speaking volume was somewhat less than appropriate for that hour of the morning.

"How lovely to see you!" he finished in a stage whisper.

“It’s very nice to see you as well,” Erwyn said, struggling quite a lot less with volume considerations. “I hope I’m not being a bother, coming here without exactly announcing my intention to.”

"Not at all! I said you were welcome to stop by and I meant it!"

“I hope you weren’t in the middle of anything, I’d hate… I’d hate to interrupt.”

Palava shook his head. "Nothing at all. I'd been planning to read, but I just couldn't get settled. You have to be so quiet around people who sleep, and I get so antsy. A visit from a friend is just what I needed tonight!"

Erwyn felt his cheeks flush a little at the description of himself as a friend by the far older, far more accomplished researcher. He hadn’t even known him all that long. It threw him, and he could only hope that the increased twitching of his ears wasn’t too obvious.

“That’s very… that’s… that’s good to hear,” he said, catching himself babbling. “I… You, um… I know that at one point you mentioned there were some places in Wayspell that… that might be nice to visit. I was thinking that.... I thought that might be an option tonight, just so we don’t wake anyone?”

The whole last sentence of his came out as a sort of nervous squeak.

Palava beamed at him. "I have just the place! Hold on a moment, just let me..."

He trailed off into incomprehensible mumbling as he turned back to the building, folding up his gangly frame to fit through a door which, while certainly not halfling-sized like many of the older buildings in Wayspell, had also not been built to accommodate someone of Palava's height. After a few moments he emerged again, a satchel flung across his shoulder.

"Alright, then! Follow me!" He set off through the darkened streets.

At first, Erwyn, who while well-accustomed to travel was not only not the heartiest (and never had been), but also a foot shorter in height and stride than the older elf, had some trouble keeping pace with him, but it was only a block or so before Palava drew up short.

"Oh, pardon me! Always rushing off; you'd think I would have learned by now!" He waited for Erwyn to catch up and when he began to walk again it was at a much gentler pace.

"So," said Palava as they rounded the corner, "How have you been enjoying Wayspell? Has Hue tried to convince y'all to break into the old Post Office yet? Don't listen to her; it never ends well."

“Does… does she do that frequently?” Erwyn asked.

Palava nodded. "Sure does! Don't know if there's really something she wants to find in there or if she just gets real riled up by all the "Keep Out!" signs, but she brings it up most times we're in the area."

Erwyn tried to imagine the Gatekeepers, who he still saw as such accomplished people given their line of work, even if Hubris seemed to be a bit of a baffling case, to him, at least, doing something like breaking into a post office. Even if it was a somewhat mysterious one, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Then again, the comment about it possibly being due to the “Keep Out!” signs reminded him a bit of Amaranth -- not to say he was certain he and his friends were quite operating on the same level professionally, but perhaps one couldn’t always predict their company even for important matters.

“I hope it hasn’t ever lead to too much trouble,” he finally said, a little at a loss for what else to say.

Palava laughed out loud. "Everything Hubris does leads to trouble. She'd be awful bored otherwise!"

They turned onto a wider street, and Palava gestured at the buildings around them. "Have you had a chance to explore the city at all? I know we've probably been keeping you busy."

Feeling some of his anxiety bubble back up again, Erwyn shook his head, hoping to quash it as best he could without having to confess too much to someone he’d really rather not have to risk thinking poorly of him were he completely truthful. Again, though, he could feel his ears starting to twitch more than he’d like.

“Ah, um, no,” he said carefully. “I haven’t really wanted to, it’s been sort of... intimidating.”

"Too loud? Cities are hard like that--makes me miss the Underdark."

“Among… among other things, yes,” Erwyn said.

Palava shot him a curious look, but didn't press the matter. "Well, I promise that where we're going everyone's real good about keeping calm. They put up a Silence spell around it during the day, but unless it's a festival night it's not something they gotta worry about at this hour."

“Oh, that actually sounds really lovely,” Erwyn said. “That’s very considerate of them.”

"Yeah, they're real nice! Not too many people in cities who know how to make elves feel at ease, but Anna and Marigold are real good about it. Helps that Anna's got some elvish blood herself, but even that doesn't always mean a place'll be comfortable. We're nearly there; just a few more streets!"

Palava led the way past more rows of empty buildings. For a city it was quite dark outside, illuminated only by globes of magical light mounted on the street corners, but compared to the wilderness it still seemed uncomfortably bright. Erwyn felt like, even after years of time spent in and out of some of the larger populated areas of Ashona, his eyes would never adjust to the glow of streetlamps -- like stars, where stars shouldn’t be.

Striding around a final corner, Palava flung his arms out wide and pointed at a building halfway up the next block. It was one of the only shopfronts that was still lit that late at night--or early in the morning. The building itself wasn't remarkable; it was built of the same wood and brick that made up most of Wayspell. But the sign above the door glowed with a soft silver luminance. Written on it, in both Elvish and Common characters, Erwyn could read the word "Lissecoa."

"Here we are!" Palava declared.

Suddenly, Erwyn found himself freezing a little. Of course, from the way Palava had talked, it didn’t exactly seem like they were visiting an establishment that even had any right to be giving him this kind of anxiety, but being confronted again, after some time since it had last occurred, by a place that seemed so distinctly Elvish was not exactly the easiest of things he could be doing with his evening. Especially not in Wayspell, which made him nervous for its own reasons.

While he’d certainly felt shy for a bit now, he suddenly also felt very small.

Palava paused at the door. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned.

“I… I’m fine,” Erwyn said.

And really, he should be. It was silly of him to be made so anxious by something so mundane as an outing to a bakery. It wasn’t like, even if it was more of a traditional place, they would ask him about his magical abilities at the door -- or ever. But years of skirting around circumstances where someone might so much as offhandedly inquire about that sort of thing died hard.

"We don't have to stay long if you'd rather walk," Palava said. "But they make some of the best pecconelle I've ever tasted! Come on."

He opened the door and gently ushered Erwyn inside.

The interior of the bakery swept over him in several stages. First, of course, came the smell, as it would with any place serving food, but this time especially so due to the assorted layers of ingredients and flavors mixed up in the air that Erwyn didn’t think he’d caught in those particular combinations since maybe even thirty years or so prior. But the rest of the inside, too, conjured other memories -- the foliage growing directly up from the floor in much the same way as the walls of the Isilmë family home, the minimal, lower-to-the ground furniture than you would find in a human or halfling tavern so very like the kinds he’d grown up around.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Mae govannen, Palava!"

The speaker, a plump, red-haired woman with slight points on her ears, waved at them from behind the counter. Still in Elvish, she continued, "It's been a while since you stopped by. Lovely to see you again. You'll be having the usual, I take it?"

Palava returned her wave. "You know, I just can't decide yet. Everything smells spectacular, as always!"

"Well, take a seat and consider as long as you want. And your friend, too!"

Palava contrived to fold himself up onto one of the low benches. Erwyn just followed him, numbly, feeling like if he thought too hard even about trying to take a seat, it would be too much.

"I don't know about you," said Palava, "But I always feel like having a little nibble of something after I finish trancing! They do a lovely little sampler if you'd care to split it. And the teas really are to die for!"

“That… that sounds nice,” Erwyn said. Doubly so, because while he was sure it would be delicious, he also didn’t think he’d really be capable of browsing their offerings all that clearly himself.

Palava unfolded and strode back to the counter, where he had a characteristically excited conversation with the baker. When he returned, he was carrying a tray laden with a low, round teapot, two small cups, and several pastries neatly arranged on a leaf-shaped ceramic plate. He placed it down on the table in front of them with a flourish.

"You know," said Palava, pouring himself a cup of fragrant tea, "It was interesting for me, growing up in the Underdark. All surface food seemed so exotic, even the elvish stuff. My amil would get packages sent from her family and it was the most exciting thing when they arrived. Now I miss the mushrooms and the móriyávë, but I still feel so decadent getting to eat nuts and aboveground fruits all the time! Have you ever been to the Underdark?"

Shaking his head, Erwyn cautiously reached for some tea himself -- he hoped it was the kind that would be calming, and not the other way around. It seemed that his hands were also shaking, and some of the drink sloshed unceremoniously as he tried to pour it into a cup of his own. As if he wasn’t feeling out-of-place enough all of a sudden, the less-than-perfect attempt made him feel as though invisible eyes were boring into him from all sides, critical of the fact that he couldn’t even do such a small thing properly, much less recall all the intricacies of all the ceremony he was used to being tied up with Elvish tea.

“No I… I’ve only ever been to, um, some of the places where there are entrances,” he said, voice wavering. “But not that far into any of them, beyond… beyond the markets that sometimes spring up there.”

"Well, if you ever do go," Palava continued, giving no sign he'd noticed Erwyn's mishap with the tea, "Let me know and I can give you some pointers! Not that I think you'd be on the tourist track, but it's nice to have some local knowledge regardless, and some of the folks down there do like to mess about with upworlders. The Svirfneblin are always pranking people with ghost stories!"

He reached out to snap one of the pastries in half, taking a dainty bite out of one end.

"Fabulous as ever, Anna!" he called out to the woman at the counter. She chuckled under her breath in response.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Erwyn took another deep breath.

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t seem to have as much of an appetite as I was expecting,” he told Palava.

It was true -- he’d really hoped this could be nice. He’d wanted it to be nice. But if that had even been possible in the first place, he seemed to have messed up the part where he made it happen, because instead he was just feeling shaky and awful and a little sick, and it wasn’t Palava’s fault, or the fault of the people who ran this place who seemed very nice, and he didn’t want to feel like it was his fault, but he wasn’t sure how else he could end up feeling so sad.

Tears were pricking a little at the corner of his eyes. Erwyn wished he’d just stayed and done some reading back at the inn.

"Hey," said Palava softly. "It's all right. We can get these wrapped up to go if you think you might get peckish later. Should we just head out, then? I know some paths around the edge of the city that are real nice for walking around at night if you'd rather be outside."

“I don’t know,” Erwyn said, quietly.

One of Palava's hands hovered in the air by Erwyn's shoulder for a moment, as if the older elf wasn't sure whether contact would be comforting or not.

"Well, that's all right too. We can sit here until you know how you feel; there's no rush. Would you like to hear some more about the Underdark?"

Erwyn nodded. He clutched his tea a little tighter, trying to focus on the warmth of the cup instead of everything else. Warmth was nice.

Palava launched into a story about how the Deep Gnomes near where he grew up had stymied a ring of mushroom smugglers that the local halflings had been trying to get rid of for months. He was an engaged if not a particularly linear speaker, waving his hands animatedly as he talked.

As the story went on, Erwyn realized he was only feeling worse -- usually, hearing someone talk about their home or their family couldn’t have this effect on him alone. He often even liked it, hearing Kriv offhandedly mention one of his siblings, or Ditto babble excitedly about a Gnomish holiday he wasn’t himself familiar with.

But right now he felt a little too surrounded by things that reminded him of his own home, and was still, even if he’d been trying to quash it down, reeling a little from the whole mess in the trials with the simulation of Carceri, and everything just felt like too much. He clutched his cup so tightly he could feel an uncomfortable warmness in his fingertips, and the little tears that had pricked at his eyes earlier got bigger, and escaped. He bit his lip, wishing he could keep himself from being quite so visibly upset, but it wasn’t to much avail.

Palava stopped talking. He pulled a large purple handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it over to Erwyn.

"I'm sorry, Erwyn. I shouldn't... give me a minute to have Anna wrap these up and we can go for a walk. All right?"

Erwyn nodded, unthinkingly wiping his eyes with his sleeve before it really registered what he’d been handed. He blinked, then wiped them again with the handkerchief.

He could hear Palava saying, "Anna? My friend and I will have to head out a little earlier than I thought... if you could, that would be just dandy... yes, actually, I do, hang on..."

After a moment Palava re-appeared, this time slipping the wrapped-up pastries into his satchel. He offered Erwyn a hand.

"Shall we?"

Still feeling like being quiet -- or really, like quiet was the only thing he could be -- Erwyn accepted the offer and rose shakily to his feet.

Palava shepherded him out the door and back onto the street.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It was too much, wasn't it?"

“It’s not your fault,” Erwyn said, sadness creeping into his voice once more. “I hoped it would be okay.”

Palava started walking down the street, this time keeping a gentle pace from the outset. Erwyn moved with him, feeling almost as though if he didn’t he would get lost in the night.

They walked in silence for a while. Palava seemed to be leading them away from the center of the city towards where the outer walls loomed against the sky.

"Let me know if you want to go back," he said gently. "I find walking helps but I don't know what helps you. And I don't intend to pry, but if you do want to talk I'm good at listening. Fenmarel thinks that's pretty important, at least as I was taught."

It took a moment for Erwyn to decide to say anything, and once he made up his mind that he was going to, he found himself perched somewhere between wanting to say very little and say everything. After all, he didn’t tend to talk about these things at all, if only because he didn’t see much point in opening up old wounds he couldn’t heal. He’d been with his current traveling companions for some time now, and said much less about much more important things.

But he also wasn’t really tight-lipped out of a desire for secrecy -- mostly, he just didn’t say things because he thought they would hurt, and he preferred to keep them inside, the same way people very much preferred their blood and things to be inside their bodies and didn’t go seeking ways to get them out. Every once and a while, he did come across someone he actually talked about his past to. At least, about certain things. He’d already shared more with the party in just the last couple of weeks than he’d said to most people about himself in the same number of decades. Maybe it was time for him to rip himself open a little in the presence of the kind of person that he felt, or at least hoped, would be able to patch him up. He’d done it before, in bits and pieces -- to Lissë, to Sermë, to Rayne, and to a handful of others. It made as much sense as anything to spill some of the hurt loneliness inside him to someone listening on the behalf of the god of the lonely.

“I miss my home,” he said finally, and as soon as the words tumbled from his lips, they wouldn’t stop. “I miss the way that the trees smelled there, and the birds sounded, and I miss the way it always felt familiar even when the seasons were changing. I miss the songs you could hear being sung from the temple to Sehanín, and I miss when Hrívecala would come around and I would share my birthday with the celebrations, and I miss the taste of lissemasta and the smell of freshly-picked olospië that we would gather around our house. I miss watching Atya make notes in his spellbook, and Amya playing her harp, and... and...”

He was crying again, a lot this time, and even though it still felt like there were a million words on the tip of his tongue, he bit them back, because it also felt like he’d said too much already.

Palava had stopped walking when Erwyn began to speak, and now he stepped closer, resting a hand on Erwyn's shoulder. "Hey," he said, carefully watching Erwyn's face for a reaction. "How do you feel about hugs?"

“They’re… they’re rather nice,” Erwyn said, sniffling.

"Oh, good," said Palava. "I think so too!"

And then Erwyn found himself enveloped in Palava's wiry arms. The other elf was so much taller that his chin rested on the top of Erwyn's head. He didn't say anything, just stood there holding him while he cried.

Erwyn, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to muster much ability to return the embrace. He brought his hands up as if he intended to, but it was like all the strength had tumbled out of him along with his words, so instead he just sort of buried himself into Palava and limply fell into the hug, dimly aware that he was probably getting both their clothes wet with his tears, but not particularly in any state of mind to even try to do something about it. Eventually, they slowed, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of any actual catharsis or if his eyes had just decided they didn’t have anything left to cry.

Palava made little soothing noises and petted his hair, like someone trying to soothe an upset child or an injured animal.

"How long has it been?" he asked quietly.

Erwyn sniffled, gathering himself together. “I… I don’t know the exact number of years. They all sort of blurred and I didn’t think to keep careful count until it was too late. It’s been several… several decades at this point, though.”

He felt Palava stiffen, just for a second.

"You've... been on your own all that time?"

“Most of… most of it,” he said. “Sometimes not. Sometimes people help. Having a group like my friends now is fairly new, though.”

"Your friends seem like real good people," said Palava. "I'm glad you have them. I know it doesn't help, though, with the missing."

Erwyn shrugged. “It helps a little. At least… well... it means I’m not alone.”

Palava nodded. Since he hadn't yet stepped back from the hug, it meant that his chin bobbed gently against the crown of Erwyn's head.

"Being alone isn't good for folks like us. Of course, I don't think it's really good for anyone, but the loneliness does tend to hit us awful hard. I'm sorry you've had to face it for as long as you did."

While Erwyn’s tears had stilled at least a little, or at least enough for him to hold the conversation they were having, Palava’s words suddenly felt like they’d hit something critical in him -- like the psoglav, tearing him open, or another onslaught he had no way of weathering without help -- and suddenly they were back, ugly and wracking and all trying to rush out at once.

It was still a little bit due to memories he felt like he’d been fighting. But this time, he mostly felt like he couldn’t contain all his emotions inside himself because it was like getting hit by the chill of Rose’s breath all over again, the shock of hearing someone tell him they were sorry about it. He was used to feeling like it was his mistake, or instances like recently, when Maudlin seemed to imply it was his own fault for ending up so far away from his home and family. Rarely -- if ever -- did anyone say that they were sorry he’d had to weather it at all.

Palava held him tighter, rocking the two of them softly back and forth. "Hey," he whispered, over and over. "Hey, it's okay. You're allowed to be sad; you're allowed to be sorry. You shouldn't have had to live like that."

The reassurances blurred as Palava kept talking, words tumbling into each other until they were nothing but soothing background noise. Erwyn leaned into him, letting the older elf’s kindness wash over him until his tears started to fade away again, leaving him feeling the weird sort of hollowed-out that being very sad often did, even when you started to feel a little less so.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled eventually. “I… I can’t imagine this was how you intended for tonight to go.”

"Well, no," Palava admitted. "Not intended, certainly. But Erwyn, it's all right. I wouldn't have taken up the service of a god who watches over the lost and the outcast unless I was prepared to watch over them myself as best as I can. Gettin' a few tears on my robe is hardly the worst thing I've gone through. It's happened before, and I'm sure it'll happen again before too long. And I'm the one who asked you to talk in the first place."

Had he not already, effectively, dried himself out, Erwyn was sure the additional kind words would have caused him to cry too, but at this point he just felt his lip quaver a little. He nodded, then pulled himself away to wipe some of the remaining tears off his face. He went to use his sleeve again and only remembered about halfway through the handkerchief that he’d been given earlier, which he’d crumpled in his pocket.

“I think… I mean… I think that I mostly just cried at you.”

"Hey now, there were a few words there at the beginning!" said Palava. "And as long as you're in Wayspell, if there are more you want to get out, you know where to find me."

“I feel a bit like both everything’s already been said and like there’s still so much else that I couldn’t say it all in a hundred years,” Erwyn said, sadly. He didn’t know how else to put it -- it was like being emptied out and hungry for someone to listen all at once.

It was one reason he didn’t usually share too much about himself -- it always left him feeling very strange whenever he did.

"Well," said Palava, "Being an elf I ought to be around in a hundred years if it really does take you that long." He smiled tentatively. "Should we finish the loop I was taking us on or just head back? Or are your legs too wobbly to start moving just yet? I know I turn into a jelly-jar after I've been crying."

“I’m… I’m usually a little wobbly,” Erwyn admitted. “But I do feel sort of extra so right now.”

"All right." Palava plopped down onto the pavement. "Let's rest here for a bit, then. We've still got those nibbles if you feel up to a bite, and I brought some water if that would help with the wobblyness."

The sudden shift from being a foot shorter than Palava than wildly high above him was slightly disconcerting, and Erwyn looked around a bit to see if anyone else was awake in the early morning and had noticed them as he felt a bit self-conscious, but the streets of Wayspell were fairly inactive at this point in the morning, so eventually he gently lowered himself to sit as well.

“Water would be… I mean if you’ve got it on you… I’d… I’d like some water, yes,” he said.

Palava rummaged around in his satchel, which, judging by how far he stuck his arm inside, appeared to have some extradimensional qualities, and eventually emerged, triumphantly holding a waterskin. He handed it over to Erwyn.

"There you are!"

Erwyn accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink and then just sort of cradling it once he finished. It was nice to sit there, in the dark, and hold it while he slowly started to feel like a person again. But eventually he decided he was up for asking another question.

“What… what food did you bring from the bakery?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I was a little distracted -- I didn’t actually catch much of a look at what you brought over.”

"Well!" said Palava, "We've got some pecconelle, mírinci, a nísimacornë, and half a lirincalë."

“Could I maybe have one of the mírinci?” Erwyn asked. “I still haven’t got much of an appetite, but that does sound nice.”

Palava excavated the pastries from his satchel and unwrapped the outer layer of paper carefully. He held the box out towards Erwyn. The mírinci glistened in the light of the streetlamps.

Erwyn selected one gently, holding up the little candy in his hand and watching the light dance around over its surface. He hadn’t meant to end up taking such a long look at it, but of course, like everything, it felt more complicated than it ought to.

“There was someone back home who knew how to make really beautiful mírinci,” he said, slowly, moving the one he held in his fingertips so it would catch the light at a particularly nice angle. “I think he must use magic, somehow, but he always liked being secretive about it.”

Palava took a candy of his own and turned it back and forth in the light for a moment before popping it into his mouth.

"I know my amya's family used magic when they made them," he said. "No way to get them to glitter properly in the dark without it. I don't know how they did it, though; amya was useless in the kitchen so she never taught me."

Putting his own candy in his mouth, Erwyn rolled it around with his tongue for a bit, somewhat contemplative before he said anything else. The little explosion of sweetness was nice, especially after having ended up getting some of his salty tears in his mouth earlier.

“I think that… I think I might like to go back to the bakery, sometime before we leave Wayspell. It was too much tonight, but the tea seemed very nice and I really have missed Elvish food,” he said, though his cheeks flushed a little as soon as he said it. “Assuming I didn’t make too much of a fool of myself, getting so upset tonight.”

"You're fine," said Palava. "I'd love to go back with you. Just let me know when. And hey, if you ever feel like checking out some of the other Elvish places in the city, I'd be happy to show you those too! There's a couple other bakeries, and one or two real nice restaurants that do proper meals, and it wouldn't be your brand of Elvish but I really do think everyone should try this great little Drow fusion place at the edge of Oldtown! If you and your friends are helping us out, you ought to be back in Wayspell a fair bit. Can't guarantee where Alembic and I will be, but we try to get back when we can. I do hope we'll get to see each other often enough that I can show you around to all my favorite places in Wayspell."

“That would be really lovely,” Erwyn said, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’d be happy to see more of you, too. And thank you for listening tonight, I know I’m often not the best at talking.”

Palava flapped a hand in his general direction. "This kind of talking isn't something you have to be good at. I'm happy to listen to whatever words you get out. And I know it ain't the same as having someone here with you, but Fenmarel's good at listening, too. I don't know if you're the sort to do much praying or if it's any kind of comfort, but I promise you he does care for wanderers like you and me."

Erwyn was quiet for a moment.

“I used to be a little more the type,” he said. “Sometimes, when I was younger, I would try speaking to Sehanín -- she was the primary goddess of the community I grew up in, and has her whole sphere about journeys, which I figured I was on. But while I certainly consider them frequently, I don’t talk to any of the gods all that much anymore. I… I feel like I’ve turned out to be a bit disappointing. They’ve probably got more important people to listen to than me.”

"But that doesn't mean they won't listen to you," said Palava. "The gods may have to pick and choose how they apportion their powers, but they don't pick and choose who they listen to. Especially not the ones I serve. I'm not saying you have to speak to them, of course! Everyone's free to make that choice on their own. But you shouldn't be ashamed to reach out to them if you do want to. And it may not be the path you thought you were headed for, but . . . given what I saw you do with the breach today I have a hard time seeing you as any kind of disappointment."

“Well, ah, you have to admit that last part’s at least rather new,” Erwyn said. “I think even if I did have rather better self-image it would take some adjusting to.”

Palava laughed and patted Erwyn on the shoulder. "True, very true!" he said. "And I sure don't mean to sound like that's the only thing that matters. We were real impressed by it, is all."

Feeling his cheeks flush again, Erwyn looked down into his lap. “Thank you,” he said. “That… that means a lot to me, even if I still have a bit of a hard time believing I was able to do anything all that special.”

"You're welcome!" said Palava cheerfully, smiling and squeezing Erwyn's arm. He glanced around at the empty street that they were still sitting in the middle of. "Those legs feeling any less wobbly?"

Erwyn took a deep breath, then nodded.

Palava paused for a moment to re-wrap the package from the bakery and put it away. Then he stood, his gangly form silhouetted against the starry sky. He held out a hand. Still a little bit shakily, in the way that crying usually left you for a bit afterwards, Erwyn accepted it and pulled himself up tentatively, too.

Palava gave him a few breaths to find his balance again. "Any thoughts on where we're headed?" he asked once Erwyn seemed a bit more steady.

“I… I don’t know, actually,” he said. “Though I don’t particularly want to impose, of course.”

"Well," said Palava, "Depending on just how un-wobbly you're feeling, I do enjoy walking at night. And I especially enjoy it with company."

“That would be nice, I think,” Erwyn said.

"All right!"

Palava started down the street, brushing some of the dust from his robes as he walked. He moved slowly--deliberately so, Erwyn was sure--and they meandered through the streets towards the outer walls of Wayspell. As they neared the outskirts of the city, they could begin to make out the flickering of fireflies around the tall outer Hedge, and occasionally in the streets around them. Every time one got close, Palava paused to coo at it excitedly.

Gently, Erwyn held out his own gloved hand, trying to project to the creatures that it was safe for them. It wasn’t too long before one of them took him up on the offer, landing gingerly on his outstretched finger. He watched as the light it carried with it blinked several times before a pause, and then repeating the same cycle.

Palava leaned in close, being careful not to move too quickly and startle the creature.

"Those eggs we found," he said quietly, his face illuminated by the firefly's soft glow. "The Caftner. Did you get them somewhere safe? I keep meaning to ask but of course we've all been... busy."

“Oh!” Erwyn said. “Yes, we… we took them to a friend. The one who taught us about the Caftner in the first place. I was a bit out of it at the time so I didn’t hear everything about her preparations, but it sounds like she’s put together a good, safe place for them once they hatch.”

Palava smiled. "Oh good! I was hoping. In this line of work I don't always get to see how things turn out once we leave. It's nice to hear when they go well."

“There was… a spot of difficulty after you left,” Erwyn said, a hand unconsciously trailing to his neck. “I’m worried that…. I don’t believe we’ve seen the last of Hayel, and that’s a concerning prospect. But the Caftner babies shouldn’t have to worry about any of that, and hopefully neither will the people of Folly’s End. It’s rather satisfying to think -- or at least to hope -- that we did a bit of good, ultimately.”

"I dare say you did," said Palava. "And I'm looking forward to seeing what else you do. All of you, really, but..." he paused for a moment and winked at Erwyn. "I may have a particular soft spot. Hey! A couple blocks over there's a tree with some really great moths; d'you wanna go see?"

Blinking, and still somewhat processing what Palava had said first, Erwyn slowly nodded.

“That… that sounds nice,” he said.

#downtime #Erwyn #Palava

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