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ackerfics · 3 years

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the parent trap — levi ackerman (iv)

— levi ackerman x female reader (modern au | the parent trap au)

— warnings: angst??? and feels, i think

— summary: after assuming that everything was starting to shift further away from the plan, the people in the ackerman estate found out the identity of the boy mirroring the twin they know so well.

— word count: 8.6k (i know, i had to do it bc it's been so long)

— author's notes: finally, after weeks of not touching this series, i finally updated it. this part is centered around the reveal in levi's side of things. to those who watched the movie, you know things will go down from here. happy reading everyone !!

part one | part two | part three | masterlist

The news that was dropped on Altair last night stole away every ounce of sleep from him.

At first, he felt like everything collapsed on his shoulders. His mum is getting married? In what universe? There wasn’t even a decent man in a five-meter radius around his mother, well, except for her employees at the bridal shop. Nonetheless, all of the men trying to court her were turned down in an instant but why was she getting married to an idiot when he was away from home? The number of times he ran his hand through his hair and wishing everything was perfect can’t be counted on his fingers. First, it was that Cindy woman and now, an unknown man wooing you with serenades and God knows what in London has added himself in the list of pesky outliers. There shouldn’t be outliers in the first place. Throughout the night, Altair made his mind busy by making adjustments in their plan, eyes fixed on the ceiling in concentration.

The next thing he knew, daybreak dripped on his eyelids, peeking through the spaces between his curtains. Altair sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes free of sleep crust before turning to his alarm clock on the nightstand. A red 9:34 glared at him, telling him he overslept. The boy huffed and plopped himself back on the plush mattress, his pillows swallowing him whole as he tried to give himself more hours of sleep. His five-minute doze was interrupted with a knock on his door. It took everything in him not to shout ‘five more minutes' so he decided to might as well wake himself up by walking to the door and answering the person on the other side.

Petra’s face beamed at him and Altair had to narrow his eyes because Petra’s smile was too bright for his own good. It was like looking too long at the sunrise.

“Good morning, Al!” the redhead greeted him.

“Morning, Petra,” Altair replied, rubbing his eyes again. “I’m sorry I overslept.”

Petra waved him off. “It’s fine. I expected it yesterday since you just came home from camp. You must be so tired. Why don’t you go take a bath and change and come downstairs for some breakfast? I’m sure this will wake you up — I cooked your favorites.” The boy nodded at her suggestion. She tried teasing him by calling his name again, Altair turning around to acknowledge his nanny with a raised eyebrow. “You know, I’d probably oversleep, too, if I were up in the middle of the night making mysterious phone calls from my bathroom. It’s pretty quiet in here at midnight so I think that pretty much exposed you.”

Altair froze at Petra��s inquiring tone, blinking his speechlessness. In an instant, he doesn’t feel sleepy anymore. He scratched his undercut. “Uhm, it was a friend from camp. He just wanted to talk to me, that’s all.”

The redhead hummed as she crossed her arms. “Ooh-kay. Well, your breakfast will be waiting on the kitchen counter!” She shouted while making her way downstairs.

“Okay!” Altair yelled back.

He opened his closet and took out a blue flannel, a white undershirt, and a pair of jeans. Without wasting any more time, Altair got himself ready by taking a bath just as Petra suggested and made himself presentable once he reached the kitchen. His hair was still wet, a towel wrapped around his shoulders when he inhaled the savory smell of breakfast on the first floor. As Altair sat on the high counter stool, Petra turned around from cutting up fruits and placed too many plates in front of the boy with a smile. He couldn’t control the twitch in his eyebrows as he stared at his breakfast. Is his twin really eating this much food every morning? He realized he might be coming off as rude since he was only staring at the number of bacon slices on his plate so Altair took a bite of bacon and let the sound of knives against the cutting board flit through his ears.

“Petra?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have a cup of rose tea?”

Petra stopped cutting the mangos and stared at Altair, who was immersed in doing small bites of his breakfast. The redhead stared for a moment and assessed the way Altair picked up his fork and knife — it was the same way a certain someone did back in college when Levi’s friend group and lover ate meals together. Now that Petra remembered it; when you gave birth to the twins, she mentioned how one of them inherited the shape of your eyes. It could be a trick of the light but Altair’s eyes were softer in the edges instead of the sharpness Levi adorned, the boy’s eyelashes slightly fuller than usual.

“Petra?”

The said woman jumped at the mention of her name, with Altair’s face scrunched up in worry at her lack of response. She cleared her throat while transferring the mangos in a small bowl, sliding it towards Altair. “Yeah?”

The silver-eyed boy rose an eyebrow. “Are you alright? You look like you were in a trance there.”

“I’m fine.” Petra washed her hands before wiping them dry with a clean towel. Her gaze went from the boy’s expectant stare to his unfinished breakfast. This was weird. Altair usually never leaves any leftovers on his plate, it was what Levi taught him since he could eat on his own. Pushing this matter at the back of her mind, she smiled. “You’re not going to finish that, Al?”

Altair looked down on his half-eaten scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and still full pasta salad. He only had a couple of bites from the last dish and wished he could eat more but the two slices of bacon and scrambled eggs made him full in an instant. His stomach couldn’t handle too much in an early hour. He needed the tea to wash all this down. “No, I’m not, I think I’m full,” he answered, patting his stomach with a grin. He hoped Petra wouldn’t notice that his appetite wasn’t like his twin. That idiot (his twin, never Petra) appeared small like him but the buffoon has a vacuum inside his torso, always hungry at the wee hours of the day. If this was roast beef, this was a different story. “Must be because I’m tired from the trip. I don’t feel like eating and moving around too much.”

Petra nodded in understanding, preparing the rose tea the boy requested. She was waiting for the water to boil as she glanced at Levi’s pride and joy. “So why rose tea?”

“Pardon?”

Pardon? With a suppressed chuckle, Petra turned around with an incredulous expression on her face. “Camp made you prim and proper, huh? So why rose tea, champ?”

“Because I thought it would be nice to try the flower teas instead of the fruit-flavored ones this time. I know Dad has been experimenting with flowers for the next blends.”

Petra hummed, letting the tea steep for a few minutes. The scent of roses immediately wafted across the kitchen, making the two sigh in contentment. Petra wasn’t one for tea but smelling the pink drink made her want to try one. She presented the cup of rose tea to the black-haired boy, who was leaning forward to finally have his drink, his silver eyes sparkling at the small petals floating on top of his tea. Petra knew she was watching Altair closely but all her doubts flew out the window when she witnessed the boy hold the teacup the same way Levi does. Maybe she was looking into this too much. She shook her head and took away the leftovers, placing them in containers.

She missed the way Altair blew out a sigh of relief, a small half-smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Altair stood up from his seat, patting his lap from imaginary dust and placing the towel from his shoulders to the back of the counter stool. He took a long sip of his tea before grinning widely at his nanny. “Thank you so much for breakfast, Petra!”

“No problem, kiddo. Oh, and your Dad wants to talk to you about something. He’s in his office.”

“Okay!”

The black-haired boy walked past the archway leading to the living room, where the glass double doors to the patio were located. Snuggling on the floor and chewing on his toy was Levi’s golden retriever, Captain. Altair flinched when he saw the dog shift their head in his direction. A series of barks came out of the pet, making the boy hurry for the handles of the double doors. His heart was pounding when he couldn’t get the doors to open, pulling on them as Captain was now standing up to give him another round of barks. It caught the attention of Petra and the woman instantly shot to the living room but not before shouting something that made Altair’s ears turn red of embarrassment.

“Push, Al.” Petra was now wrapping her arms around the dog, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

Altair stopped for a moment, twisting the handles of the double doors and pushing them just as Petra said. He turned around with a sheepish smile, chuckling nervously because this mistake might have lost him the plan. “Must have slipped my mind.” He had never gotten out of a house that quickly in his entire life.

Only when he stepped foot on the patio that he could breathe normally. Altair kicked a pebble on the pathway, hands snug inside his pockets, as he thought about what his father will tell him. He followed the pathway until he was met with a slope, a building looking the main estate was sitting on top of the small hill overlooking the plantation. With a bundle of nerves swirling in his stomach, Altair took a deep breath and trekked the hill. The higher he got, hectares of a variety of tea trees greeted his vision, mimicking the sea with its vastness. It was the first time he saw something so wide and before he knew it, questions started entering his mind.

If the Ackerman family held so much money, why did his grandparents make his mum go back to London? Why did they take away the only person who made her feel loved in every sort of way possible? She could’ve been happy here. Everything is so soothing and secure.

The sound of people talking snapped him back to reality. Altair shook his head and continued his small walk towards the building. It looked like there was more activity in here than he imagined. People were sorting out the tea leaves they harvested and others were manning a machine meant for grounding the leaves. It was so busy that he didn’t realize he stopped in front of the huge window showing all of the employees trying to keep Levi’s business booming.

A person rounding the building noticed his gawking and smiled a little. They clutched the flowers they picked for the new blends Levi was experimenting on and went to the black-haired boy. “Al, welcome home. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday to welcome you back.”

The silver-eyed boy turned around to the young woman sharing his features — the same jet-black hair, pale complexion, and shade of silver for the eyes (though hers were more on the bluish side of the spectrum). He tried recalling the family members his brother told him to remember. There was a woman with the same appearance in one of the pictures. She was hugging the Altair she knows, their smiles shining through the piece of shiny paper. She was the older cousin his twin was telling so many stories about since she was the only one closer to his age around the household. The Altair standing in front of her right now smiled, muttering her name, “Mikasa.”

Mikasa returned the smile with her own, sitting on her heels to meet the boy’s eyes. “How was camp?”

“My opponent in a fencing competition pushed me in the washing area of our pavilion.”

Mikasa winced, ruffling the boy’s hair gently. “Why did they do that?”

Altair shrugged, feeling proud of himself for doing that to his twin despite being guilty to this day. “Guess he was better than me at fencing. He has a teacher specifically for that sport back in their hometown.”

“Oh, wow. If you want someone to practice fencing with, I’ll gladly help you.” The young woman tilted her head with a smile. “That is if you want to go back to that camp next summer. I’ll even learn the rules for you.”

The older of the two had so many records in her portfolio. Altair recalled that his brother was gushing about how Mikasa was a part of the track and field team the entirety of her stay in college. She was also a part of a volleyball club when she was in high school. This young woman has everything in her belt and it would be so good if Altair practiced fencing with her. However, he also realized that Mikasa probably had her hands full with academic and familial responsibilities. “But you have your final year in college, though, and you’re so busy in the plantation.”

Mikasa once again tousled Altair’s hair, chuckling under her breath. “Anything for my baby cousin so don’t worry about it.” She looked down at the pile of flowers in her arms. She handed a single red lily flower to Altair. “Here, to brighten up your day.” Mikasa stood up and waved at Altair. “I’m testing these flowers out with some berries, kiddo. I’ll be in the kitchen by the sorting room with Annie. If we can get the right combination, we’ll let you try some. Your dad is in his office waiting for you.” With that, Mikasa turned around but not before ruffling Altair’s hair again.

Altair nodded at nobody in particular and entered the building with a slight skip in his steps. The office was situated on the second floor of the manor-like establishment. The color palette of red and olive green was still observed in the interior but the large, open balcony let in enough light to illuminate the second floor. There was a railing surrounding the middle space of the entire floor, perfect for looking down and observing the bustling life inside the house. Altair’s destination, however, was the door to the left side of the second floor down a painting-covered hallway. He tentatively knocked on the door with his father’s name pinned on it. Altair faintly heard someone call inside the room and opened the door to peek his head in.

Levi was behind his desk, phone close to his ear. “Yes, Erwin. I thought you will be visiting because of Altair today. I see. No problem. You can visit the plantation anytime.” He glanced at the opened door, seeing Altair meekly staring at him. He smiled a little before telling Erwin, “Al’s here. Yeah. The stocks are fine and the new blends are coming out great. Sure, I’ll send you some. Bye.” The silver-eyed man sighed as he placed his phone on the desk. “You can come in, Al. Usually, you just barge in here and wait for me on the couch.” Levi hummed, eyes softening at the sight of his son grinning in front of him.

Altair chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I thought it was an important call.”

“It was just Eyebrows.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

The boy sat on the couch, eyes inconspicuously roaming around the office. He heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and Altair looked up to find his dad preparing a cup of tea in the kitchenette installed in the room. He looked away from Levi and shifted his attention to the framed photographs on the desk. Everything wasn’t facing him but there was one frame positioned to face the person behind the desk. Altair craned his neck to get a glimpse of the picture, his eyes going back and forth between the frame and his dad, who was waiting for the tea to steep. With his body draping over the couch and neck stretching as far as he could (the position was starting to hurt), Altair saw that it was a picture of you, his mum. The silver-eyed boy gasped because it was you in a wedding dress.

“Blimey.”

“Al?”

Altair dropped the position with a huff. He straightened himself to face a confused Levi, a tray of two teacups filled with raspberry tea held by his hands. “Thought I could just, you know,” he nervously chuckled, “get a good stretch after oversleeping. So what’s up, Dad?”

Levi hummed, placing the tray on the low table. He sat beside Altair, body facing the little boy as he surveyed the innocent smile plastered on his son as he sipped on his cup of tea, the two of them mirroring how they held their cups. Maybe it was because Al went away for summer camp in the last eight weeks or maybe he was just missing you and your presence in his life, but Levi felt his heart clench at how fast his little boy was growing. The summer camp must be a blessing in disguise because his boy came home with newfound manners and the whole time he was away, he thought hard enough to make a decision he won’t come to regret. Eight weeks was a long time, things are bound to change. So Levi cleared his throat and readied himself in spilling his carefully thought-out plans to his son.

“There’s something really important I want to talk to you about, Al,” Levi started, putting this teacup back on the low table.

“That’s funny because there’s something really important that I want to talk to you about.”

“Yeah? Well, you go first, kiddo.”

Altair shook his head rapidly, gulping down his tea first. “No, you first, Dad.”

“Hmm.” The black-haired man carefully formulated the words in his mind. The first order of business was to cut off any people who would dare hurt his son. Yesterday was just the catalyst in his ongoing debate with Petra all summer to get rid of the publicist leeching off of him. From the look on Altair’s face while he was wading in the pool, Levi figured that Cynthia said something to him that might have shaken his mind. He leveled his gaze with Altair’s and told him, “Okay, I want to talk to you about Cynthia, the hired publicist for the teahouse and plantation.”

The boy turned his body so that he was seeing his father eye to eye. “And I wanted to talk to you about Mom.” Altair furrowed his eyebrows in distaste. “Oh, so Cynthia’s her name. What about Cynthia?”

Levi blinked in surprise. He knew Altair was a smart kid but he didn’t expect him to pick up on things so fast. There was no one in the estate that he shared his current sentiments. Petra was known to be a person not careful enough to keep a secret hidden from Altair and Erwin will most likely tease Levi throughout the day if he revealed his plans. Not to mention that Mikasa will probably indulge his kid in spilling every embarrassing thing about him so that makes his niece out of the list of people worthy enough to be told a secret.

With a calm voice, he regarded his little him with a flat expression. “What about your mom?”

Altair groaned in exasperation. “Dad, I’m almost twelve. I’m at a point in my life to ask about the whereabouts of my mom. You can’t expect me to believe the stork story all my life!”

A slow inhale and a look at the ceiling was all Levi needed to compose himself. “You know what, that is a story for later. But first, we’re going to talk about the publicist. Did she say anything to you? Anything that might have hurt you in any way yesterday?”

One pair of gray eyes looked away from the other to examine the invisible dust gathering on top of the coffee table. Altair wanted to tell Levi that Cynthia was trying to exploit him, trying to wound him in her trap and to make him fall in love with her. But the way that his father was insisting on the topic of Cynthia instead of you didn’t sit right with him at all. To Altair, it looked like Levi was desperate to clean the woman’s name and to make him build a relationship with her when the time comes that she’ll be carrying the Ackerman name. He mentally apologized to his other half across the ocean for not having the strength to continue the plan. Because as he glanced at Levi, the man’s concern apparent on the glint of his eyes, Altair wanted his father to be happy — to love someone without any pain that spanned for more than a decade.

“No, she didn’t say anything to me. She just told me how happy she is to be on the plantation.”

As much as he was scared to be a father when his boys were born, Levi always knew if his son was lying after years of raising Altair alone (with the help of Petra but the nanny will always give him the credit). Right now, however, he couldn’t tell if Al was lying or not. “Al, are you telling me the truth? If not—“

The door burst open, bringing with it an overly dramatic woman. “Levi? Are you here, sweetie?”

Eld followed after Cynthia, his face betraying his aggravation at the woman. “Don’t just enter Levi’s office without permission, Ma’am!”

Cynthia scoffed, insulted at the term. “'Ma’am’?! I’m not that old, employee.”

The blonde man bristled. He tried puffing his chest to remind the publicist that he has more authority than just a last-minute accommodation in the staff, but he stopped when he saw Levi starting to stand up from the couch. He had never seen his boss express anger in his years of being Levi’s secretary, however, the apparent look on the onyx-haired man will probably drive Cynthia more than six feet under the surface. Eld dismissed Cynthia with a roll of his eyes, focusing on the annoyed man walking towards them with terrifying footsteps. “Levi, she just went inside the building. Believe me, we were trying to prevent her from getting her head cut off by you but she wouldn’t listen!” The blonde glared at the woman who was gasping dramatically, manicured hand pressed on her chest. “Levi, you have to believe me. Mikasa even had to—“

“I understand, Eld.” Levi’s voice was uncharacteristically icy. Sure, he was known for being blunt and dismissive at times but that was the man's nature in forming social relationships. The employees were used to him being that way. Right now, though, his glare could have frozen Cynthia in place. “What is this, Miss Maryland? I thought I told you to leave a message to my secretary if you want to have an appointment with me. But I remember telling you that I’m not free this day.”

Cynthia pouted. “But I also told you that I wanted to have lunch with you! Is your job more important than me? Or are you just using that as an excuse to not make time for me?”

Eld looked scandalized at the woman’s reaction while Altair was wincing at the sound of Cynthia’s whine.

Levi was praying for his ears as well, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself down. He looked at Altair at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t recall you being on my priority list, Miss Maryland, and I have plans with Al today anyway. Horseback riding.”

“You’re lying!” The woman turned to Altair. “Is this true, Al, darling?”

The boy quickly took note of the hint of desperation from his father’s eyes so he smiled. “Yeah, I’ll be riding Nox since I miss my horse while I was at camp.”

“You heard my kid,” Levi drawled. “Now get out. You’re invading my privacy — sounds fitting for your job.”

Cynthia’s face scrunched in disgust, turning around abruptly, her hair hitting Eld in the face. The blonde man sputtered before incredulously staring at the retreating publicist. There wouldn’t be any need for Mikasa to restrain her if needed since she knew the way out. Eld turned back to Levi and Altair, his face showing how guilty he was. “Levi, I’m really sorry. If I’d known she’ll barge in here like this.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you, Eld.”

“Alright.” Eld trailed off, shifting his attention from Levi to Altair. He waved at Levi’s son before pointing at the door behind. “Have a great afternoon, you two.”

Levi nodded at his friend, sitting on the couch with a sigh when the door closed. He had to get rid of that publicist, she was starting to become a headache. Levi then felt a small weight on his shoulder. Turning his head to the side, a head of onyx hair greeted his vision. With a small smile, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Altair, letting him snuggle into his side some more. The two of them cherished the silence as if the room was their haven, away from pesky publicists and the bustling activity a floor below.

Speeding through the plantation felt liberating for Altair. He wanted to raise his arms in the air as they zoomed by the small tea trees but that would mean having Levi being suspicious of him. At first, Altair thought that the predicament with Captain would be the same with Nox but the black beauty of a horse nuzzled his palm affectionately as if he was the real owner. Of course, it couldn’t happen without the help of the sugar cubes laid out on his palm. Now, he was laughing as he raced with his dad, their destination was the hill on the other side of the plantation. It looked like Levi was winning but Altair tried to spur Nox faster. A blur of black reached their landmark, a tree with a swing on it, and Altair whooped at the top of his lungs.

“I won!”

“You always win,” Levi told him, a loving stare directed at his son.

Altair turned his horse to meet Levi’s stare. “I do?”

A confused frown painted the silver-eyed man’s lips.

At that, Altair brightened immediately, realizing his mistake. “I do! Just slipped my mind again. I can’t seem to stop forgetting things. That’s so weird.”

Levi guided his horse to walk towards Altair’s. “Yeah, so weird,” he murmured until he was beside his son. They stared at the plantation with varying expressions. The boy looked so mesmerized at how the sun touched every single tree while Levi blankly surveyed the rows of what brought him to this moment. It was once upon a time when he brought you here during spring break in junior year at college, telling you his dreams of starting a tea plantation. You looked radiant against the sunset, the rays creating a halo that Levi wanted to preserve forever. Altair’s laugh when he won has the same smile as yours when you manage to outrun him in a race. Levi couldn’t help but think of a life with you and the twins here in the plantation and estate, the two boys growing up with each other and with both parents unlike now. The four of you wouldn’t experience the pain brought by the separation. But reality struck him hard when Altair breathed out an expelling sigh, eyes soft around the corners like yours.

“So, Al, do you think we’re lonely?”

The said boy looked at his dad, who was wistfully looking at the plantation like it was hurting him. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Altair’s grip on the reins tightened. “Why are you asking this, Dad?”

Levi took a deep breath. “Believe it or not, Al, but I feel lonely every night. The moon and the stars must be tired of my internal monologues to them, all wishing to have a normal night with our complete family. But with Maryland here, there seems to be someone at the back of my head telling me to make a move. You know what, Al, I want—“

“Race you back to the ranch, Dad!”

“What—wait, Al! Hey, slow down, kiddo!”

Tears were starting to blur Altair’s vision as he rode around the plantation. No, the plan wasn’t going to work. His twin brother was a liar when he said he had an amazing and genius plan. Everything was starting to burn in flames and Altair had no choice but to watch it fester until only ashes remain. When he reached the stables, he tied the reins to the post with hurried yet precise knots. And Altair ran and ran. Up the slope leading to the manor, past the building where the workers were happily interacting with another until he felt himself bumping into someone. He brushed off a concerned Mikasa shouting at him to slow down. Minutes later, Levi passed by the fretting young woman, the latter asking if Altair was alright. But the onyx-haired boy finally reached the safe confines of their manor, passing by the opened double doors. He started pacing around the living room.

Altair buried his hands in his hair, his accent coming out as he rambled. “This isn’t going the way he expected it to. Bonkers, this is a mess! I’m just a kid and I couldn’t handle everything at once. Now, Mum’s getting married to a person I don’t know and Dad is tying the knot with Cindy—Cassandra—whatever!” He leaned on the back of an armchair, body slumping on the plush cushion. “And I don’t even know Dad as much as he does. How am I supposed to fix this?”

“What are you trying to fix?” Petra suddenly appeared in the armchair. (She was there all along but she figured that by keeping quiet, she will learn more about why Altair acted strangely since he came home.) The redhead stood up, arms crossed on her chest. “Do you want to share something with the class, Al?”

Altair jumped back, placing a hand on top of his pounding heart. “You gave me a fright, Petra.”

Petra leaned back with an expression of disbelief. “What? Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk to me about? If you’re scared of your dad finding out your secrets right now, you can always tell me.” Altair remained silent as he stared wide-eyed at the nanny and housekeeper. “Care to explain to me why Captain doesn’t like you anymore when he has been with you since you were a toddler? Or how you can’t open the doors properly? Even your appetite change this morning. I have so many questions, Al, and it all stemmed from when you came home. Do you know something we don’t?”

The boy shrugged. That didn’t seem to alleviate the suspiciousness he carried. “I just changed over the summer, that’s all.”

Petra slowly took a step forward and tilted her head down to meet Altair’s eyes. “I’m starting to think you were raised …” She shook her head to dispel the thought and turned around to make herself busy in the kitchen. “That’s impossible. Never mind. I must be needing sleep from all these theories.”

“I am raised by who, Petra?”

She waved her hand to dismiss the question. “Forget it, Al. I’m not supposed to talk to you about this anyway.”

“Like I’m raised by [Name] [Last Name]? Like I’m the other half of one pair of twins?”

The redhead tensed at the question, her smile frozen in place. She managed to blink herself outside of her stupor, slowly regarding the onyx-haired boy, who was gradually turning into an image of you. Those eyes, though sharing Levi’s stormy irises, were reminiscent of your kind ones — always appearing as soft as they can be despite the intensity of a present glare. Petra was at a loss for words and she had to clear her throat a couple of times to find her voice. “How do you know her full name? How do you know that you have a twin, Al? How do you know about—?”

“About Caelum?” The boy pursed his lips, forcing himself to smile. He dropped the act because there was no use continuing their charade any further. Besides, this is Petra, the most loyal person from what he could observe during a full day in the Ackerman estate. She reminded him of Oluo, the way they stuck to each parent almost every day. His British accent came out when he said the next words, “That’s because I am Caelum.”

If this wasn’t a serious situation, Caelum would’ve laughed at Petra’s reaction.

“Altair?!”

Levi looked around when he stepped foot on the patio. However, he was surprised at the peculiar scenario welcoming him in the living room — it was as if Petra was looking at his son for the first time in years. The redhead had both hands covering her mouth, tears prickling her eyes, and an expression showing disbelief. He rose an eyebrow in incredulity because nobody paid him any attention. With measured footsteps, Levi placed a hand on his son’s shoulders, making the boy jump a few inches in the air.

“Hey, buddy,” his voice was so soft since his boy looked shaken up just as much as Petra, “why did you take off on me like that? I told you I wanted to talk to you about something.” His son looked up at him with wide eyes so Levi expectantly glanced at Petra. The woman was still silent with that constipated look on her face. “Petra, do you need to take a shit? Why are you looking at Al like that?”

Caelum was breathing heavily, eyes pleading with Petra to let him tell Levi the truth.

With a subtle nod, Petra wiped her eyes and turned to Levi, who had his face scrunched in perplexity. “Like what? I’m not looking at him in a special way.” She shrugged but with one look at the bright-eyed boy beside her friend, her voice started to falter. “I’m looking at him like I’ve looked at him for eleven years. Since the day he came home from the hospital, all wrapped up and squirming for contact with his parents.” Petra looked like she could cry any minute. (Levi was staring at her like she had grown a second head. He was ready to give her a day-off.) “Seven pounds, five ounces, 21 inches long. This is how I look at him.”

Caelum felt himself smile as Petra gestured at him.

“Can I hug him?”

Levi blinked and stayed silent for a second. He lifted his hand from his son’s shoulder and stepped back since Petra wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He felt the back of an armchair behind him, leaning against it with a sigh. “Everybody’s so weird.”

As the woman continued hugging Caelum, she exclaimed, “Oh, he’s so beautiful and he’s grown so much.” The boy nuzzled his head on the crook of his nanny’s neck, a large smile painted on his face.

For once in his life, Levi wanted to sleep the day off. Maybe everything might go back to normal.

Petra pulled away from the hug, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. She pointed at Caelum while trying to control her voice from shaking. “I’m going to make you something special to eat. What do you feel like eating? Anything? You know what?” She waved her hand once she reached the entrance of the kitchen. “I’ll just whip up something from everything we’ve got, okay?” With a last nod and an apologetic smile directed at Levi, Petra went to the kitchen whilst wiping her tears, leaving behind the two Ackermans’.

Now that heartfelt moment ended, Levi knew he had to tell his son what’s weighing on his mind for the past years. All it took were eight weeks for him to steel himself in making a choice he won’t come to regret. If only he had done this when you gave him your back, a baby looking like him snug in your arms and reaching out to a father he won’t come to have. If only he had chased you to London, fighting for your love in front of your parents, promising a life filled with enough luxury for your newfound family. If only he had the strength back then, none of this would’ve happened. So Levi gently directed his son to the couches, sitting in front of the boy on the low table. Their gazes matched each other and it looked like Levi was staring at his younger self.

“We have to talk.” The onyx-haired man’s voice was so soft, matching his visage that was contorted in slight wariness and expectation.

Caelum nodded. “Okay. Shoot, Dad.”

Levi nodded back. “I’ve been thinking about this since you were a toddler and this summer was the only time I could focus on debating with myself on it.” He took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his chest, and his cheeks burning. “Al, I want to get back together with your mom.”

The whole world stopped. Caelum stopped breathing for a few seconds. There was a lack of emotions inside him at first, him just staring like an idiot at Levi. Suddenly, he felt like jumping but that would look suspicious so Caelum abruptly stood up in front of his dad, tingles traveling in every fiber of his body.

“Al?” Levi asked, confused at the constipated look on his little boy.

Bright gray eyes stared back at Levi, Caelum’s grin erasing every doubt in his father’s body. “This is perfect, Dad!”

“It is?” The onyx-haired man trailed off before perking up a little, a small grin tugging his mouth upwards. “Yeah, it is. I decided that I will do everything right this time and have our family back again.” He looked down wistfully on the floor, fingers wringing with each other. He murmured under his breath, “I wonder how Caelum’s doing right now. Will he like me? I’m not exactly awarded with the best father of the year title.”

On the other hand, Caelum heard it and he couldn’t help but grin knowingly. He erased that on his face when Levi looked up at him. “So, Dad, what are you going to do about Cindy?”

“What about the publicist?”

Caelum sat back down, leaning forward to enunciate his next words. “Well, it’s quite obvious that she’s so enamored by you.”

Levi scoffed a disdainful laugh. “Why would she? I’m not interested in her in some way. I don’t even like women her age.”

“That’s the thing, Dad. I heard from her yesterday that you’re planning on telling me something. I figured it would involve her since she suggested it. It might be a different thing than what you told me right now.”

“Oh, that. I decided, with the help of Petra and the other workers, that you will be the face of the tea shop. Since I am not too comfortable with the idea of having my pictures posted on every branch, a majority vote prompted you to do the job. But Mikasa suggested that we also do that by putting you in the new label design. It doesn’t have to have your face on it, just your silhouette. I think Isabelle will do that well enough.”

“So,” Caelum prolonged the word, “you’re not engaged to her, right?”

Levi looked ready to barf his lunch. “What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

A sheepish smile prevented the laugh that was bubbling in Caelum’s chest. “I tend to overthink at times, Dad.”

The silver-eyed man sighed, running his hand through his hair. “You get that from me.”

“I asked you that because yesterday, she told me you proposed to her because you wanted me to have a mother figure. She even told me you dated because you liked her at first sight. She mentioned that you went horseback riding in the sunset like a typical chick flick pairing and there you confessed that you felt lonely because Mom left you. Oh, I mustn’t forget how you reciprocated her feelings under a moonlit night. Hey, Dad, where are you going? Dad?”

“Don’t mind me, Al, I’m killing a bitch this afternoon and it’s best if you stay put while I do that.”

“Dad?!”

Cynthia Maryland is a fucking menace to society.

It has been so long since Levi met a person who just by talking, brain cells are diminishing at every word they utter. The first one who made him feel this way was a genius, however, they were too much for his social battery. They always hung off of him at times during college all because they were your childhood friend, who followed you to America to make you feel like you had someone in a foreign country back then. That was seen as endearing but this time, it’s fucking irritating. Levi didn’t even have to control himself from showing how much he wanted this meeting to be over.

“Miss Maryland, can you please listen to me for one second?” Levi spat out, the stress coming to him in a migraine.

“I am listening, doll, and I guess those plans with Altair didn’t happen because you have me in your office — doors closed and just the two of us,” Cynthia spoke in a sultry voice that didn’t have any effect on the man slumped on his chair. “I will do anything for you, Mr. Ackerman.”

“Thank God for that.”

Cynthia was over the stars at that statement.

“Because I believe it’s time for your job as my shop’s publicist to be terminated. So I suggest getting out of here.”

“What?!” The brunette all but shrieked.

At the commotion, a knock resonated in the room. “Levi, is everything all right in there?” Mikasa asked. “Do you need me to restrain her?”

“No need, Mikasa,” Levi answered, not looking away from the distressed woman squawking in front of him. “Hey, Maryland, what are you whining about? Didn’t you hear what I just said? You’re fired. What are you still doing here?”

“Pray tell, why are you firing me?! You need me!”

Levi rose an eyebrow. “Why would I need you when I have capable people working on the plantation right now? It was a mistake hiring you. Eld was actually the one who wanted to have a publicist for the tea shops and if my secretary said it would be beneficial to the business, I will always say yes. But I guess he hired the wrong person. As for the question of why I fired you, let’s just say, you were spewing things that weren’t even true. And of all people, you said those things to my son. What are you trying to gain from telling him we’re fucking engaged? Money? My last name?”

The brunette remained silent, angry tears dripping on her cheeks.

“Let me tell you this, Miss Maryland, you’re not worth those things. So if you don’t want me to get fucking angry at you, get the fuck out.”

While the whole debacle with Cynthia was happening in Levi’s office, Caelum was in the kitchen rolling a pin over a chunk of dough. The silver-eyed boy was helping Petra with the afternoon snacks, something that the nanny suggested since Caelum looked bored out of his mind, staring into the high ceiling of the living room while lying on the long couch. Only half an hour passed since Levi stormed into his office, demanding Eld to contact ‘that hysterical fucking woman’, and only two batches of apple turnovers were ready for the oven. There were a lot of workers on the plantation, all of them having big appetites, so Caelum and Petra had a lot of work to do.

Caelum just finished his story of meeting Altair for the first time and his shoulders felt so light after spilling everything out.

Petra pensively gave Caelum a wistful glance. “I’m happy that you two found each other.”

The boy looked up at the redhead. An air of earnest gratitude exuded from her, the idea of two twins reuniting was worth being happy about. Petra wasn’t the only one thanking the moon and stars for granting a request, Caelum felt like his world expanded because of that summer camp. “I am happy, too. I got to meet you, Mikasa, and the workers. I want this stay to last longer than a day but Al and I will eventually go back to our rightful homes.”

“Why are you being sad, kiddo? Didn’t Levi tell you that he’s planning on courting your mom again?”

“That’s the thing,” Caelum mumbled. The dough became too thin to wrap around apple fillings at the force he was pressing down on the rolling pin. He sighed, starting over again. “Mum is engaged to someone in London. I can’t even do anything about it.”

Petra hummed casually. “But Altair can.” Beside her, Caelum once again shifted his attention from the dough to her side profile, making her smile. “One thing I know about Al through the years is that he will do everything to make his plan a success. That brother of yours is a stubborn kid but he’s determined to fulfill his goal, which so happens to be what Levi’s planning, too.” She placed the knife on the cutting board, leaving the apples unattended, and faced Caelum with a half-smile. “How about this, you want to make this a success?”

Caelum nodded.

“Then tell your dad who you really are.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “No!” He looked down, cursing himself for raising his voice at Petra. “I mean, he’ll be mad for sure.”

The redhead chuckled before pointing a ladle at Caelum. “That’s where you’re wrong. Levi was always praying every night to have a glimpse of his other son across the sea. Now that you’re here, you’ll be giving him the happiness he always wanted for eleven years. He deserves to hug you, knowing who you are.”

This is how Caelum found himself standing in front of Levi’s bedroom. It was inevitable anyway — his dad finding out his real identity. Letting out a sigh, Caelum twisted the doorknob with clammy hands, opening the door to the image of Levi reading a book on his bed. The boy smiled when Levi looked up at the sound of the door opening.

Levi took off his reading glasses and smiled. “Hey, kiddo, come in.” He lifted his covers as an invitation for the tentative boy. When Caelum got on the bed, Levi placed his book on the nightstand along with his glasses. For a moment, he only looked at his son with soft eyes as Caelum adjusted the duvet to cover his lap. He pulled him close with an arm around the boy’s shoulders, letting Caelum relax against him. “Did you have a nightmare?” Levi felt his son shake his head. “Is something bothering you?” At the silence, Levi looked down on Caelum's onyx hair. He kissed the side of the boy’s head. “I hope you will feel better once we spend the rest of the day tomorrow.”

“I can’t, Dad, I’m sorry.” It was a low murmur that Levi had to crane his head to hear. “I have to go somewhere tomorrow.”

“And where will this somewhere be? Is Mikasa going with you? Or did Petra invite you to go get the groceries?”

The silver-eyed boy squirmed out of Levi’s hold, burying himself in the think blankets.

“Al? Are you feeling unwell? Kiddo?” Levi tried tickling his son’s sides but was only met with muffled laughs. “Al.”

A British accent enveloped the words Caelum uttered next, “That’s where I’m going! I have to go see Altair.”

“And where might Altair be?”

A pause. “In London.” Levi froze. “With his mum, [Name] [Last Name].”

It was as if cold water surrounded Levi, dunking him in a fever dream. It was too good to be true. Of all the surprises he received for the day, this is by far the most responsible for taking away his voice and steady breathing. He couldn’t think properly at the revelation. So this was the reason why Petra looked like she saw the boy for the first time because she did, after eleven years. His heartbeat echoed through his chest, making a duet with his clattering mind. Levi didn’t know what to do. Should he embrace the son he never got to hug in almost twelve years or should he stay quiet and let the night go on, pretending that this was a dream? His eyes started to burn with unshed tears as he carefully lifted the edge of the duvet off the small figure lying beside him. There was no way this was happening. But as he finally got a glimpse of his son staring up at him, eye shape boring some similarities to yours, Levi let out a shaky breath.

“Caelum?”

Caelum sat up. “Yes, Dad?”

Levi’s vision became blurry, arms instantly wrapping around Caelum. He hugged him tightly, worried that this might be a trick of his loneliness, that this was Altair pretending to be his twin to make him happy. But no. He knew Altair like the back of his hand and if he hugged him like this, the little brat would whine at the long physical contact. This was Caelum, hands gentle like yours as they patted his back. He didn’t know he was crying until Caelum rubbed rhythmic circles on his back to calm him down.

“Al and I met at camp and we decided to switch places.” His breath hitched, nuzzling his head on Levi’s chest. “Dad, I’ve dreamt my whole life of finally meeting you. Seeing you waiting at the airport nearly made me cry because you were exactly like Mum’s vague stories. And Al wanted to meet Mum as well so we sort of made the switch impulsively.”

Levi pulled away, a smile present on his face. “Who exactly made this plan?”

“Never in my life would I suggest switching places with my twin. I told Al this is an idiotic plan yet here we are.”

Levi snorted a laugh. “Of course it’s Al’s idea.”

“But Dad …”

“Hmm?” The man waited patiently for his little heaven to speak up.

“I hope you’re not raging at the moment because I love you so much and I just hope that one day, you will love me as me — not as a mirror image of Al.”

Levi pulled Caelum again in a hug, kissing the boy on the crown of his head. “Did you know I was the one who named you?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Since your mom named Altair after a star, I thought it would be best if you were named after the realm the star is situated. You’re my little heaven, Cae, and nothing can change that. I’ve loved you your whole life. Stop being a mopey little brat — I meant that term in the most endearing way possible because your mother was the original one, she was my pain in the ass — and give your dad another hug.”

Caelum felt like he forgot something, choosing this moment to never mention you being engaged to someone and instead chose to let his dad’s warm hugs lull him to sleep.

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#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot #aot x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #rorywrites #modern au #the parent trap #shingeki no kyojin #dad!levi

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333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics.

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had.

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead.

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat.

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke.

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife.

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?”

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye.

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed.

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward.

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier imagine #frankie morales imagine #triple frontier fic #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales fic #Frankie Morales x OFC #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #benny miller #will miller #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #ben miller #dove fic

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char-lotta · 3 years

Text

Forgive me not (3/3)

Pairing: Jake x MC

Words: 2,8 k

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Summary: Forgetting is hard but forgiving is harder

A/N: See the end (spoilers)

Forgive me not, part three

You felt air escaping your lungs and the adrenaline just kept rushing in your veins, your poor heart pumped furiously trying to composure things which had totally pulled the rug under your feet. This couldn’t be happening.

“Can’t go offline now, huh?” she mocked you. Your muscles didn’t oblige your brains anymore, but to be honest, your brains were one slushy mess at this point. She was in control of this discussion and was pulling you in.

“H-h-how?” you finally muttered and heard her laugh bitterly. You couldn’t see anything funny in this situation and tried to find a place to sit down. The rain was pouring harder than ever, and you could barely hear her anymore. The thunder hit loudly; it was getting really near.

“When two adults love each other’s… - “she started, but then snorted, “- Oh wait. You didn’t love me.”

You tried to ignore her, since you knew that you loved her more than anything in this world, but you couldn’t. “I do love you”, you said in a quiet tone. You didn’t even realize that you didn’t use the past tense like she did, but she got it immediately.

“You love me? What kind of a man loves a woman and leaves her just because he loves her so much?” she asked. “What kind of man leaves a pregnant woman?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to know”, she erupted, and you could see her eyes on fire. You were still trying to understand what was going on, but the situation had gone out of control.

“Why didn’t you send me a message?” you asked dumbfound. You didn’t mean to blame her, you just wanted to understand, why didn’t she tell you before?

“Why didn’t I send you a message?” she spat furiously, and you knew that you had done a mistake. She literally exploded. “I tried to contact you months! I pleaded, I begged, I called you a hundred times, but it was all in vain.”

You could hear her tone getting muffled and saw those tears again glimmering in her eyes. “What was I supposed to do? You didn’t want to answer any of my texts”.

“But you didn’t say that you were pregnant”, you tried to be reasonable with her, but you picked the wrong words, you didn’t even get to finish your sentence when she burst again.

“FUCK YOU!” she yelled, and her neighbors dog started to bark above her in apartment, distracted by the noise. “It took me ages to pull my shit together and you are asking me, why I didn’t tell you via text that I was pregnant? Fuck you, Jake! And fuck me!”

“Well, that was the thing what got us in this situation, don’t you think”, you grunted. The dog was still barking, and someone turned lights on in the first floor. The place started to feel too public. “Could we please go inside?”

She looked like she would be going to slap you and you would not blame her for that, you would deserve it all. Before she got to say anything, you just took her hand and looked her intensely, pleading. “Please, MC. Let’s go inside.”

Something changed in her gaze and she looked thoughtful, and a few seconds later, she nodded withdrawing her hand quickly from yours. She leaded you through the stairwell to her new home, and you followed her as numb. While she was taking the stairs with loud thumps while marching, you could hear her muttering herself and picked up sentences; “all of the sudden he just shows up” and “I am not going to let him sneak in again”.

When you got inside her apartment, the brightness of the room blazed you for a second, since you had to get used to it after the street’s darkness. She walked to the closet looking for something, and returned with a few towels, handing one over to you. You took the towel with gratitude and for a minute, you both were silent while drying yourself.

Both of you were shivering of coldness, but you didn’t complain, and neither was she. She got rid of the thick and wet cardigan and you couldn’t help yourself, but you had to look it again.

The bump was clearly visible now and it looked so tiny in her body, and you couldn’t get hold of the idea that inside of the bump, was something produced by you. She noticed you looking at her but didn’t move. You moved your gaze in her eyes and looked her helplessly.

“I don’t know what to do”, you said desperately, trying to seek some comfort from her. She had always been so great soothing you and helped you cope the anxiousness and stress of yours, but now she was relentless. Still, it was unfair that she was the one who had to console you. But your thoughts were a mess and you just couldn’t understand how this happened.

“You do what you do best”, she said tiredly. “Go and leave me alone.”

Even now, when your life was shattering, you knew that you couldn’t do that for her, even though you wanted to get far from this situation as you could. Previously, you had put her in danger simply just being with her, but this… This was a whole new level for you. How on earth you could keep both of them safe?

Them…

The airways of yours felt tight again and you tried to get some air by moving your head and opening your mouth. One... Two… Three… you counted as you inhaled and exhaled. With your eyes closed, you tried to calm yourself now and could feel the rhythm of your heart slowing down.

There was a small tug in your hand, and you opened your eyes. She was nudging you towards the kitchen.

“C’mon, I’ll make you some tea”, she said, and you obliged.

You watched her boiling the water and getting two mugs in front of her in her cozy kitchen and could just admire her peacefulness.

“How can you be so calm?” you asked and hoped she wouldn’t get angry again. She looked you with a mysterious face but didn’t yell.

“I had enough time to panic already”, she said. “But those feelings you’re having now, well I had to face them alone.”

Her words didn’t sound accusing, but the rush of shame flooded into you. You had thought that it was best for her that she wouldn’t have to bear with you and risk her life for something you had done, but instead you had abandoned her in time, where she was needing you the most. You remembered your mother crying in the evenings for the absence of your father and even tough you were just a little boy; you had sworn that you would never be like your father. And you had failed miserably.

She handed in your tea and you took it in your own hands. Tea warmed your cold hands nicely and you could feel the blood flowing in your fingers after a while. You sat on the chair towards her and looked her in the eye.

She had never looked so beautiful as now. The dark, wet curls around her face, which were now calm, but those eyes… The green eyes of hers pierced you with their gaze, and you weren’t sure, what she was thinking. She looked so strong, independent, and full of life.

“I thought that you would contact me after I told you I have important things to discuss”, she said plainly and looked her hands, which were tight around her cup of tea. “You always told me that you would be there for me whatever happened, so when you weren’t… Well, I just didn’t want to humiliate myself more, since I thought you wouldn’t read my messages.” You could see the hands trembling in around her cup.

“I did read your messages”, you responded with sadness in your voice. “I tried to keep my promise to you, but with distance. I tried to keep you safe. I could never forgive myself if something happened for you just because of me. You didn’t choose this life, but I did. I knew that I would never be able to live normal life in the suburbs, having a job from 9 am – 5pm, couple of kids and a dog… And those things are still so important since I wanted to give you a chance for those.”

Her explanation was reasonable, and you knew it. You had promised her those things before… When you had thought that it was possible to be near her and keep her safe by you.

“But you never asked me what I wanted”, she reminded you with kindness in her words. That was true, but why would she give up on everything she had? You couldn’t even promise to her that tomorrow was going to be a better day, since you did have no idea of tomorrow. You could be captured, and she would get trouble, just for being with you.

“I wanted to be with you”, she continued, and you could see the tears in her cheeks. There was a lump in your throat and carefully, you caressed her cheek, wiping the tears with your thumb. She took your hand in hers and for a moment, you got lost in her eyes. She was so amazing, letting you touch her after all you had done.

“I am so sorry”, you said in a muffled tone, and the vision of her started to get blurry. And you were, so fucking sorry for everything you had done, for any pain you had caused to her. She sobbed quietly and you couldn’t resist yourself and went around the table to her and pulled her close. Her head laid in your chest while she cried, and the sound of her crying was the worst thing you had ever heard. She sounded so broken.

“I am sorry”, you repeated, hugging her tightly.

You couldn’t ask for forgiveness of hers and didn’t even dare to hope it. But you sworn to her, that you would always be there for her and would provide her and it all the things they would ever need.

“Jake”, she whispered through her sobs. “It is a baby. Baby of yours, not it. She or he will be a tiny human of yours and mine.”

You buried your head in her hair, smelling that familiar scent of hers. Being a father was not the thing what you had ever expected to be or even dream of and you could not handle the thought. It felt like someone else’s life, not yours, the wanted by the government-hacker.

“But how?” you asked again, needing to understand.

“Do you remember that one night? When we woke up in the middle of the night, needing each other’s? We made love in half sleep”, she reminded you and suddenly you remembered.

That one night, you had woken up and the only thought in your head was I want you, and you had woken her up by gently, kissing her neck, just below her ear as she loved it. You couldn’t remember using the protection though.

“It was only one time”, you breathed.

“And it was all what was needed”, she answered. The silence fell between you, and after a while, you felt urge to explain, why you had left her.

“They sent me a picture of you to remind me, that they knew who you were”, you told her, head still in her hair. “It was a threat without a doubt, and I couldn’t let you continue this mess of what I call my life.”

She clung on your clothes and told you that she didn’t care, and you didn’t want to hear it. She could not give her life away just because of you, you would not be worth it. “But you are worth it”, she insisted, and you couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore and turned your gaze away. She pulled your face back to hers with her hand and told you again, that she would give anything to be with you.

“I want to wake up with you every single day of my life”, she said. “Even if it means that I’ll give up on my life as I know it now. We are meant to be together”, she exclaimed, taking your hand in yours.

“Think about it; we would never had met without the kidnapping of Hannah and we fell in love via messages without seeing each other’s face. And when we finally did, I didn’t want to let go of you ever. Those two months with you were the best time of my life”, she breathed quickly now.

You couldn’t believe your ears; all those words were too good to be true. She felt exactly the same with you, than you with her. The living without her was nothing but emptiness and sadness, that twisted image of life alone was not worth it. The purpose of your living was right here, in your arms.

“I don’t know how you could forgive me what I did”, you said and meant every word of yours. How could she? All your promises were empty, and you had left her alone.

“I have to”, she said. “And I want to. Not just for me, but for us”, she continued and took your hand to her stomach, and you could feel the baby bump under your hand.

“I don’t dream of those things you told me”, she explained. “I dream of us being together, all three of us. We might not be the most traditional family, but we are still family”, she continued.

“I don’t know how to do this”, you admitted nervously. Nothing could prepare you for this moment advance, since this was the door in your life which had been closed forever. Or so you had thought.

“You just need to be with us”, she assured you. “Forget those pursuers of yours, we can figure out together how to get rid of those. We can always move outside of the country and start all over again”, she sounded little bit excited now.

For a moment, you pulled being reasonable aside and let yourself think about her suggestion. It was a possibility, but you would need a new identities and passports. You had friends who could help with those easily and first time in years, you had hope.

“I can not promise you that we would be always safe and clear”, you reminded her, but she hushed you.

“I know. But when the time comes, we’ll solve it out together”, she answered with assuring tone. “You just have to promise one thing though.”

“And what is that?”

“Stop escaping your happiness now”, she looked you in a stern face. “And don’t you ever leave me.”

You looked her in the eyes and knew, that there would be no turning back from this. The choice of yours was easy, but you still hesitated since this was her life you were talking now, and she was so eager to hand it over to you, just for the opportunity of being together. She saw the pain in your face and knew, that it wasn’t because you didn’t want those things, but you were afraid.

“I love you, Jake”, she breathed and came closer. Her lips looked so soft, inviting you back to the light. Your lips met carefully, having a taste of each other’s, but suddenly you felt this hot burn inside of you and you got greedy, pulling her closer, kissing her passionately, draining all the misery, sadness and fears out. She nibbed your lower lip and you let a small moan escape on your lips, why would I ever wanted to let go of this. Your hand was in her hair, grasping a solid place to hold on, and your other hand wandered in the surface of her spine.

You two parted as breathing quickly, grasping for air. Your hands stayed in their places and you just knew, that you had made your decision; you were going through this together. All three of you.

“I love you, Jake”, she repeated and looked you desperately. “You can not leave me again, I will not have it, you hear me?”

You nodded and you told her that you would do anything that you could, so you could have a fresh start together somewhere else. You kissed her lightly and caressed her bump gently. This was a wild territory for you, but you would do anything for your family, not just because promise of yours when you had looked your mother, but because you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them.

“I love you too“, you whispered to her ear and she rewarded you with a kiss.

A/N: This was probably the hardest chapter to write, but still, the quickest one. My idea of Jake being so insecure comes from his need to protect MC, even if it causes him to be in pain. He have always wanted the best for her. I hope you like this story as much I did writing this :) Thank you for sticking with me till the end!

#duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #jake x mc #jake x player

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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To Weep For The Sun

Summary: Argella Baratheon never wanted to become a lady-in-waiting to her cousin's, Rhaegar, betrothed. But then Elia Martell smiled at her and the world tilted.

Pairing: Elia Martell/Baratheon!Female Original Character, Oberyn Martell/Baratheon!Original Female Character

WARNINGS: sneaking around with the love of your life behind your husband’s back, Elia and her babies have the canon ending, sorry, maximum angst

Word Count: 9.6k (is anyone surprised?)

(Banner by bb @thesadvampire who would always let me scream and cry about Elia)

A/N: This story bounces between the 'past' (pre-Robert's Rebellion) and the 'present' (post Rebellion.) Please let me know if you have any questions.

Or read on Ao3 here!

Robert’s face was red and wet—redder still from where her hand had connected with his cheek. The clattering of armor, of Kingsguard dogs rushing to their new king’s aid from the woman who had just smacked him, barely registered in her ears.

“You are a monster.”

Argella remembered meeting the princess before the royal wedding. She was a Baratheon—a far off cousin of the Targaryen family tree and the only girl born to Steffon and Cassana Baratheon and Queen Rhaella had requested she become a lady-in-waiting to the new princess of the Seven Kingdoms. It was supposed to be an honor, many others had been vying for the position she was unceremoniously saddled with, but she only saw it as an inconvenience. King’s Landing smelled. It had none of the charms of Storm’s End and she hated how warm every day was—where were the storms to lull her to sleep? Or the sea breeze to cool her heated skin?

And she was completely prepared to bribe her new slew of handmaidens to make sure her chalice was always filled with sweet wine but then…

“Hello,” a soft voice said.

And the world tilted.

Elia was a quiet sort of woman, who had a soft laugh and a wicked wit she only voiced in chosen few. And her poor heart was already firmly planted in Elia’s delicate hands when the princess called her into her chambers, late at night, only a few moons after her engagement to Prince Rhaegar had been announced.

King’s Landing, it seemed, had been very lonely for both of them.

“But it is good to have friends. True friends.”

Argella’s breath stuttered in her lungs when Elia reached out to touch her hand, pressing her gentle fingers around hers and squeezed. “Yes. Friends.” The word was strangled in her throat. “I would be blessed to call you friend, Princess.”

Elia chuckled and tightened her hold. “We are already friends.”

Even as the Kingsguard pushed her down to her knees at the base of the Iron Throne, Argella would not stop hurling insults at her brother—the usurper.

But she did not care about the stupid throne or whose ass sat on the stupid metal chair.

She cared about Elia and her babies.

“Did your hurt pride truly rob you of your last shred of humanity?”

“Silence!” Robert roared. He waved his hand and the armored grips on her shoulders were removed. “You are my sister. I will not fight you-”

“Fight me! You coward! You could not bear to have little Lyanna be anyone else’s wife! You are a spoiled boy with a toy—so you broke it so no one else could play with it.”

“I am your king! You will-”

“I will not! You will listen to me. You have robbed three innocents of their lives for your stupid pride. Elia and her children were not a threat to you. They would have renounced any claim to the throne if you had asked. But you left them bloody and nearly unrecognizable,” she spat. “They were children—babies. And Elia was gentle and kind. And you killed them!”

“I know!” Robert yelled, his voice cracking and echoing in the hall. “Do you truly believe that I do not care-”

“I know you don’t! Because you sit there with a crown on your head and wine in your gut like a glutton. You will ruin this kingdom—you will ruin yourself even more than you have already—you have ruined me!”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Argella found herself half-in-love with the Dornish Princess. She was kind and beautiful and clever and she was fond of whispering vulgar jokes into her ear when they were surrounded by other highborn noblemen who were preparing for the royal wedding in just a few moons’ time.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Argella murmured as they both pulled the blankets on Elia’s bed up to their chins in the dark room. Argella’s room was always too warm and, since she was the princess’ companion, it was blessedly common for the women to share a bed. After all, the companion was to tend to the princess’ every need at every hour she may need. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”

Even in the dark, with the smallest sliver of moonlight filtering into the room, Argella watched a smile spread across Elia’s face. It was the sun—she was the sun.

And then Elia kissed her.

She wished she could say it looked like Elia was sleeping when she saw her next. But no. She had fought like a tigress against the hands of the Stranger but she was still ever so delicate. She had lost that fight.

“I’m sorry, my love. I am so sorry,” she whispered, her fingers just touching the ends of Elia’s hair, remembering how she used to braid it when Elia would be up late with her babies, nursing them or tending to their cries. It was always so soft under her fingers and Elia would smile at her over her shoulder whenever Argella tied off the ends. “I wish it were me. I wish it were me on this wretched table and you were still holding your babes close.” Tears tracked down her cheeks and splashed against Elia’s cooled skin. “Oh, my love. I am so sorry.”

The wedding was lavish, as it was bound to be for the Crown Prince and his bride.

Argella would be lying if she said it did not hurt to see Elia pledge her love and loyalty to Rhaegar. He did not deserve her. Rhaegar had been obsessed with prophecy since he was a boy and Argella wondered what he would do to Elia in pursuit of a fulfilled divination that was centuries old.

But she smiled at her Princess when she turned, holding Rhaegar’s hand, and was pronounced the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The Seven Kingdoms did not deserve her either.

“She shines brighter than any sun, does she not?”

Argella turned at the sound of the voice and smiled as she recognized who was speaking. Oberyn Martell. Elia’s younger brother. He was a dashing man, filled with charisma and charm—and a temper as bright as his smile.

“She does.” Argella wanted to say more. Wanted to say that the dragon prince would try to stifle her shine, that the cloying dirt of the capitol would try to warp her into another mindless drone, that the last night Elia had spent as an unmarried woman had been in her arms. But she didn’t. She only smiled at Oberyn and clapped along with the crowd as the newly married couple walked by, out into the sunlight.

“I wanted to name you Princess of Dragonstone—my heir.”

Argella turned at the sound of Robert’s voice, biting back a snarl. “I would refuse. Have you no shame?”

“I need you-”

“You’re marrying Cersei Lannister. She will provide you plenty of heirs, I’m sure. Just as many as your precious Lyanna would have, too. Or any other girl in the Seven Kingdoms.” Argella turned back to her trunk and placed the dress she had been folding on top of the others.

“It was not me who killed her.”

“No. But you might as well have. You started the rebellion. You marched on the capitol. Every little thing comes back to you and your hurt pride, brother. And for that, I will never forgive you.”

Argella watched Rhaegar dance with his new wife and tried not to scowl. Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions. Royal weddings even more so. But she wanted to rip her hair out when Rhaegar was cold with Elia time and time again during the festivities. It was his wedding—he had married the most beautiful woman in the world, the kindest, the most gentle. And he could barely muster a smile.

“May I steal you?”

Argella nearly startled at the question but laughed as she recognized Oberyn at her side. “As long as it is only for a dance, my prince. You know I must stay by your sister’s side.” She placed her hand in his and let him lead her out toward the other dancing couples. He held her close and she let his pleasurable scent of spice and citrus invade her senses as he led her through the steps of the familiar dance.

“Elia speaks highly of you, Lady Argella.”

“She is too kind. It is a joy to be at her side.”

They spoke easily for the next few songs and dances, and Argella knew she could have easily fallen to Oberyn’s teasing and magnetic charms. She could have chased his smiles and made herself stupid trying to earn his laughter and attention. He was a handsome man, a learned knight, with worldly aspirations. He was who any woman would aspire to marry.

But all she could think of was how soft Elia’s lips had been last night.

But Oberyn smiled at her, unaware of her internal conflict, and she had to smile back. She could never deny him that, it seemed.

“You were my favorite, you know.”

Argella bit back the sneer she felt growing as she finished packing away the small trunk she had taken. “Renly and Stannis both starved for a year holding our home against the Tyrells but I am your favorite? I must say that I hope your new crown grants you a bit more awareness.”

Robert reached out and wrapped his strong hand around her wrist, stopping her movements. “Please, Argella. Please.”

And despite wanting to simply run him through with any sharp object she could get her hands on, she let her older brother turn her to face him and almost scoffed at the tears in his eyes. “What?”

“What would it take for you to forgive me?”

“More than you could give, your grace.”

Robert’s warm hand dropped. “I am giving you one hundred thousand dragons, to help you make a home wherever you see fit.”

“I don’t want your coin! I want Elia alive and breathing! I want her babies to still call me ‘Aunt Argella’ and tug on my hair! I want my life as it was—before your hurt pride ripped it away from me. I was happy, Robert. I was so happy.”

“You used to be happy on my lap, listening to me tell you stories. You used to climb into my bed when you had nightmares because you trusted your brother to keep you safe.”

Argella felt her chin wobble with fresh tears. “Yes. I should have known better. Should have known that you were a selfish brute when you never returned a single one of my letters after you were taken in by Jon Arryn at the Eyrie as his ward. Should have known when you dismissed me out of hand when you came back to Storm’s End. I waited all night for you, to see you come back on your mare. I made sure the cooks had your favorite meal waiting for you, spent more than a few dragons getting that ale you liked from the market—and you waved me off as soon as the gates were opened. You have always been selfish, Robert. I should have known you would take what little happiness I had and squash that, too.”

Robert’s face turned a familiar, terrible shade of sweaty red and he turned away sharply before turning back to her, dragging a hand down his cheeks. “It was not me! I did not steal your Elia away from you!”

“Then tell me who! Tell me who gave the order!”

Elia happily sighed as Argella kissed the backs of each of her thighs, up her back, shoulders, before nipping just slightly at the pulse of her neck. They had been granted a few hours reprieve of Rhaegar’s presence and had indulged themselves in a little carnality, filled with soft touches and wet kisses that lingered and fingers that moved to touch places only the other knew about until they were biting at the other’s shoulders with a cry of release. Elia’s labored breathing slowed as she turned to face her lover, tugging at the ends of her dark hair, silently requesting a kiss which Argella happily gave. “Only the sun can rival the warmth you bring me.”

“You are my sun, Elia.” And then she kissed her again.

“Dorne is calling for war. Prince Oberyn is readying House Martell’s bannerman as we speak,” Jon Arryn, Robert’s new Hand of the King, and surrogate father was pacing around the Small Counsel chamber like a white haired pony.

“My sister wants to travel to Sunspear to deliver Elia and her children to her family,” Robert said.

Argella held her breath from her hiding place behind the door, waiting for Jon Arryn or some other stupid man to say it was not her place.

“That is acceptable. Perhaps Prince Oberyn would be willing to marry-”

“I will not force my sister into any arrangement she does not design herself. That will be the last I hear of it, Lord Arryn, am I understood?”

Jon let out a sigh. “Argella, must learn her place, Your Grace. And it is to serve you and the Realm.”

“Oberyn has sent another raven.” Elia held up the bit of parchment with a smile. “It seems you have made quite an impression on him. He has dreamt of your ‘beautiful eyes and sweet smile’ while he has been running around playing sellsword in Essos.”

Argella chuckled and shook her head. “I am sure he has plenty of people to distract himself with. I will be barely a memory to him in a few moons’ time.”

Elia reached out and tugged at the end of Argella’s braid. “You think so little of yourself, my love. No one would ever be able to forget you. Even when I am old and frail and I can barely remember my own name, I will remember you. I know it. The way you smile, the sound of your laugh,” she reached out to brush a finger down her cheek, “the curve of this, just here. I will remember you.”

Argella leaned forward and kissed her. “And I shall remember you, too, my love. Until the end of my days, which I promise will be at your side.”

Dorne was warm—even as the last vestiges of Winter had the other kingdoms still firmly in its grip. Argella had to pull the silly gable hood from atop her head only a few hours after sunrise as they crossed the Red Mountains. The traveling caravan was small. Much smaller than what was probably proper. But that was what she wanted. House Martell did not need more strangers showing up at their doorstep.

It irritated her enough that Jon Arryn insisted he accompany her, telling Robert that Argella wouldn’t be capable of easing Doran’s (and Oberyn’s) need for vengeance.

Their want for vengeance was justified. Argella wanted vengeance.

And she would have it. She was not satisfied just yet. She wasn’t sure if she ever would be, even if the world was left in ashes.

“Lala,” sang a familiar voice. “Lala!”

Argella opened her eyes at the sound of her secret nickname and had to catch Elia as she pounced onto her bed. “What is it, my love?” She asked in a tired whisper, eyes half closed again already. The sun had not yet risen but it was not as if she would send Elia from her bed.

“I am with child. The maester just confirmed it.”

Argella sat up in bed and her hand pressed against Elia’s stomach, all traces of sleep evaporating in a heartbeat. “Truly?”

Elia happily nodded and placed her hand over Argella’s, squeezing her fingers.

“Oh, my love. I know you have always wanted a babe of your own.” She just wished it was someone who truly loved her. Not Rhaegar—not the dragon prince who would use her babies for some delusion. “They will be the most loved. I know it.”

“Even by you?” Elia asked, her melodic voice very soft, almost frightened. “I know you do not care for Rhaegar-”

“This child comes from you, my love. I love them already.” And Argella meant every word. She would love this little prince or princess as if they were her own. She knew the moment Elia’s lips touched hers all those months ago that this relationship, this clandestine bond, would always be confined to the shadows and the dark of the night. But she truly wanted to scream it from the rooftops that Elia was the love of her life. She wanted to hold her hand in the sunlight, kiss her for all to see. Wanted everyone to know that the Sun of Dorne was worthy of every bit of love anyone and everyone could give her. But she was quiet. She remained the perfect lady in the eyes of court, living for these stolen moments.

Elia kissed her—and Argella could feel her smile pressing against her mouth. It was Argella’s favorite sensation—aside from the more carnal feelings only Elia could elicit from her beneath their silken blankets. “I love you,” Elia whispered against her mouth. “You know that, don’t you? I love you.”

“I love you too. More than words could ever truly express.” She kissed Elia and ignored how something churned in her chest.

“I have a list of names—if they are a boy or a girl.”

“As your ‘most trusted confidante,’ I must insist that you add Argella to your list,” she said with a wink, referencing how the court referred to Argella. Elia smiled and moved down the bed just enough to lay her head in Argella’s lap, a silent invitation for her to play with her hair. “Tell me the story behind your name. It is one of your ancestor’s names, correct?”

Argella hummed as she started to weave a braid into Elia’s hair. “The Stormlands were once ruled over by the Durrandon family. But, during Aegon’s Conquest, the head of the house was King Argilac the Arrogant. Argilac and Aegon tried to find a common agreement but it quickly soured when Argilac chopped off the hands of Aegon’s envoy and sent them back to the Targaryens in a box. Orys Baratheon, Aegon’s Hand, then challenged Argilac to a duel and, of course, easily slew Argilac. The Storm Land armies fled. Argella was Argilac’s only daughter and heir. When she heard of her father’s death, she barred the gates at Storm’s End and crowned herself Storm Queen.”

“Now I see why you’ve been given such a name,” Elia teased, earning a pinch to her side.

“The Stormlanders heard of how Aegon and his sisters burned everyone in their way and turned on Argella as Orys approached with his army. They wrapped her in chains and presented her—naked, mind you—to Orys Baratheon. They told him that he could do whatever he wished to her as long as they did not suffer the same fate as Harrenhal.”

“I have not heard of this. How cruel!”

Argella sighed and nodded, finishing off one of the braids before starting another. “But Orys was kind. He wrapped his cloak around her and fed her warm foods, telling her of her father’s bravery on the battlefield.”

“And then they were married?”

“And then they were married. Orys took the Durrandon words as his own—Ours is the Fury—and House Baratheon was created.”

Elia was quiet as Argella finished the second braid. “That is cruel, to name you after a woman whose fate was less than fair. I only knew she was the wife of Orys Baratheon—but I might have dozed a little when learning the histories of the other kingdoms with my Septa.”

Argella laughed lightly and leaned down just enough to brush a kiss at Elia’s temple. “I do not blame you—but I did always wish I was Nymeria of Ny Sar instead of Argella Durrandon.” She then pressed a kiss to Elia’s lips. “But I am lucky to have you in my arms now.”

Elia reached up to tug at the loose strands of Argella’s dark hair. “There must be other names in your family that are kinder to women, no?”

“I’m sure there are—but women are rarely written about in our house’s history aside from how many sons she might have given her husband.”

“I remember learning of a mermaid…Elenei? Am I saying that right? Elenei?”

Argella chuckled and nodded. “Yes. Elenei the mermaid—daughter of a sea god and goddess of the winds. Fell in love with the First Storm King, Durran Godsgrief, it is said. Her parents forbid their love and used their might to tear down any castle he built for his bride. But he kept building. Building and building until their storms could not shake the stones free.”

“And Storm’s End was made,” Elia finished with a smile on her lips.

Argella hummed and glanced outside to the moon. What would her ancestors say of her now? Hiding her love in the dark.

“Elenei. I like that name,” Elia said, seemingly unaware of Argella’s bit of melancholy. “A much better story than poor Argella. She must be happy to know that someone as strong as you carries her name. I am sure of it.” She tugged again at Argella’s hair with a smile, drawing her gaze back to her. “Truly, I can only think of one person holding that name.” Elia turned in her lap to truly look up at her, bathed in moonlight. “It is you—only you.” She reached up and placed her warm hand against the curve of Argella’s cheek. “My Lala.”

The towers of Sunspear loomed overhead and she tried not to think of a young Elia running down those marble steps, a laugh on her lips and the sun on her skin.

This was the place Elia called home. This was the place that she had wanted to return to with her babies. This was the place that Argella never wanted to see without Elia at her side.

“My lady,” a knight said to her, draped in colors of House Martell, “Prince Doran is waiting for you in his Solar. I shall escort you. Your entourage will have to wait here.” His eyes cut to Jon Arryn in particular who was already opening his mouth to argue.

“I follow where you lead, Ser. Lord Arryn needs some sun anyway.” She only gave Jon Arryn a look in return, drying the words on his tongue before following the knight into the cooled shadows of the fortress.

The pair was quiet, only the sound of their footsteps echoing in their hall, before he slowed to a stop in front of a carved, white wood door and bowed his head just slightly before opening it for her.

“Lady Argella, I’ve been expecting you.”

Rhaenys was beautiful. Beautiful like her mother and liked to laugh when Argella would kiss her little tummy. Argella did not mind when Elia would ask her to hold the little princess when she grew tired. The birth had been hard and the healers and maesters said it would take time for her body to heal itself.

Rhaegar, the pompous silver-haired prince, did not seem to care that his wife was bedridden. He had already pressed Elia to agree to the name of Rhaenys and didn’t seem to spend much more time than necessary with his newborn daughter. He did dote on her, true. But Argella knew and wished that he could do more. More for Elia. More for Rhaenys. More for his family and less of that stupid prophecy he was known to obsess over when he was in trusted company.

“The dragon must have three heads.”

It all sounded so ridiculous. He had everything. A family who loved him. And he continued to not see that, willfully.

But she pushed that from her mind as Rhaenys happily slept in her arms while Elia was napping, too. Her sun tilted toward the slip of sunlight warming the side of her pillow as the sea washed up on the shore just a few feet below. The hum of Dragonstone was quiet.

This was peace. This was as perfect as her life could get, she knew it. Despite all the secrets, the hurt, the loneliness when Elia was called away, this right here? This was worth all of it.

Rhaenys’ dark eyes opened and she smiled as she recognized Argella—she was a smart little babe. “Hello, my little sundrop.”

Doran had given her a room in Sunspear for the night, telling her the arrangements had been made to have the funerals tomorrow. The Silent Sisters who had accompanied them down were making sure the bodies of Elia and her babies were prepared correctly for people of their station and rank.

Argella didn’t sleep that night. Doran seemed to know she wouldn’t and had a maid come in when the moon was at its highest with a bit of tea to help her. She took it with a soft ‘thank you’ but hardly sipped at it as the maid stood at the side of her bed.

“This was the princess’ room, you know, my lady. When she was a girl.”

And that just about destroyed her but she hid her face in her teacup and quickly drained its contents before handing it back to the maid who quietly excused herself, probably aware that the woman was about to burst into tears.

And Argella did, as the door shut in its frame. Through blurred vision, she could almost see Elia sitting at the edge of the bed with a smile and a book on her lap. She could almost see Elia wrapping herself in the golden silk of the blankets with a happy smile. She could almost see Elia.

And that was the worst part of it all. To know that Elia had been here, in this place, felt safe in this place, and now she was here—alone.

The Tourney at Harrenhal was a disaster. And that was putting it politely. There had been the unannounced and unexpected appearance of King Aerys—who had barely been seen outside Maegor’s Holdfast in the last two years. Then the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree. Little Lord Jaime Lannister had been inducted into the KIngsguard and then sent to King’s Landing to guard Queen Rhaella and little Prince Viserys, which in one move, stripped Tywin Lannister of his heir and refused Jaime the chance at more glory in the tourney.

But that was not even the worst of it. Elia had been feeling poorly the entire time and Argella was fretting constantly, like an old mother hen.

But she did remember how Elia was when she was pregnant with Rhaenys, and knew that Elia wanted to keep the second pregnancy a secret until she was sure she could carry this babe to term, too. She was so delicate. But she still sat in the box, beside her uncle Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, and Oberyn, who had finished his ‘adventures’ across the Narrow Sea, to cheer on her husband in the tourney.

On the night before the final day of the tourney, Argella was happy to see Elia with a bit of life back in her face as she danced with Oberyn and Ser Arthur after the night’s feast. Oberyn then called Argella for a dance and whispered in her ear, making her laugh as one song turned into two then three. And if he snuck a kiss against her cheek, she would never tell.

Argella then pulled her princess away with a secretive smile, toward her tent. “We cannot be sure that Rhaegar will win tomorrow—so I wanted to be sure to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Elia laughed and kissed her as Argella plopped a crown of braided blue roses on her shining black hair. “No matter if he does or not, I know that I am yours,” she whispered.

And, for a moment, Argella was happy.

The happiness would not last.

Rhaegar did indeed win the jousting tourney and he was given an ornate crown of blue roses to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty. Argella steeled herself to watching Rhaegar lathe half-hearted attentions on his wife—but what happened was much worse. Rhaegar rode his horse past his pregnant wife and placed the wreath of roses in the lap of Lyanna Stark.

The Septon’s words were a low hum in her ears. She could only stare blankly ahead as the funeral processions continued on. It felt like a rusted blade had wedged itself between her ribs and twisted with each breath she took. It ached.

Most of the Dornish in attendance did not look at her. She might as well have been just another pillar in the large hall. Unnecessary and unimportant. But some others… some other she could hear whisper if she put in enough effort.

“That one… the doe. The Usurper’s sister.”

“She must be mad to show herself here.”

“She should have died instead of Princess Elia.”

And they were right. She wanted to be dead instead of Elia.

But a few were kind, their eyes sad as they looked at her, as if they knew something she did not. One of them was Harmen Uller, Lord of Hellholt. His large, warm hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed gently, murmuring his condolences with kind eyes. Lady Mellario, Doran’s wife, also did not avoid her, giving her a small smile as they passed each other in the halls and offering her solar if Argella ever needed a reprieve from the court at Sunspear. But her young daughter, Princess Arianne, was always at her side, and it hurt to see the happy little girl who would always ask after her Aunt Elia.

It hurt.

So she sat in her rooms and cried.

Elia was quiet as she sat on the edge of her bed. She had managed to school her face into careful indifference during the tourney but had sunk into herself as soon as Elia had pulled her away into the tent. Oberyn was raging—vowing vengeance against the Crown Prince for the public display of shame he had just cast over his wife.

But Argella did not hear his words, only sitting at her princess’ side and holding her hand, trying to be there for her when she needed. She would do anything to make Elia smile again.

“He told me that he would do this,” Elia finally said, pulling a gasp from Argella and stopping Oberyn in his tracks.

“What?”

Elia lifted her chin from her chest and looked at her brother with tears in her eyes. “The maester told me that this babe would be the last I could bare.”

“What does that matter?” Oberyn hissed. “Two is plenty—two is perfect. Rhaenys is perfect,” Argella said, grip tightening on Elia’s hand.

“He has been obsessed with a prophecy—the dragon must have three heads—since he was a boy. He thinks the savior of the world will come from his bloodline.”

“I will split his head in three,” Oberyn said but Elia reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved toward the tent’s flap.

“Do not, Oberyn. I will remain his Queen, the true Queen. The babe I now carry will be king and any child the wolf-girl bares him will only be a spare. He has promised me this. But I had…I had only hoped that he would have waited until they were alone for him to start his courtship.” She shook her head. “And I am not sure if the girl told her betrothed of Rhaegar’s plan.”

Oh, that was right—Lyanna had been recently betrothed to Robert. He had been so excited to announce the news and then promptly brought two women to his chambers to ‘celebrate.’ Argella doubted marriage would tame his appetites. But his pride would be wounded. And a wounded stag was a dangerous one—Robert embodied the Baratheon’s words to his core. Ours is the Fury.

“Robert is an eligible lord. He can find another bride, I am sure of it.”

Elia nodded. “I do hope so. For his sake.”

The funeral had ended and Doran had asked her to wait for him in his solar. She awkwardly stood near the window, watching the sea lap at the shore until the door opened with a slam.

“How dare you show your face here, in Elia’s home!” Oberyn was already raging from across the room, his voice echoing. He was crossing the marble floor then, strides long. “You—the sister of the Usurper. You—who my sister trusted with her life. I should strike you down where you stand.” He stopped as he stepped to her side, his beautiful face twisted into a snarl most fowl.

“I would let you.”

And that seemed to strike at Oberyn as he took a single step back. “Have you no self-preservation? Did you come here to let us kill you like some lamb? To sate your brother’s guilt?”

“No…no I came here to…bring Elia home.”

Oberyn’s snarl faded. “Then you come here to sate your own guilt.”

“I came here to bring Elia home,” she repeated, standing just a fraction straighter despite the urge to curl into herself, as if that would shield her from Oberyn’s stare.

“You have done that. Leave.”

Dragonstone felt as if it were about to be consumed by the volcano on which it sat.

The paranoia of King Aerys had only grown, thinking everyone was his enemy. A raven the king had sent to his son was filled with unsubtle threats and demands for Rhaegar to stay at his side, to remain loyal to his father.

But Rhaegar only played his stupid harp and pored over his scrolls about prophecy as Elia languished in her pregnancy.

“He is preoccupied with saving the world, Lala. Try not to hate him too much.”

Argella sighed as she pulled the blankets a little higher around Elia. She had been so cold lately, constantly shivering as her hands cradled her growing belly. “If he truly wanted to save the world, he would have deposed his father long ago.” She shook her head. “He should be preoccupied with keeping you comfortable. You are carrying his child.”

“We both know you are more suited for it—and I prefer your company,” Elia said with a smile.

Argella had to smile at that and leaned down to kiss Elia’s forehead before sneaking a kiss against her lips, too. “Then I shall stay at your side until you tire of me.”

Elia chased her lips as best she could for another kiss before falling back against the silk-covered pillow with a smile. “You know I will never tire of you.”

The sun was beating down on her but the soft breeze off the water almost made it tolerable. The dark veil over her face fluttered and hid her tears from the other onlookers. The grand tomb of Elia and her children had been finished just that morning. The final brick laid. They would rest beside their ancestors in Sunspear’s ornate necropolis. They were home again. They could rest.

Argella walked forward and pressed her hand over the deep carving of Elia’s name. Princess Elia Nymeros Martell – The Sun of Dorne.

“Goodbye, my love.” She lifted the veil just enough to kiss the smooth stone of Elia’s name—the last kiss she would be able to give her. Her fingers traced Rhaenys and Aegon’s names, too. A quiet goodbye.

It was time for her to go. She had only a few more things to attend to and then…she would set sail. She would leave Westeros.

The royal stables still held her wheelhouse and she found the trunk she was needing and waved off the servants who offered her help. She dragged the trunk into her room and unlocked it before feeling fresh tears sting her eyes. Tucked inside, neatly tucked beside her dresses and chemises, was a portrait. It was of Elia and her babies. They were smiling and happy and…alive.

Some artist from Braavos had impressed Elia with his talents as he sold his wares at the market on Dragonstone and Argella had secretly commissioned him for the portrait only a handful of moons before the rebellion started. She had meant to gift it to Elia for her next nameday.

It was a true likeness—he had perfectly captured the gentle warmth in Elia’s eyes as she looked down at Aegon in her arms as he slept and Rhaenys dutifully peeked over her mother’s arm to look down at her brother. The gold dragons Robert had gifted her were left forgotten at the bottom of the trunk as she closed the lid, the portrait in her hands as she moved toward Doran’s solar.

A servant bowed to her as he announced her presence and Doran welcomed her, telling her to take a seat across from him at his finely carved desk as he finished a bit of correspondence. And she patiently waited, the portrait sitting on her lap, her arms wrapped around its frame as if she were trying to hug it—to hug the little family on its canvas.

Perhaps she was.

When she handed it over to Doran, her fingers lingers on the carved frame before dropping back down her lap.

Doran was quiet as he looked at the portrait but she could see the emotions running through his eyes before he tightly shut them and nodded once before calling for and handing it off to a servant and whispering where he wanted it hung. The servant nodded before walking away, the portrait in his hands held like a precious gem.

Argella told him of how Elia had loved the artist’s skill and Doran smiled at that. “She would have loved it. I know it.” He paused to clear his throat, the warble of tears in his voice. “It is a fine gift, my lady.”

“I have…one last gift for you. Much less palatable than the last.”

Rhaegar had left.

His wife had nearly died bringing his son into the world and he had set off with his band of guards to the Riverlands, quoting the prophecy again. Lyanna Stark waited for him.

The raven Argella had sent to Robert, telling him to break off the engagement to the wolf-girl had went unanswered.

“I am nervous, Lala. Everything is about to change.”

Argella stepped beside Elia at the window and kissed her temple as she watched Rhaegar and his retinue recede on the horizon. “And I shall be with you every step of the way.”

“I know that you were more than a companion to Elia.” Doran said it with such ease that it startled her. They had been quietly sipping tea in his solar as the sun rose when he spoke. “She loved you. I know you love her. You have lost your sun, too. And you have come here, to return her and her children home, despite knowing that your welcome would not be kind.” Doran took her hand in his and gently patted at her wrist. “The truth will come out, little doe. But we must let all of Dorne grieve, too.” He sighed and his eyes moved to the giant skull sitting on a tall-legged table. That had been the price Robert paid to try to buy Argella’s forgiveness. He had told her who had been the one to steal the sun from the world and demanded Tywin hand him over or he would not marry Cersei. Tywin had agreed. “I have been told that you are hoping to set sail for Braavos on the next ship that comes to port in a fortnight.”

She nodded.

“You will always be welcome here.”

“I cannot stay here—not without Elia.”

And Doran nodded at that. “If you ever care to return, there will be a place for you at my table.”

“That is kind of you, Prince Doran. Your wife has also suggested I visit her homeland of Norvos, if I am given the chance.”

Doran opened his mouth to respond when the door opened and Oberyn strode in. His dark eyes darted from his brother to Argella. “I thought you would have left by now.”

“Oberyn,” Doran scolded.

“I am surprised you would sup with a Baratheon, brother. First Jon Arryn comes and tries to offer peace and you take it without argument.”

Without a word, Doran opened a drawer on his desk and produced a bit of parchment from its depths. “Oberyn. I have a letter for you.”

“Now is not the time, brother.”

“It is from Elia.”

“I have already been given the last letter my sister wrote to me. Telling me of how scared she was in the Red Keep and how she loved me.” His dark eyes looked to Argella again. “How she wished that I could have been there.”

“There was another, brother,” Doran gently said, extending his arm out, lifting the letter a little higher.

Oberyn looked from Doran to Argella again before pulling his lips tight against his teeth and walking over to snatch the parchment from Doran’s outstretched hand. He opened it and Argella watched his dark eyes scan the words, his face crumpling as he finished. And then he looked to her again. “You? It was you?”

Argella looked to Doran who only looked back at her, eyes unreadable. “I…I don’t understand.”

Oberyn carefully tucked the paper into his tunic before marching forward to grasp Argella’s arm and nearly hauled her out of the room, through the halls, and toward his own chambers. When the door shut, he pushed her into the overstuffed chair at his desk. Dozens and dozens of letters were neatly stacked on top and Oberyn whispered that she should read them. He placed the letter he had just received beside the stack. “You deserve to know.” And then he left her there, alone in his solar.

It took Argella a moment to work up the nerve to reach out and grasp the first letter, recognizing Elia’s neat handwriting.

Argella dashed down the stairs toward Elia’s chambers with a smile on her face. She had woken in a good mood at Elia’s side that morning and had only slipped away to dress for the day. The sound of metal on stone seemed to echo in the halls and she briefly wondered if the royal guards were running drills.

But, as she turned the corner toward the hall that contained Elia’s chambers, two spears were thrust out toward her. “Lady Argella Baratheon, you are forbidden from seeing Princess Elia.”

“Move aside. I am her maid—it is my duty to-”

“Your brother has taken up arms against the Crown. House Baratheon are traitors. You are now a hostage until your brother is dead and your brothers swear fealty—or they are killed.”

“I demand you move aside this instant! I am no threat to Elia or her babies. I am loyal—you have-”

Two more guards suddenly grasped her arms and started hauling her back toward her chambers.

“Elia?! Elia?” She screamed.

But she was a prisoner here, too. She knew it.

My dear Oberyn, I am in love. I know only you would truly understand when I say that it is not with my husband. I shall only call them Lala, to keep their identity secret—I would not have them persecuted at Court if these letters would be discovered. But I am happy, brother. Happier than I ever thought possible.

They have kept me sane, dried my tears. When their lips touch mine, I believe I have tasted heaven—if only for a moment. My Lala is my haven in this wretched world. Rhaenys is fond of Lala, too. It is…almost as if the gods have blessed me with them, letting me have my true family at my side, letting me know what I should have had. …perhaps it is actually a curse.

Over and over again, Elia had written to Oberyn about ‘Lala,’ telling him of how they lived. How they loved. She read of how much Elia had loved her.

“Lala?” The voice was soft, but it still woke her from sleep.

Argella sat up in her bed in an instant, recognizing the dark shape at the edge of her bed. She reached out and drew Elia into her bed and quickly pressed her lips to hers, desperate and wanting.

“I do not have much time. The guards are changing shifts and they will notice I am not in my chambers if I do not time this correctly. But I had to see you.” She kissed Argella again. “I needed to see you.”

“You must know I would never, ever do anything to endanger you or Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“I know, my love. I know it as well as I know my name. But I have been summoned to King’s Landing. We leave at first light.”

“Will I be coming with you?”

Tears filled Elia’s eyes as she shook her head. “You cannot. You are to stay here as leverage against your brothers. And I do not know what Aerys would do to you if you were to come to Court again. I have learned he has been burning dozens of people a day.”

“You cannot go,” Argella said, grasping at Elia’s hands. “It is not safe.”

“You know I must. I would only make his ire worse if I prolong how long it takes me to arrive. I would rather arrive with my head held high than in shackles that I know these knights would slap on my wrists if given the order.”

“Elia, please,” the tears were choking her. “Please, do not-”

But she kissed her again. “I love you.” And in the next breath, she was gone.

One last letter remained and she dreaded what it held, what Elia had written to Oberyn to make him forgive her so easily, but she slid her thumb under the broken seal anyway and read it.

Oberyn. I know my time on this plane is coming to a close. I can only hope that my babies will survive this but I know in my heart of hearts, that they may not. The Seven Heavens await us all. I wish I could have seen Sunspear one more time, pushed you into the pools at the Water Gardens like I did when we were children. You used to pout so much after I would do that, and mother always fussed over you. I miss you brother. More than words can say. I wish I had more time. When this is over, please tell Argella, my Lala, I love her. Tell her I know she was innocent in all of this—it was not her doing. Tell her to smile. Tell her I will wait for her. She helped me understand what love should be like—she gave me her heart and I gave her mine. Tell her that I will be with her—every sunrise and every sunset. I am with you all.

The last letter slipped from her hand and Argella wept.

Her hands hurt. For hours on end, she would hit the locked door of her chambers, pleading to be let out.

But no one would answer. She only heard the terrible sound of metal on stone as knights moved through the halls and once a day, a plate of food was slid beneath her door.

How long had it been? If she was counting the moon’s cycles correctly—it had been three months.

She had nearly given up the last tendrils of hope she had before her door suddenly swung open and a familiar face stood in her doorway. Queen Rhaella Targaryen looked as bruised and beaten as ever, but the gentle swelling of her stomach was new—she was pregnant.

“Lady Argella,” her voice was as soft as it ever was. “I must apologize for your captivity. I have instructed a ship to have you brought to Greenstone—your mother’s home, was it not?”

“It…it was, your grace.”

Rhaella nodded and held out a hand to Argella, helping her stand from her place on the cold, stone floor. “I hope you do not hold me in any ill will. I had not heard of your imprisonment when we disembarked. I would have had you home sooner.”

Argella shook her head, her greasy hair falling in front of her face. “I know you are kindhearted, your grace. I am happy to see you safe.”

Rhaella’s answering smile was small and she nodded. “I will have a maid sent up to help you wash. Your ship will leave at first light.”

And Argella would have been lying if she did not feel a bit of relief as she saw the familiar island of Greenstone come into view as the ship neared its shores. Her aunt and uncle were quick to welcome her and made sure she was comfortable in their finest rooms. And it was only then, that Argella had the nerve to ask what had happened.

Her aunt smiled. “Our little Robert is King of the Seven Kingdoms. Is that not wonderful news?”

“And…and Princess Elia? Little Rhaenys and Aegon?” She hated the sound of hope in her voice. It was cruel to her own ears.

Her uncle sputtered and looked to his wife for a moment. “They were killed when the Lannister army sacked the city.”

And the scream Argella let out nearly shook the walls.

Oberyn sat at her side without a word. He did not speak. Neither did she.

But silence eventually turned to quiet, stilted conversation which evolved into seeking each other out at meals and then Oberyn was slipping into her rooms at night so they could continue their discussions, falling back into old habits of hidden smiles and secrets and trying to make each other laugh even if they wanted to cry.

On the last night, Oberyn slipped into her room and watched as she packed away her belongings and readied for bed. As she neared the bed, he stood and grasped her hands in a soft grip that had her sucking in a shuddering breath. She did not want to say goodbye just yet.

“I loved you once. I might love you again—I believe I do already.”

That was equal parts the best and worst thing he could have ever said. “And I love you still. But not in the way you deserve. You…” the words were hard in her throat. “You deserve to be someone’s sun. You deserve to be someone’s first choice. And you will be, I know it. You will find the true love of your life.” She paused. “And I know I would only be a reminder of those who you loved and lost.”

“Just as I would be to you.”

Argella nodded and dropped her head to her chest. “Yes. I am so sorry, Oberyn. Truly.”

But he shook his head and squeezed at her fingers. “Do not be sorry, little doe. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped closer and rested his forehead against hers, both of them squeezing their eyes shut at the contact. “Let us not part on such sad terms. Let our last memory together be one of happiness.”

Argella nodded as best she could, trying to keep the warmth of his embrace as close as possible. “Whatever you wish. Whatever you want. It is yours.”

And the night they spent together was filled with hungry, searching kisses and warm hands and slick skin. Oberyn kissed her as his release rumbled through him and then quickly made sure she found hers, too, before making sure she was truly tired and finding euphoria with each other again before they both fell asleep in her rumpled blankets.

And she did sleep soundly—far better than she had in over a year. Before the Rebellion. But she still woke before the sun and took a moment to watch Oberyn sleep—peaceful amongst the silk. Carefully, she brushed the hair away from his face and kissed his brow in a silent goodbye before slipping away.

At the port, she caught sight of Harmen Uller and his retinue, preparing their boats to return to Hellholt.

“Ah, my lady. Prince Doran has told me you are departing as well.”

Argella only nodded before seeing a beautiful woman step to Harmen’s side.”

“This is my daughter, Ellaria Sand.”

“My lady,” Ellaria said with a small curtsey.

Argella mirrored the motion. “Lady Ellaria.”

But Ellaria chuckled. “I am no lady. But I do wish you fair travels.” Ellaria reached out and grasped Argella’s hands and squeezed, as if knowing that she was in desperate need for some sort of simple contact. “And whatever lies before you, I hope it is kinder than what lies behind.”

Lord Uller nodded at his daughter’s word.

“And I wish the same for you. Your kindness… it has been most welcome.” She smiled as best she could and bid them goodbye as they were boarded onto their fine ship. And then it was time for her to do the same.

She crossed the gangplank and was welcomed by the crew who had been expecting her—and her gold. Before she was shuffled away to her cabin below deck, Argella turned and looked back at Sunspear, trying to press it into her memory. She wanted to remember how the sun shimmered on the golden towers and how the sea salted the air and the sand glistened.

And on just the edge of the dock, just a few feet away from the bustle of the early morning crowd, was Oberyn. He raised a hand to her, a quiet goodbye. Argella did the same.

And then she turned and walked away.

Braavos was welcoming. Filled with song and people who would smile and the customs of the city demanded that the highborn and wealthy wear black—it was fitting. She could wear black the rest of her days, a mourning dress. But while they would treat her with the respect a woman of her station warranted, both high and lowborn would take an opportunity to coo over the babe on her hip.

It had only taken her a few moons to realize she was with child. And Elenei came screaming into the world just past midday, when the sun was at its highest. Fitting. Elenei looked like a Baratheon—except for her eyes. Her viper eyes that would shine in the light and always seemed to know more than she said. Those were inherently Oberyn. She was a Martell.

And she was the delight of the maids who watched her when Argella was tending to her duties as a companion to the Merling Queen, one of the most revered courtesans Braavos had ever sheltered. Her duties mostly included letting Laena, as only Argella was allowed to call her when they were alone, speak of her troubles and help her remember when she was supposed to meet whichever rich lord had paid for her company that week.

Laena was kind and sweet and sometimes would simply cry when she felt that her public persona had robbed her of a true life, of happiness. In a way, Argella was reminded of Elia. A kind woman shackled to duties she did not truly agree to and confined within a gilded cage. So, she let Laena use her as a walking diary, let her express emotions she could not with anyone else. It was cathartic for both of them, in a way.

Argella did not need the coin the position provided—she could have lived very comfortably with the small mountain of gold Robert had given her. But she needed a distraction—and the connections she made at Laena’s side made sure Elenei would be as high-ranking as she ever could be in Westeros.

Elenei was her whole world. The light of her days. She need only look at her daughter’s face to feel herself smile.

She hoped that Oberyn would smile again, too. She hoped her would find happiness with someone kind and beautiful who would handle his wrath with gentleness. Her mind conjured a thought of Ellaria and she found herself smiling at the thought. They would be a handsome pair. Maybe the gods would allow them to be happy.

For a few years, as Elenei continued to grow and prosper into a lovely and well-learned little lady, Argella pondered telling Oberyn of his daughter across the Narrow Sea. But that would have been crueler, wouldn’t it? To drag him back to into the tumult and loss she knew she embodied for him and his family.

And Elenei seemed to know that her father was an important man—but that her mother’s heart also belonged to another. And would forever.

“The sun is shining today, mama. That always makes you smile,” Elenei would say whenever the almost ever-present clouds would clear for a few hours.

“Yes, my sweet one. The sun will always make me smile.”

Elenei smiled and held her mother’s hand, dragging her out of their manse as their servants chuckled at the familiar sight. “Then I must make you smile, mama!”

“Do you think you’ll love me forever?” Elia asked, eyes closed as sleep started to take her.

“I know I will.”

(And another banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites I love you)

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#elia martell x ofc #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x oc #oberyn martell imagine #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell #elia martell

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years

Text

Sand and Stars - Chapter One

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: 18+, foul language, some ogling, smut in future chapters

A/N: Thank you again to @thelastsock for being my beta. Written from Sy’s perspective and since I am a woman, venturing in the (not) so complex mind of a man. Enjoy!

<Prologue

Title: Chapter One

Syverson watched as everyone in the camp looked at the two Humvees entering through the gates inside the compound. The chopper came flying behind them, hovering over the area they had prepared for it to land.

With arms crossed over his chest, his signature sunglasses covering his eyes, he looked at the chopper, it’s skids gently being placed on the ground. The blast of air from it’s whirring blades, blew dust and sand for which he shielded his face with his hand. The group of soldiers alighted from their vehicles, their smoother than milk skin making Sy snort. Here they were, his Special Forces guys all scruffy and rough, whereas these new arrivals looked like school kids for a photo op.

When the chopper blades stopped spinning, and the pilots hopped down from their cockpit along with the others; Sy walked up to them. He watched as the main pilot spoke to the unit and pulled off their helmet. The swagger of his walk faltered a step when he noticed her lustrous red hair tied in a bun. It was not very often that lady soldiers came down to a warzone like this.

Instinctively, when he saw she was a woman, his eyes travelled to her bottom. Even with the armored vest and her fatigues, the beautiful curve of her body was highlighted when she bent down to lift her bag. She turned to speak to the other pilot, allowing Sy to finally look at her face. Big brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes were set on her heart-shaped face. Her high cheekbones were freckled, spreading to her nose, and her lips looked full and plump.

It was inconsiderate of the Captain to check out a woman in the middle of a raging war, but he had been high and dry for nearly a year. A man has his needs.

“Captain Syverson, sir?” The other pilot addressed him, he was a young man with the signature crew-cut hair and clean shaved like a boiled egg. His duffel bag laid heavily on his shoulder as he clasped the straps with one hand.

“All day,” Sy said, taking off his sunglasses and hooking it at the back of his t-shirt. “Are you Sergeant Ross?”

Sy’s eyes darted to the approaching men and women when he noticed her walking up to them. Soldier from before brought his hand for a handshake towards Sy which he took with a smile.

“I’m Sergeant Schmidt. She is,” he turned to the red-haired beauty, “Sergeant Ross.”

Sy did not want to come off rude or appear like a male chauvinist, but he wasn’t expecting a woman to be commanding a unit. He raised his eyebrows in surprise which she seemed to catch on to.

“You are Sergeant Ross?” He asked, trying but failing to conceal his astonishment.

“All day,” she said with a smug smile, imitating him by repeating what he had said only a moment ago. “Sergeant Olivia Ross, sir.” She held her hand out, Sy’s eyes darting towards her gloved one. He took her hand in his, noting how hers looked small in his large ones, and gave a confident shake.

“Okay,” He cleared his throat looking at the group of twelve new soldiers at his camp, “We prepared a block for y’all.” He started walking towards the other smaller building besides the main wing. Their new arrivals followed behind him, lugging their bags on their shoulders.

“Keeping us separate, I see.” Olivia commented. Sy turned slightly to look behind him at her. She avoided his gaze, but her face looked unimpressed with her lips sealed tight.

Sy chose to not respond. They climbed up the flights of stairs leading up to the living quarters, bypassing their mess hall and a make-shift gym, and reached the doors to adjacent rooms.

“Guys go in there,” he pointed towards one room, “Ladies, over here.” He turned around to face the group. “Night patrols will be assigned, and I need a group to go with my boys to the village in fifteen minutes.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking directly at Olivia. “We need to get a briefing done.”

“I’ll be down in ten, sir.” she curtly nodded. Everyone seemed to understand her annoyance as they glanced at each other. Sy let out a slow breath, choosing to not address her, again.

When he was back in his office, he pulled out the Echo unit file. Pepps had informed him that women were going to be included in the arriving unit, what he had failed to mention though was that it would be led by a woman. A pretty woman with curves.

Syverson shook his head. He grimaced at his own thought. He was not there to ogle at women, he was there on a mission. He quickly read through the contents of the paper. Sergeant Ross, he gathered, was an enlisted soldier, got promoted to a corporal before she took Aviation course and earned herself a position of helicopter pilot. She got promoted to Sergeant after spending time in Afghanistan and was now leading her own unit.

Sy was impressed. He liked women who were strong and capable, but they were also usually trouble. She already looked miffed about the separate living quarters. In Sy’s defense, he had only thought about making it less uncomfortable for the ladies. Wouldn’t have minded if she had stayed right across from mine though.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated at his train of thoughts yet again. His dick was beginning to strain against the fabric of his pants and as he caught a glimpse of her red-hair heading towards his office, he chose to adjust himself. Because sitting with an erection at their first briefing was not on his agenda today.

“Sir?” Olivia asked, standing at the door with her hands behind her back.

Sy nodded for her to enter. He tried to angle himself in his chair so as to hide his bulge from the Sergeant. “Sergeant Ross,” he cleared his throat, placing the papers back in their place.

“I also go by Liv, sir.” Sy could see the confidence in her eyes glimmer when she spoke. She was fierce, he would give her that. The last time Harper had arrived with his men, they had looked weary and tired. But Olivia looked like she could go to war right now if she was asked to.

“And I go by Sy.” He smirked, watching as Liv spared him a smile. “Are your men ready?”

“Yes. They are getting prepped by your men.”

Sy nodded. There was an empty chair right next to where Liv stood, but she had chosen to stand instead. Typical soldiers. He gestured towards the seat with one hand, “You can take a seat.”

“I’m completely fine here, sir.”

He tried desperately to not let his eyes roam over her body. She had changed from her fatigues to the standard military t-shirt with her cargo pants. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not let his inhibitions down.

He caved.

Sy noted how the fabric stretched over her bosom, curving over her mounds. Her dog tags laid in the valley between her breasts, another silver chain hanging with it. The belt she had cinched at her waist highlighted her figure, making Sy lick his lips. Olivia seemed to be aware of her effect on him, as Sy noticed her fighting a smile.

He coughed and adjusted in his seat as his own soldier came to life again. “Th-the food truck… arrives every week.” He pulled out a map from underneath the table. Spreading it out on his desk, he leaned to point at an ‘X’ marked on it. Olivia took a few steps forward and leaned in too, to understand him better with visualization.

He explained to her the routes they were going to take and the air support they would be needing. All the while she had been standing bent over the table and her face was only a small distance away from him. Sy was aware of their proximity because in this dry desert where all he could smell was gas and sweat, he was getting a whiff of lavender from her.

“What happened to the food trucks from last week? Were you able to get them to the village safely?” Olivia asked. Her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she looked at the map again.

Sy scratched his beard, looking up to her. “They have set IEDs on the road. We couldn’t even reach the truck. The bastards blew it up as it was turning up the mountain.”

Olivia let out an angry huff and stood up straight. “It’s a good thing we can look from above now.” Sy gave her a nod as she went back to standing with her hands behind her back.

He decided to stand up. In front of him she looked small. Her head barely reached his shoulder and to speak he had to look down. “About the quarters,” he started.

“If I may, sir,” she interrupted him. He gestured at her to speak. “I’m actually thankful for that. Because with your initial surprise at me being a woman and your men looking at us like we are dinner, I’m glad to be staying with the ones I really know.”

“Hey, if you feel vulnerable out here-”

“No sir.” Olivia looked him in the eye. “We are not vulnerable. We do not need you guys to protect us. But we also don’t want to be looked at, like we are for your pleasure.”

Sy understood what she was trying to convey. She hadn’t been fighting a smile earlier. No, she had been fighting a sneer. He clenched his jaw because his mama had raised him to never yell at a woman. He had found her blatant accusation to be rude and being from a higher rank, he could also inflict punishment on her.

But that is not how he worked. And, this was not how he wanted them to start their shared time in this Godforsaken land.

So instead, he decided to be formal. "You are dismissed, Sergeant Ross.”

The challenge in her eyes was somehow arousing for Sy. She had her head held high, her shoulders squared and her back straight. He watched her with furrowed brows as she turned and walked out the door, the confidence in her steps glaringly evident.

Fiery, Sy thought with a renewed smile creeping up on his lips. Just the way I like them.

Chapter Two>

✨Series Masterlist✨

Tagging:@wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @awhitewolfandhisvibraniumshield

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #sand and stars series

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needtherapy · 4 years

Text

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #Seattle #modern au #modern with magic #found family #the untamed fic #13k words #I just think teenage Xue Yang would have been very different with a family

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adaodinson · 3 years

Text

I´ve known since I met you

Yes, writing fics during my online classes is my passion.

English is not my first language.

Summary: You move to a new apartment and one of your new neighbors quickly gains your affection.

Warnings: Swearing, a tiny bit of angst.

Relationship: Bucky x Mexican!reader (it´s for the story, there are no lines in Spanish).

Shared kitchen?! Seriously?! That was ridiculous, who would approve a shared kitchen? You sighed after reading the details of the amazing apartment you had found. It was perfect: pet-friendly, quite reasonable price, pretty close to your work and only four neighbors. It was a small compound with five apartments. It wasn´t a building, the apartments were not on top of each other and it had a huge garden, which was perfect for your dog and two cats. But a shared kitchen.

-Do this people not have that feeling of hatred towards any person that walks into the kitchen when they´re using it?!- You almost yelled to yourself. You chuckled at your situation. It was too good to be true, but it´s still good. You had been looking for a place for almost three months, you had actually slept in your car for a couple of nights because of the fear of settling in a hotel and spending too much money. Luckily your boss was the nicest woman you had ever met, she sympathized with your situation and let you take a few days off (not the three months, of course) even though you hadn´t even started working yet, because you had recently arrived from Mexico. You had moved because of the job, it had been an offer, your dream job, you weren´t gonna waste it.

You decided to visit the place and liked it a lot. If you set aside the kitchen issue, it was perfect. Oh, what the hell? A day later you called the owner of the apartments and finally gave him your answer. Yes. You couldn´t be too picky, and it wasn´t that bad. All the apartments were connected, they were in the middle of the huge garden, next to each other. They had privacy and thick walls, but the kitchen was the “common room” in the middle of the five places.

You settled down in no time since you didn´t have all that much stuff. You took your cats to what would be their “room” and settled their litter box, food, water and bed. They got along just fine with each other and with your dog, so the small space wasn´t a problem. Your dog would sleep in your room (so would your cats even though their beds were on the other room), and her food and water was settled at the small fenced yard that was behind your apartment.

It was really nice, but if you had to be honest with yourself, it had been your metaled-armed neighbor that had convinced you this had been a good idea. You first saw him the day you moved in. You were carrying your huge books box while your dog was playing in between your feet. You tripped and swore you would lose your teeth because of the impact (since your hands were securing the box), but It never came, you only felt a really strong arm holding your stomach and saw the other hand catching the box you were carrying. You were already stunned by his action and strength, so when you saw the man your brain died and then resurrected. He was tall, had broad shoulders, short dark hair, and his face gave the image of a freaking lion and a lost puppy at the same time. You were caught in those deep blue eyes when your dog Cleo literally climbed him and started licking his face. He let go of you and started producing the most beautiful laughter you had ever heard. You reacted (finally) and called your dog to get away from him.

-I´m really sorry, she knows no boundaries. And thank you, thank you for catching me and my books- You said as you pet Cleo to keep her still.

-It´s not a problem, I like her too- He answered happily- And you don´t need to thank me, you seemed more worried about protecting your book rather than your face-.

-Well they´re really good books, and expensive ones- You said with a giggle.

-I´m Y/N- You said as you lifted your hand towards his left one, the one that wasn´t carrying your books.

-I´m Bucky- He made an awkward, almost worried face and shifted the box from his right arm to his left one and shook your hand weirdly (since you were using opposite hands for the shake). It wasn´t too awkward though, you were too lost in his features and touch to care about which hand you were shaking. He was also taking in everything about you. Almost scanning you, your features, your body language, your smile. God, your smile.

You two finally regained focus and he helped you carry in the rest of your boxes.

The second time you encountered him wasn´t as nice as the first one. You had been making your famous chocolate, oatmeal and banana pancakes, ones that you enjoyed a lot, when a lady (another one of your neighbors) came into the kitchen and looked at you with a disapproving grin. You couldn´t care less about what she thought of you, but what she said really triggered you.

-Mmmh, honey, are you sure you want to use chocolate? It has too much sugar, and bananas are really heavy fruits, you should eat a banana alone for breakfast if you want to have good habits- Who does she think she is?! A nutritionist? She didn´t even say good morning and she was already criticizing you. You were about to tell her a few of her truths when you felt a familiar strong hand grabbing your shoulder.

-Good morning Y/N, Ms. Cavanaugh- He listened to what happened and saw the look of anger in your face. You did seem like the type of person to not pull with anyone´s shit, at least to him. But that woman was the owner´s aunt and had a great relationship with him, he had learnt from experience she was a “tough” person, to say the least, but it wasn´t worth it getting on her black list. He was usually shy and reserved, but it was easy to be more “sociable” when he knew the amount of people in the apartment block wouldn´t increase, and that those people would always be the same.

-Morning James- The woman´s face literally shifted from the disgusted look she gave to you the second Bucky walked in. He just smiled and nodded while taking your arm and leading you back to your pancakes.

-That smells great, what are you making?- He asked curiously.

-Chocolate, oatmeal and banana pancakes- You said emphasizing in the “chocolate” and “and” while gazing at the woman.

-Woah that sounds great, I hope there´s enough batter for me to get some of those- You were more relaxed now, but you still didn´t understand why he hadn´t let you defend yourself.

You nodded with a smile and showed him the remaining batter. Ms. Cavanaugh finally left and you turned to him immediately.

-What was that for? That woman needs someone to tell her some of her truths- You said intensely, but not angrily. He softly explained the relation between the woman and the owner, and you quickly understood as you flipped his pancakes.

-Ohhhh, in that case, thank you. You know, it´s the second time you saved me this week, you gotta stop, I don’t like owing people things- He laughed while shaking his head at you.

-If you want me to stop saving you, stop giving me reasons to do so- You tried making an angry face but laughter took the best of you. You two had breakfast together and talked easily through it. He was insanely nice and smart, he seemed reserved and an introvert just like you. Sure, you didn´t let people step on you, but you were shy as hell. He seemed to have an interesting past, but didn´t talk much about it. You didn´t push it, you happily answered all the questions he asked about your family. You were currently telling him a story about your mom and dad from when they were dating.

-So it was really late, and we still don´t know if my dad said “move to the right” or “turn to the right”, because both of my parents say differently, but anyways, my mom offered to park the car and, remember they were not even married, she got in, moved forward and turned to the right. She suddenly felt the car drop a bit, turned to my yelling dad and got out of the car before it sank more INTO THE POOL! She freaking drove my dad´s car into the pool at my grandad´s house and they had to call a hoist at 3am to get it out! I don´t think my grandparents found out but JESUS!

Bucky was holding his stomach as it ached from his laughter.

-NO WAY- he said not being able to form a full sentence.

You were both laughing whole heartedly when your phone´s alarm rang, announcing you had to go to a gathering with your best friend. You apologized to Bucky and explained you had to leave, but before you did that, you basically jumped into his arms for a hug. His immediate reaction was to hold you as close as he could, as strong as he could, but he then remembered his left arm and doubts started filling his mind as you walked away towards the parking place you had outside the apartment’s block. He was afraid of your reaction if he told you, he knew you from a week and was already considering telling you everything about himself. Telling you the truth, but he was too afraid of your reaction. He knew you had recently moved from Mexico, and he also knew you weren´t fully aware of who he was.

But now, he was sure you had felt his metal arm when he held you, he was sure and he was dying. He wandered around the door while “watching” a movie waiting for you to arrive to your apartment. He was sure you knew, so he wanted to explain, at least that he had a metal arm, but he didn´t feel ready to tell you everything yet, or that´s what he tried convincing himself of.

You arrived three hours later. It was 5pm. He heard you walking and saying hi to Cleo (that was now allowed to be at the garden of the whole place, not just your small part). He walked to the kitchen, knowing he would bump into you there.

-Hey- you said with a wide smile as he opened the main door for you.

-Hi, I was just grabbing a snack when I heard you-

-Well, thank you-

-Listen, about my arm, I´m sorry if it made you uncomfortable when you hugged me before you left, I- You cut him off before he continued.

-Hey, your arm has never made me uncomfortable, you’ve been worried about this since I left?-

-Never? For how long have you known?-

-That you have a metal arm? Since I met you haha, it wasn´t hard to tell-

-But, it doesn´t make you uncomfortable? Why didn´t you as-

-Ask about it? It doesn´t make me uncomfortable, at all. And I didn´t ask because you didn´t tell me. If you want me to know, you´ll tell me, it you don´t I won´t invade your privacy-.

He seemed shocked at your words. It hurt you to think he had gone through anything that made him think his arm was unworthy of showing. He smiled, almost hurt. So you did what you had to. You hugged his waist with one arm, and with the other you held his left hand. You gazed at him, asking with your eyes for permission to remove his leather glove. When he nodded, you slowly lifted the material and intertwined you fingers with his metal ones. You then pressed your palm against his, reveling how small your hand was in comparison to his. He felt tears threatening to leave his eyes, but when he felt your head resting against his chest his mind wandered with thoughts. You trusted him enough to let him hold you, even though you knew about his metal arm, you had known about it since you met and it was never a problem for you.

You felt his other arm around your waist and turned to face him. He had a tender look in his eyes, like he was looking at the whole world. You smiled softly, released your fingers from his metal hand and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into your lips. He slowly surrounded you with both of his arms, and you tangled yours around his neck. You could feel him relax into your touch, and your stomach was meeting more butterflies than you had ever felt. Your breaths mixed perfectly, and you felt him smile widely into the kiss. You finally parted, reaching for air. You smiled again and he tenderly caressed your face with his left hand.

-I was about to go and watch a The Hobbit marathon, wanna watch it with me?-

-The Hobbit marathon? There are movies?! And more that one?!-

-There are three, you have NEVER watched them?!- Oh this was gonna be fun.

-I just read the book- He said with a smirk.

-Well, I read the book AND watched the movies, and now I´m curious to see if you´re a crazy fan that´ll hate the movies, or a crazy fan that´ll love them like me-.

-There´s only one way to find out-.

#james barnes #bucky #bucky fic #james buchanan bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel

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asunshinepuff · 4 years

Text

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter one! This has been a long time coming and I apologize for the wait. Please give a follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

This chapter features one of my own ocs, and I really hope you like him! As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. I will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy! 🧜🏻‍♀️

Chapter 1: The Tail of Fates

The gulls glided across the scorching sky, the sun beating down on the portmen docking the ships that traveled across the sea. The merry drunken men who stumbled their way out of the taverns filled with jolly music made their way to the docks. Wincing at the harsh rays of sunlight, the sweltering heat and humidity offers no reprieve for the men who indulged in the advantages of liquid courage to disregard their tasks. Merchants bring in goods from the islands that seemed worlds away to a mere boy at the age of fourteen.

The boy had medium-length tawny brown hair, tanned skin from days working out in the sun, and very bright amber-colored eyes which seemed to capture the same essence of the crystalized equivalents of the color. Dressed in a rather modest attire appropriate for his status - consisting of a white long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves were rolled up due to the heat, light brown slacks, and dark brown boots. Around his waist was a light blue scarf, supposedly what he had been found swaddled in when he was just a babe. He could never find the strength to part with it. The guilt overpowered him.

“The beauties of the islands lads, best three days of me life mate.”

“Three days of only looking at the dames.” The sailor snorts a retort as he leans against a pillar on the dock. “They probably ran off in the other direction just at the mere sight of your pathetic self.”

The group of three jolly sailors laughed in merriment as the sailor who was sharing his tale shoved the other two in embarrassment.

The boy had been sweeping the dock nearby the sailors, rolling his eyes at the stories. It was always the same. Seamen making port and bedding the beauties from the mysterious island that he himself has never traversed. Internally, he began counting the seconds till one of the sailors again made mentions of the maidens of the sea, and as always- it took only a count of ten.

“I wager the beauties on that port can’t hold a candle to their maidens of the sea.” A sailor with three scars slashed across his face grinned.

“Oh not this, again,” The first sailor, with a fancy for the beauties, with tattered clothes and blonde hair groaned. “Bloody hell mate, you say that cursed tale every time. The women of the sea, with a fishes tail.”

“Aye, and you’d best heed it.” The sailor with three scars eyes his mates in suspicion. “Lest you never return to land, drowned like a dog and fed to the fishes.”

“No one has seen those monsters for centuries mate. Let it go. It’s nothing but stories to scare sailors, nothing more.”

“No!” The sailor yells. “I’ve seen them! The war didn’t wipe them out. They were the ones who scarred me face! There ain’t anything like it, to hear the songs of those maidens. You try to pull away, to drown it out with your thoughts, but ya can’t. There is no escape, it invades your minds, pulling you to the sea and into their webbed claws!” He grumbles out as he touches his scarred face tenderly. As if the scars were fresh, open with fresh blood spilling.

“You lads wouldn’t stand a chance, I should be at the bottom of the sea, but these maidens be fickle things, they are.” He looks out to the sea, calm waves kissing the shore. “To see one, changes your fate. To hear one’s song, is your doom.”

The boy paused momentarily as he heard the scarred sailor's warning. His thoughts race across his mind before he returns to the present when he’s called.

“Oi boy!” A man from upon the ship called down, leaning overboard. “Come up here lad! There’s a job I need ye to take care of!”

The boy looked up to the adult man, he couldn’t discern fully from this far away the man’s appearance. The high rays of the sun give the wooden docks a shadow of coverage. He was rather reluctant to leave the cool reprieve, however, it would be worse if he neglected his duties of the port, “Be right there.”

Walking upon the loading dock to the deck of the rather large ship, it was difficult to fight the urge to look around in a strange awe, even though it’s appearance is rather haggard and beaten. Although he has spent many a day upon ships for moments at a time since beginning his work a few years back, there was a certain mystery behind each ship that entered the ports of this bustling town. Each ship held a story behind its experiences. Each cannon battle, the waters of the seven seas it has traversed, the storms it has survived possible destruction, treasures it has held and lead its captain’s to discover.

“Yes sir?” The boy looks up to the bulk of an angry looking man whose face always seemed to have a sneer. Even in his sleep. The bulk of a man was dressed in a shirt that looked two sizes too small, and a tattered grey coat that squeezed the man, fitting his frame with strain as his arms were always pulled back. His pants were faded from black to grey, his boots were old and worn. Smelling like a dead rat. His teeth were ghastly to gaze upon, yellow with brown stains, his breath could probably kill a man. His eyes were a beady black like the sharks that swam in the shallow waters, a bald head with black spots. A pity, he must’ve looked worse as a child. As most children do. He glowers at the scrawny boy before he looks away.

“Go search the taverns for this ships’ Captain. We leave at dusk. Blokes probably drunk beyond hell, feeling up the women.” He shakes his head as he waves the boy off with a mere wave of his hand.

With a nod in confirmation, the boy exited the deck and headed off in search of the tavern so that he may find the Captain of the ship, rather grateful to being away from the rather disgusting first mate. If that bulk of a man looked that haggard, he could only imagine the Captain with a shudder at the thought. In the distance, he could see another ship that seemed to be a practical stark contrast. The masts that were open, were as white as the very clouds that floated in the sky, the wooden haul was a rich brown mahogany, the railings were painted gold like the sun. The sailors looked well-groomed, their clothes neat and fitted to their frames.

The boy searched from tavern to tavern, until finally, he came across the Buccaneers' Oyster. With a sigh of exasperation, he opens the doors and enters the busy tavern hoping that this time he had finally found the correct one. The tavern was dark with dim lighting from the candles that were scattered about the establishment. The windows were the only source of natural sunlight that seeped into the tavern that reeked of alcohol and vomit. The sounds of clinking glassware and cheers from sailors echo all around, the soft giggling of women sitting on the laps of the drunkest of seamen. Ignoring the commotion, and his disgust at the reeking smells, he makes his way to the main counter where a man was the barkeep. The wall behind was lined with large kegs and the shelves were lined with clean pints.

“Excuse me. Do you happen to know if Captain Barclay is here?” The boy says, raising his voice over the loud cheering of the sailors in their merriment. The barkeeper doesn’t even spare the boy a glance as he simply points to the back of the tavern where a man was sitting, well more falling off his chair than anything, as he smiled stupidly at a lady.

The captain in question was a tall lanky man with a hooked nose, horrible teeth, a large mole on the side of his neck, tanned skin, and green eyes. His clothes were an absolute mess which could possibly be vomit, or mashed potatoes. The boy was very much hoping for the latter. A white shirt with a red stain, rum possibly, short brown pants, and his shoes seemed to have vanished. Hopefully, the shoes walked away themselves, saving what little dignity they had, and drowned themselves in the sea. The stench dying with them. Or the captain had lost his shoes in a gamble. That seemed more likely.

Taking a deep breath in preparation, he makes his way over to the back of the tavern so that he could finally fetch the man and get out of this place. The man seemed practically worse close up, if that was even possible. “Excuse me? Captain Barclay?” He asks, hoping to gain the drunken Captain’s attention and draw it away from the woman. “I was asked to fetch you by your first mate. And bring you back to your ship.”

The man makes a small noise of acknowledgment as he turns to look at the deck boy. His alcohol glazed eyes look over the small boy before he shrugs him off and turns the lady he had in his lanky finger. “Bugger off boy, the adults are talkin.’” His hand waves him off with the pint of rum that sloshed to the ground in his sluggish gestures. “Now where we?”

“Please sir, let me go. I do not work here. I am merely looking for my fiancé.” A pale soft face young lady pulls her hand to try to free herself from the seaman. Her soft brown curls bouncing as she turns her head to the boy. Her hazel eyes lock eyes with his, her skin pale from her bold green dress. Help me she mouths.

The boy’s eyes widen a small fraction, trying to figure out a way to help the woman out of her predicament. “Captain. I insist.” He repeats, his tone much more firm and without argument.

With a sneer, the lanky captain looked to the boy before he points at the boy with his pint. Standing up, he was two heads taller than the boy. “Listen boy,” he stumbles closer, the pint in his hands dropping what little rum it had to the floor. “I spent six months at sea, I ain’t about to let a lass like this slip past me, now runoff. Before I beat you.”

“You chose quite a profession that allows you to be at sea for months at a time, Captain.” He says, looking up at the man, “Guess there’s sacrifices to make now isn’t there? And if you actually listened with your ears rather than another part of your body, then you would understand that this lady has no interest in you. And is taken.”

“Why you little rat!” The man grips the boy's collar, forgetting the pint, dropping it to the floor, letting the lady go as he raises his fist. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“You’re really going to punch a child mate? How low can you get?” A voice interjects as a rather handsome young man walks over. The tall young man, around the age of twenty-one, had short tousled red-brown hair, fetching blue eyes, and light tanned skin. Dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt with a light brown vest on top, a burgundy red long buckled coat with bright red accents, dark brown slacks, and black boots. On his left hip, a wide looking sword was sheathed in solid black and red with gold accents.

“Who the bloody hell are you? Bugger off!”

“No one of consequence. Just let him go.”

“Why the hell would I do that, a good beaten ought to teach about being respectful to his elders!” He looks away and aims for a punch.

The man scoffs, “As if you’re worth giving respect. The boy was just doing his job.” He steps forward and grabs the man’s fist in a hard grip as it nears the boy. “If you want respect, then earn it.”

“Why you!” The man drops the boy and turns to punch the man who stopped him from giving the boy a lesson.

The man can’t help but roll his eyes with a sigh, “Oh for Heaven’s sake.” The drunk captain isn’t even able to reach him before he retaliates with a punch of his own, knocking the captain out cold. A satisfied grin falls upon his lips. The lady gasps before she quickly runs off after giving the man a quick thank you. The man turns to the boy.

“Are you alright there boy?”

The boy nods, looking up to the taller man who intervened. Why did he? He cannot help but wonder. Most people would've just ignored the ruckus and not bat an eye. “I’m alright. Thank you, Mr…”

“Sandoval, Quinn Sandoval. But please just call me Quinn.” He smiles down at the boy. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you boy now can I?”

“No, I suppose not.” He replies with a light chuckle, “My name’s Remus. Remus Lupin. It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”

“Well, Remus, it’s nice to meet you as well.” He looks down to the unconscious captain with an exasperated sigh, lightly kicking his leg. “Best take him back to his ship eh?” He looks at Remus with mirth in his eyes before he walks over to the captain’s head, grabbing ahold one of his arms before pulling him up. “Grab his other arm will you? Let’s take him back to his ship. Although I doubt he will be useful.”

Remus nods quickly before he walks over to the other side, grabbing ahold of the other arm to help hold him up. “Doubt he will as well, to be frank.”

The pair carry the dunkard back to the docks without much strain. Aside from the occasional bump to the head. They walk up to the ship where the first mate sees them approaching, walking down the loading dock.

“What the bloody hell happened to him? I have been waitin’ here for hours boy!” The bulky man marches to Remus. His face red in anger.

“Well rather difficult to track down a man with this many taverns in this town isn’t it?” Quinn says in defense, looking down to the unconscious man before continuing an explanation, “Your Captain got himself plastered and in a tavern fight. I had to help the boy carry him back.” He glances at Remus and gives him a conspiratorial wink.

The first mate begrudgingly orders two men from the crew to take the captain onboard. He looks to the boy with a scowl. “What are ye waitin’ for, get back to work!”

Quinn frowns lightly as he looks to Remus. “You work the docks?”

Remus fights the urge to flinch at the hard scowl under the first mate’s gaze. He looks to Quinn at his question before nodding. “I do.”

Quinn can only nod once slowly in understanding. He looks to the first mate, then to the docks, then to Remus before he smiles. “Well not anymore.”

Remus’ eyes widen as he looks quizzically at the man he had just met. “What?”

“What the bloody hell are you talkin’ about.” The first mate growls out.

Quinn ignores the man as he looks over the young boy. “Tell me honestly Remus, would you rather work the docks for men like him, or come with me to my captain’s ship and actually live your life without regrets.” He looks back to the docks and the wrecked ship the bulky man sent the drunk captain to dock. “I know what I’d chose. And it wouldn’t be a life with little to no rewards.”

Remus looks out to the sea beyond the docked ships, watching the sun’s rays reflect upon the blue waking waters as he contemplates. This man hardly knows him, practically just met him about half an hour ago, and yet he’s offering him a chance to sail? A chance to leave this place? How can someone be this trusting?

He looks back to Quinn with a skeptical look, “Why are you offering me this? You hardly know me. I could be a thief for all you know.”

Quinn smiles. “Because I like you, you have wit and you clearly are a hard worker. I have a good feeling about you.” He looks to the sea. “So, what will it be, Remus? A life of servitude, or a life of freedom?” He looks back to Remus.

Remus cannot help but smile in return, “Freedom.”

#wolstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #quinn sandoval #asunshinepuff oc #pirate captian #mermaid #pirate and mermaid au #alcohol cw #cw drinking #cw drunken #secrets of the darkened seas

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impalas-r-important · 4 years

Text

Love of my Life - (11) Family Remains

Summary: Hunting has been a constant the past month, but the next case Dean finds takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: Show level violence.

A/N: This is a rough rewrite of S4 E11. As always, I love hearing feedback from everyone! Let me know if you want a tag.

Series Masterlist

“Stratton, Nebraska – Farm town. A man gets hacked to death in a locked room inside a locked house, no signs of forced entry.” Dean did his best to ignore Sam’s comment about hunting non-stop for the past month. You were all exhausted, Dean included, but he had to move from job to job to keep his mind off of the never-ending-nightmare memories of his recent trip to hell. He had only opened up about it briefly, so you and Sam did your best to respect his wishes and move from one hunt to the next. Truthfully, you didn’t mind it so much. This was pretty much your life before you met the Winchesters, but at least now you had a team to do it with.

“Sounds like a ghost.” Sam grumbled.

“Yes, it does.” Dean agreed, implying that you’d be heading there ASAP. Sam let out a sigh and fell backwards in the backseat. Dean looked to the passenger seat at you, waiting for any objections but you understood his need to keep moving. You met his gaze with a half-smile and touched your hand to his arm, giving a small squeeze.

The impala roared down the winding dirt driveway leading you to the old farmhouse. Dean expertly picked the lock, pushing the door open to let you and Sam in ahead of him.

“Boy, three bedrooms, two baths and one homicide. This place is gonna sell like hotcakes.” Dean snarked. Sam chuckled and led the way into the kitchen where Dean found a sealed hole in the wall.

“It’s probably a dumbwaiter. All these old houses had them.” Sam commented.

“Know it all.” Dean immediately responded.

“What?” Sam questioned.

“What?” Dean tried to play dumb.

“You said…”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Sam frowned and continued searching.

Dean turned to you and gave a shit-eating smirk. You were more than happy to see Dean teasing Sam. It meant he wasn’t beating himself up inside at that moment.

The search of the house didn’t reveal much other than a doll head in one of the closets, sitting patiently as if it were waiting for you. You were cut short by a moving truck pulling up outside. You and the boys approached the family under the pretenses of being fake county code enforcers and were able to persuade the family to stay at a motel for the night because of asbestos in the walls, buying yourselves a little more time.

Much to your chagrin, the family had decided to go back to the house and start moving in. Night had fallen and you and the boys waiting in the car just outside trying to figure out a plan. The three of you sprang into action when you heard yelling coming from inside. The kids had been hearing and seeing things, and just as Dean was trying to convince them to leave, the power cut out. Cries from the dog led everyone outside where the words “too late” were painted on the moving truck in blood. The family was spooked enough that it took little convincing for them to go back to the motel. You ushered them to the cars, only to find the air let out of all the tires and the weapons stolen from the back of the impala.

“What the hell kind of ghost slashes tires and steals weapons?” You thought out loud. The screams of the daughter turned your attention to the side of the yard, where a disheveled, dirty girl was standing, staring at all of you.

Dean hurried everybody inside and drew a large salt circle, instructing them to get inside. The dad of the family wasn’t buying the “ghosts are real” storyline and tried to get his family out. You quickly stopped them and convinced them to stay.

Dean and the uncle, Ted, were having a power struggle of sorts, and you did your best to diffuse the situation, letting Sam go check out the attic, while you and Dean stayed with the family. While Ted was being an ass to you and Dean, a closet door slowly creaked open, getting everyone’s attention. A pale, skinny, dirty girl slowly revealed herself and made her way towards you. Her hair was ratted and broken at the ends, covering her face like curtains. Rotten black and yellow teeth peeked through her evil smile, complementing the blood stains on her night gown. You could smell the death on her from across the room.

“Everyone stay calm and inside the circle. She can’t get in here.” You stood defensively in front of the family as Dean held an iron fire poker at the ready. The old floorboards ached with every step the feral girl took towards you as she brandished a knife that was hiding in her sleeve. Something about this seemed off to you, and you were sure Dean felt it too. She slowly raised her foot up and over the line of salt and your stomach dropped. This wasn’t a ghost at all. This was a real girl. Crap.

“Y/N, get them out of here!” Dean yelled as he dodged a swing of the knife.

“Go, go! Now!” You herded the family outside, worrying what would happen to Dean. “Stay here!” You ran back inside, just in time to see Sam shine the flashlight on the girl, causing her to scream and run.

You, Sam and Dean all ran outside to the family. “It’s just a girl?” You couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t something you’d ever experienced.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s psycho Nel. I’m telling you man – humans.” Dean rolled his eyes and looked around.

“Who is she then?” Sam asked.

“Maybe it’s the daughter of that first guy killed? Rebecca?” Dean suggested. You had spoken to the cleaning woman who told you that she had killed herself in the attic.

“She’s way too young to be Rebecca.” You added.

Dread washed over everyone when you all realized that the little boy, Danny was missing. You and Dean exchanged worried looks and you swallowed hard. The family began to freak out, but Dean was able to talk some sense into them. He told them to hide in the shed, but the father and uncle wanted to be out looking with you. Sam asked you to stay behind with the mom and daughter to protect them. You begrudgingly agreed.

“Who are you people?” The daughter asked you.

You sighed. “Like Dean said, we hunt ghosts.”

“Are they going to find Danny?”

“Yeah, they are. Sam and Dean are the best at what they do. Everything’s going to be okay.” You did your best to comfort her.

Dean knocked on the door after not too much longer, entering with Sam and the Dad.

“Where’s Ted?” The mom asked.

The silence answered her question. The girl had killed him in the house. Dean exited the shed, clearly needing some space. You knew he blamed himself for Ted’s death.

“What’s that?” You asked, referring to a book that Sam was reading.

“It’s Rebecca’s diary. I found it in the attic. I think I have something.”

“I’ll go get Dean.”

You walked outside to hear Dean’s conversation with the dad, who had stepped out for some air. Dean was promising that he would find Danny, no matter what the cost. You knew that easily translated into Dean being willing to give his life to find the boy.

“Dean.” You interrupted their conversation. “We’ve got something.” He nodded and followed you into the house with Sam.

“I finished reading Rebecca’s diary. Pretty sure that girl is Rebecca’s daughter.” Sam informed.

“Rebecca had a kid?” Dean asked as he moved boxes around, blocking one of the doors closed.

“It’s all she talks about. Being pregnant – being ashamed of being pregnant. Her dad said he would lock the baby up after it was born.”

“Why would he say that?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, gosh. Please don’t tell me it was his…” You picked up on Sam’s uncomfortable body language easily.

“Oh. Gross.” Dean said when he picked up on what was happening.

Brainstorming led Dean to believe that the dumbwaiter probably led to where Danny was being held. He busted the wall down in the kitchen, uncovering a drop to a dark opening.

“I’m gonna go down there and find Danny. Y/N, why don’t you go back out to the shed with the mom and daughter.” Dean ordered.

“Excuse me?” You shot back. His words were degrading, even if that wasn’t his intention.

Dean pulled you to the side and spoke in a low, calming voice. “I’m not sidelining you. But someone needs to be out there protecting them and you’re the best one here in a knife fight if that hillbilly bitch goes after them.”

You could tell he was being sincere and didn’t mean any harm to you. You grabbed a large kitchen knife and made your way outside while Dean looked for Danny in the basement.

The mom and daughter were holding each other by the back wall of the shed when you walked in, giving them a jump. You held your hands in the air. “Just me. They think they might know where Danny is.”

Your words gave them a light at the end of this dreadful night.

Not even five minutes after you had joined them in the shed, the back window was smashed forcing the mom and daughter to the other side of the shed where a knife slashed at them through a slot in between the wooden panels.

“Get behind me!” They ran to the most protected corner of the shed and you stood in front of them, knife at the ready. The incestuous girl snuck her way into the shed through an old trap door near the bottom of the wall and you ran at her, catching her off balance and knocking her down. You quickly disarmed her by kicking the knife from her hand and then jumped on her, slashing her throat with one fell swoop.

You moved the worktable that was blocking the door and opened it. “Let’s get you out of here.” You blocked the dead body as best as you could, gesturing towards the exit. The boys met you outside and Danny ran over to his mom. The family held each other, sobbing in a mixture of relief and terror.

“There was a brother.” Sam informed you. You quickly looked between Sam and Dean, concerned that this hellish night wasn’t over yet.

“I took care of him.” Dean answered your not-yet-asked question.

The sun rose as Dean had finished fixing the tires of the Impala. You and Sam had spent the night gathering the stolen weapons from the trunk. You said your goodbyes to the family and took off before the police could show up.

Dean parked the car near the pillars of an overpass and the three of you got out to eat, though none of you were very hungry. Sam excused himself to lay down in the back seat, leaving you and Dean in a pensive silence.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

You kicked some rocks around as you leaned against the concrete barrier. It was gloomy and overcast, matching how you felt inside.

“I’ve never killed a human that wasn’t also some kind of monster...” Killing that girl was weighing heavier on you than you expected. “That was so messed up. The whole situation.”

“Yeah.” Dean set his untouched burger down on the barrier next to him. “It’s just going to get crazier with the whole apocalypse starting.”

A few silent moments passed between you two.

“Why are you putting up with all this?” Dean asked bluntly.

“All of what?”

“You still want to hang around with us after everything? After knowing that Sam drinks demon blood, and that I tortured people in hell? Why are you even still here?” Dean refused to look at you, and you knew that this was him pushing you away to try to protect you.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a damaged man who’s been to hell and back. I see Dean Winchester, the hero. You’re the boogeyman’s boogeyman. All the little monster kids ask their parents to check for you under the bed before they go to sleep. I heard your conversation with that dad last night. You were willing to give up your life to find a boy you had never met and will probably never see again. But that kid isn’t the exception. You’d do that for anyone, wouldn’t you? Dean, you’re the guy who’s going to save the world.” Dean kept his eyes fixed on the same spot on the ground, so you continued. “But even more than that, you’re the guy who keeps a box of Milkyways under the front seat in the car because you know they’re my favorite. You’re the guy who watches Jeopardy on tv when you think Sam and I are asleep, and you get every answer right because you’re brilliant. You’re the guy who warms up my side of the bed while I’m brushing my teeth because you know how cold I get at night, and you’re the only person in this entire world who has ever made me feel like I’m worth something. So why am I still here? Because you’re the love of my life, Dean Winchester. I love everything about you. Including your habit of taking bites of my food every time I’m not looking. Yeah, I noticed.” That last sentence pulled a small smile across his mouth.

You looked into the car to see Sam passed out, breathing steadily. “The same goes for Sam. I don’t look at him and see the boy with demon blood in his veins. I see the goofy, floppy haired Sam who is a genius, who’s ambitious and fun and caring and brave and I see that he’s trying his hardest to do what he thinks is right.”

Dean cleared his throat and stood up, reaching his arms out to you. “Come here.” He pulled you into a tight hug which both of you desperately needed. “Thank you.” He whispered while his face was buried in your hair.

After a few long moments, Dean pulled away and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a small chain and handed it to you, gently placing it in the center of your hand to reveal the trinity knot that was formerly your mom’s ring. He had cleaned it up and polished it, trimming off the broken part of the band to create a beautiful pendant necklace. Tears began to well in your eyes and your vision became misty.

“I didn’t have the right kind of metal to fix the band, so I made it into a necklace. I hope that’s okay.” A small tear traced your cheek as you closed your fist around the necklace, then wrapping your arms around Dean. “Your dad gave it to your mom because it means never ending devotion, right?” You nodded into his chest. “Thank you for believing in me.”

Dean was never really one for long, sappy speeches. You knew exactly what he was trying to say by giving you this gift.

“This…” you fought back your tears. “This means more to me then you’ll ever know, Dean. Thank you”

“Let’s see it on you.” Dean took the necklace from you and put it around your neck as you gathered your hair in the back so he could do up the clasp. He took a step back and made a rectangle with his index fingers and thumbs, pretending to look through it. “Even more beautiful than I imagined.” He gave you a soft kiss, then motioned to the car with his head. “Let’s get outta here.”

Chapter 12

Tags:

@humbledarkness

@mimaria420

@panicking-outside-the-disco

@vicmc624

@akshi8278

@idreamofdeanie

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn s15

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Text

Imagine THREE:

Crazy Erik gets worse and worse.

Warnings: angst, slight smut, psycho killer Erik.

It’s clear that Erik Stevens is an Organized Serial Killer and a Stalker. This is another kind of killer that is typically highly educated, and as you can guess by the name, super organized. Historically, they have been known to be charismatic, and commonly lead seemingly normal lives. They plan every last detail to make sure that they won't get caught. Often, they'll watch a victim for quite a while before making a move, which is when they'll kidnap them. Once the murder is committed, they will usually dispose of the body and evidence in another location. This is also the kind of person who follows their own cases in the media, and could even try to contact or mess with investigators.

Terry wasn’t an organized kill, however, Erik had that taken care of. Since he’s an ex-skilled assassin who ended up in many sticky situations, he calls on some help to dispose of Terry’s body and any evidence left behind. To top it all off, the stupid Karaoke club didn’t have any cameras on the side of the building. The only problem is that Y/N left with Terry and there were a few people smoking and chatting when they exited the club. If police were to come asking questions, Y/N would be their prime suspect because she was seen with him in the club, which had cameras, and she was seen leaving by a few eye witnesses.

The sudden, unexpected death of Terry left a mark on Y/N. She witnessed a man that she didn’t know get murdered. His blood soiled her skin. The gun shot pierced her ears. The loud thud almost made her jump out of her own skin. She could smell the gunpowder surrounding her. Then, as if the situation couldn’t get any scarier, the killer himself looked deranged and psycho with his gun aiming at Terry’s dead body, blood on his clothes, and a mask on. When he lifted that mask, Y/N wailed. It was Erik; her boyfriend; her lover; the one she kissed; the one she supposedly adored. That evening changed everything. If he would go so far as to kill a guy for simply helping her lord knows what he will do to her….

Y/N tossed and turned, her eyelids closed but flickering constantly from the unsettling imagery in her mind. She was having a very vivid nightmare about Terry being killed. She felt dissociation in her sleep, the nightmare so realistic that she felt like it was happening all over again. Y/N gasps, her eyes wide open and looking around the darkened room with frightened eyes. She could see large, floor to ceiling windows in the darkness and the view of a beach. Y/N moves her hands, a choked up cry escaping her mouth when she realized that she was handcuffed. Looking down at her attire she could see she was now wearing a long, crisp white T-shirt and nothing underneath. Stilling herself, Y/N could see a figure sitting in a chair diagonal from her in the darkness. The figure casted a shadow, almost looking like the grim reaper.

“Where am I?” She spoke with a petrified voice.

“Woke already, Princess?” The shadowy figure spoke.

“Erik.” She stated. She knew that deep, raspy voice from a mile away.

“Bingo.”

Light ignited the room. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut while turning her head away from the brightness above her. The bed shifted, one of her eyes opening to find Erik himself standing on the bed above her, looking down on her. Her body was settled between his legs. She didn’t blink away from him but she did tremble with fear. He kneels down into a squat above her, reaching out his hand to grab her chin. She tried fighting against it but he was too strong, her neck painfully twisting.

“Ouch-

“Why did you make me do this?” He asked with a saddened voice, “Why baby? Why did you make me kill him? I was trying to change...I was trying to be good for you.”

Erik gave her a strange look before closing his eyes. He appeared to be hurt by Y/N’s actions. It confused and angered her. He had some nerve to feel the way he felt after he killed a man in front of her and now she’s handcuffed to a bed. Speaking of beds, Y/N wasn’t familiar with this one. It wasn’t Erik’s bedroom in his loft. What? Did he have two places to stay?

“I didn’t do anything wrong!!!!!! He was helping me and YOU killed him!!!!!!! HE DID NOT DESERVE TO DIE!!!!! What the absolute fuck is wrong with you?!!!”

That was the loudest she had ever yelled in her entire life. Erik’s body flinched each time her voice rose. He looked shocked and bewildered that she was yelling at him.

“You’re a sick, twisted person, Erik. You are a FUCKING lunatic. You stalk me, you control me, and now you’re killing people because you can’t stand anyone to be around me…”

Y/N tried to stay strong but she broke down sobbing beneath him. Erik rested his heavy body on top of hers and it made her cry harder. His fingers wiped away her tears and then his lips would press softly against her cheeks to try and sooth her. He’s a monster. He has no remorse for what he did and now he’s comforting her and whispering sweet things like he didn’t just take someone’s life without a backwards glance.

“Shhh, shhh, hey...it’s gonna be alright...You don’t have to fear me...I do what I do for us. I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N, and I’m not letting you go. Now do you see how I can be? I will kill anyone who comes between us,” Erik presses his nose into her hair, “Fuck...I love you...I love you so...so...so...so much, he moves his nose around her curly hair, tangling it in the process.

“Get off of me you sick FUCK,” Y/N spoke through clenched teeth.

“Or what?” Erik lifted his face to look at her, “Hm? Or what? You’re gonna go to the cops? What? You’re gonna run away?” He smiles at her, “I dare you to play with me like that. If you so much as open your pretty little mouth, I will snap your fucking neck.”

His wicked smile made his words more truthful. He would end her life if she ran out on him. Y/N believed every word. She tried turning away from him but Erik locked his legs around her to keep her hips still. All Y/N could do was cry. She didn’t ask for any of this. Why couldn’t he be normal? She felt torn because he can be a good person but whatever happened in his past to make him so psychologically screwed up couldn’t stay away.

“You-you would kill me? I-I thought you said you wouldn’t kill m-me?”

“I don’t want to, but I will if I have to.” He spoke calmly as if it were a casual conversation, “But none of that matters, you won’t leave me, I trust you.”

“If you trust me so much then why the fuck did you have to kill him?”

“Because...he touched you,” Erik strokes the skin on her arm, delicately “This is my skin...I touch you like this…”

“Erik...please undo these cuffs,” Y/N pleaded.

“I can’t do that. You’ll run away. The last woman to run away from me didn’t live to see another day. I swore to myself that you would be the last woman in my life. Don’t prove me wrong,” Erik warned.

The fear she felt at the moment was monstrous. She let this man stay in her home. She let this man see her naked and have sex with her. She told this man everything about herself, even things she never told anyone else. He knew what she liked, he knew where her close family and friends live, he knew what perfume she used, he knew where she worked. Even if Y/N escaped safely, she would be on the run forever. He’s smart, clearly has skills in tracking people down. If she ended up fleeing to Alaska he would find her with no problem. What was she going to do?

“Are you going to prove me wrong, Y/N?”

“...no.” She spoke with a small voice. She had no other choice but to give in...for now.

His smile, despite being beautiful, scared her half to death. How could he switch his emotions on and off like that? Erik grabs Y/N’s chin, leaning forward and pressing his soft, plump lips against hers. She didn’t close her eyes but he did. She allowed him to tongue her mouth and growl. His erection rested on her inner thigh and it made her tingle which frustrated her. He still had a hold on her body. She’s handcuffed. He could tip this shirt off, bring her legs above her head, and fuck her. He could eat her pussy and she wouldn’t have anywhere to go. She would have no other choice but to cum in his mouth and on his dick. And the sad part is, Y/N would let him. He was so manipulative seducing her.

“Hm...I do want to uncuff you...I’m not gonna lie,” Erik takes a single finger to stroke her cheek, “ But seeing you like this...that shit is making my dick extra stiff.”

“Please? Please let me out of these cuffs, Erik,” Y/N begged, “I promise I won’t leave just let me out.”

“I’m glad you’re deciding to stay with me. I love you so much, girl. I know this is a lot to take in but I promise, I won’t scare you anymore...I won’t kill anyone else as long as you behave.”

Erik kissed the tip of her nose before lifting from the bed completely. Y/N studied his attire. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white beater. Erik digs into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a single key. She stared at him with anticipation. Erik walked up to her, grabbing her wrists in his hand. She couldn’t see too well but she could feel her wrists being freed. Erik places the handcuffs in his pocket, walking to the foot of the bed. He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on her like a guard dog.

“Where am I?” Y/N brings her wrists down to rub them. She sat up in bed, her eyes darting around the room. It was very luxurious. She could make out a walk-in closet, a master bathroom, and a balcony. She spotted an exit to her right.

“This is my main home. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to know what I have here but...you're here now, there is no use in hiding it anymore.”

“...what are you talking about?” Y/N looked at him with caution.

“I can show you,” Erik held out his hand for her to grab, “Come on...you want to know, I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“I don’t know,” She shook her head, “I don’t know if I want to go I’m scared-

“It’s too late for that. I killed that nigga in front of you, Y/N. You know what I’m capable of. Get up.” He spoke with finality.

Erik could switch from sweet and gentle to hostile and demanding in a matter of seconds. Y/N got up from the bed, timidly walking up to Erik. His tall, muscular body loomed over her before he grabbed her hand, leading her out of the room. Walking out of that room, Y/N’s eyes danced around so that she could take it all in. The windows seemed to follow her the more they walked. His main home is so wide open and airy. This had to be his safe house. Y/N guessed that no other woman had the opportunity to see this place.

The place was remarkable. Chef’s kitchen, grand dining area, large living room with a TV so big it looked like a projector screen, and luxury cars lined up in neat rows along with a sports bike. Erik was leading her down the steps to a basement now. The temperature changed from cool to warm in seconds. The walls are painted black as they walk down the steps. The more they went, Y/N noticed the walls are now lined with acoustic foam, the floor is carpet, and there are fancy glass curio cabinets filled with weapons of all kinds.

“You’re shaking,” Erik says, looking over his shoulder at her.

“...You have a lot of guns and knives, Erik,” Y/N spoke with a small voice. She looked behind her, spotting a door automatically closing like they were in a lab. The wall has a touch screen panel on it for fingerprints. He wanted to make sure no one came in or out of this basement without his knowledge.

“I’m a trained killer, Y/N. It’s necessary.” He says.

That was fact number one that she didn’t know about him. Trained killer means he’s been murdering people for years. She knew he was a Navy Seal at one point but clearly it went deeper than that. Y/N paid close attention to Erik pressing his thumb into a touch pad on the wall. The door opens, darkness ahead.

“You want to know what daddy does down here?” His voice grew darker, “I haven’t used it in a while, for at least a month, figured I could show you that side of me that I used to entertain until recently…”

Y/N tried to twist her hand from his grip but Erik yanked her, causing Y/N to scream.

“SHUT UP.” He spoke so close to her face Y/N had to close her eyes, “I’m not going to hurt you! Chill out. I promised you that, didn’t I?!”

Walking with Y/N still in his grasp, Erik turns on a few lights, the entire room ignited now. There are a series of operating tables lining the walls and draped with plastic, and in the center of the room is a large glass case that looks like a prison. Inside there is an air mattress with a few blankets, and some books.

“It’s empty now, but it was occupied about two months ago. Things didn’t go so well, so I had to kill him.” He spoke nonchalantly.

“Kill who?!” Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes away from the rectangular prison.

“Your ex, Dominic. He was the last person I killed before Terry. Dominic had plans to take you away from me. I saw the texts, I listened to the voicemails, and then He told me that you met up with him a few times...you lied to me.”

Y/N did in fact keep in touch with Dominic. They had history together. He was her friend before they started dating. Yes, Dominic wanted Y/N back in his life after they ended things and Y/N was only meeting with him because she felt like telling him in person that she was seeing someone else would show Dominic how serious she is. Y/N ran into him while on lunch break at work and they talked about it. If Dominic didn’t reveal that they were meeting up he would probably still be alive. Dominic provoked Erik, and now he’s six feet under, well, technically swimming with the fishes from what Erik just confessed.

“His family is looking for him, Erik. They don’t know where he is! They think he might have left the country to Europe like he always wanted to do! Instead, you had him locked in a fucking cage for over two months! You killed him! No! Let go of me!” Y/N yanks her hand from Erik’s, stumbling back and falling painfully on her backside. She groaned in pain because she fell on her tailbone.

“Y/N,” Erik reaches out to help her up but Y/N slaps his hand away. Erik’s face went from sincere to vengeful in a matter of seconds and now he was picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“You need to calm the fuck down!!!” Erik yells, “Hmph,” he growls angrily before laying Y/N down on one of the operating tables, “DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN?!!! Don’t make me cuff your disobedient ass to this table and leave you here all fucking night because I will fucking do it.” He spoke angrily in her face.

Y/N slaps him. Erik touches his face before looking at her with eyes so black and empty that she is cowardly beneath him. He rubs his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he smirked at her.

“That shit really hurt, baby. You wanna play?” Y/N squirms beneath him, “you wanna play with daddy?”

“No, Fuckkkk…no,” Erik drags kisses down her neck to her cleavage. She tried pushing at him but now Erik’s has her hands pinned down. Her arms shook trying to free herself.

“You wanna know what I use these tables for?” He whispered in her ear, “I use them for people I desperately want to kill...I chopped up Dominic’s body on this exact table, Y/N.”

Y/N knees Erik in his upper thigh, almost aiming for his balls if he didn’t move so swiftly.

“Oooh, okay, You really want to hurt me, huh? I like pain, but daddy needs his balls, baby. I plan on emptying my balls in your little pussy...make you have my child.”

She allowed her head to fall back with defeat. He was kissing her breasts now, focusing his lips on her nipples that started to grow stiff beneath her shirt.

“You’re telling me no but your nipples are hard as fuck, Y/N. You hit me, and you don’t want to play? You shouldn’t have hit me, girl.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t hit you again,” Y/N looks at his lips, “I promise. I’ll be good.” She swallowed spit nervously.

“...okay,” Erik’s hands drag down her waist, “Okay, baby girl. Maybe I should give you a bath and feed you, that way, you can sleep it off and relax. You’re just so tense,” Erik squeezes her stiff shoulders, “By tomorrow, you’ll be just fine.”

Y/N quickly nods her head before giving Erik a smile, “I’d like that.”

Erik strokes her hair before lifting her off of the bed, physically carrying her out of the room. His strong arms held her tightly. She studied his face, her mind whirling. This man was confusing her and scaring her at the same time. He could be so filled with rage but yet so soothing. He looked down at her, smiling with his dimples before kissing her forehead.

When they made it back to the room, Erik undresses Y/N bringing her to the bathroom with him to run a bubble bath. She watched him use an assortment of essential oils before pouring in a lavender scented bubble bath, the kind that she uses. He sits her in the warm bath before kneeling beside the tub, grabbing up a soap sponge to clean her off. She sat there with her eyes glued to him, wondering in the back of her mind if he would try to drown her if she tried to fight him again.

“You smell just like you did when I saw you leaving that gym,” Erik squeezed the sponge over her back, “Do you remember? I bumped into you while you were on your way out. Lavender...I can still smell the lavender in your hair and on your skin. You showered that day, didn’t you? You always showered before you left the gym. I watched you once after that, you have this way of rubbing your body down sensually...that’s when I knew you needed another man in your life.”

Y/N tried to recall the memory but it didn’t hit her. He was always there but she didn’t pay attention. He just confessed to watching her shower at the gym. He was probably in the stall next to hers, his body pressed to the foggy glass, learning every mark on her body.

“I took your panties after that out of your gym bag, beat my dick to you every single night with your panties wrapped around my hand while I stroked,” Erik brings the sponge down between her legs, “You’re natural aroma had my dick stiffer than any other woman I’ve been with. So moist, so sweet, and yet so creamy when I beat it up.”

Erik licks the soap from her shoulder. Y/N turned her head away trying her best not to cry. He was moaning while tasting the soap on her skin. She closed her eyes and then his tongue dragged over her nipple. She gasps, her hands coming up to grab her breasts to stop him. Y/N turned to face him and her nose touched his from how close he was to her face. Erik bites her lower lip with his eyes still on hers.

“I need you,” He whispers.

___________________

Waking up to waves crashing against the sand in the middle of the night would have been peaceful if it wasn’t for Erik laying next to her sleeping. He has his hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer whenever she would shift in the bed. She would have tried to make a run for it by smashing the lamp on the side table next to his bed over his head but he wasn’t letting her go with that strong arm. Waking up handcuffed just a few hours prior had Y/N thinking of a plan to leave. The thought of his basement made her shiver with fear. He not only killed Terry, he killed her ex. Y/N could feel Erik’s lips on the back of her neck and his dick against her ass. She was completely torn. One side of her wanted to run away and never look back but the other side of her wanted him to ravage her insides. It was sickening. Now, she felt like a lunatic. Who desires to fuck a man that threatened to kill you if you walked out on him? She would need some serious therapy if she escaped.

“Why do I have the feeling the wheels in your head are turning,” Erik whispers, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

“Huh?” Y/N decided to play it off like she didn’t understand what Erik was saying. She turns to face Erik, placing a smile on her face and hoping she could decisive him.

“...You’re plotting something...what could you be plotting that doesn’t involve me, hm?” Erik squints at her suspiciously.

“No, no I just...I can’t stop thinking about it,” Y/N looked down at her fingers, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over it.”

Erik sighs, throwing the covers off of his body and revealing his nudity to Y/N’s vulnerable eyes. She could see him thickening between his toned thighs before she tore her eyes away, bringing the sheets closer to her chest while sitting up in bed. Erik strokes her curly hair from her eyes, placing some of the strands behind her ear.

“You have me. I’m sorry I let my anger get the best of me. If it was up to me...I would have preferred to kill Terry without you knowing but his arm was around your shoulder, Y/N...my shoulder…that shit set me off.”

Erik kisses her neck multiple times. She could tell that he wanted to fuck, especially with his hands pulling her closer. Her heart was racing in her chest cavity. It was the knowledge of Erik being a literal serial killer and the fact that she is still attracted to him. This shit was hot in some of the erotic fantasies that she read but it wasn’t words on a page, it was really happening in the flesh.

“You want to fight it but you know how much you want this dick,” he gave her a crafty smile, “Am I right?” He kissed her slowly.

That small voice in her head was telling her don’t do it but the more he kissed her the more she betrayed her thoughts. What were the signs in the beginning that he was definitely bad news? Well, now that she thought of it, Erik has way too much going for himself but he still managed to make you feel bad for him. All of his attributes seem too good to be true, and then, he hits you with that one sob story that tugs at your heartstrings. His parents were killed and that left him to grow up on his own in foster care. Then, he was always so hung up on his ex-girlfriend even though he never said her name. He always said how much she broke his heart.

Erik seemed to know Y/N’s entire life history AND what time she left her apartment, what she usually cooked on Wednesday evenings, her favorite sex toy, and she never told him any of this, she just assumed he was great at guessing. Plus, Y/N did notice a fair amount of her panties going missing and other things like her rose gold anklet that her mother gifted her from her room before she even met him. All of these facts hit her like a ton of bricks while she gave in and stuck her tongue down his throat. This shit was toxic and yet she couldn’t stop.

“Erik,” he yanked the covers from the entire bed, climbing on top of her. Erik kisses her savagely so much so that Y/N couldn’t even breath for a second. She pushes at Erik’s chest for him to slow it down but he just keeps on going, his hands all over Y/N’s body, tweaking her nipples, rubbing her inner thighs because he knows that’s her soft spot, and growling in her mouth like an animal.

“You can’t get enough of me...look at you...you’re so addicted to me, Y/N, and you thought about leaving me? How could you leave me when I make you feel the way you do,” Erik trails his kisses down to her breasts before sucking on her nipples, tightly tugging them into his mouth. Y/N’s toes curled while she tugged on Erik’s hair. All rational thoughts went straight out of the window the more he suckled her nipples just like she liked it, using a little bit of teeth.

“Fuck, Erik, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“I’m sucking all over these delicious titties...now I’m about to suck all over that clit,” Erik chuckles while kissing down Y/N’s stomach.

“No...fuck...I mean what are you doing to me?” Her mouth fell open, “Shit.”

“I’m giving you exactly what you want. No use in fighting this shit, girl, now bring your knees up to your ears so daddy can eat.”

Y/N hesitates but Erik’s soft lips on her kneecaps made her shiver. Erik spreads her thighs, his head resting between them, staring at her, “Come on, baby,” Erik kissed her thighs and bites her flesh, “fuck, you taste so good.”

“Erik-

“You know when we fuck you call me daddy, Y/N...now what’s my name?” Erik kisses her pussy lips while looking at her.

“Daddy,” She spoke with a whisper.

“Now bring your fucking knees to your ears.”

Y/N’s legs went up and as soon as her knees touched her ears Erik was on her pussy swiftly. The thickness of his tongue on her folds had her eyes crossing. Y/N grabs Erik’s tapered locs in her hand forming a ponytail and starts yanking it. Her hips were off of the bed, driving her pussy into his mouth. She felt so dirty for doing this. A serial killer; a psycho is sucking on her pussy. She thought about what life would be like with Erik after this. He wasn’t going to let her go willingly. She could probably end up being his sex slave or worse, she could piss him off and he would probably tie her up and punish her, whatever types of punishments he liked to give.

“You’re crazy,” She spoke with a struggle, looking down at him with hooded eyes, “you’re fucking crazy.”

“And so are you for letting me eat this tasty ass pussy.”

Y/N’s eyes tear up, “Oh, God-

“God ain’t here, babygirl, ima fix you good,” He continues to slurp her up like an icy making her thighs tremble. He’s supposed to be the villain of this fucked up situation. He was toying with her innocence. She felt like she was making a deal with the devil, signing over her soul with her moans and whimpers so he could suck it right out of her and into his mouth. Y/N’s thighs locked around Erik’s head and now her hands went up to squeeze the pillow she was resting her head on.

She sold her soul and signed it right on his tongue with her delicious cum. After Erik drank her up his lips were on hers again, giving her a taste of her pussy. He flips over to lay on his back with Y/N on top of him. She looked down at him with shy eyes while his hands rested on her hips. He grabs the flesh of her ass, lifting her up with the strength of his arms.

“Grab my dick and put it in daddy’s pussy,” He commands. Y/N reaches between her legs, grabbing up Erik’s dick, “Now sit on my fucking dick.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

Y/N slowly lowers her pussy on Erik’s dick. Her hips jerked from how thick he is causing Erik to grab her tighter. He pulled her towards him while hooking his arms around hers with his hands on her shoulders. Erik lifts his hips from the bed, working his dick up into her pussy and from that angle it was pushing deeper.

“I’m already crazy, right,” Erik slaps her ass so hard she almost lost her balance, “drive me insane with this pussy.”

Y/N was locked in place with Erik’s grip on her shoulders while he fucked her with a blur of his hips. She supposed this was his way of punishing her for making him take Terry’s life. The pain and pleasure tightened her abdominal muscles so tightly she was forming a cramp on her side. Only ten minutes in and she’s squirting on his dick. This man was clearly born with an insatiable appetite for destruction in all forms. He was currently using his destructive nature to fuck the living shit out of Y/N’s pussy.

“I’m cumming,” She announced even though Erik could feel her walls squeezing him for dear life.

Erik spoke softly as not to disturb her orgasmic moment, ruining her in the process, “I’ll have you cumming on this dick forever.”

“Unh,” Y/N’s body released her essence all over his dick making it wetter. Erik trades places, arching Y/N’s back. He aggressively pressed her face into the bed while his body stood above hers. Erik grabs the headboard before putting himself in a push-up position. His dick went right in from above her and it was so deep and thick she could feel her pussy lips expanding to make room for him. Looking above her she could see Erik watching her closely with a straight face like he wasn’t deep in her guts.

“This is your daddy dick, baby,” He reminds her, “Did you hear me?” He pushed deeper causing Y/N to squeal, “what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. Ahh, fuck, baby,” Erik hisses, picking you the pace, “you gon’ have my baby.”

“Shit,” Y/N reached back to press at Erik’s chest. Erik slaps her hand away hard before locking them her wrists behind her back. Now, she was taking his dick with a mixture of pleasure and pain that has her leaking all over him and her walls sore. Her mouth was open in a silent scream the harder he went.

“Daddy is cumming, mmmmm, fuck this is the best fucking pussy,” He growled a few times, pulling Y/N up to bite her shoulder. She screamed the more he fucked her savagely. He has one hand on her waist and the other wrapped around her neck.

“I-

“Yes, take it baby, take it, Goddamn here it comes, uhhhhhhh shit,” Erik slowed down while his warm cum filled her womb.

____________

It’s been five days since the event at the Karaoke club. While Erik was on his morning run on the beach, Y/N kept a close eye on him from the open patio doors that led a trail to the beach. It was 6:34 AM. There is enough light for most objects to be distinguishable, so that some outdoor activities, but not all, can commence. His sweaty, muscular frame could be seen doing push-ups on the beach with his AirPods in his ears, shirtless, and his ball shorts low on hips. She chose these times to check her phone even though it was linked to his but she needed to make a quick call to her older sister, April. When she checked her phone within the past five days she hesitated on answering missed calls and messaging back. Everyone was worried about her, saying it wasn’t normal for her to be this silent for almost a week.

“Y/N?!!!” April damn near screamed into the phone, “Where the hell have you been?!! I got your friends calling my phone telling me they haven’t heard from you since you went out with them!! does this have something to do with that bitch ass nigga Erik? If so don’t make me get this nigga killed Y/N you know I don’t play about my family!!!!”

“April, chill,” Y/N looked out the open patio doors to see Erik doing sit ups now at an impossible speed.

“Ain’t no fucking chill!!! What the fuck is wrong with you? Where does this nigga live? Tell me now!!!!”

“April, I have it under control-

“No the fuck you don’t. I’m going over to your place. Fuck this, we need to talk. If it’s some sneaky shit with this nigga we are packing yo’ shit up and you are coming to stay with me and Darrell,” April could be heard moving around, “I’m about to make this trip home then I’m gonna be at your place.”

“April, please, I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m alright. I’ll call my girls to tell them the same. There is no need to go to my place, calm down,” Y/N pleaded but April was already on 100 and she knew when her sister got like that there was no calming her down.

“You sound like you’re nervous about something...is Erik in earshot? If so LET ME SPEAK TO THAT NIGGA!!!”

April was so damn loud that Y/N had to pull the phone away from her ear. As if her senses were giving her a warning, Y/N looks up to see Erik walking back to the house, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to see what she was doing. His feet moved at a faster pace and he took his AirPods out of his ears. Y/N dashed out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. He saw her on the phone and she wasn’t supposed to be calling anyone without him present. She locked the door and sat on the toilet. Just seconds later Erik is banging the door down.

“April, listen, I’m fine, just...just wait until I get back home so we can talk things out. Don’t make this situation bigger than what it is...keep it between us, okay?” Y/N looked at the door with glossy eyes.

“Listen...you’re my sister and I love you...I won’t tell anyone but bitch I am still coming over. We have a lot to discuss. I love you, I’ll see you soon.”

April hung up at the precise moment Erik decided to yell.

“OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR Y/N!!!”

She jumped where she sat, “Erik it was just April! I haven’t talked to her in days. She was worried!”

“WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?!!!!” He banged on the door so hard it sounded like it cracked from the other side and it was a solid interior door. He was on the other side probably charging towards the door and hitting it with his shoulder.

“Y/N IF I WERE YOU I WOULD OPEN THIS DOOR QUICK,” He growled.

“Erik please, please don’t hurt me-

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!” He pounded his fist over and over and over. Y/N covered her ears, her phone dropping to the floor. She had nowhere else to go. The windows were so tiny she could only fit her head and arms through it.

“Baby...listen,” He huffed and puffed like he ran a marathon, “Okay...I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for being so damn angry but you shouldn’t have called your sister, baby. I bet she thinks I have something to do with it,” Erik laughs, then it goes quiet for a second, “Baby, please open the door. I just want to talk. I promise.”

“Erik...I don’t think so-

“Where else are you gonna go? We can stay right here all damn night into tomorrow I’m not leaving this fucking spot, Y/N. You’re sister is going to come looking for you...you know what that means, right?”

Y/N sat up straighter.

“I bet you’ll open the door now.” He says.

Y/N stood from the toilet, walking to the door. She stopped with her hand barely grabbing the knob before unlocking it. Erik was standing right there, leaning with his shoulder, arms folded and body sweaty from head to toe. His chest moved up and down, face stony. Y/N stepped away carefully, her eyes trained on him and her body prepared to fight if he tried anything. Erik steps inside, looking around before his eyes land on the floor. He looked at her through his lashes with his head bowed. He bends down, picking up her phone. With quick fingers, Erik unlocks it, looking through her texts, and her missed calls. He chuckles before looking up at her.

“They blowin’ yo’ shit up baby,” He smiles, “Missing you like crazy...ain’t got shit on how much I miss you though...what did April want?”

“She just-she didn’t hear from me in days, Erik. She was just seeing how I was.”

“I bet...your sister can be a fucking nuisance so I know she blaming this shit on me...bitch ain’t like me from jump,” Erik reads April’s texts, “Yeah, she suspecting some shit...ima ask you again, Y/N, what the fuck did she want?”

“Erik chill the fuck out, forreal! Leave April out of this. She’s my sister, you know she’s gonna be worried. I’ve been here for five days straight, haven’t answered my calls or texts, people are gonna suspect!”

“You know how many times you’ve gone without communicating with your fam’ and friends? I don’t even wanna hear that shit, girl. Now...tell me what she called you about.”

“Erik, no-

“TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK SHE WANTED!!!!”

Y/N watched Erik squeeze her phone so hard the veins in his arms popped out at an alarming rate.

“Okay-okay-okay! She said she was going to stop by my place to check on me. She’s upset, Erik, please, please don’t do anything!” Y/N was on her knees, begging him repeatedly.

“FUCK!!!” Erik throws Y/N’s phone on the floor so hard it chatters. The pieces scattered in different places.

“What?” Her lower lip trembled and her fingers went to her mouth. She flinched when Erik started throwing punches at no one like he was boxing an invisible opponent, cursing his ass off and pacing.

“Erik what?!!!!!” Y/N yells.

“What? Fuck you mean what? She knows something went down. Nah,” Erik shakes his head with a mug on his face.

“E, please,” Y/N wipes her face, “My phone is gone now, no one can contact me.

Erik stood there deep in thought with a finger to his mouth and his eyes unblinking on the floor. After what felt like forever he seemed to have come to a decision while nodding his head. Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach like she was free-falling.

“Erik,” Y/N couldn’t even finish her words. She screams as Erik grabs her by her upper arm, pulling her from the bathroom.

“Too late, Princess,” Erik walked up the steps with Y/N tripping over a few. In his room now, Erik tosses her to the bed before grabbing his handcuffs from his dresser drawer, “Turn onto your stomach. DO IT.” He spat angrily at her, “Can’t fucking believe you.” He slams the drawer shut loudly causing it to shake.

Y/N turns, bringing her arms up above her head. Erik grabs her arms, handcuffing her wrists to his headboard again. Y/N silently cried, the tears blurring her vision. Erik brought her hips up, her back arching. He gives her stinging slaps to her ass that almost made her piss herself.

“What I tell you about disobeying me?! Huh?!!!”

“I'M SORRY!!!” She yelled at the top of her lungs.

“Ain’t it scary knowing that any time could be the last time you talk to someone? Keep that in mind while you’re handcuffed to this bed,” Erik kissed her bare ass since she was just wearing a T-shirt. He hopped off of the bed and went to his closet. Y/N could hear him clicking away on a touchscreen, surely opening a hidden room. She cried and cried while Erik got dressed in all black from head to toe including black gloves. He put on a black ski mask, rolling it up so it could rest on his forehead. Erik flexed his fingers in the gloves, not even giving Y/N a backwards glance as he walked out of the room while she screamed his name in the distance.

__________________

April stepped off of the elevator on the third floor of her sister's apartment building. She knocked a few times, waiting patiently. When no one came to the door, April pulled out her keys, opening the door. It was dark, that was the first sign that let her know that Y/N wasn’t home. Red flag number one. April turned on all of the lights in the living room, looking around like the police invading someone’s home. Her heart raced. A shuffling noise came from down the hall where Y/N’s room is.

“Y/N? Girl? It’s me April,” April pulled out a small handgun that belonged to her boyfriend Darrell, “Y/N?” She pointed it straight in front of her while walking. Now, she was surrounded by darkness again. The hair on her arms raised the more she went. It was so quiet she could almost hear her heartbeat. Finally, standing at her sister's bedroom door, April kicks it open, her gun pointed and aiming everywhere. She was ready to shoot Erik if he was holding her sister captive. April was good at reading people, especially from all the serial killer documentaries she watched. Erik was at the top of her list. Some of his possessive qualities from the beginning rubbed April the wrong way.

A floorboard creaked and April turned around, aiming her gun in the hall. Of course, there was no one. A chill went up her spine and as she turned she hit something solid. April stumbled back, her gun falling from her hand. It was dark minus the light from the living room. She was on the floor scrambling for the gun and as soon as she gripped it, a lamp light came on and standing above her dressed in all black is the psycho himself.

“You,” she said with spite, “Where. Is. Y/N.”

“Hello to you too, April,” Erik folds his hands over his crotch, “She’s good, chilling at my crib, why? Wassup?”

“She’s been silent for days now, Erik. I know something weird is going on,” April stood up, stepping away with her gun pointed at him, “Where is she?”

“Don’t worry about all that, she's good, I got her,” Erik looks at her gun with a big handsome smile, his golds shining, “Really, April? Put that gun down, girl.”

“Or what?” April aimed for his head, “I got my gun license, I’ve taken classes, I’ll put a bullet in your head,” she spoke with confidence.

“You better handle that burner carefully, ma, no trembling,” Erik walks up on her, “Hold it with both hands,” He smirked evilly.

“Back the FUCK UP!”

“Let’s go, let that thang off,” Erik widened his stance, “You so bad, April, show me what you learned.”

“Fuck you,” April was furious, “Just tell me where she is, let her go, and we can part ways. Just know, she’s coming with me.”

“She’s mine,” He said with his brows raised. Erik charged April in a blink of an eye before she could even pull the trigger and slapped her in her face. April fell to the ground, clutching her right eye. Erik undid her entire gun swiftly, putting all the pieces in his pocket.

“All that shit you talk and not ONCE did you pull the trigger,” Erik grabs April from the floor by her neck, “You should have bought a whole army with you, girl! Now that’s a fucking challenge.”

“Ahhhhhhhh!! Ah-ahhhh,” April’s screams grow fainter and fainter from Erik’s grip on her neck growing tighter, “Let me go! Let me go!!! Darrell will have your neck you sick motherfucker!!!! You messed with the wrong one!! You’re dead!!!”

April’s phone started to go off.

“That’s probably that nigga now,” Erik digs in April’s jacket pocket, her phone in his hand now, “Aww, Daddy Darrell, how cute,” Erik pockets her phone, “Don't worry, ima handle him too cuz I know you ran your big ass mouth to him, am I right?!!!!!”

April spits in Erik’s face. It hit him in his eye. Erik wipes it away with his gloved hand, looking down at April like she was Big Foot with how wide his eyes are.

“You spit in my fucking face you nasty ass bitch!” He yells. Erik slams April against Y/N’s bedroom door repeatedly.

“DARRELL!!!!” She yelled, tears in her eyes. Clearly, April underestimated the situation. If she knew Erik was so dangerous, she should have come with Darrell instead of by herself. Erik drags April out by her arms. She’s kicking and screaming, clearly making too much damn noise.

“Shut the FUCK UP,” Erik warns, “I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP APRIL.”

“Help me!!! Please!!! Help! Help! Help-

Erik turns, using all his strength to punch April so hard she was knocked out. Her body went limp in his arms. Erik drops her on the floor in front of the apartment, pulling out a pair of cuffs to restrain her wrists. She would soon wake up in Erik’s glass prison. Now as far as Darrell goes, Darrell’s going to die.

“Y/N, will enjoy this little reunion,” Erik brought a body bag with him that he can carry. He used to use that back for weapons but April is small enough to carry inside since she’s so short and petite. Erik puts April in the bag, groaning when her phone kept going off in his pocket.

“Your nigga ain’t playing,” Erik does one final sweep, making sure nothing is out of place. Once the coast was clear he carried April out of the apartment in the bag, making sure to remove his ski mask so he doesn’t look suspicious. He made it out of the apartment, taking April out of the bag and placing her in the back seat. It was time to get Darrell. April stirs in the back seat, whimpering in pain.

“Good, you’re up,” Erik calls Darrell on her phone, putting it on speaker, “Tell Daddy Darrell you’re fine and to meet you at the pier to talk. And try and tell him you’re in trouble if you want to, I will paint this car with your brains.”

“Hello?! Baby?!” Darrell spoke with worry.

“Darrell, hey baby,” April spoke with a shaky voice. Erik has his gun with a silencer attached pointed to her head, “Listen, can you meet me at the pier? It’s urgent, we need to talk.”

“What?!Tell me what’s going on. I’m on my way to Y/N’s place now! I told you to wait for me!”

“Darrell, baby, please, just meet me by the pier. I’ll let you know as soon as I get there, okay?” Erik pressed the gun to April’s throat.

“...Aight. I’m on my way.”

“Good girl,” Erik says while tossing his gun in his passenger seat, “Make sure you give Darrell a final kiss-kiss with a lot of tongue cuz he ain’t breathing no more afterwards.”

“You’re sick,” April cried, “I can’t wait for the day you die.”

“Judge if you want, we all gon’ die, I intend to deserve it.”

Erik does 80 the rest of the way.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara@honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @thewaysheis--awkward @walkrightuptothesun @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel-blog @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @dameshaemonique @glittermakesmesmile @justgetitoverwith0 @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4 @ajjiiaaahhhh @naeelyniecee @ambthegamer @efonteno @mikesteel20 @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog @xoxomyaah @asweet-serendipity @therealmrsmbjordan @ajspencer1892 @niqui87 @quietpoeticheart @itsjustyazz @dasia21 @woah-express @bbgiirrll @backandbetter2 @megabriahall @forbeautyandlife @queenflaws @cecereads209 @queenbetter @yomiloo @daddys-baby-girl-t @lovinthemelanin @ladymac82 @t3mporaa @toniilaney @iv0rysoap @sinfully-dope @lovehatecritique @chocolategirl605 @naysianaee

#killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #killmonger x reader #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Text

Rooftop - Part 2 (transfemme!sarah)

(A/N) this is the second part to this :) i didn't like the first part but i like this second part. i know this seems like it's moving quickly but. it's not. i promise ;) this is a queued post and it's supposed to go up b4 i even wake up so goodmorning future me coming to check for notes :)

Sarah,

Meet me on the roof after your shift.

Sarah looked from the note, up to the glass doors that lead to the roof, then back to the note. Golden hour made it so that she could hardly see if anyone was out on the roof, let alone who it might be.

It’s practically public. There’s no way anything could happen. I am safe. Nobody knows, nobody will hurt me for it.

Her heart was practically beating out of her chest, and her stomach felt like it was two heartbeats away from dropping out of her ass, but she pushed the door open anyways and approached the balcony edge of the roof.

Chicago nights were never quiet, what with sirens and highways and all that, but it grew to be comforting. Her mom always said that when she was born, the city was silent until she started to cry. Her way of telling me off for talking too much, I suppose.

“Dr. Reese?”

Sarah looked back, and there she was. Tall, blond, and beautiful. Her accented voice rang through the air and sent fluttering butterflies through her stomach. It cut through the Chicago noise like a surgical scalpel.

Sarah’s face hardened, and Ava cocked her head to the side, “Miranda pulled through,” She said, walking towards Sarah. Her footsteps sounded at the pace of a healthy resting heart, and Sarah took a deep breath, and moved her tongue around her dry mouth.

“We repaired the defect,” She stepped up to Sarah, “She’s recovering in the PICU.”

“Did you just want me up here to discuss a case?” Sarah objected. Her tone dug an icicle into the surgeon’s chest, and Ava was taken aback.

Ava stared into Sarah’s eyes, looking for warmth that wasn’t there, or guidance on what to say next. She longed to cut the tension with a stainless steel No. 10 scalpel.

“I, uh…” She stumbled, uncharacteristic of her normal self, and with a complex tone, “I’m sorry.”

Sarah cleared her throat, “You are?”

Ava nodded, and twisted her finger in the hem of her scrub shirt.

She’s nervous.

“I mean, you did cock the whole thing up but-”

“Are you just here to lecture me again?” Sarah interjected, “Because… Because I don’t-”

“No, no, urgh…” Ava made a noise of frustration, “Look, it’s… I’m not going to lecture you again.” She affirmed, and took a shaky breath.

She’s more nervous than I am. And I’m the one that worries about being attacked all the time.

The silence weighed on Sarah’s chest in waves, to the rhythm of Stayin’ Alive by Bee Gees. She could almost feel her ribs crack under the weight of a resident’s hands.

Ava’s hands were shaking. A cardiothoracic surgeon, steady as a rock and confident as a bird taking flight, had shaky hands from a collegial interaction.

“I don’t want to lecture you,” She mumbled, and looked down at her shoes, a display of nervousness Sarah had never seen from her before today, “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” Sarah breathed, not a hint of sarcasm in anything but her word choice.

“I know,” Ava quickly interjected, “You don’t have to forgive me, but I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I truly can’t…” She cut off.

A siren sounded in the distance. The evening sun finally dipped below a Chicago building, letting Sarah finally see Ava’s face in detail. She seemed… Perplexed, maybe even scared.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Ava’s accent was always one of her most attractive features, at least to Sarah, even now when she could see her features clearly.

Sarah wondered if she was choking on something. There was a lump in her throat, the balloon of an intubation tube, and her cheeks felt damp.

“Sarah?”

Sarah was sniffling before she even realized she was crying. A million people have cried in this very spot.

“Sarah? Why don’t we sit down?”

“I thought you hated me,” She choked out, “I thought you’d never talk to me again, I thought you had just been playing with me all this time-”

“Jesus, Sarah, never,” Ava reached an arm out and rested it on the other woman’s shoulder.

Sarah almost melted under the surgeon’s touch, until she realized how close the surgeon’s face was to her own. She could feel her warm breath on her mouth, smell the combination of Burt’s Bees Coconut and Pear chapstick (Her favorite chapstick brand - Refused to use anything else) and Trident Dragon Fruit-Lychee gum (She went through a pack ‘a day), it blended together to create a fruity, tropical air. Laying underneath those dominating scents was lilac perfume, something Sarah always hated until she smelled it on Ava.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did,” Ava whispered, “And I just-”

Ava’s pager went off with a piercing beep, and she took a step back to read the message. She tucked it back onto the waistband of her scrubs, and gave a sympathetic smile to Sarah, “Balloon angioplasty, I gotta go.”

“Okay, I’ll uh… I’ll see you tomor-”

“Wait,” Ava held a hand up, “Let me.. Buy you dinner? A drink?

This will take an hour and a half at most. You can wait in the doctor’s lounge? I’ll text you.”

Sarah smiled at Ava, who reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and walked off.

Sarah looked off onto the Chicago skyline and let out a shaky breath, and a sob. She didn’t understand what was upsetting her, what was happening, or how she felt. She understood nothing.

She let out a wail, threaded her hands through her hair, and tugged. She started braiding her hair with shaky hands. Cross, over, cross, over, cross, over, cross, over… The repetition calmed her mind, calmed her body. Put her at peace.

She sighed, puffing out her cheeks. Ava… Oh Ava…

Sarah sat on the bench, feeling things between her legs shift. She felt her stomach twist with dysphoria and she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Once everything settled, she expected the dysphoria to fade, but it didn’t.

Her chest started to hurt, and any air she got seemed to be ripped away from her. She thought of the man from a few days before, and it got worse.

Instead of in her body on the balcony, she was swirling around into a black hole. She saw herself from above, and she was crying. She was crying, and rubbing her hands together, another nervous tic of hers.

Then she was back. And the dysphoria wasn’t any better, but she couldn’t find a reason. She couldn’t find anything; A way to fix it, a way to make it stop, nothing.

There’s nothing worse than the feeling of dysphoria. It took a long time to identify that that was what it was. She used to think the feeling of dysphoria was just indigestion, because that’s a bit like what it feels like.

The best way to describe it is by sending you on a rollercoaster. No, literally. One with a huge drop, or a loop. How do you feel when you start falling down that drop?

That’s what it feels like, but without the adrenaline and without the fun. Horribly uncomfortable.

Then, it hit her.

Ava.

Ava was a goddess. She seemed to carry an aura about her, an energy that flowed around her in waves, like ribbons around a rhythmic gymnast. She radiated confident femininity, arrogance that only she could pull off without seeming like an asshole, and a kind of catty playfulness that fueled her endless bantering.

And Sarah felt that she was hardly worthy of kneeling at Ava’s footsteps, hardly worthy of following her around like a dog, and hardly worthy of dinner and a drink. Whatever Ava saw in her, Sarah didn’t see.

Sarah at work is calculated. Precise. Cisgender, and sexually ambiguous at most. How could she even think of presenting the real Sarah to Ava, when she wasn’t even sure if she knew the real Sarah herself?

“Sarah?”

Sarah was shocked out of her dissociative haze, only to look back and see the one and only Ava Bekker standing in the doorway to the roof.

“I texted, I paged you, what’s up?”

Sarah stood up, and headed for the door, “Just zoned out,” She chuckled, letting Ava’s aura wash over him, “I’m hungry, what were you thinking for dinner?”

“Do you like mexican food? There’s a great place a few miles away called Casa de las Flores,” She gave a small smile, “I could use a margarita.”

(A/N) lol i never intended to write this chronologically but whatever. next part will be their lil dinner date

#chicago med #sarah reese #ava bekker #reesker #my au #transfemme!sarah

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quintessencea · 3 years

Text

Hey, so what if I throw Sans on an auction block to be sold as a slave? I think that could be fun. He's not gonna like it much though >:)

~~~

"And now," Grillby said loudly to the assembled crowd, "we have the main event. A true rarity beyond all the other monsters offered today. A living, breathing skeleton!"

The crowd cheered, and Sans resisted the urge to look at them. He'd rather not know how many people had stuck around for the offer to "buy" him.

The door swung open on Sans' cage. He tried to shrink back into the corner, but there was no where to run. Grillby's hand wrapped around his arm, dragging him out as he kicked and fought.

"Let me go, you bastard!" he yelled, landing punches on the monsters arm without effect. With only 1 point of ATK to his name, Sans' resistance was meaningless. He knew he should conserve his strength, but as he was pulled bare boned onto the stage he couldn't hold back the self preservation instinct that demanded he fight back.

"Not very well trained, is he?" A voice called, and the crowd laughed. There were dozens. Far more than Sans expected.

Grillby reached out with his other hand and grabbed Sans around the throat, turning him and forcing him to stand upright on his toes as he was presented to the crowd with no more consideration than he'd give a dead goose offered for sale. Sans' fingers grabbed uselessly at the Grillby's fingers, unable to find purchase in the swirling magic that made up the elemental's form. The crowd cheered, and Grillby chuckled behind him.

"Why, that simply means he doesn't have any bad habits and can be taught as you please." Grillby laughed, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "Or he can be taught -to- please."

Sans wished he was facing Grillby so that he could spit in his stupid, flickering face.

"Why is he so short?" Another voice called and a rumble of laughter rolled through the crowd. "He looks so small!" Someone else shouted.

Grillby let out a booming laugh of his own, patting Sans on the head like a beloved yet stupid dog. Seething, Sans resisted the urge to growl like one.

"I assure you, he's a full grown monster. Why, haven't you heard that good things come in small packages?" Grillby moved as he spoke, forcing Sans to walk where he was lead on the tips of his toes. "True, he's small. And yes, weak. But get a little magic running through these bones and you'll see how truly unique skeletons can be."

Sans could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, see the excited faces illuminated by the lamps that lit the courtyard and smelled the anticipation in the air. He'd never felt more exposed in his life. He'd never -been- more exposed in his life, presented bare boned for the pleasure and curiosity of others.

He wanted nothing more than to kill them all. If he had his way, he'd slaughter the entire city and wipe this place off the map. Just for the satisfaction of killing every last monster in the city that took his brother from him.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" He hissed, as Grillby continued to frog march him around the platform to the jibes and insulting praise of the assembled audience.

"Now," Grillby called, and the crowd fell silent. "Shall we start the bidding at three hundred gold pieces?"

A murmured sound of disbelief swept through the watchers, and Sans could hardly blame them for it. One hundred was standard. Two hundred was exceptional. Sans had been sure Grillby would low ball him for 50 or less, if no reason other than to add insult to injury.

"What makes him worth that much?" A spider woman asked skeptically from the front row as she crossed two pairs of arms in front of her chest.

"Ah, Miss Muffet, ma cherie," Grillby said, pulling on a accent so sweetly fake it made Sans' teeth itch. "Why, he's a skeleton! You'll never see another like him!"

Muffet looked less than impressed, until another monster spoke up from behind her.

"Variable magic," the new monster said. He was tall, taller even than Grillby. He was barely watching Sans and the auction at all, looking bored as he scanned the crowd with only a single good eye, the other shut from old damage. "He can be what you want him to be."

"You're quite right! Why, Doctor Gaster," Grillby said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I didn't realize you were here! What a surprise!"

It was a lie, as without a doubt Grillby would have noticed and categorized every possible mark present. Nonetheless Sans went still, his Soul stuttering at the name.

Gaster.

The Royal Scientist, the monster responsible for untold wonders of technology and magic, who made life possible throughout the Underground. The monster who created the dampening bracelet currently locked around Sans' wrist and sealing his magic away. Whose dark appetites were the things of whispered nightmares among some of of the enslaved he'd been store with, because those purchased by Gaster were never seen again.

Rumors said he liked to make them scream before they dusted.

And he was here.

As if drawn by Sans' sudden fear, the tall monster's gaze turned from the crowd to look directly at Sans. He looked almost bored, but Sans could see the intelligence in that eye, a coldness behind the carefully impassive mask.

"And what does that mean?" Muffet demanded, and the monster with one eye tilted his head slightly.

"As I said, he can be what you want him to be. Or, perhaps you don't know how to handle a slave with the potential of as much power as this one likely has?"

The monster's voice was smooth, rich and warm, and it reminded Sans of dark, black coffee. It made his locked magic prickle warningly in his fingertips even as it sent a shiver down his spine.

Muffet reddened slightly, anger flashing through each of her many eyes before she locked it back down, covering it with a smile. When the smile turned to a smirk, she raised a hand in a mockery of coyness.

"And, what about you?" She asked, voice layered with contempt thick enough to be heard under all of her false sweetness. "An old monster like you? What would you possibly want from a slave like this?"

"I'm merely here to observe the bidding process," The Royal Scientist said. "It is quite fascinating to see how much value you all place in a creature that you clearly only intend to use for... Common pleasures." He turned back to Sans, an intensity in his gaze that hadn't been there before. "He's wasted on a monster like you."

Muffet bristled, but before she could speak again Grillby interrupted.

"Now, now, Muffet. There's no need for such hostility. And Doctor, please, this little skeleton is anything but common. Perhaps a demonstration of some of his… more unique talents is in order?"

Sans felt his marrow run cold in his bones. He could practically feel the weight of Gaster's one working eye upon him, heavier than the gaze of everyone in the courtyard combined. Staring at him, and only him, the curiosity apparent. So much for only observing. With Gaster here, Sans could already see the future unfolding, the way it would go. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he couldn't leave with Gaster.

"Don't you fucking dare," he snarled at Grillby, doing his best to kick him with his weak, stupidly ineffective legs as the elemental drew him close, wrapping an arm around his chest to hold him still. Having the weight taken off his throat was nice, but he was determined to be as difficult as possible.

"I'm not a toy," he growled, the words feeling sick coming from his own mouth. "And I won't be your fucking entertainment."

"Now, now," Grillby whispered, barely loud enough for Sans to hear. "The crowd was promised a skeleton. If it's not you…"

Grillby let the sentence hang but the message was clear. If Sans didn't cooperate, it will be Papyrus on the block instead.

"It's your choice."

Sans had no choice. He rather rip his arms off than sell himself away like this, but he had no choice. He stilled.

"Fuck you," he growled, but Grillby only smiled wider. He knew he'd won.

"Are you going to behave now?" Grillby asked, his breath hot against the side of Sans' skull. "Put on a good show for us?"

Sans said nothing, grinding his teeth together.

With a condescending chuckled that nearly set Sans back to fighting, Grillby whispered, "I trust that will be a 'yes'."

The crowd was watching closely, curiosity reflected on every face. But there was one face was watching more intently than the rest. Sans didn't dare look at the monster, but it was almost as if Sans could specifically feel Gaster's gaze on his body. As if he were cataloguing every inch of bone, and Sans didn't want to consider the reason, though he couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought.

The elemental led him closer to the crowd and then let him go, leaving Sans standing by himself on the edge of the stage.

"So," Grillby called to the crowd, voice back at full volume. "As you all can see, he is only bones! Lovely bones, to be sure, but still not exactly useful for our needs here. But with the right intent… Well, let's let the crowd decide! Cock, or pussy?"

The monster's tone was light, joking almost. It made the crowd of deviants laugh, but made Sans seeth anew with anger and hate.

"Cock!" Someone called.

"Pussy!" Cried another.

He saw Gaster lean towards Muffet, saying something Sans couldn't hear. She looked distrustful, but then all of her eyes went wide with sudden surprise before narrowing again in delight.

"Both!" Muffet shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to better project her voice above the rest.

A few members of the crowd laughed, but Sans' Soul dropped like a stone.

"Both?" Grillby echoed, amused.

"Why not?" Muffet shrugged, smiling sweetly. "After all, you said he is a monster of many talents."

Sans could taste sour magic rise up in his throat as the crowd cheered and hollered their approval.

"Yes, why not?" The elemental laughed. "Not one or the other, but both! Go on, Sans, give the crowd what they want."

"You've got to be kidding," he growled. "I'm not doing that."

"Look, he's shy!" Grillby called. "Seems he needs some motivation, what do you say my fine monsters? Give him some encouragement!"

As the crowd's voice rose in cheers, Grillby leaned in again. "Is that your final answer, Sans? Say the word, and your debt will go to your brother."

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to turn and run from the stage, blasting away anyone that dared to stop him. But even if he'd had his magic in his control he knew he couldn't. Not while they still had Papyrus.

"I hate you so much."

Grillby's grin held all the comfort of burning alive. "I know. Now, be a good boy and give the people what they want."

Humiliation burned across his face as he closed his eyes. If he had to do this the least he could do was not look at them.

Hesitantly, Sans reached for his pelvis, resting his fingers against his public symphysis as he tried to call enough intent to summon the little bit of his magic he was allowed. His hands trembled as he lightly stroked the shallow notch, his own touch feeling coarse and uncomfortable.

"Harder!"

"Look at him shake!"

It was mortifying. Try as he might, Sans couldn't make himself ignore the jeers and catcalls of the audience. From the way the tone of the calls shifted, he knew they could tell that he was failing.

"What's the matter, skeleton? Too tired?"

"Go on, do something!"

"I bet he can't even get it up!"

"Is he crying?"

To his utter horror and shame, Sans realized he was. This wasn't working. He couldn't arouse himself on command. It was impossible. Stars, he hated this. He hated every damn second of it.

"Maybe he needs a hand?" Muffet called, stepping forward and placing two hands onto the stage. Her dark eyes glittered with mirth as she reached a third hand up in offer.

"Maybe you're right," Grillby said, stepping up beside Sans. "Are you offering to assist him?" He reached down when she nodded, grabbing her hand and effortlessly lifting her on stage. "I think he can use all the help he can get. Good luck."

Sans shrank back as she approached.

"C'mon," she said, reaching out with her long arms to Sans. "I'll help you. You need it."

He shoved her hand away, not daring to say anything. With the way his throat clogged up with the horror of the situation he doubted he could get words to form even if he'd wanted to. Grillby cleared his throat in irritation, and Sans froze.

Muffet only smiled wider as her hands closed around both of Sans', guiding them both to his pelvis. She moved until she was behind him, nearly clutching him to her chest as she stroked the top of his skull with one of her other hands.

"Go on, now, there's a good pet."

Her chitinous fingers ran over the back of his hand, tracing idle circles on one wrist as she pressed the other harder against his symphysis, using his own hand to stroke himself. He wanted to yank his hands away, to scream at her until his voice gave out. Instead, just he let her touch him. Past his hatred for what she was doing to him, a small shudder of pleasure ran through him as he felt a tingling rise up in his bones.

Sans felt his magic build more as she curled his own fingers against his pubic arch. Another hand ghosted across his iliac crest to wrap around his lower spine, all the while petting the crown of his skull with soft, gentle strokes.

He felt her other hands moving along the rest of his body, touching everywhere. They ran over his ribs, his arms, his spine, the side of his face.

"That's it. You're doing fine, pet."

It felt good when she did it, and he hated it.

She stroked him until he was tingling all over. He let out a shudder as he felt his magic grow heavy, called by her intent. It was too warm, too wet to be comfortable.

"Yes, that's it," she cooed. "Very good."

He closed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe through it as she brought her fingers to swirl through the magic, drawing it forward with one hand as she pressed his own back, into the growing wetness. Sans' breath caught as the magic crackled around his fingers, trying to form, and he knew Muffet must be able to feel it too as she coaxed more outward, encouraging him to make a cock.

Murmurs filled the crowd, and he tried not to think of what he must look like, bare and exposed, magic glowing between his joints as the hands, too many hands, stroked and fondled him everywhere. His breath was uneven now, ragged at the edge.

"Do it," Muffet commanded suddenly, all of her hands tightening at once. Head, shoulders, ribs, spine, pelvis... The sensation was too much, and he shook, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out as his magic snapped solidly into place.

The murmuring turned into exclamations, some approving, some jeering and Muffet relaxed her hold on him, letting him pull his fingers out of himself. But she her hand remained wrapped around his cock, thumb stroking gently across the surface.

"Does he really got both?" Someone called.

Muffet giggled, lifting Sans' hand still trapped in her grip. He didn't have to open his eyes to know they were covered in his own blue slick. He could feel it. Shame burned hotter than ever as the jeering picked up a notch, mocking.

"Are you finished?" He snarled, his chest heaving. "If you all are done...." he broke off, realizing how pathetic he sounded even to his own ears. He took a breath, opened his eyes, and tried again. Putting on his best glare, he looked into the crowd. "As much as-"

His eyes met Gaster's, and he froze, immobilized by the look in the monster's eye.

Gone was the bored mask, replace by an exoression of pure hunger. His good eye was wide, and held the kind of darkness that threatened to swallow Sans alive. He couldn't move, not even with Muffet's hand still slowly stroking his dick, hands tickling bone and teasing the joints between them. He wished he could say the magic wasn't hard. He wished for a lot of things.

"We're not even close to done," Grillby said, his voice coming out as a pleased hiss.

Sans snapped out of his daze as Grillby grew near again, turning his glare on the arrogant elemental. "You got what you asked for," he said, pulling against Muffet's hold. She only giggled. "Let me go."

"Oh no, Sans. They need a show." Grillby looked over Sans' shoulder, asking pleasantly, "Just a bit more, if you would, Miss Muffet. You don't mind, do you?"

He might as well have been asking for a cup of sugar. Sans' panic began to rise in his chest again as he once again realized how utterly devoid of basic kindness this entire world had become.

"Of course not dearie."

"Fuck, no," Sans whispered, horrified. "Show some mercy, please."

Grillby's laugh this time was full of warmth, but none of it was for Sans. "That depends on the mood of the crowd." He looked over the assemblage, holding his hand out towards Sans like he was being offered up to the mob. "What do you say, my dear ladies and gentlemonsters? Would you care to show him Mercy?"

Grillby nodded to Muffet, and her hand tightened around his cock, another slipping back between his legs to pressing into the wet slick that had been steadily building.

"Or would you prefer we continue the show?"

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