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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

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Lost Boys - THREE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.389

Warnings: Family reunion. Memory overload. Realization. Hurt. Self-loading.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88 @littlefreya @hell1129-blog @radaofrivia @gothwhopper @fcgrizi @vania-marie @mary-ann84 @sciapod @mitzwinchester @omgkatinka @mis-lil-red (your tag isn’t working 😢)

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[ONE] [TWO] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

Lucas was sent home to Georgia to heal. Joshua, the Syverson’s biological son, flew across the Atlantic Ocean to meet and bring him home. Silvia Syverson was a stern woman, and when she wanted her younger son to pick up her adoptive older son that is what she would get. His brother had been curious about what had happened, as a medical practitioner he was also compassionate and wanted to help in any way he could.

A 12-hour plane ride later Lucas was back in his childhood home, lying in his old bedroom filled with rock music posters. On his dresser sat an old boombox and next to it, a towering stack of CDs.

Silvia had demanded he got some rest. There he was. Staring at the ceiling like a good little boy. Fuck. He was a captain in the US Army. He had seen death and destruction enough to last two lifetimes, and he was still a little momma’s boy.

After dinner that evening, Lucas asked his mother for the things he had with him when he was sent to be fostered by them.

“Are you sure you want to rip up in the past?” Silvia asked him, her brows pushed together in concern.

“Ma, I need to know.”

She sighed and motioned for him to follow her. Joshua was right behind the two. All three entered the basement and towards the wall filled with stacks of boxes.

“One of them should be labelled Trevor Thompson.”

Lucas started lifting his uninjured arm to one of the top boxes, but a steely look from his mother made him back away and sit on the stairs.

“Joshua, come help your old mother,” Silvia commanded her younger son, who was snickering behind his older brother.

“There’s nothing old about you, ma,” the younger man said and kissed his mother’s cheek. He started taking box after box down. Of course, the box that belonged to Trevor Thompson was at the bottom of the pile.

It contained Trevor’s birth certificate, fostering papers, adoption papers, name changing papers, and a black photo album. Lucas opened it with one hand and a pair of blue eyes were staring right back at him. The same colour as his own haunted eyes. Beneath the photo was written ‘Jennifer Thompson’. The next page shocked him even more. ‘William Thompson’, Lucas was the spitting image of him, besides the eye colour. In his dream, his father was always too far away to get a close enough look besides some minuscule features.

“Wow, Luc, you look just like your dad,” Joshua exclaimed, “You even have the same freckle on your lower lip.”

“Josh, that is creepy as hell that you notice stuff like that,” Lucas looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a doctor, I would be a terrible one, if I didn’t notice the little things. Now turn the page and let’s see those brothers of yours.”

Lucas sighed, preparing himself mentally to take a look at his biological brothers. Brothers he couldn’t remember until a week ago. They had shared a womb, so why the hell couldn’t he remember them?

Silvia noticed the change in her son. She put a hand on his good shoulder and squeezed. He looked into her green eyes that were giving him the confidence to face the past.

“Lucas, you were five years old. Don’t beat yourself up for not remembering.”

“I just have this feeling that we were so very close as children. I feel bad for forgetting them. They are my brothers. I’d do anything for my brothers, those in the army and even Josh.”

“Gee thanks, bro.”

Lucas chuckled and turned the page. Three identical young boys were smiling back at him. One of them had a front tooth missing. Probably himself. He couldn’t even see the difference between who was who in that picture. Only the names under each boy answered his question.

Trevor, Oliver and James.

“Aw, Luc, look at how innocent you looked once. Now you’re a grumpy old man with a beard,” Joshua was teasing him. Lucas ignored his little brother and looked at the next page, which was of the entire family sitting on a porch swing all together, laughing and smiling. The boys were smaller, maybe three years old at the time.

A sense of sadness washed over him. The flush of some childhood memories overwhelmed him. Lucas closed the book. He handed it back to his mother and walked away from the basement. Both mother and brother calling his name, he didn’t listen, just kept walking. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. His mind was flooding with a million memories, his heart was racing, his legs just kept walking, until he was standing at the end of the driveway. He went into a sprint and ran as fast as he could to the beach, or as fast as his broken arm would allow him.

The beach was almost void of people. Only a few were out swimming or walking along the edge of the water. Lucas sat down and just let his mind wander. Letting all the memories in. His brain was throbbing, the feeling was like it wanted to escape from the cramped space of his skull.

Memories of smiles, laughter, love. He remembered the devastating feeling when two policemen came to the front door and told their neighbour, who had been watching over them, that their parents had died. A social worker, Marcy Kane, had taken care of the boys until they were divided into new families. He remembered a lot of yelling and screaming.

“They are only young boys. You shouldn’t separate them. They need each other!” Marcy roared at her boss.

“Nobody wants to take in three boys at the same time, so either you calm down, or you are off the case.”

The next he remembered was Marcy crouching in front of the three boys. They hadn’t said a word since the news of their parents’ death. They had vowed not to talk or be happy again without their parents.

“James, Oliver, Trevor. I’m sorry.” She started and hugged each boy in her warm embrace. It nearly made Trevor cry. As the eldest of three, he needed to stay strong for his brothers.

The families came and picked up each of the boys, separating them, forcing them apart from each other. Marcy put the medallion of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton over each boy before they departed. None of the boys cried. They had made another pact, to find each other when they were old enough. A vow all three of them forgot as they grew up.

Now it was time to make that vow come true.

Lucas stood and brushed the sand from his well-shaped ass. With a clear mind, he walked home to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Joshua drove him to city hall. They released his papers but there was nothing hinting where his brothers had ended up.

Back home he called an old army buddy, Aiden, who had started a private detective company when he was released from the military. It took Aiden a few hours before he called back.

“Aiden, any news?” Lucas asked the minute he answered the phone.

“Yeah. I have some good and a whole mountain of bad, which one do you want first?” His friend told him.

“Give me the good ones. You found my brother? James?”

“I did. He was sent to live with a family in Minnesota. He’s still there. He changed his name to Walter Matthew Marshall, and guess what, he’s a police detective. He used to be S.W.A.T. and, dude, he has a daughter.”

“I have a niece?”

“Yes, congratulations Uncle Lucas. Are you ready for the bad news?”

“Hit me.”

“The brother, Oliver, you met in Iraq, he was moved to Virginia and changed his name to August Christopher Walker.”

“August? What the fuck kind of name is that? August is a month, not a name.”

“That’s not the worst part. Lucas, he was in the CIA.”

“He was definitely well trained. What else?”

“He rebelled.”

“What do you mean ‘rebelled’? What did he do?”

“Luc… your brother is wanted for planning to set off nuclear bombs around the world.”

Lucas nearly dropped his phone. His parents and brother were giving him worried looks. He went to sit down on the sofa before telling Aiden to continue.

“They thought he had died somewhere north of India, but they haven’t found his body. And there’s a warrant for his head from all the intelligence agencies around the globe.”

“How much?”

Nothing. Aiden kept his mouth shut.

“Aiden, tell me. How much?”

A heavy sigh could be heard through the speaker.

“A hundred.”

“A hundred what? Just a hundred? A hundred thousand? Spit it out, man.”

“A hundred million dollars. All the agencies want him gone, Lucas.”

“What does the warrant say? Dead or alive?”

“Both.”

Lucas groaned in frustration. What the hell had his brother done? Why had he done it? What happened to him?

“Thanks, Aiden. I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Call me if you need any help. Any kind of help.”

“Will do.”

Lucas pushed the end button and threw the phone on the coffee table. His mother came to sit next to him. She touched his left bicep, trying to comfort him without saying anything.

“What now?” Joshua asked and sat on his other side.

“I don’t know.”

“Son, look at me,” his adoptive father, John Syverson, was a rather large man himself. Don’t be fooled by his grey hair and grey beard, he might look like a nice old man, but he could kill people with a spoon. Lucas heard the authoritative tone in his general father’s voice and looked into the compassionate green eyes. “What are my rules?”

“Always be kind.” Joshua and Lucas said at the same time.

“Treat your woman like a queen,” Silvia chimed in.

“Don’t judge people based on the first look,” Joshua continued.

“Don’t do things to make other people happy, do them to make yourself happy,” Silvia smiled.

“And never leave a brother behind,” Lucas’ voice was firm. His mind was made up.

“I’ll book you a ticket to Minnesota.”

“Who’s going to Minnesota?” A soft female voice said from the hall. Four pair of eyes looked at the curvaceous woman entering the living room. The Syverson’s only daughter, who had been born a year after they had adopted Lucas. Her long curly brown hair was put up in a bun, her glasses sitting at the edge of her pretty little nose. She had her father’s deep green eyes.

“Melanie, darling, we didn’t know you were coming home,” Silvia exclaimed and went to hug her daughter.

“I heard through the grapevine that the captain was home, so I had to come home and say hello,” Melanie smirked at Lucas and squeezed his left side, avoiding his casted arm.

“Good to see you, shorty. How’s the University treating you?” Lucas asked and kissed his sister’s forehead. She went to get kisses and hugs from her other brother and father, before plumbing down with a huge sigh on the armchair.

“I love my job. I love that I can do research all day long, I never get tired of that, but lately…” She started.

“Lately, what?” Joshua gave his sister a quizzical look.

“Lately it’s been a bit boring. It’s too much of the same. I know it is what I signed up for when I accepted the job, but I was also promised more fieldwork, where I would be able to travel and study the texts, ceramics, and people up close, not from a computer where someone is streaming. So, I’m taking a sabbatical, one year where I figure out, if I still want to do desk research or if I need to find a job that is better suited for what I want and need.”

Silvia and John gave each other a look that only a married couple could give. They were communicating non-verbally. Lucas looked at his parents.

“No,” he said sternly. “Not in a million years.”

“You need someone to help you,” Silvia told her son in the same hard voice.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll need help with the cast.”

“Josh can help me.”

“Sorry, bro. I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Lucas sighed and turned to the young woman, who had put her hair down. Her long curl cascading down her shoulder.

“Melanie, will you come with me to Minnesota?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Anything for you, Luc. What’s going on in Minnesota?”

“We’re going to find my brothers.”

Lucas had filled his sister in on his history. She had taken one look at all his documents and said she would figure out why in the world they had to be separated into three different states. They dropped their belongings off at a nearby hotel, walking to the precinct where Walter Marshall worked.

The secretary at the front desk didn’t even look up when they entered and just told them where to go.

“Hey Marshall, when did you break your arm? And I thought you said something ‘bout never wanting to cut your hair.” A young man, fresh from the police academy by the looks of it, was yelling from the other side of the room. He walked over and gave Melanie an appreciative look over. Lucas clenched his left hand into a fist; it wasn’t his dominant hand, but he could still break the little fucker’s nose.

“Hi, we’re looking for Walter Marshall, could you direct us to his office?” Melanie asked as she blinked a few times. Lucas smiled; he knew the look in her eyes. The charm-glare as he called it. That look that had gotten her out of trouble countless times.

“Well, miss, he’s right here,” he motioned at Lucas.

“Cade, get back to work or I’ll wring your neck,” a deep grumpy voice said behind them. Lucas turned around to look into another mirror version of himself. Walter Marshall was standing with his leg spread, his arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a black jumper. His eyes widened as he looked at Lucas. “My office, now.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #Lost Boys #Series #My story #Fanfiction #Chapter three #Triplets #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #I need a drink #henry cavill fanfic

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fanfictionforeveryone · 4 years

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[SUMMARY:] Marina is working for the Corleone family unaware of their criminal activity. Vincent Mancini takes an interest in Marina unaware that she has secrets of her own. Marina is on the run from an abusive ex-boyfriend, Joey. Vincent vows to protect Marina from Joey while also protecting her from the life he lives.

Vincent and Marina. PART ONE

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Michael Corleone entered the room with his six year old grandson, John. With a smile you greeted the young boy you would be set to tutor for the summer.

Michael stopped at the door and crouched down to his grandson.

“John, this is Marina. She’s a good friend of mine and she’s going to help you with some school work during the day.” Johns parents had been killed in a car accident and Michael felt responsible for him.

“I expect you to be a good boy and listen to what she says.” John smiled bashfully making you giggle. Michael was a friend of your fathers who openly let him know you had been looking for work. You were happy to work for the Corleone family as your father only told you good things of them.

“Hey uncle Mike, Luigi is waiting for us in the dining room.” You looked up to see a rather handsome man with dark black slick hair and piercing dark eyes. The man seemed instantly distracted from what he told Michael as he locked eyes with you. It was clear he took an interest in what his eyes were focused on. Michael stood up clearing his throat knowing his nephew very well.

“I’ll be right there, Vincent.” Michael narrowed his eyes at him as Vincent smirked at you, you couldn’t help but blush. Michael cleared his throat once again catching his nephews attention making him give his uncle a nod before leaving the room. Michael turned to you with a smile before gently pushing John in your direction.

“He’s all yours. You let our servant, Lilian know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” You smiled as you took Johns hand and led him to the table. The room the two of you occupied had a back door entry into their beautiful garden that you could see through the windows. The house was like none you had ever seen before.

Vincent waited for his uncle down the hall and walked with him towards the dining room.

“Who was that?” Vincent couldn’t help but ask making Michael sigh.

“Don’t even think about it.” Michael responded bluntly before the two entered the dining room.

Luigi, an older heavy set man the family had known for years sat at the end of the table. Luigi was a man they grew not to trust any longer but he was not aware that the Corleones were on to him and agreed to a meeting.

Vincent never liked this man and Michael knew of this. Michael did his best to give his nephew advice on how to tame his anger, how to not act on impulse...something his father was very well known to do.

“Michael, just the man I wanted to see.” He put out a cigar and stood up as Vincent and Michael stood straight without saying a word.

“I have a proposal for you. Something you might like.” He grinned.

“I’ve got some people who want a hit out on Rafioso-“

“Rafioso.” Michael muttered low. Rafioso was an enemy. An enemy of his that took the life of many people he loved. An enemy who had tried to set him up years prior.

“Yes. Rafioso. They want him dead. I couldn’t think of whom better to do it than a Corleone.”

Vincent grew with excitement, he knew just how badly Rafioso was hated by his uncle but he was not expecting his uncles response.

“I’ll have to pass on that offer.”

Vincent couldn’t help but look at his uncle with a puzzled expression.

“Uncle Mike-“

Michael lifted his hand silencing Vincent. No one looked more shocked than Luigi.

“I do not understand, Michael. Surely you will think this through.”

“I have nothing to think over but my doctor appointment that I am about to be late for.” Michael responded rather snarky making Luigi lift a brow.

“I see. I think you are making a grave mistake but I’ll leave you to it.” Luigi picked up his belongings and let himself out of the room. Michael did not take his eyes off of him until he left his front door and heard it lock shut.

“Uncle Mike, how could you turn that down-“

“Never question my judgment in front of an outsider again.” Michael interrupted in a calm yet stern manner.

Michael had learned a lot in his time as a Don and knew he had very much to teach his nephew.

“Luigi has something else planned and he thinks he’s going to fool me, that fat fuck has something else coming for him.”

Vincent didn’t say a word, he was a witness to his uncle always having a good judgment to things. Michael knew this was a set up, a set up to get one of his people in a spot easy for Luigi and his people to target. Michael walked out of the room leaving Vincent alone to think over what had just occurred. Thinking how quickly this would have went over his head had he been alone. Vincent knew he had to have a better way of thinking in this life or it would cost him his own.

John was finishing up his homework beside you as you went over the books he had. Heavily invested in the tutoring session, you were not aware Vincent had made his way to the door way and stood just outside quietly watching you with John. Vincent thought you were a beautiful woman, you had long dark locks with an olive complexion. Your observant dark eyes was what caught his attention the most. They seemed innocent yet curious. You were delicate with your fingers as you turned the pages of the book before you. You seemed so gentle to him, it was no mistake why Michael trusted you with his grandson.

“Uncle Vincent!” You looked up as John excitedly called out for him completely blowing up his spot.

“Hey kid, you caught me huh?” Vincent chuckled as he let himself in the room. You smiled looking up at him as he stopped before the table and stared down at you with a slight smile.

“I don’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Vincent.” You knew him not being introduced was not a mistake, you remember the interaction between him and his uncle from earlier.

“I’m Marina.”

Of course you had a beautiful name he thought, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

“What are you two working on?”

Vincent went around the table and leaned over between the two of you. You did your best to stop yourself from smiling but his closeness made your heart flutter.

“Marina taught me how to do to math problems using these.” John showed Vincent some foam like material apples making him chuckle.

“Oh yeah? That’s nice.” He looked over at you with a smile when Michael suddenly walked into the room.

“Vincent.” You didn’t have to know Michael to know the unhappy tone in his voice, it quickly wiped away the smile Vincent had on his lips and made him stand up straight.

“Can I see you in the hall? Now.” Michael walked out first as Vincent quickly followed closing the doors behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Michael whispered to Vincent making him frown.

“I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong by talking to a beautiful woman.”

Michael sighed shaking his head.

“You don’t get it, Vincent. She is the daughter of an old good friend of mine. This man asked me for work for his daughter, trusting her in my care. She does not know of this part of our life. She can’t-“

“Okay and what do you think I’m trying to get her caught in the mix, come on uncle Mike it’s just conversation.”

“I know that look, Vincent. That’s not just conversation, that’s the way I looked at your aunt. A beauty she is but this life isn’t for her. You’ll just put her in danger so don’t start anything.” Michael left to his bedroom awaiting his private doctor leaving Vincent in the hall lost in his thoughts. His uncle was right. You had the kind of beauty that made Vincent want to go back for more. His uncle making you sound like forbidden fruit tempted him even more than he already was. Vincent had not had a serious relationship in a few years being heavily caught up in the life style of his family. He didn’t think he was looking for one but he couldn’t help his attraction towards you.

“Alright, that was good for today. So I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” You smiled crouching down to John. He smiled nodding his head before Lilian came to take him for lunch. Now alone in the room you finished packing away Johns books and organizing them on the table for the next day.

“Coming back tomorrow?”

You gasped looking up to see Vincent standing by the door.

“Vincent.” You chuckled with your hand on your chest.

“You frightened me.”

“Mm.” He took another step in the room with a slight smirk across his face.

“I think you’re the last person I want to frighten.” You not knowing the double meaning behind this comment regarding his life style, laughed it off.

“Well, I better get going now.” You carried your purse over your shoulder, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Vincent couldn’t stop looking at the beauty you held, he wondered if you knew just how beautiful you were.

“So soon?” Vincent responded.

“Yes. I have to get home to take care of my father. His health is not at its best.”

Vincent frowned not being aware just how different your life was to his. The way you lived.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marina.”

“I’m all he has. Everyone else is in Sicily.”

“Mm. So it is true what they say.”

Vincent smirked making you raise a brow in confusion.

“In Sicily women are more dangerous than shot guns, it’s what Uncle Mike always told me.”

You laughed feeling your cheeks blush, Vincent liked the sound of your laugh.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s true. Look at you for example-“ Vincent stepped closer into the room making your heart pound hard in your chest.

“A gorgeous woman but you’re dangerous and you don’t even know it.”

“How so?” You stepped closer to him as he placed his hands in his pockets staring you down.

“You’re tempting.” He stepped closer to you looking down at your lips.

“Tempting but forbidden. I don’t really like to follow the rules though.”

Your eyes drifted down to his lips as he spoke. You didn’t know this man and you had never felt such an attraction with a stranger before but you couldn’t help yourself. You could tell by his body language that he wanted to kiss you, you wanted to kiss him too. That’s when the two of you were completely caught off guard by the sound of the door of the office opening.

It was Michael.

“Mr.Corleone.” You spoke nervously taking a step back from Vincent.

“You need a ride home, Marina?” Michael asked in a serious tone.

“No, I’ll be on my way now.” You began to make your way to the door when Vincent grabbed you by your wrist.

“Let me give you a ride home-“

“That won’t be necessary, Vincent. I’ll have someone do so she arrives safely.” Michael interrupted.

You gave Vincent an apologetic smile before quickly walking away in embarrassment and leaving the house.

Vincent attempted to leave the room only to be blocked by Michael at the door.

“I’m warning you, Vincent. That girl isn’t for you, let her be.” Michael stepped aside letting Vincent leave the room knowing he could not control his nephew but he also knew he knew things of you that no one else did. With the things he knew about you, he knew you would not be able to handle this life style. You had been through enough. He didn’t want his nephew to make the same mistake he had made in the past and be the reason an innocent woman was hurt.

The next day you were a little anxious about stepping into work. You took an interest in Vincent and you knew he was interested in you too but, you knew it was a match that would not be possible. Michael for some reason did not like the two of you speaking, you were unaware of why but you simply thought he did not want to mix business with pleasure.

Michael caught Vincent in the kitchen that morning having his breakfast, he knew it would be minutes before you would arrive.

“Up early to catch your new friend?” Michael sat at the table across from Vincent.

Vincent didn’t say a word and gave his uncle a look.

“Just like your father. Never listened to anyone.”

“I’ll learn my own lessons. Don’t worry about it, Uncle Mike. I won’t let her get to close.”

Vincent wiped his lips and left the kitchen to see you through the window coming out of the car.

Today you wore a soft blue sundress that hugged your every curve. Vincent couldn’t help himself but to let his eyes roam.

“Good morning, Marina.” You were greeted at the door by Lilian with a smile and right away noticed Vincent behind her.

“Good morning.” You responded with a smile as you entered the house and immediately was cut off guard with John running into you.

“Marina! Did you bring the apples?!”

“Of course I did.” You laughed as he held on tightly to your thigh.

“Come on, lets get going.” You took him by the hand and passed Vincent with a smirk.

“Good morning, Marina.” His voice was low and husky, it was an almost seductive tone.

“Good morning, Vincent.”

John stared up at the two of you before pulling you away making Vincent chuckle.

“Hey remember what I said, John.”

“I know. I know.” John mumbled excitedly walking into the study.

It was hard not to think of Vincent as you tutored John, all you wanted was for him to walk through the door and give you that look. That look that sent shivers down your spine. You sighed as you let John read a book and stood up to look at the bookshelf in the room. It was a beautiful oak shelf, the room had many beautiful things to it. Looking at all the pieces in the room, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the Corleones did for a living.

Vincent stood by the door way with his arms crossed silently watching you look through the book shelf with a look of amusement. He stepped into the room not making a sound as John stayed distracted into his book. Vincent made his way right behind you as you got on your toes attempting to reach for a book on the top shelf clearly having some trouble.

“Need help?” Vincent’s leaned in close behind making you jump with a gasp.

“Why do you keep doing that!” You whispered with a laugh looking behind you to make sure John was still focused on his school work.

“Oh I just like that little jump you do.” He teased as he looked up at the book you had been attempting to reach. With his arms around you from behind he easily grabbed the book you wanted and bought it down before you.

“This the one you wanted?”

“Yes.” You smiled looking down at the book as you took it from his hands.

“Marina, I finished!” John quickly called out for you making you both look over.

“I better get back to him.” You whispered as you looked back at him and felt your back against his chest.

Before you attempted to walk away he gently grabbed your arm and pulled you to him.

“I want to take you out.” His bluntness caught you off guard.

“You mean a date?”

He chuckled with a nod in response.

“Yes a date- and before you say anything, don’t worry about my uncle.”

“Ok.” You smiled looking up at him.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. It’s a yes.” You laughed still doing your best to whisper.

“Tonight at seven. I’ll pick you up.”

You couldn’t believe he was actually asking you out, you felt your heart practically leap out of your chest with excitement.

The rest of the day all you could think about was your date with Vincent. It had been nearly a year since you last went on a date. It was a hesitant topic for you being you had just been in an abusive relationship the year before. Joey was a very controlling man and whenever he did not like something, he would turn violent. Your father and you had both moved to the other side of town so that you could escape Joey. No one knew of this or so you thought. Your father being good friends with the Corleone family trusted Michael to get revenge on Joey. You never knew of this, Michael had sent Vincent himself to finish Joey off but Joey had left the country after you moved. Vincent had no idea you were the woman this man had hurt. Vincent didn’t ask questions, he was simply given a task and he would get it done. There was many things the two of you did not know of each other.

Tonight you decided to wear a pink silk dress, as he told you to wear something nice. You came out of your room excitedly before running into your father.

“Look at you! Where are you out to today?”

“Vincent. He asked me out on a date.” You smiled as you looked in the mirror putting on a pair of earrings. Distracted with what you were doing you didn’t notice your fathers reaction when you mentioned Vincents name.

“Vincent...Michael Corleone nephew?” He responded rather puzzled.

“Yeah. You’ve met him?” You turned to find your dad with a concerned expression.

“No, I-“ before your father could continue you heard the beep of a car outside the door.

“That’s him! I won’t be out late dad, dinner is set for you already. I’ll see you tonight.” You kissed your father quickly on the cheek and rushed out.

Your father was perfectly comfortable with you working for the Corleone family simply tutoring the six year old boy. He didn’t know how he felt of you dating a Corleone family member. There was very much that he knew of them that you were not aware of.

Stepping out of the door you found Vincent in a black suit leaning against his car patiently looking at the exterior of your home, before he noticed you. The second he noticed you his eyes sparkled with delight.

“Marina.” He smiled as you nervously looked back at him. Dear God did he look amazing. His slick back hair and the exotic look in his eyes, he was a fine Italian man indeed. He opened the car door for you and let you in before proceeding back into the drivers seat driving you away.

The drive was quiet as he drove into the other side of town. This side of town was an area you were not too familiar with but one thing you knew was that it had the most popular restaurant in town and to your surprise, he stopped right in front of it.

“Sunset Restaurant?” You whispered looking out the window making him chuckle. He let himself out of the car and quickly opened the door for you, taking your hand and leading you inside.

Sunset Restaurant was known as one of the most expensive and busiest restaurants in town. People waited for months to be able to make reservations, you wondered how he was able to get a spot. He led you inside and the waiter quickly led you to a private booth.

The place was as beautiful as you imagined it to be, you couldn’t believe you were actually in it.

“How did you get us a spot here?” You whispered leaning in looking up at the golden crystal chandeliers.

“I know a few people.” He winked at you just as you both arrived at your booth.

He definitely knew a lot of people, a Corleone always had connections and most of all, respect. Sitting down beside him you were given a menu which you were excited to look at before noticing the prices.

“Oh..” you gasped in a whisper. Vincent looked over at you with a frown.

“Get whatever you’d like, Marina.” You smiled in response before making your choice.

The two of you shared moments of laughter as well as him getting to know the kind of woman you were. You would notice the look in his eyes as you spoke, sometimes he’d watch your lips as you conversed, other times he’d have a slight smirk just listening to you speak. His body was completely turned in your direction with his arm leaning leaning over the booth behind you.

The food was delicious and the conversation was sweet. Vincent couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” You watched as his eyes roamed over your features, he spoke in a low husky voice that began to arouse you. He could tell by the way you looked down at his lips that you were thinking of the exact same thing. Without thinking twice about it, Vincent leaned in and slowly put his lips against yours. The kiss started off sensual, you felt him cup the side of your face with his warm hand. Moaning into his lips he aggressively pulled you in close against him making you put your arms around his neck. The feeling in your chest burst throughout your body sending goosebumps throughout. Finally you caught your breath and pulled away, his face still close to yours, his eyes looking directly into yours. Vincent Corleone knew you were like no other and he wanted you. He wanted you for himself.

Vincent drove you home not long after, you felt like you were on cloud nine sitting in the car beside him. All you could do was smile to yourself thinking about the way he kissed you, the way he spoke to you, the way he held you. You wanted more. Vincent liked your innocence, he liked the look in your eyes as he kept you close to him. Soon he made it to the end of your block pulling up slowly to your home. Taking a relaxed deep breath with a smile you looked over at him before being distracted by something outside the car. Vincent frowned noticing the change on your face, following your eyes he noticed you looking at a black car slowly and suspiciously driving in front of your home. He didn’t know why you looked at the car the way you did but it was clearly something that made you uncomfortable. He discreetly grabbed onto his gun on his side not liking the way the car slowed down in front of your house. Before Vincent made another move the car quickly drove away. Vincent looked over at you to find you in a daze, you looked horrified before quickly opening the car door.

“I-I better go.”

“Marina-“ Vincent quickly got out of the car running to the other side. He didn’t understand what just took place but he knew the look of fear.

“Marina, just wait one minute.” He quickly followed behind you as you walked to your door.

“I’m sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I have to go.” You unlocked your door nervously and before he could respond you shut it behind you. Vincent stayed looking at the door at a loss for words before looking down the block at the direction that car had went in.

“Dad!” You yelled with tears in your eyes running into his bedroom.

“Marina, what happened? What did he do?”

You grabbed your father crying into his shoulder as you shook your head.

“It wasn’t Vincent dad. It’s...it’s Joey.” You sobbed loudly as your father hugged you tightly.

“He’s back, he’s come back for me.” You cried as you pulled away wiping your tears.

“Where did you see him, Marina?”

“I saw his car. It was him, he was outside our house driving by slowly. He’s looking for me dad, I can’t do this again.” You cried thinking of the horror Joey had already put you through. This man terrified you.

“Alright sweet pea do me a favor, have a cup of tea and a shower. I want you to relax. I will take care of it.” Your father kissed you on the forehead before he left the room.

Vincent arrived home feeling a bit distraught with the way you were left. He knew this was a discussion he wanted to have with his uncle before making the next move. As soon as he stepped inside, Michael was waiting for him in the hall.

“Vincent, in here.” He motioned towards his office making Vincent frown as he followed him inside.

“Nice night with Marina?” Vincent adjusted his suit as he sat across from Michael with a puzzled expression.

“Her father just phoned me.” Michael sighed as he sat down in his chair. Without giving it much thought, he began to explain the situation to Vincent.

“Do you remember about a year ago the hit we had out on a man named Joey?”

Vincent frowned not understanding where this conversation was going.

“You mean the man that left the country.”

Michael nodded as he continued to explain.

“Joey has returned. Joey was ordered to be killed because he was a violent man, he was a violent man to my good friends daughter.”

Vincent knew where this conversation was going and he did not like it.

“Her father, Sal, called me for help. He knows the life we live, Marina doesn’t. When Joey escaped I financially helped them get a new home far from where they were before but, it seems he has found them.”

“I’ll get it done.” Vincent responded sharply knowing exactly what had to be done.

“Hold your horses, Vincent. This is how mistakes are made. This is personal now, I know you like the woman. I can’t have you making any bad decisions on impulse.”

Vincent sucked his teeth looking away, it was hard not to act on impulse as he remembered the fear in your eyes.

“We will make a plan and act on it quickly. For the time being I want you to watch Marina. Joey is a dangerous man and we can’t allow him to get close to her again.”

Vincent responded with a nod before he stood up staring down at his uncle.

“I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he does anything to Marina.” With those last words, Vincent left the room. Michael knew this situation could and would turn very ugly.

Please let me know if you would like to read more. Not sure who’d be interested in this.

#the godfather #michael corleone #vincent mancini #andy garcia #mafia #fanficfion #crime fiction #al pacino #francis ford coppola #readerxcharacter #fanfic #romance

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

A Common Thread, Day 3 of Batflash Week - Spells & Missions

John Constantine awoke to discover one of his old enemies had broken free from Hell again. How? By a bloodstained message left in his bathroom mirror. If he doesn't come to where she wants him, he'll never see one of the best things that had ever happened to him. All he needs to do is walk into her trap alone and everything will work itself out.

Unfortunately Batman throws a wrench into the plan by storming in.

Are they brave and bold enough to rescue Barry?

John Constantine stares up at the faded sign of the warehouse, spray painted in a mess of symbols any self-respecting warlock would spit at. It’s one of many graffitied markers of kids playing with forces they know nothing about. Lucky that none of the sigils were any good sewn together by the hands of a novice.

Except luck runs out. Evident by the dried blood splattering the ground next to a perfect symbol used to summon demons. Kicking over an upturned crate John finds a severed hand clutching a dirty page with instructions on it.

“Doesn’t anyone know,” he mutters, inspecting the spell printed out, “that by tampering with forces you can’t begin to understand there’ll be hell to pay?”

And it’s usually at John’s doorstep they show up, aiming to collect.

Blythe takes what’s hers in blood .

He hadn’t expected her sorry ass to climb its way from Hell so soon, especially since he left her ground under the hell of Neron’s well-polished boot. Underestimating her resourcefulness proved much to dangerous, yet he does it constantly. John thought he learned his lesson when she kidnapped Oliver. In school the teacher always had to go over her lessons more than once before John understood, and the habit’s followed him like a horrid stench.

Now someone else he cares for is suffering under her clutches. John hopes he isn’t too late.

A rustle sounds from nearby. John drops the page, tensing in his squat. Mud squelches underfoot as an intruder steps closer, human from the sound of it. If Blythe wanted to surprise him she wouldn’t announce her presence in such a pedestrian manner.

“Whoever’s there,” he starts, sparks dancing at his fingertips, “I’m half-cocked and ready to fire off like it’s nobody’s business. Announce your presence or spend the next millenium picking yourself from between brimstone.”

“John…”

Sighing, John relaxes somewhat. He recognizes the broody timbre of the man waiting nearby. While it wasn’t a demon, John suspects an ounce of the devil runs through his blood. Why else would someone choose to dress like a giant bat?

“Batman,” he stands, lips thinning into a masked smile, “What brings you around these haunts? I know it must remind you of home but…” John drops the sentence, Batman catching it perfectly from the sneer crossing his expressions.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. Of course.

“Fancy a bit of a stroll,” John shrugs, “bilge water does wonders for the body’s health…”

“ John …”

John levels a glare at Batman, readying a cigarette. “Why should I say what you already know. I’m here for the same’s you are.”

Although for vastly different reasons, John supposes. Batman was his colleague, one of the original seven. A detective who could follow the clues Diana in all her grandstanding glory wouldn’t have been able to notice. Trying to find the bigger picture where there is none. Because this wasn’t some prophecy or plan to take over the world.

It was the consequences of a mistake finally catching up. Doesn’t matter how fast you can run when there’s a blemish on your soul. A dark print where John brushed up against his life, if only for a moment.

Batman peers from behind his cowl, scanning him. “Zatanna send you?”

“Didn’t have to,” John says, “got a direct line from the perp herself.” He snaps his fingers, a photograph appearing instantly. John shows Batman, letting him keep the picture as he drifts closer towards the doors. John memorized exactly what was on it.

Blood smeared across his bathroom mirror in an imitation of a crack. Upon closer inspection, John realized what it was.

A lightning bolt.

He reaches the door when Batman slams him against it, crushing his face against the rusted metal. “Easy!” he whines, “I never got my tetanus shot!”

“This,” he growls, “This is your fault?”

“When isn’t it my fault!”

“What did you do? What did you do !”

“Back… off!” John throws Batman to the ground with a quick spell, eyes glowing when he sees the other hero skittering to a fighting stance. Red edges at the corner of his eyes, driven by a bottomless fury. Curious, if he weren’t on the receiving end. “Listen,” he starts, “you could get your rocks off beating the shit out of me or we can go in and save him. Which do you prefer?”

Batman huffs heavy breaths, thinking. Ultimately he relents, fists hovering at his sides. He strides forward. John plants his feet, hoping the mud will keep him from instinctively flinching backwards.

Stopping inches from his face, Batman growls. “If he’s hurt - in any way - than there’s no cheap parlor trick you can do that’ll save you.”

John scoffs, drunk on false bravado. “You haven’t seen my best cheap parlor trick, then.”

Batman shoulders him on his way towards the door. “Hurry up,” he says, “let’s not waste time.”

A beat passes, John crossing his arms as his cigarette dangles - unlit - between his lips. He curses and flings it down. Stomps over it while moving towards the warehouse.

While barren on the outside, signs of life were more evident inside the cavernous building. Mussed floors, littered with abandoned beer bottles and an amp or two, remind John of his wilder days years ago. Could picture himself and Chaz a few yards away rocking to a cruddy band performing on a makeshift stage. Sees the perfect place to snog, hidden from the view of the crowds. Where you can slip a finger or two in and hide moans under angry screams and shredded licks.

Those thoughts lead him to another time in another place. A bedroom with mussed sheets and hands that scoured every inch of his skin while trembling instinctively. Achieving orgasm was like being struck by lightning.

Sobered, he casts a dim eye towards Batman. The detective scans the room with an objective eye, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “You see anything?”

“No,” he says, “do you sense anything?”

“Not without a little help,” John says. He flicks open his lighter, a small flame bursting forth. Spinning it in small, concentric circles, John whispers Latin until the fire grows in size. It changes from a bright orange to an enchanting blue, hopping off the lighter. Dancing around John, the flame drifts over to Batman and circles him.

“What is this?”

“A little tracking spell,” John shrugs, watching the fire shift dangerously close to Batman’s cape. Only to veer suddenly on a different curve. “Like our own will o’ the wisp. It’ll follow the energy of the person we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’ll work?”

“I believe it will. And with magic that’s half the battle.” They fall into silence as the flame finally flies from Batman. Darting towards the right, it hovers by a faded poster briefly until it charges through it. Burning the poster to a crisp. “Now that’s one way to find a secret entrance!”

Batman huffs, cape fluttering after him while he leaves to follow John’s wisp.

“It was no problem at all, Batty Boy… I can show you how to do it after we’ve wrapped this up… right…”

John chases the detective before he fades from sight.

Past the poster was an ominous staircase descending into the bowels of the Earth. A little on the nose for a demon, but John bets she didn’t have much time to decorate to her liking. If she wanted to cause dread to bloom in the hearts of her enemies, she hit the nail on the head.

Distracting himself from all the horrors waiting for them at the end of the staircase, of what Blythe might have done to him - John guesses why Batman stepped from off his pedestal for such a personal vendetta that didn’t involve him.

From his earlier display John doubts the League knows he’s here. Asking about Zatanna, like she sent John there to fetch the errant hero. Like John wasn’t the whole reason Blythe had a valuable bargaining chip that could fetch her ten kingdoms in Hell. And then the violent outburst at finding out John was at the root of their problem...

John faced down angels and demons alike yet none made him want to cower from the full force of their glare like Batman. If he were able to smite John wouldn’t even have atoms left.

“So,” he starts, voice echoing in the cavernous staircase, “how did you figure out this was the place to find him.”

“Clues.”

“Any elaboration on that or…?”

“ No .”

John sighs, fiddling with his lighter. “Look, I get it. You’re worried… so am I. Blythe she - she’s done this once before, to someone I care about. The first time didn’t end so well and I… I’d really hate it if something were to happen to him. He… he doesn’t deserve it. So you can trust me on this, I’m here to help .”

Batman pauses, John nearly slamming into him. He slowly cranes his neck and reveals half his face in the light of the wisp. John bites back a gasp, surprised at the venom dripping from his features. The words of encouragement were supposed to fling the bullseye from his person, except John managed to tattoo it to his forehead.

“ Care ?” Batman asks, “I don’t know what personal stake you think you have in this but - but you do not get it. Not at all . So stay out of the way, let me save him, and we’ll never have to see each other again. Understand ?”

The wisp snuffs out their light before he can answer. In its place thousands of candles lighting the walls. Reveals the true darkness of the stretch below them, how one misplaced foot could lead to an eternity of falling. Thankfully the stairs end in a few steps.

Right by the door, where they will most definitely find Blythe waiting for them inside.

Batman nearly knocks him over with his cape, closing the distance to the door. “Like I said,” he reminds John, “stay out… of the way…”

John fixes his jacket, glaring at the disgruntled detective. “Seriously,” he mutters, “what did I step in to have to deal with this team-up?”

Closing the gap, they walk confidently into Blythe’s lair - sure that a trap awaits them. On first glance John doubts his first conclusion. Nothing about the gauzy drapery or the lazy river littered with reeds and lily pads seemed dangerous. All the deadliness sucked into the mannequin posed elegantly across a blood red chaise lounge.

“Oh John! I was waiting for you,” Blythe crows, dumping her wine glass over top a stout demon with a tray soldered to his horns. “And you brought a guest! I warned you about that didn’t I… but I guess I’ll forgive it for such a handsome devil he is…”

“I didn’t bring him,” John defends, jerking his thumb at his dour companion, “He and I are after the same thing… separately.”

“Of course. Because that makes absolute sense…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Batman growls, “where is he?”

Blythe shifts her features into faux innocence, tapping a sharp nail to her chin. “Hmm… he … I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about - oh !” The illusion shatters, a shark’s grin cracking her face. “ Of course … how could I forget! He’s been such a lovely guest…” She claps her hands, a figure shuffling from out of the shadows.

John chokes on air as he sees the haggard slump of Barry’s body. Arms swinging while he walks, Barry stumbles into view. His skin lost the golden tan he remembered, instead a sickly pallor that makes his heart stutter.

Batman drifts closer, shaking. “Barry…” he whispers. His shoulders droop for a moment. In the next, they climb back to where they were. Stiff and ready for combat. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing too noticeable ,” she coos, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. Forcing drool to dribble down his chin. “I think he looks like every other adult his age. Lifeless, hopeless, without a soul -”

“You took his soul?” John yells.

Blythe smirks, revealing a glowing amulet around her neck. It crackles with unbridled power, a wild storm trapped within. “It looks absolutely lovely. I’ll be the envy of every creature when I return with it.”

“Like hell you will!” He spits a quick spell into his hand, summoning a fireball to hurl at her. It passes between her and Flash, Blythe flinching out of its path. Barry remains frozen.

She snarls, “If that’s the game you want to play…” Four more arms erupt from her sides as she stands, green fire crackling in her palms. John curses when she launches all of them like a catapult. He skitters to the side, hiding behind a column.

Readying another spell, John sees Batman opposite him fire two bat-a-rangs at Blythe. She catches them both, only they explode and coat those hands with quick drying foam. “Disgusting!” she screams, “Don’t you know how difficult it is to get this type of blood as nail polish?”

John smirks, “Doesn’t matter what you paint ‘em love, it won’t help you look better.”

Another fireball chars the marble pillar, a few embers too close to his skin. He waits for another barrage of attacks to move. Runs over to Batman’s newest hiding spot behind a large, wooden chest while summoning a line of spectral knives in his wake. They fly for Blythe.

Skidding next to Batman, he sees Blythe dodging knife after knife. “Damn…”

“Pretty good trick,” Batman says, prepping a few more of his weapons, “where’d you learn it?”

“Your girl Zatanna -”

“Not my girl -” “Used it on me after a bad night in Vegas when I wouldn’t leave. Not that it did much good. She’s more powerful than before.”

“So,” Batman frowns at him, “how do we defeat her?” “Usually it wouldn’t be so easy,” John tells him, “I could do a quick banishing spell, send her to Hell like all the other times. But if I did it now, where she goes Barry does, too.”

“How did he get involved in all this?” Batman asks, “Why go after him?”

John finds a loose cigarette in his pocket and lights it, sucking on the bitter smoke. “Because she knew it’d hurt me.”

He can’t explain further, their shield splintering from a concussive force. John hears a splash, Batman no doubt landing in the river. John luckily skids close enough for his fingers to dangle at the edge. Quickly he pulls them close, in time to dodge the piranha-esque demon jumping up to feast on him.

Safety isn’t long. Blythe grabs his jacket, pulling him up until his feet dangle. Tips of his shoes scuffing the floor.

She drags him close enough he can smell the hideous sulfur-and-carnation perfume she wears. See the lines in each hideously sharp tooth. “I could do so many things to you,” she says, “To make up for all the knives you planted in my back -”

“Had to…” he huffs, struggling in her grasp, “Otherwise it’d be the other way around. And I can’t recover as fast as you can.”

Blythe caresses his face with a free hand, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. “You talk big, John. But you’re as weak as every other human. Let your heart lead you even though it hurts itself thousands of times. Provide fodder for the many enemies you create by existing .”

John chuckles, “You been talking to my dad?”

“Oliver was one thing but him …” Blythe looks at Barry, souring his routine. “Do you know the number of demons wanting to carve their name into the soul of a hero ? You’ve given me the best kind of gift I never could’ve asked for…”

He glances behind at where Barry’s soulless body rests, his eyes gazing at him with a frightening emptiness inside. John never prays for himself, and the few times he does it’s for other people more deserving. Barry Allen deserves a miracle, and John Constantine is far from that.

But Batman delivers.

Jumping from the river, he latches onto Blythe’s neck with a shout. She drops John to fend off Batman’s attack, stumbling around due to the other man’s grapple.

“John!” Batman shouts, “Now! Do it now!” He stabs her shoulders with bat-a-rangs, Blythe’s screams shaking the room. Batman drops and rolls away, over to John. “John!” “But what about -”

Batman dangles Barry’s soul in his sand, the chain wrapped around his fist.

John pauses briefly, in awe of the soul. He breaks from the spell when he hears Blythe’s cursing and metal clattering to the floor. Nodding, John stands and begins chanting the exorcism.

“You can’t do this to me again!” Blythe screams, stomping towards them, “Every time you send me there I come back angrier. Tougher. More vicious.” The ground under her feet begins crumbling, hellfire shooting upwards. “You can’t save anyone . His soul was damned the moment he allowed you into his bed!”

Columns fall around them, crushed by debris. Batman turns to him, “What’s going on?”

“This whole place is coming down around us!” he yells over the roar of demolition, “Grab our boy and make a run for it. Otherwise we’ll be seeing more of Blythe!”

John finishes the incantation, watching Blythe’s shadow disappear. He then spins on his heel and follows Batman up the stairs, Barry over his shoulder. Steps crumble as he jumps off them. Racing to the top, they keep running until they’re outside the warehouse where they began.

Panting, John leans against a few crates. “That’s my cardio for the year…”

No time for rest, Batman grabs his lapels and drags him over to where Barry stands still soulless. “ Fix him .”

“All right, mate, the hardest part’s over… Hand me his soul.” Batman carefully gives John Barry’s soul, his inner lighting snapping against the container. Holding it feels like being stung by a thousand loving jellyfish or covered in a large blanket that carries a fantastic amount of static cling. His skin puckers and hair stands on end. “Okay, love,” he whispers to the soul, “time to get you home…”

Muttering a quick spell, John cups the soul ever so daintily in his hand. Then he slams his fist into it, shattering the glass.

Batman jumps him, “What’re you -”

“Easy,” he says, pointing, “look!”

The soul flies around, a storm cloud pulsing with life. It zips between Batman and John - brushing affectionately against the former’s head for far too long - and circles Barry’s body. Growing in size, the soul obscures Barry leaving only a shadow. Glowing brightly, it seeps into his skin.

Barry gasps for breath, life returning to him. “God,” he sighs, collapsing to the ground, “what happened?”

“Wouldn’t bother asking Them, love,” John says, lighting his third cigarette of the hour, “They had nothing to do with where you were.”

Batman helps Barry to his feet, arms wrapped around his sides protectively. Barry leans into the embrace, resting against the brooding hero. John watches with interest as Gotham’s knight speaks in the softest of whispers against the shell of Barry’s ear, the speedster nodding every few seconds.

Feeling ignored, John clears his throat. Both of them turn to him. “Listen, Barry,” John starts, scratching his neck, “I want to apologize for what happened back there -”

“John…”

“If it weren’t for me, Blythe never have pinged you on her radar -”

“John -”

“And I’d understand if you’d never want to see me again -”

“ John .”

He casts a baleful gaze at the other man, shocked at the warmth coloring his features. “John,” he continues, “it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But, but…” the smoke drifts off his cigarette, “if we’d never… and I hadn’t… don’t you regret what we did?”

Barry shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

Their silence is charged with the infinite possibilities of what could have been. John’s heart fills with memories of when their ships passed each other all those nights ago. Docking briefly at the same port, tied to the same post.

Now Batman interrupts, glaring at John. “What are you talking about?” he asks, “Why did that demon want Barry?”

It’s an awkward and intimate conversation, to be handled delicately. John steams through it with his stubborn charm. Reveals how Barry and he first met when he followed a trail of bodies to Central City on the hunt for a demon. Guessed the next bar he would target for his next victim. Only the demon wasn’t all he found waiting there.

Barry escaped to this place, even though alcohol wouldn’t affect him, for peace of mind. Where John goes, peace never stays. John didn’t realize who he was at first, and chatted him up while waiting for the demon.

“I looked miserable.”

“And hot .”

While distracted, John missed the demon slither away with another villain. After figuring out who Barry was, he convinced Barry they should work together to take the monster down. It took all his best charms to win the argument.

“Ran out,” John shrugs, “Couldn’t even attempt to get him to carry me everywhere in his big, strong arms.”

Barry laughs, shoving him weakly. “Shove it.”

“Gladly.”

Throughout their investigation John continued flirting with Barry. Noticed with each new compliment the walls were crumbling. When he thought he had a chance, though, the demon appeared and grabbed Barry.

“Found him, though,” John says, “Wasn’t hard to track him… Got to him in good time, too. Not many people can resist the wiles of an incubus.”

When John found them, the incubus’s mirage had faded. Leaving the horned, crocodile-faced killer striking at places Barry stood. He joined the fray immediately, firing off a lightning spell that electrocuted the demon.

Together they sent the demon to Hell. “And without thought,” John tells Batman, “I asked if I could shower off the skunk of the demon’s final attack. Real stinker it was.”

Barry agreed, showing John where he lived. After a steamy shower and a low-slung towel, John tried one last flirting attempt.

“And the rest was history…”

Batman scowls, glaring at him. “You two slept together?”

“Only once,” Barry says, rubbing Batman’s wrist, “I was questioning a lot at the time… and he really helped me figure out exactly how I felt about... certain things .”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“John…”

Batman’s expression twitches with the faintest traces of curiosity. “What?”

He grins, tapping the excess ashes off his cigarette. “Ol’ Barry was hung up on some daft loon he didn’t know he had feelings for. Wasn’t sure if what he felt was attraction or friendship and… what was it? Wanted to see if you could be attracted to another guy, yeah? I think I helped you sort through those things mighty well given the three orgasms you had.”

“Three,” Batman chokes, gaping at Barry, “you had… three ?”

Barry blushes under the scrutiny. “So?”

Delighting in the other man’s embarrassment, John continues poking. “And we cuddled. Little ol’ spoon, he is,” he winks, chuckling. With Barry’s face beet red, John lays off the nipple twisting. “In the end, though, he let me know where we stood. His heart belonged to some other luckybastard…” Smiling, he asks Barry. “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

Nodding, Barry glances at Batman. His hand rubs his chin affectionately. “Yeah… he knows.”

John drops his cigarette, shocked. Batman’s face shifts into a smug mask as he tugs Barry closer to him, pressing their faces together. Presses his lips against Barry’s cheek as a claim. “Oh,” John says, “um… congratulations?”

“Thanks, John,” Barry says, pulling away from Batman. Stretching, he continues talking. “If you ever need me, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s just for coffee… I’m not going to hold this against you, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Barry speeds over to Batman, scooping him in the blink of an eye. “Get home safely!”

They disappear, leaving a dust cloud to put out the smoldering embers of John’s cigarette.

As it clears, John feels a seed of happiness blossoming in his heart. Because while Barry might not be his, he has someone who can love him the way John can’t.

And that’s all that matters.

#Batflash #batman x flash #Batman/Flash #bruce wayne x barry allen #Batman #Flash #Bruce Wayne #Barry Allen #John Constantine #Batflash Week

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jessahmewren · 5 years

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“John Doe,” Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction--Poly!Queen Week Day One

Summary: Intrigued by a lonely patient, Nurse John sets out to help him.

Rating T: For some disturbing themes and imagery

Words: 2964

Pairing: John Deacon/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor

TW: for suicide attempt mention

Also on Ao3

-0-0-0-

"How is he today?"

John took the chart from the nightshift nurse and thumbed through the last few hours of data. He was tall and trim in his white uniform, with long wavy brown hair and green almost grey eyes. The words on the page confirmed what his co-worker would say next.

"No change. Won't eat, barely speaks.” The other nurse shrugged and shook her head. Her eyes were ringed and bloodshot in the harsh fluorescent light. "I'm going home," she said tiredly, turning for the elevator. She waited there, rubbing her neck and shoulders until the elevator settled on the floor and she stepped inside.

The psychiatric ward at one of London’s busiest hospitals was not the easiest place to work, but John liked it. His last assignment, Labor and Delivery, was not all that different from what he did now. When you've had a (thankfully) empty bedpan thrown at your head by a spitting, foaming, mother-to-be in the throes of labor pains, a few death wishes and a couple of personality disorders seem to pale in comparison.

John perused John Doe’s file a bit further. No calls. No visitors. It had been two days since his admittance. He was brought in on a suicide attempt, but that was all he knew.

He knocked experimentally at the door and waited. Nothing. While he didn't have to knock, he often found that it made patients feel more at ease.

“May I come in?" Silence answered, so he eased the door open anyway. His shoes squeaked on the polished floor, abrupt and vulgar in the empty room. It was cavernous within, and quiet. A muted television flashed garish images over the hump of covers in the bed, bathing him in strobing, artificial light. The man lay on his side facing the wall and did not move. Aside from the patient, there was no other evidence that anyone had been there. No coat over a chair, no stale cup of coffee, no wilting daisies. It was as stark as a tomb.

"Well," John said good-naturedly, "I see you’ve slept some. That's good." When he made no effort to acknowledge him, John crossed and turned on the light over the bed. "But you still haven't eaten," he continued to his captive audience, "we're going to have to do something to change that today, okay?"

The man squinted a bit at the light's assault, raising his arm to shield his eyes. A thick white bandage around his wrist and halfway up his arm bloomed a crimson Rorschach at the sudden movement. It did not go unnoticed. "Let me get that changed for you," John remarked calmly, and set to work.

John performed his ministrations in silence. The man remained mute and limp, allowing him to move and dress his arm with no resistance. If tending the deep slashes in the man's wrist caused him any pain at all, he gave no indication. The striking man stared purposefully at the ceiling, a dispassionate mask firmly in place, refusing to look at the nurse.

John finished his other duties and recorded the data. "Ok, that'll do it then," he said pleasantly. He was careful to not be overtly cheery. "Is there anything you need?" John waited in the silence. “You wanna tell me your name? Would make this a whole lot easier.”

A curious shadow seemed to pass over the man’s face as he actually turned and regarded John, dark curls framing his face. Beautiful hazel eyes, pupils black and distant, seemed to consider the question. John waited. "Turn off the TV," he said at last.

The therapist had left it on, John was sure, in order for the patient to stay connected to the outside world. There was no bedside control, either. It was standard operating procedure and was therefore supposed to stay on. However, this was the first time the man had spoken to John, so he decided to extend the olive branch a little further and comply.

He reached up and turned it off. The very thin, very sad man with the large, wet eyes looked as though he would say more, so much more, but remained silent. John left him there in the room with the light now extinguished without another word.

---

John’s keys jingled in the lock as he opened the door to his shared flat. He was met by his boyfriend Roger who slipped an arm around his waist and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I missed you doll,” Roger said, a sweet smile on his face.

When John didn’t say anything at first, Roger frowned. “Rough day?”

John hung his head. “Sort of, yeah. Where’s Freddie?”

“In here darling! We’re having Spaghetti Pomodoro tonight. I hope that’s ok.”

John toed off his shoes, leaving them by the door. “That’s perfect,” he sighed as Roger led him to the couch. He looked up at him sheepishly. “Rog, can I have the magic fingers?”

Roger grinned mischievously, waggling his fingers in the air. “Ooh, you want these magic fingers, do you?”

John looked up at him hopefully, his green eyes flashing. “Please? My shoulders are killing me.”

Roger descended upon John’s knotted muscles, digging into the flesh with smooth, kneading motions.

John moaned in pure pleasure, his head lolling.

“What are you two getting up to over there?” Freddie called from the kitchen. “I feel like I’m missing out.”

“John wanted the magic fingers,” Roger said between giggles. “And he’s going to pay me back, aren’t you my love?”

John reached up to squeeze his hand. “I always do, don’t I?”

Roger smiled, digging into his shoulder with the pads of his thumb. “Mmm, you do. So are you going to tell us about your shitty day?”

John pressed his lips together. “There’s this patient.”

Roger kissed the top of his head, his massage finished, and walked around the couch to nuzzle into John’s side. Freddie had lowered the heat on the pasta sauce, and was now approaching the couch, too.

“Go on love,” he said as he settled on John’s other side.

John passed a hand over his face. “Just one of the suicides. He doesn’t have anyone, apparently. But there’s something about him.”

“What do you think it is?” Roger inquired, his blue eyes alight with interest.

“I don’t really know,” John said, shaking his head in frustration. “But I want to help him. More than I’ve ever wanted to help anyone.”

---

John arrived at work earlier than usual, anxious to check on Brian. He caught up on the nightshift’s report, a deep frown on his face.

“He tried to take out his iv?

The nurse at the nurse’s station nodded. “Panic attack. The doctor put him under heavy sedation. He should be up by now, though. Oh, and he’s in soft restraints.”

John put a hand on his hip, a headache already starting to form. He set his lunchbag on the counter, stashing the rest of his stuff behind the desk. “Hand me his chart; I’ll start with him.”

John knocked softly, and when he got no response, eased his way inside the room.

It was so dark. He could just make out the graceful outline of the man’s body, the billowy gown that swallowed him up, and those generous curls that formed a corona around his head as he reclined in bed. The sickly glow from the iv pump cast his face in a ghostly pallor, and if John squinted he could just make out his deceptively peaceful features…dark lashes cresting the gentle slope of his cheeks.

John soundlessly made his way to the bed, and only then did he notice the restraints. Without a word, he reached up and turned on the overhead light, flooding the bed in a fluorescent glow.

Two hazel eyes blinked at the intrusion, his face a little softer than the day before. He had a thin, beautiful face, delicate in its own way.

John smiled. “Good morning, you. It’s good to see those eyes open.”

“Brian,” he croaked out, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Call me Brian.” His voice was unexpectedly soft, yet elegant, and John found he liked it very much.

John stood, his arms folded around his chart and a big smile on his face. “Well, Brian it is then. And I’m John. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Brian said nothing, but reached a hand up to scratch his nose, only to find them stubbornly bound in the Velcro restraints. John noticed immediately.

“You need some help with that? I’m a professional nose scratcher, among other things.”

Brian’s mouth quirked in what could be called a smile, and John thrilled inwardly at the victory. He scratched Brian’s nose for him, and the man sighed in relief.

John then poured him a glass of water and held it up to his lips for him to drink, which he took a few sip of before John proceeded to check his iv fluids and the rest of his vital signs.

Then John pulled up that empty chair and leaned in conspiratorially. “I brought you something today,” he whispered needlessly. “Lunch. One of my boyfriends made Spaghetti Pomodoro last night and I thought you might enjoy some.”

Brian’s eyebrows raised. “One of your boyfriends?”

John blushed. “Yeah, well I have two.”

“You have two boyfriends and you work in a psychiatric ward. You must like chaos.”

John couldn’t hold back his laughter. “You’re funny, Brian. Tell you what. You have lunch with me today, and you can tell me some more jokes. I’ll even remove those restraints so you can hold your own fork.”

Brian pursed his lips, and then gave him a genuine little smile. “Ok,” he said.

---

When Freddie found out that Brian had liked his cooking, he insisted on visiting him himself…with flowers and a basket of blueberry muffins.

John was over his head in paperwork when he saw his boyfriend breeze by the nurse’s station, a sunny arrangement of lilies and roses in his arms.

“Freddie! Darling, what are you doing here?”

“Oh! Hello my love!” He greeted John with a quick kiss, smelling so perfectly of spice and perfume and home that it made John ache.

When John’s question went unanswered, he gestured to the picnic basket.

“I thought I would visit your patient, seeing as he hasn’t had any visitors and he already likes my cooking,” he said sweetly.

John could have cried. This is why he loved the men he did.

“That’s…that’s so lovely Freddie. I’m sure Brian will be happy to see you.”

Freddie thrilled. “I hope so. Let’s find out. Point me to his room?”

John did, asking Freddie if he wanted him to go in with him.

“No darling, I want to go in by myself. I’m a visitor, not a nurse. No needles from me, just treats!”

John wondered briefly what all he had in that basket.

Freddie knocked on the door and received a hesitant “come in” in reply.

Brian was sat up in bed. His restraints were off and a pitcher of water was beside him on the table. Nothing else was in the room.

“Um, hi darling. My name is Freddie. I’ve been making your lunches. I thought maybe I might visit you for a bit?”

Brian’s eyes lit as though he already knew him. “A visitor,” he exclaimed, and his eyes misted over. “Please, come sit down Freddie.”

Freddie crossed to the table and pushed the water pitcher over to make room for the flowers. “These are for you love,” he said softly. “They really brighten up the place, I think.”

Brian swallowed. “They’re really beautiful,” Brian said almost to himself. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Freddie lay the picnic basket on the edge of the bed. “Well I do! Have one of these muffins. I made them just for you. We can eat and have a chat!”

Brian’s eyes lit at the muffins, still warm from the oven. He took one gingerly in his hand and held it to his nose.

“Go on,” Freddie encouraged, “take a bite.”

“Mmm,” Brian hummed around a mouthful of muffin. “Can I have another after this one?”

Freddie laughed. “The whole basket is yours darling. Plus I brought you some other things,” and Freddie began pulling out slippers, pajamas, candy and puzzle books.

Brian frowned. “They won’t let me have a pen or pencil,” he said, a little embarrassed.

Freddie waved it off. “Next time I’ll bring crayons.”

“You’re coming back?”

Freddie smiled. “Of course I am.”

---

“He’s into astronomy,” Freddie replied excitedly. “He’s studying astrophysics in school. Very bright. He loves music too.”

Roger spoke around a mouthful of food. “Do you have any idea why he uh…you know.”

“We don’t ask,” John said matter-of-factly. “We leave that to the therapists.”

“I know,” Roger said. “I’m just curious.”

Freddie cocked his head. “Well…he told me he came out to his parents and they rejected him. That couldn’t have helped.”

Groans reverberated all around the table.

“He literally has no one, John,” Freddie said gravely, “and he’s just lovely.”

Roger chased his food around his plate with his fork. “I’m going to see him then,” Roger said finally. “Take him some things. Give him someone else to look at besides Freddie.”

Freddie stuck his tongue out at him and they all laughed.

---

Roger arrived at Brian’s door with a stack of books in his hand. He knocked quietly and received the same hesitant “come in,” that Freddie did, so he pushed his way inside.

Brian was standing at the window wearing the pajamas Freddie had bought him. They had all guessed at the size using John’s observations, but they were still a little short on him. Roger cleared his throat.

“Hey Brian, I’m Roger. John and Freddie’s boyfriend? I’ve heard so much about you that I thought I’d like to meet you…maybe spend some time with you if that’s ok.”

Brian huffed a little laugh, an odd look on his face. “You guys just keep getting better looking,” and smiled when Roger actually blushed.

Freddie made sure the flowers stayed fresh, so there were freesias this week and the room smelled divine. Roger placed his stack of books on the table and kept his hand there, nervously tapping his fingers.

Roger really hadn’t expected Brian to be so tall and well, handsome.

“I brought you some books and magazines,” he began. “Freddie told us you like astronomy and music, so I picked carefully. I hope you like them.”

Brian began to thumb through his choices, smiling broadly. “What kind of music do you like?”

---

“He doesn’t have anywhere to go after he gets out,” Roger stated flatly as they sat watching the telly. “His parents have abandoned him and his flatmate kicked him out. All because he’s gay. Unbelievable.”

John shook his head. “It’s not really. We’re just really lucky. A lot of people think that way.”

Freddie frowned. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

“Well what’s going to happen to Brian?” Roger continued.

John pursed his lips. “Why can’t he stay with us for a while? Just until he gets on his feet?”

Freddie clapped his hands. “Oh, that’s a marvelous idea dear. We have the spare room.”

Roger nodded. “Freddie and I will get to work getting it ready. When is he released?”

John thought for a moment. “Next week I believe. That should be plenty of time.”

John kissed both of his boyfriends. This situation was turning out better than he’d hoped.

---

The next day Roger and Freddie showed up at the hospital so all three could go in and ask Brian about their plans. When the time came, they went in to find Brian sitting up in one of the chairs reading a book. He smiled at them.

“All three of you? This is a surprise.” He eyed John. “Is this official nurse business or just a visit?”

John smiled. “Just a visit this time.”

“We actually had a question we wanted to ask you,” Freddie said. “You’ll be released soon, and we wondered where you might go.”

Brian blinked, looking down. “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

John spoke up. “Would you consider coming home with us? You know, just until you get things figured out?”

A bright smile lit Brian’s face, then disappeared just as quickly. “I can’t let you do that, John. I’ve been too much of an imposition already.”

Roger piped up. “No you haven’t! We enjoy your company, Brian. We want you to stay with us. Don’t we?”

“Absolutely,” Freddie agreed.

“Yes,” John added. “Would you please consider coming home with us? Your room is all ready. All you have to do is say yes.”

Brian swallowed, but there was a longing in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’ll consider it,” he said.

“Good darling,” Freddie said as they turned to leave. “No more muffins until you say yes,” he said with a wink.

---

Brian said nothing more about his decision until it was time for his discharge from the hospital. John quietly got the paperwork ready, helped him put his meager belongings in a bag, and put him in a wheelchair per hospital policy. John knelt in front of him, eyes imploring.

“So, Brian…where are you off too today?”

Brian sat for a moment. “I think I’m ready to go home,” he said thoughtfully.

It took John by surprise. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Brian said with a slow smile lighting his face. “It’s Tuesday, and Freddie makes Spaghetti Pomodoro on Tuesday.”

John reached out to ruffle the man’s dark curls, noticing how he leaned into the touch. “Indeed he does, Brian. Let’s go home then.”

-0-0-0-

#queen #bohemian rhapsody #poly!queen 2019 #queen fan fiction #queen fan fic #queen fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction #borhap fic #borhap fanfic #poly!queen #brian may angst #brian may fanfiction #my writing #josqueenfamily

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raywritesthings · 5 years

Text

Wrong Road to the Right Place 14/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Tommy Merlyn, Quentin Lance, John Diggle, Malcolm Merlyn, Moira Queen, Felicity Smoak, Lucas Hilton, Ted Grant Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. *Can also be read on my AO3 page*

Now that Quentin was alone with his daughter, some of his confidence deflated. It had been a while since they had had a real conversation, after all.

Laurel seemed to recognize he needed an opening and sighed. “Hey, dad.”

“Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. The doctors said I should make a full recovery.”

He pointed with his thumb out into the hall. “You know, I’m pretty sure I saw a woman who might have been your mother out in that hallway.”

Laurel pulled a face. “She was here about Sara.”

“Sara?”

“She thinks she might still be alive, I guess. Since Oliver came back.”

“Ah.” Figured Queen was to blame for this, too. “Did she say if she was staying?”

“I didn’t really ask. I couldn’t really deal with it just then. Actually, Oliver was kind of helping me calm down before you showed up.”

She pinned him with a look, and Quentin glanced down at the floor. So they were really confronting this.

“Honey, I- I know we’ve had it rough the past few weeks. But I had to see you. You have no idea what I’d do if something happened to you.” He took another couple of steps forward. “No matter who you’re seeing or what you’re doing, you’re my daughter. You’re all I got left in the world and, and I can’t take that for granted anymore.”

Her look softened a little.

“Does it have to be Queen, though?”

Her mouth twisted like she was trying not to smile or frown.

“Okay, okay.” He’d keep his misgivings to himself, at least for now. There was something off about Queen ever since he’d gotten back, something that made it seem like he had things to hide. It had been bugging him lately, like his brain had been following some train of thought but couldn’t quite remember all the pieces.

There was a knock on the door frame that had them both looking up. A young blonde woman with a ponytail and glasses stood there.

“Um, hi. Is this a bad time for visitors?”

Quentin glanced back at his daughter, but she looked just as confused as he felt. “You’re here to see me?”

The woman nodded. “Uh-huh. Mr. Diggle outside — Oliver’s bodyguard — he let me through.”

Well, that Mr. Diggle has saved his daughter’s life at least once before. He could trust the man’s judgment.

“Tell you what, I’m gonna check a couple things out at the scene. Least before Pike shuts it all down.”

“Dad, that is way beyond conflict of interest,” Laurel warned him.

“Well, there’s gonna be conflict if whoever they assign to this case screws things up. I’ll be back soon as I can.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then nodded once to the woman at the door as she stepped aside to allow him through.

The earliest report that he’d heard over the radio was that this was looking to be a Triad hit. Detective Hall had a confirmed sighting of China White herself. That was the second time that woman had shown up somewhere his daughter was. Could that be a coincidence, or was there something more going on here?

The younger Merlyn had let him know Laurel had recently been looking into something with the Triad. Why was beyond him. None of her current clients had any connections, and she’d said her involvement in the case with whoever was linked to the Bratva was over — and there was something there, something that lingered in the recesses of his mind, some thought he had had and forgotten. What was it?

Hilton met him outside of Merlyn Global, and security let the two of them up. He tried following the steps Laurel and the younger Merlyn would have taken. A number of attackers had been felled by the Hood, but there were two men dead just outside a stairwell that couldn’t be accounted for. According to Hall’s brief report, the Hood hadn’t gone this way, and the cause of death was one of their own handguns.

“Do we have the gun?”

“No. First sweep by forensics didn’t turn it up,” Lucas read off the small file he’d grabbed a copy of.

Something wasn’t right about all this. It was a coordinated Triad attack, that much was obvious, but if Merlyn had been the target their sniper had taken his shot too soon. And where was the missing gun?

They continued up to the penthouse office. There wasn’t much to tell hear accept for the shattered window, desk, and the heavy-duty casing of the bullet that had done the job. The latter of which had already been bagged up and taken back to the lab.

Some of the glass from the window had been disturbed by the activity of people. He picked his way over, tracking the scatter pattern. The glint of shards caught his eye by the far wall.

He motioned his partner. “Hilt. Look at this.”

Lucas joined him. There were shards halfway under the wall, and probably more on the other side he was willing to bet. It was a sliding wall.

He looked up at the small portrait hanging just below eye level. Maybe...

“Can I help you officers with anything?”

Quentin and Lucas both looked to the door where Malcolm Merlyn stood.

“That’s alright, Mr. Merlyn,” Hilton began.

“What’s behind this false wall?” Quentin asked instead. No point beating around the bush.

“Servers,” the billionaire answered as he took a couple of steps into the room, careful to mind the tape and cards that had been set up in various spots by CSU. “They’re necessary to handle the processing traffic of day-to-day business, but they aren’t pleasing to look at.”

Quentin made a show of nodding. “Right.”

“Any other questions? I really would like to lend any aid to solving this case. Laurel has always been a good friend to Tommy, and I’ll sleep better knowing the person who hurt her is caught.”

But he wasn’t about to open that wall. That much was clear.

“No, I think we’ve done everything we can here. Thank you for your time.”

Merlyn watched their whole progress out of the office, and Hilt didn’t speak up until the elevator doors had closed.

“Where to next? Home before Pike finds out you’re working this case?”

Quentin shook his head. “Got to see a judge for a warrant first.”

“For Merlyn’s office. What for?”

“For what’s really in that room.”

He didn’t know much about servers or other tech, but he did know they were loud. Merlyn was lying for some reason. And if it had something to do with why his daughter had been hospitalized, he was going to find out what that reason was.

—-

Laurel waited as her father left her alone in her room with this relative stranger.

“Did you want to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her visitor did so, glancing back once at the door she had closed. Laurel didn’t think she had anything to worry about considering Digg had allowed this woman through, but she was definitely curious as to why he had.

The woman stopped by the visitor chair but didn’t sit down. Instead she glanced down at her empty hands. “Oh, I should have brought flowers.”

“That’s okay,” Laurel said. “Just, sorry, who are you?”

“I’m nobody,” the woman said very quickly. “I mean, I’m someone, obviously. I work at Queen Consolidated. And I help your boyfriend with his various odd jobs — which I swear isn’t an innuendo.”

“Of course.” Her visitor seemed incredibly nervous. Laurel had half a mind to tell her to calm down.

“But tonight, earlier, I messed up. He asked me to get into this Russian man’s phone, and by the time I did, the award ceremony was getting started and you were in danger and if I’d just been faster—”

“Hey, slow down.” Laurel did her best to sit up against her pillows. Why had this woman assumed she of all people at the ceremony had been in danger? The obvious target was Malcolm, wasn’t it? “What’s your name?”

“Felicity.”

“Felicity, this isn’t your fault.”

“But if I’d figured it out faster, then maybe Oliver would’ve gotten there in time to stop it. He’s the Hood, isn’t he? Your boyfriend.”

“Um.”

“I mean, anytime he asks me to do a favor, it somehow mysteriously connects up with a future Hood appearance. And he’s also really bad at making up excuses. Like, phenomenally bad.”

Laurel grimaced. She wasn’t wrong.

“It’s not that I’m going to tell! At this point, I’d probably be liable for aiding and abetting. I’d be crazy to turn him in.”

“Okay,” Laurel agreed slowly. She still wasn’t sure if it would be at all wise to verbally confirm the woman’s guess. “That still wouldn’t make any of this your fault. And I’ll be fine.”

Her visitor drew in a breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m glad about that. In fact, I should probably let you rest.” She left Laurel’s bedside and made strides to the door. “It’s just that,” Felicity said and then stopped as she turned back in the doorway. “My boss went missing a while ago. Walter Steele? And I guess, if Oliver needs help finding him, he can just ask. He doesn’t have to lie about what it’s for.”

Laurel nodded, a small smile growing. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“Okay. Feel better soon.”

“Thank you.”

Felicity left, leaving Laurel with a lot to think about. Someone else was in on their secret. Not that she was going to tell, but that still put Oliver, and herself and John, at greater risk of being caught. They really needed to be more careful.

But the main thing bugging her was still Felicity’s belief that she had somehow been in more danger than the others at the award ceremony. Was there something she didn’t know?

“John?” When that didn’t produce immediate results, she tried a little louder. “Digg?”

Moments later, he poked his head in the doorway. “Everything alright?”

“Mostly. Just, um, Felicity was in here.”

He nodded. “She wouldn’t calm down till she saw you. Sorry.”

“No, that was okay. She was really nice. But she knows.”

John understood the significance she put into the last word. He sighed and walked in, speaking quieter as he took the chair. “Figured that was gonna happen eventually. Oliver did a background check on her, though. She should be safe.”

“Okay.” That was something of a relief at least. “The thing is, she came to apologize. Because she thought somehow me getting injured was her fault. But it could have been anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone who went in that penthouse.”

John didn’t say anything.

“John.” Laurel sat up a little higher.

He sighed and let out a breath. “Oliver’s not gonna want me to tell you this, but you were the target.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “Me? But Merlyn—”

“We’re not sure yet how he’s involved. If he even is involved. But Barrera had your photo.”

She could feel her heart picking up a bit, which was reflected by the monitor hooked up to her. Laurel forced her breathing to calm. “But if I’m not dead…”

“We don’t know what the next move is. That’s why I’m staying close. But we got lucky, definitely.”

She’d been the target. Was it because of her work or her digging into Mr. Merlyn’s business? What if they tried again?

“My father doesn’t know.”

John shook his head. “Oliver didn’t give him the target over the phone.”

“Well good. Don’t tell him.” She didn’t want to think about how much he’d worry or what he’d do if he was aware. “Was Oliver going to tell me?”

John hesitated. “I think he wanted you to focus on recovering for now.”

Laurel sighed. It would be just like him. “Recovering isn’t good enough, John. Not when we don’t know if or when another attack might come. I have to know what I might be dealing with.”

“I agree.”

“Well, thank you,” she told her friend. Laurel leaned back a little further against the pillows, a bit drained after all her various visitors. “Once I’m better, I have to find a trainer. Will you help me?”

She would probably do best to start trying new places, but… she wasn’t quite ready to give up on Ted Grant and the Wildcat Gym just yet. There was something about him, a down-to-earth authenticity that was hard to come by.

John nodded. “You should try for some sleep for now, though.”

“Yeah.” John stood, but Laurel reaches out to touch his arm. “Keep an eye on Oliver, okay? I don’t want him doing something he regrets.”

She could still remember the look in his eyes when he’d gone after the man who had nearly killed her in Iron Heights. It had come from some part of him rooted deeply in the survival mode he’d needed out there on that island. But she knew now that it wasn’t really who he was. She didn’t want the Hood becoming known as that because of her.

John’s mouth turned up at the corners. “You asking me to watch Oliver and him asking me to watch you. You two might get somewhere faster without the middleman, ever think of that?”

Laurel looked down. “That’s… not really an option right now.”

“If you say so.” Her friend left the room to resume his watch.

He had something of a point. If things had gone differently tonight, right now might have been all she and Oliver had. Or never. Anything could have happened.

She needed to decide how she felt and what she wanted from life before it was too late.

—-

Moira was caught, and for once she had no careful plan in place for how to deal with it.

Malcolm’s own son was cornering her, questioning her. This had all the makings of a disaster. And yet, looking at Tommy’s earnest, open face… it was all too much. She’d started down this path to protect her children, but it was the children who were being hurt now.

“I- I can’t — it wouldn’t be wise to discuss here.” There was too much chance of them being overheard. Detective Lance had to be sniffing around somewhere, and Malcolm has his people. Oh, how she wished he’d been the one struck down tonight, and for good.

Tommy took another step forward. “Then where. Mrs. Queen—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s best for you not to know.”

Say he decided to tell his father. Then her whole family and Laurel were doomed. And if he didn’t tell, but Malcolm found out anyway? Tommy had already suffered so much at Malcolm’s hand.

Moira walked around him and hurried out the hospital doors to where we car waited. Her usual driver knew by now when not to ask questions at the state of her appearance or emotions. She spent the drive back reapplying some makeup to hide the tear tracks and calming herself down. It wouldn’t do for the rest of the staff or her family to see.

Especially not Oliver. That would undo her.

The only thing that allowed her to keep up the careful facade was that her son was nowhere to be found at the Manor that night or the following morning. Thea was present, and asked her if she wished to come along to visit Laurel in the hospital. Moira declined for the same reasons she’d been unable to bring herself to journey up the few floors that had separated her from the younger woman in that hospital, even though that had been part of the plan she and Frank had agreed upon.

Moira hid away in her home office as Thea got ready and left the house. There she allowed her tired eyes to rest a few moments, in private. Her mind would not rest, however, instead conjuring up images of Laurel looking at her with betrayal and devastation the same as when she’d had to deliver the news of her son’s infidelity and Sara Lance’s death. She could imagine the same look on Oliver’s face just as clearly.

She was alone in the house for less than an hour when Raisa knocked on the door of her office. “A visitor Mrs. Queen. Mr. Merlyn.”

For a moment, a chill settled in her heart — but then she saw Tommy standing in the slight gap of the doorway. He was determined to be persistent, then.

She had two options. Send him away and increase his suspicions — risk him going to Oliver or Malcolm — or confess some of the truth and hope he would understand the precarious situation they were all in whether they knew it or not.

“Send him in, Raisa.” It was absolutely silent once her longtime housekeeper had left them and Tommy stood only five feet away. “How...how is Laurel?”

“I haven’t seen her,” Tommy admitted. “I was too curious about what you couldn’t get into last night. Mrs. Queen, do you know something about the attack? Who might have been targeting my father?”

Moira nearly laughed. She would have slept a lot better the last several nights had Malcolm been the target — though perhaps the failed assassination might have made it all worse.

“Your father is safe, Tommy. And he certainly has the wherewithal and the people to ensure that.”

Tommy frowned, for reasons she wasn’t sure of. “Then why was there a sniper ready to shoot him once he reached his panic room?”

She looked down at her hands resting on the flat surface of her desk. “What makes you believe I would have any idea?”

“You behavior at the hospital. And before the attack. You were nervous about something. I think Laurel knew it, too.”

Laurel was suspicious? How much had Ken Williams told her, how much had he known?

She sensed as much as saw his approach right up to the other side of the desk. “Mrs. Queen, I’ve had my eyes opened to a lot that’s been going on around me this year. I need someone to be honest with me. You- I’ve considered your family my own since I was little. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

She looked up. “There’s nothing you can do to help. It’s far too late for that. At least for me.”

“Is it the Triad?”

She shook her head. “The Triad were a means to an end. Frank Chen has ties to them. You see,” she added at his surprised look, “the people in your father’s circle — your own father, Tommy — are not the people you’ve thought they are. And that includes me. Laurel knows this already.”

“She was the target?” Tommy fell back a step, eyes dismayed. “How could you — she loves your son.”

Moira closed her eyes.

“He- if he knew—”

“He can’t, Tommy. That’s why I agreed to it. Laurel discovered something no one was supposed to know, and if she told Oliver it would make him a target of someone far worse.”

“Worse than the person who nearly killed us last night? Who was it?”

“I don’t know who they hired. I swear. That was Frank’s job.” Moira swallowed to fight down the lump rising in her throat. “But I- I did ask them to try and not make it an immediately fatal shot. I wanted to give her the option—”

“The option for what?” Tommy practically spat. She could tell he was hardly believing what he was hearing.

“I hoped to persuade her that it would be best for her to leave Starling and end all contact with Oliver.”

“Or else she should expect a real bullet in her gut? Mrs. Queen, this is crazy!”

“No, it’s reality. For the last five years this has been my life. Ever since your father sabotaged the yacht my husband and son were on. I’ve just learned how to play the game.”

Tommy’s eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them. “Dad. Dad sabotaged the Gambit?”

She hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Moira turned away.

“He couldn’t have. Mr. Queen was his best friend. He loves Oliver more than he loves me,” Tommy insisted, bitterness seeping into his tone unchecked by the end of it.

“He didn’t know Oliver was on the yacht. Or Sara Lance. Just that Robert was on his way to stopping his plans for the Glades.” She looked back at him. “He’s never truly gotten over what happened to your mother.”

“What does- what does that mean?”

“It means I’ve already said too much. You need to stop asking questions, Tommy, now. For both our sakes.”

He shook his head. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to get yourself out of trouble?”

“Because if it was only my own life on the line I wouldn’t care. I know the things that I have done are wrong. But I have to survive, to protect Oliver and Thea.” It was why she already had someone lined up to take the fall for last night. Horrid as it made her feel, Frank Chen’s connections to the Triad made him the believable candidate. She could only hope the investigations would stop there. “Walter’s abduction was my only warning.”

“Just like last night was Laurel’s,” he said hoarsely. Tommy backed away, turning just in time to avoid colliding with the door.

“You won’t tell Oliver, Tommy. Please.”

He stopped at the door and looked back at her. “I can’t tell him. You have no idea what he’d do.”

The young man she’d sometimes thought of as another son turned and left before she could ask what he meant.

—-

The end of that week found Oliver returning to the Jade Dragon, though this time he wasn’t planning to even pretend to indulge in the food. He stood on the roof in full Hood gear, contemplating the best way in. By monitoring the mafia’s comings and goings over the last several days, he had an idea of when the place would be most lightly manned. They were already running on a smaller staff thanks to the members who were lost during the fight at Merlyn Global, and for the meantime it seemed Chien Na Wei was lying low.

Going in for a full-on attack like this was possibly one of the more dangerous actions he had taken on since coming home, but it had to be done. He hadn’t gotten much information the first time he’d come to the Triad’s front of a restaurant, but he’d had limited time while under the guise of having dinner as himself with Tommy. Now he could operate without that in the way.

Laurel was scheduled to go home tonight. He wanted to be sure she wasn’t about to be walking into an ambush.

So as night fully fell, the Hood kicked in the skylight window and dropped into the Jade Dragon’s kitchen.

Catching the cooks off guard worked to his advantage. Two of them were down before the others could even raise their knives. He took some time to lock the door leading out to the dining area.

Oliver was soon ducking and dodging, using his bow to block the closer attacks.

Not all of them could be blocked. A slash to one arm had him snarling in pain and punching the attacker who dealt the cut out cold.

He grabbed the wrist of one man and twisted to wrench the knife out of his hand and threw it at the shoulder of the Triad member who’d just pulled a gun out from his sleeve. He staggered back and fell against the wall.

Oliver grabbed the man in front and slammed him into the other wall. “Who hired you to attack the Humanitarian Award Ceremony?”

“I would not tell you even if you could understand me,” the man grunted back in Mandarin.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, and he answered back in kind. “I can. Start talking.”

He reached down with one hand for his own knife kept in his boot, turning it around so the point faced his hostage. “Several of your members did not make it back from that night. Care to join them?”

It would be easy to plunge the knife in. He knew the perfect place to lodge it to cause maximum pain without fear of the man passing out. He could keep him talking for hours if he wanted. Waller has taught him well.

But he could picture Laurel and John. The things they would say, were they here. What Tommy would say, even. Were his friends wrong to worry, to turn from him when they learned the truth?

Oliver screwed up his face as the man stared at him, his chest heaving with every breath as he waited for the Hood’s judgment.

He slammed the knife into the wall beside his head.

“Well?”

“Chen!” The name burst forth in one shout, and Oliver had a grim moment of satisfaction followed by dread.

Chen was one of Merlyn’s people. Did Malcolm know what they had found out?

A hail of bullets slammed into the kitchen door from the other side. His captive kicked out, causing Oliver to drop to the side. He aimed his bow up and shot another grapple arrow. It latched on and he hit the button to pull himself up just as the door was kicked in. Oliver narrowly avoided another spray of bullets as he rose up and scrambled across the roof to the building next door. From there, he continued his flight from the Jade Dragon. And not a moment too soon, judging by the police sirens rising through the air.

It seemed clear he had waited too long to go after Frank Chen — but then, if he went there tonight, did that give Chen another opening to send more assassins after Laurel?

He needed to protect his people, not just go on the attack. This wasn’t the island anymore; he had loved ones to lose.

Oliver turned his comm back on and asked, “John?”

The response took just under a minute. “You’re lucky I’ve learned to just keep this on me.”

“Frank Chen contracted the Triad. I’m worried about what he might do since the hit failed.”

“Detective Lance left with Laurel half an hour ago. He was dropping her off at her place.”

“I’m on my way over there,” he told Digg as he officially entered the downtown area. “Hopefully the Triad will be too busy cleaning up their kitchen to make any moves tonight.”

“And what about tomorrow night? Or the night after that? Oliver, you can’t just sit outside Laurel’s fire escape from dusk to dawn forever.”

John was right. If he was going to make any forward progress in this mission, he couldn’t just be spending time on defense. And it was unrealistic to expect either himself or Diggle to keep watch every hour of the night. But Laurel’s apartment was too vulnerable, as evidenced by the Triad’s first attempt on her life.

He started turning an idea over in his head. “I’ll talk to Laurel about it, see if we can work something out.”

“Alright.”

Oliver reached her apartment a few minutes later, and like other times he had come here in the suit, he headed down from the roof on the fire escape, stopping outside her window. It was locked, which he was glad about. The easiest thing to do would be to just get Laurel’s attention so she would open it herself.

There was just one problem.

Dinah Lance was in the sitting room. She was pacing about, a notebook in hand, and Oliver could see a little poster board propped up by Laurel’s desk.

Laurel herself was sitting on the couch, arms folded. She looked exhausted.

She said something to her mother, and the older woman paused and nodded. Dinah then exited the room, distractedly patting Laurel on the shoulder as she passed by with her head still buried in her notes.

Laurel stood as well to turn off the lamp, and that was when Oliver risked tapping on the window. She jumped and whirled around, a hand pressing to the spot on her abdomen where her surgical scar was. Once she caught sight of him, she hurried to the window and opened it.

“Oliver, what are you doing here?”

“I had to see you. It’s important. About the Triad.”

Laurel’s incredulous look went away, and she glanced back into the apartment once before climbing out of the window onto the fire escape with him. “What is it?”

“I paid a visit to the Jade Dragon.”

“I can see that.” She reached to gently touch his injured arm below the cut. “You should get this taken care of.”

“It can wait. One of their members was willing to give me the name of who ordered the hit. It was Chen.”

“Then he knows we’re onto him. Does that mean Malcolm knows? He helped me get away from the Triad members that attacked the ceremony.”

“He also sent you up to the room where the sniper was able to take his shot,” Oliver reminded her.

Laurel frowned. “But he sent Tommy, too. I mean, do you think he’s willing to risk his own son’s life like that?”

“That’s the problem, I guess. There’s a lot about Malcolm we still don’t know. What his plan is, what he’s capable of. He sabotaged the Gambit knowing his best friend was on it.” Oliver wished more than ever he knew why. What had his father been trying to do before his untimely death? Why couldn’t he have told him more?

“What we do know is, whatever problem Chen was hoping to solve by contracting the Triad, it hasn’t been. And that means they could try again.”

“I’m aware of that,” Laurel replied. “I cleaned both of my guns and loaded them as soon as I got home.”

He nodded in acknowledgment of that. “I know you can protect yourself pretty well, Laurel, but this location isn’t ideal. The Triad already knows how to conduct a two-pronged attack, and there are plenty of buildings for a sniper to choose from to make his nest.”

“Well, I guess I’m giving them a pretty good opening right now,” she remarked dryly, gesturing to the open air. “My dad’s apartment wouldn’t be much safer, Ollie. I don’t really know what you want me to do.”

He hesitated for a second longer than was exactly usual. “Come stay with me?”

Laurel stared at him in shock. “This better not be a joke.”

“It’s not.” He’d known this would be a tricky proposal considering the last time they’d ever discussed living together. “I’m also not saying it has to be permanent if you don’t want. Just until I’ve taken care of Frank Chen and determined if anyone else was in on the hit. The Manor is harder to get to and has its own constant security even when I’m not around. It’s the safest place for you.”

“I don’t know, Ollie. Aren’t your mother and Thea going to think it’s all a little too sudden?”

“I’ll just tell them I’m making up for lost time.” He thought of the wasted years often, of what he could have had if he hadn’t been so stupid to run away from the best part of his life. It wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary for him at all.

“If you pack an overnight bag, we can come back tomorrow to get some more of your things. I’ll ask John to meet us here with the car.”

Laurel touched his arm briefly, a signal he was getting ahead of himself. “Oliver, if I’m not safe here, neither is my mother. I have to make sure she’ll either get a hotel room somewhere else in the city or go back home.”

“What is she still doing here?” It didn’t look as though she was setting up to take care of Laurel.

“She wants help investigating Sara. There’s a photo of a girl in a Rockets hat just like the one dad bought her, and it was taken on one of the islands in the North China Sea. I’m trying to reach out to a friend from law school who works in the Chinese Embassy, but,” she trailed off with a shrug.

Oliver gave a slow shake of his head. “You don’t have to. Sara- she didn’t have the hat when the Gambit went down. There was no way she could have recovered it, even if she is somehow still alive.”

Laurel leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “I should have realized. Mom is just so sure.”

“Why does she think Sara had it with her?” Truthfully it had been so long, Oliver couldn’t remember if he’d seen it among her things or not. He probably wouldn’t have cared even if he had noticed it. He’d been such a jerk.

“I don’t know.” She turned her head in his direction without lifting it, opening her eyes. Laurel’s look was contemplative, and he had no doubt she’d been chewing on the end of a pen if she had one right now. Eventually, she snapped out of it. “I’ll talk to my mother. You get John to pick you up. You shouldn’t be going across the city with your arm like that.”

“Okay.”

Laurel turned and slipped back in through her window. Oliver watched to make sure she got in alright, then headed to an alley nearby the apartment to wait for Digg after he called his friend again. When the car pulled up, he got in the back and took out the change of clothes he kept to get out of the Hood’s suit.

“So how’d the talk with Laurel go?”

“Her mom is sticking around, so she’s got a lot going on right now.” He checked his watch. It was late, but was it late enough that the Triad definitely wasn’t sending anyone else tonight?

Oliver opened his mouth to let Diggle know they were good to head back, but his phone buzzing caught his attention. It was Laurel.

“Hello?”

“Ollie, are you still nearby?”

He could tell by the thickness of her tone that she’d very recently stopped crying. Oliver held up a hand to signal John to wait.

“Yeah. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. But I packed the overnight bag.”

“Laurel, are you and your mother safe?”

“We are. I’m coming down in the elevator right now. Can you and John get me out front?”

“Oliver, what is it?” John asked quietly.

“Laurel’s coming with us,” he answered back with his hand over the receiver. He took it away again and said, “Yeah, we’ll be right there.”

Laurel was waiting on the sidewalk as they pulled the car around and had walked over before he could even think about getting out to open the door for her. She carried a small bag that she placed on the seat in between them, and as she shut the door with one hand, her other briefly passed over her eyes as if to check they were dry.

“Did something happen with your mom?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” she replied, her eyes on the headrest of the seat in front of her.

He exchanged a helpless look with John in the rear view mirror, and his friend then offered, “You want to just go?”

Laurel nodded. “But I need to do something first.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, but Laurel just leaned forward to speak directly to John. “Can we stop at the Wildcat Gym before the Manor?”

—-

Ted had just finished sweeping up when there was a knock on the front door. He sighed and shook his head. Probably someone had forgotten their gloves in the locker room.

But as he approached the door, it wasn’t one of his students he saw waiting on the other side.

Ted unlocked it and held it open, his arm blocking any forward access.

“Didn’t think you’d be back.”

“Didn’t think you’d open the door.”

He stared at Laurel Lance and she stared back.

Ted sighed and stepped back. “Well?”

“I’m not coming in,” she told him. Then she lifted the hem of her shirt to show him an angry-looking scar to one side of her abdomen. It was fresh. “I’m not in the best condition.”

He blew out a breath. “I’ll say.” What was an otherwise sweet looking girl like her up to to end up with something like that?

“I’m going to need some time to heal. But once I have, I’ll be back. And I know you think I should take time to consider what I’m asking you for, but I don’t have that time. I need to be better and stronger than I am.”

Her frown alone said there was no argument to be made. Ted looked down at the ground for a few moments, considering.

The thing was, he knew what she was really asking him for. What she was striving for, even if she didn’t yet know it herself. A person didn’t come asking for boxing lessons after being in a couple tight spots. She didn’t decide to be a fighter unless she was a fighter.

Could he do it? Give her the tools, just like he’d once given Isaac. Look how that had turned out. But the sobering reality was that he could tell by the determination in her eyes, him saying no wasn’t about to stop her.

So it was up to him to make sure she did things the right way. The way he’d once tried to.

He glanced back up, and Laurel Lance was still standing there with that same fire in her eyes that had been put out in his. He hadn’t forgotten how much it had hurt, but he’d missed watching it burn.

“Let me know when you want to start.”

The corner of her lip curved up and she nodded once. Then she turned and walked away to a shiny black car driven by a tough-looking guy in a plain black suit. Military, Ted would bet his lease.

His new student got in the back as a man he could’ve sworn he’d seen on television opened the door from the inside, and the three drove off. What kind of people was he dealing with, really?

Ted headed back inside and finished locking up. He went back to his office and dig through his drawers for an old folder. It held the few scant clippings about the old days, all from a local paper that had closed in the Glades years ago. Bought out and never replaced.

For the first time since he’d quit and hung up the vigilante crusade for good, Ted felt like something was beginning again.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #quentin lance #john diggle #felicity smoak #moira queen #tommy merlyn #malcolm merlyn #lucas hilton #ted grant #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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lickstynine · 5 years

Note

How about fever Kit but trying to cope on his own? Maybe he has stuff to actually do, maybe he tries to go to class for once? It all finally gets too much for him but then Siofra steps in to the rescue at the end

Dedicated to my pal @ocsickficsideblog. You didn’t write this with me, but I used your idiots as a plot device, so, thanks.

Kit was sitting in Fox’s study, in the big leather chair, blanket on his shoulders and phone in his hand. He had been scrolling through his contacts all morning looking for someone to talk to. It was finals week, so Alistair and Julius were off the table - that was the only reason Kit was even at the manor. He felt like enough of a burden just lying around his cousin’s flat, he couldn’t interrupt Alistair’s studies, too.

Siofra wasn’t an option either, she had a big show coming up, she’d be rehearsing with her brothers all day. The rest of his “Favourites” were even less feasible - Kit hadn’t spoken to Nina, Isabella, or Leander since his falling out with Violet. He couldn’t even place most of the other names on his contact list. Looking back through his texts, he realized the only person he even talked to besides Siofra, Alistair, and Julius was Taddy. Did that even count? Taddy probably wouldn’t want a thing to do with Kit if it weren’t his job.

Kit sighed. He was alone. At least he was free to roam the house. Reggie liked to travel in the summer, and as far as he cared, summer stretched from May to October. He also had a wife to shop for, now that his divorce was finalized. Kit had overheard his father talking the other night: “I might get an Oriental this time. Those girls know their place.” He’d felt an uncannily Alistair-ish urge to spit in Reggie’s face.

Kit shook his head at the memory, closing his contacts and opening Facebook out of sheer boredom. No one his age really posted on there anymore, but at least it was something to do. He was skimming disinterestedly when a picture nearly made him drop his phone. John Renfrew, looking bitchy as ever, with a baby in his arms. His wife had captioned the photo: Rhoda is nearly six months now!

It took several moments for Kit to scrape his jaw off the floor. He continued to stare at the picture, as if it was going to change to something that made more sense, like John kicking a baby. How the fuck did John have a baby? Kit remembered Alistair saying his older cousin got married, but he’d assumed that would be about as long and fruitful as any of Reggie’s many marriages. And even worse was the idea of that sadistic bastard raising a child. Kit couldn’t imagine any girl who’d settle for John to be that pleasant. He clicked his tongue. Poor Rhoda.

Eventually Kit was able to tear his eyes from the post, and he continued scrolling. If he fixated on every child their family ruined, he’d never have time to do anything else. To his surprise, one of the next photos he saw actually had him in it. It was a picture Julius had posted last week, of Kit and Alistair kneeling on the floor while Oliver the hamster ran around them. Kit clicked on Julius’s name, hoping to see something a little more uplifting than his wretched family. A number on the profile page caught his eye - 28 May, 1998.

28 May? That had to be soon, if it was time for finals. Kit closed Facebook to check the date on his phone. He had a little less than three weeks, but now he also had an idea for something to do today. Julius needed a proper birthday present - it wasn’t like Alistair could afford one. If Kit went out now, he’d have time to custom-order products in Julius’s ridiculously small size. Of course, going out also required getting up and getting dressed. Ah, well. For Julius, Kit would do it. Or at least, he intended to.

As he stood up, Kit realized just how tired he was. He felt heavy and sluggish, and he shivered when his blanket slipped off. Was it really that cold in the house? He thought he’d turned the heat up when Reggie left. He shrugged it off, pulling his notepad out of his pyjama pocket.

Turn up heat, he scribbled, flicking through used pages to see if he’d actually written down what he was looking for. It was mostly just memos and musings, but when he got a few weeks back, Kit grinned. Julie Measurements, said the header. The following lines were all numbers with identifying shorthand. Kit couldn’t help being a little proud of himself for thinking to write this down last time he’d taken Julius shopping.

Walking up the stairs was frustratingly laborious; Kit almost missed Alistair’s single-story flat for a moment. He slogged down the hallway to his bedroom, leafing through his closet. The weather was supposed to be nice today, some fresh air would probably do him good (and hopefully it would be a little warmer outside). He settled on a charcoal blazer over a thin blue jumper and white button-down, with dark jeans. His earrings were already all silver, so he just grabbed a coordinating watch and a silver pendant with a small sapphire. It took a few minutes to find his charcoal boots, but he eventually dug them out, deftly loosing and re-tying the laces.

As usual, Kit spent another thirty minutes just fussing over his hair, and another ten concealing dark circles and putting on mascara. It was a bit after lunchtime by now, but he wasn’t even remotely hungry. He thought he might stop for tea on his way to the shopping centre - hopefully that would warm and wake him a little.

Gathering his phone, wallet, and keys, Kit finally made his way downstairs. He opened the door, and to his dismay, it was actually cooler outside than in the manor. He got about five steps down the walk before caving and ducking back inside to grab a proper coat. Even with his pea coat on, he felt a bit shivery, but Kit told himself it was the breeze. He just hadn’t gone out much lately, he would get acclimated soon enough. Besides, he was going out for Julius’s sake. He’d be a bit of a shit friend if he gave up at the slightest breath of wind.

Though he’d walked from the manor to the shopping centre from plenty of times, Kit found himself exhausted by the time he approached downtown. He needed to sit down, get some caffeine in his system. He spotted a familiar little cafe on the corner, trudging inside and practically collapsing in a chair.

It was hard to read the menu - the words seemed to wobble on the page, and squinting to focus them made his head hurt. Kit eventually gave up, just setting it aside and defeatedly ordering his usual earl grey.

“Will that be all for you?” The waitress’s voice sounded distorted and distant, like she was at the far end of a wind tunnel. Kit took a moment to process her question, and even longer to construct an answer.

“Me? Oh, um… yes. That’s all. Thank you.”

As the waitress walked away, Kit felt his face burning red. When did he get so bad at talking to people? Sure, he hadn’t been as social recently, but he was usually still charming when he tried. Just now, though, he’d been as awkward as Alistair. He sighed, staring quietly at the tablecloth. What was wrong with him today? He was shivering even in the cafe, with the heat of the kitchen warming the dining area. Hopefully some time to rest and a cup of tea would straighten him out.

By the time the waitress returned with his drink, Kit had completely spaced out. The poor girl stood there awkwardly for a moment before clearing her throat. That got his attention, and he looked up at her, albeit with unfocused, glassy eyes.

“Hm?”

“Your tea, sir?” The waitress smiled gently, setting it on the table when Kit gave her an affirming nod. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, not trusting himself to say more without looking like a stuttering idiot. She nodded back and hurried off to check on other tables.

Kit wrapped his fingers around the teacup, relishing the heat. His hands were always the worst affected when he was cold, often going clumsy and numb at seemingly moderate temperatures. He just held the cup for a minute, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. After staring into the abyss of his tea for a while, Kit eventually remembered that he’d purchased a drink, not a hand warmer, and he lifted the cup, taking a tiny sip.

The tea was still warm, fragrant with the familiar citrus note that all good earl grey had. Kit sipped again, sighing contently. He had always liked this cafe. Though the fog in his head refused to clear, he wasn’t shivering so much anymore. When his teacup was empty, Kit stared at it for a moment, wondering if he should have another cup.

No. He still had shopping to do. This was probably the only time he would be able to do it, too. When finals were over in a few days, Alistair would be attached to him at the hip again, and Kit didn’t trust his cousin to keep the gifts secret. He sighed deeply, pushing his chair out and climbing to his feet. He left a crisp twenty-pound note on the table and walked out onto the street.

The shopping centre was still a ways down the road, but there were some standalone shops along the way. Kit gazed in the windows as he walked past, waiting to see if anything caught his eye. Nothing had piqued his interest yet, but he was an object of interest to many of the girls walking by. A few of them stopped to stare, whispering between each other about asking for his number. They weren’t being very subtle, but Kit was too spacey to notice them, staring vacantly into the store he was walking past. He was about to leave it behind when he saw a pale beige jumper, patterned with tiny flecks of brown and grey. It wasn’t as flamboyant or avant-garde as something Kit would buy for himself, but it struck him as distinctly Julius.

He turned and went back to the entrance of the shop, pushing the pull door for a moment before realizing he was an idiot and letting himself inside. He wove through racks and mannequins, making his way back to the jumper he’d seen. Up close, it had even more subtle variations of colour, with greys and browns that were almost blue and pink respectively. Kit reached out a hand to touch the delicate fabric. It was stunningly soft, a beautiful blend of silk and cashmere. He thumbed through the racks, surprised and delighted to see that the smallest size would fit Julius superbly.

Carefully pulling the sweater away from its larger brethren, Kit made his way to the checkout. Nothing else in the store was catching his eye, and he still needed time to browse the shopping centre. He mumbled his way through the transaction, sticking his card in the chip reader without even checking the price. As soon as the bag was on his arm, he shuffled out of the store, continuing on his slog to the shopping centre.

It seemed like the road between Kit and the centre kept expanding, like some strange giant treadmill, but he knew it was just an illusion. Though he knew he couldn’t be far by now, it was hard to keep going. The tea had done almost nothing for his energy levels, and the sweater on his arm seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Eventually, almost subconsciously, he just deposited himself on a bench, leaning back with a tired sigh. Everything was starting to feel cold again, and he pulled the shopping bag into his lap, hugging it close.

Kit wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on the bench, or whether he’d drifted off or just zoned out, but he snapped back to reality when his phone started ringing. He had to fish through a few pockets to find it, not even checking the caller ID before answering.

“Hm?”

“Oi! I’ve texted you three different times today. You really are rubbish at texting. Anyway, rehearsal let out early, Riagán’s dumb arse scheduled a date tonight even though we were supposed to be practicing. I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to grab dinner or somethin?” Siofra jabbered away, talking too quickly to even notice Kit’s lack of response. When her question was met with prolonged silence, however, she didn’t hesitate to prod. “Oi! You alive over there?”

“Hm?”

“Jaysus, did you hear a word I’ve been fuckin’ sayin?” Siofra groaned.

Kit chuckled sheepishly. “Not really. Sorry. It’s not you, I’m just… tired.”

Siofra clicked her tongue. “I can tell. You sound fuckin’ terrible. Did I wake ya up or somethin’?”

“No… sort of… I’m not really sure.” Kit mumbled.

“How are ya not sure? I think you’d know if you were sleepin’.”

“You’d think…” Kit sighed, “It’s… it’s been a day. I’m just… out of it.”

“Obviously. It’s fine if you’re not up to dinner or whatever. You need to talk?” Siofra asked. She was properly concerned now - normally Kit would at least invite her over for dinner, even if he didn’t want to go out.

“No, I… I’m alright. I just need a rest.” He insisted.

Siofra wasn’t particularly convinced, but she didn’t want to pester. “Rest, then.”

“I will, once I get home.” Kit said.

“You’re not home? Where are you?” Siofra was even more worried now.

“Shopping.” Kit answered, “Julie’s birthday is coming up, I was looking for gifts for him.”

“Didja buy a truckload’o Xanax for yourself? You sound fuckin’ out of it.” Siofra fussed.

“No, I just… I’m tired. It was a long walk from the manor.”

“You walked? Why the fuck didn’t you just call Taddy?” Siofra cried.

Kit sniffled quietly. “Taddy doesn’t like me. He just puts up with me because I pay him.”

Siofra groaned. “What are you on about? He clearly likes ya, he’d get up at half four if ya needed a lift somewhere.”

“Only for the sake of the paycheck. I’m just a job for him, and a burden for everyone else.” Kit said morosely. “I had to leave Al and Julie alone this week, they have real responsibilities. They don’t need to deal with my pathetic arse on top of that.”

“Chrissakes, are you drunk or somethin’? You’re talkin’ nonsense.” Siofra muttered. “Look, where are you? I’m just about to drop Cilli at home anyway, I can come pick you up.”

Kit looked around, but he wasn’t near any street signs. “Uh… I’m… I’m downtown. By the shops.”

Siofra sighed. “Just send me your location. Put me on speaker, open our texts. I’ll walk ya through it.”

It took several minutes of “no, not that,” and muttered Gaelic curses, but eventually Kit’s location popped up on Siofra’s phone. She sighed again, this time in relief.

“Oh, you’re not far at all. I’ll be there soon. Stay put, don’t do anything stupid. Try not to get mugged.”

“I’ll try.” Kit said, squinting at the buttons on his phone. They were wobbling out of focus again, and he couldn’t figure out how to turn off speaker. Siofra saved him the trouble, hanging up so she could drive. Kit locked his phone, tucking it back in his pocket and slumping down further on the bench. He must look like the most expensive bum, he thought.

As promised, Siofra pulled up barely fifteen minutes later. Still on the bench, Kit had spaced out, staring into the middle distance beyond the street. Siofra rolled her eyes, parking the car and climbing out. She walked over and patted his cheek, shocked to find it hot to the touch.

“Oi. Time to go, Princess. I need to get ya home.” Siofra said, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. “Lord, I really need to get ya home. You’re burnin’ up.”

“I am?” Kit asked, standing obediently when Siofra tugged on his arm. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, you’re bloody boilin’, what are ya even doin’ out’o bed?”

“I… didn’t notice.” Kit mumbled.

Siofra sighed so hard, it made her curls bounce. “Jaysus. How do you not notice bein’ a walkin’ space heater? You’re normally a fuckin’ ice sculpture.”

Kit shrugged. “I mean… I’ve been a little cold today. I thought it was just the weather.”

“Christ…” Siofra shook her head, buckling Kit in the passenger seat. “Come on, we gotta get you in bed.”

“Can I have my special blanket?”

“Is it at yours?” Siofra asked.

Kit’s face fell. “No… I left it at Al’s.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “I’ll call him.”

#whump #illness #fever #kit #raycraft #siofra #rafferty #caretaking #anonymous

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dreamdragonfics · 6 years

Text

Chapter One

"Ray!" Jim shouted as he ran over to his friend. "Have a safe travel and don't get killed!"

Ray laughed. "When have I ever been killed, Jim?"

The Mind Reader smiled. "Never. Good luck."

The Healer nodded. "It's appreciated. I'll be back soon enough. Stay safe."

With that, the man started off. Jim watched him go to the stable and get his horse. He mounted the horse and clicked his tongue. The man set off.

"Be safe," Jim whispered. "I'll miss you so much..."

The dark haired man turned back and went up to the castle.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

The King Farrokh sat on his throne, remembering a day five years ago that changed his entire life. He looked around at the Grand Hall. Five years ago, he was watching a tired old jester preform the same tired old tricks as always. His page Page stood beside his prince throne and stared coldly at anything that moved. He remembered his parents laughing weakly at the jester. His sister had always been able to skip out on things like this.

Farrokh smiled and closed his eyes. A reedy voice hit his ears.

"Your Majesties... There is a peasant that wishes to speak to you."

Farrokh remembered his father dully answering the messenger.

"Your Majesties. I wish to join the Royal Guard."

The voice still seemed so close and real, Farrokh swore he wasn't dreaming anymore.

"Your Majesty. Sire. Farrokh. Freddie!"

The king jolted up. "Oh. I..."

The knight smiled. "Remembering the first time you saw me or something?"

"A little, yes... What did you need, Brian?"

The knight looked away, the smile leaving his face. "Ray set out." He turned back. "Freddie. I'm worried. Something doesn't seem right about this. We received no word back from the messengers we sent out before him. I'm just..."

"You're paranoid. Ray is the best man for this job. He's given out our olive branch to all of the surrounding countries, even to ones further away. He'll come to no danger." Freddie stood up and descended the throne.

Brian frowned. He cleared his throat. "I--"

Freddie turned back quickly. "Brian. That's enough."

The knight went rigid. "Excuse me...?"

"I said that's enough," Freddie hissed.

"I don't quite think you get it," Brian said coolly. "When I get a bad premonition like this, it usually ends bad. You know that."

"I also know that when I say that's enough, I mean that's enough." The king stormed back up the stairs to Brian. "Bring it up again and I may just dismiss you to the guillotine. Do you think that I forgot how you let Richards escape?" Freddie hissed.

"Considering how I hold it to myself, no." Brian squared his shoulders and bowed curtly. "Your Majesty." He walked quickly away and out the doors. Freddie watched him go out. He sank back onto the throne.

"How did it get to be like this?" he wondered.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"Hah!" the man leapt forward and jabbed with his dagger.

"Faster!" Page shouted. "You have to be fast!"

Roger screamed and lunged forward again, this time striking his target. "Oh, dear God forgive, me! Page, did I hurt you?"

Jimmy rubbed the cut on his arm. "No. No harm done. It's just a little cut."

"But--"

"It's fine. You did what you needed to. I'm impressed," the commander said.

Suddenly, an arrow shot between the two. Roger smiled broadly. "John's back!"

The young man trotted in on his horse. He waved at the two men.

"Well?" Page asked.

"They're willing to accept the trade!" John said excitedly. He slipped off the horse and walked over. He embraced Roger and shook Jimmy's hand.

"That's wonderful," Jimmy said.

John nodded. "Yes, it--"

"What's the stipulation?" a voice broke.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I'm sure there's no stipulation, Jim."

The Mind Reader walked over. "There is. I can see John trying to hide it."

The young man frowned. "Well... They'll only accept it if..."

Page glared slightly. "If?"

"If we send our strongest and fastest trainers..."

Jimmy and Roger looked at each other.

"That means us, doesn't it?" Roger asked.

The older nodded. "Unfortunately. If we go, we'll be out three of our country's strongest defenders."

John looked up. "They won't keep their contract unless we do this. We can't afford to go to war with Rix."

The former page nodded solemnly. "Very well. Roger, prepare our supplies. We head out tomorrow. I need to inform the king."

Page turned swiftly towards the castle, his cape fluttering slightly.

Roger sighed. "I wish you hadn't said that, Jim..." The young man looked up but the Mind Reader was gone. "Did you see him leave, Deaks?"

John shook his head. "No. He was just here, though... Oh, right. I need to go back with you two, otherwise we may not be granted total safe passage."

"That's fine. Might as well help me out, then..."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Two men fought silently in the forest. The shorter ducked and swirled around the taller. The taller lunged and jumped around the shorter. It looked almost as if the two were dancing. The shine of a dagger shot out and scrapped the taller.

"God damn you, Roger!" the taller swore.

The two fell away from each other and readied themselves again. The daggers in their hands glistened and the sweat on their faces shone. They were about to go at each other again when a spear struck the ground in front of them. The two froze and dropped into defensive crouches.

"Relax, it's just me..." came a heavy sigh.

Roger stood up and tussled his golden curled hair. "Why are you here?"

The man stepped forward and flipped his own golden curled hair. "This is where I train."

"Find some other place, Plant. We were here first," the tall man growled.

"But, Pete. That isn't very kind of you..." the new man cooed.

Pete glared. "You abandon us to the Dark Hand. I have the right to treat you coldly, Robert."

Robert tilted his head slightly. "You're still upset about that?"

"You three! May need to see you!" came a booming voice. Another person stumbled out of the thicket. "Good God, you like to hide!"

"What do you want, John?" Robert asked, annoyed.

The man with the mustache shook his hair out. "Brian need to talk to you three. I guess he's taking us four on a mission or something?"

Pete frowned. "A mission?"

"Yeah. Something about trying to find Richards and off him for good," John said with a shrug.

Roger laughed. "There is no way we will ever find that bastard. He's gone for good."

"That's what I said but no... Brian's insistent. Says his position lies on killing Richards."

Robert shook his head. "Don't pay any mind. He and Farrokh got into an argument earlier. Words were said but nothing was meant."

John frowned. "I think it was this time. It doesn't matter why, all I know is Brian is getting upset and requested that I find you three."

The four men started back toward the castle.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Brian met them on the front lawn. "Where were you three?"

"In the forest," Pete replied calmly. "Did you need something?"

Brian turned away. "We have to find Richards. We have no choice. You four are the strongest left in the kingdom once Page, Deacon, and Taylor leave."

"What about Moon and Entwistle?" Roger asked.

"We need someone to stay here," Brian sighed. "Get ready. We're leaving in two hours."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Jim threw the rock as hard as he possibly could. He picked up another one and went to throw it when someone grabbed his wrist.

Jim wretched his wrist free and swung at the person. The person grabbed his fist and slammed him to the ground.

"That's not a very kind greeting, Jim," the person said.

Jim sat up and rubbed his head. "I should say the same to you, Jones..."

"Lay off, man. You know Deacon is very strict about me not injuring my neck again," Brian scoffed.

Jim stood up and dusted his shirt off. "You know, Brian... I'm getting sick with worry about Ray. Something isn't sitting right."

"Richards."

Jim looked up. "What?"

Brian frowned. "He's not dead. No one knows where he went. I think he took that country over. Look at it this way, Jim. Lielt has been under no true rule for centuries. It would only make sense that Richards would go there."

"Then Ray is doomed."

"Basically."

Jim shook his head and closed his eyes. He touched the crystal on his neck. Please. Be safe.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Near the border of Sar and Lielt, Ray stopped his horse. He touched the ring on his finger and closed his eyes. I will. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

With that, he opened his eyes and clicked his horse forward across the border.

Little did Ray know, he was being watched.

<< Prologue | Part 2 >>

#paint it black story

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whenisitnottimeforbed · 6 years

Text

Unscheduled Change in Procedure (II)

" 'Shields'? Really?"

"Like Brooke, or Sam."

"Who the h*ll is Sam Shields?"

"Football player." Clint and Coulson had both responded quietly while Natasha held back her growls.

"...Packers, Super Bowl 2011-" The thinner agent couldn't help but add, looking off because he knew Natasha was glaring at him over the file she'd been handed. Clint had glanced over his shoulder at the other room where the two children sat in chairs next to each other, Pietro with his arm around Wanda and clearly trying to say something advisory or reassuring to her. Neither room could be heard from the other.

"Don't you think it's a little less than discrete?" Nat had asked while she flipped a page up and looked into more of the information provided. The folder was infuriatingly thin.

"Covert affairs isn't known for their naming creativity. I heard one of them had a baby and named it John Joe. Hmph. But, if you can think of a better name, then by all means-"

"How about Ne Sem'ya. It means 'Not Family' in Russian."

"Shields it is."

"Coulson, really-?" Clint interjected into the exchange, shaking his head. He might be less vocal about it, but he certainly felt the same way.

"This is the only way it will work."

"We have rooms here in the compound- nice ones. And agents who are trained for asset holding and ones who teach. All. Right. Here." Natasha had argued.

"All the details aren't being passed down, but the salient points are that we've been aware of Pietro and Wanda Maximoff for almost all their lives. Much like the rest of the mutant population, we've never gone after them, but others have, and they were once interned. It's after that that we switched from 'aware' to 'monitored'."

"And now 'reared'?"

"Agents, think of it more like babysitting. Once we find suitable replacements, you'll be able to switch out and go back to your regular lives."

"And How long is that going to take?"

"I wouldn't be able to say-"

"Coulson-"

"Mm. Don't make any personal plans for at least a month."

~~~

"A month, Clint. A month." Natasha glowered. Pietro quietly herded Wanda toward the white-painted iron gate, minimally designed and shoved it open so they could get onto the driveway. It was a long concrete rectangle surrounded by dead patches of weed-grass and packed dirt with a sidewalk piping to the rear of the house, but they headed toward the front door of the little one story house. It was a bland tan-peach color, possibly sunbleached, with a Spanish styled roof and one smaller window visible at this angle. There was one thin tree adorning front yard, two potted plants in the sliver of dirt between the walk to the door and the house wall. Neither looked well cared for or matched the decor or landscape and were still in their hardware store black plastic buckets, vastly different in size. The piece de resistance though was a very old, faded, peeling satellite dish propped up on one corner of the building.

"Have you ever lived with children for a month?"

"I've babysat for my sister before-"

"But for a month?" She asked, at a loss. With a sigh forced out more like a huff she picked up one of her bags, beginning to head in, "And besides, Laura's kids are practically angels. You can't compare that to what we're about to do."

"We'll get through this, Nat." His dissatisfaction manifested, unlike hers in haughty agitation, but, as usual, in an exhausted sort of submission to his circumstances.

She grumbled back, but headed inside. He couldn't help a little smile, though, when he heard her yell,

"Bags don't go in front of the door!" but got started scanning his surroundings. Around back was another large, quartered concreted area, clearly meant to act as the 'garage', and some more dirt. The fences around were about five feet high in matching stucco with some lattice work design, topped with more far spaced, short, white, iron spires. There was one window near the front door, and the rest at the back of the house were blocked by the 6 foot inner wall, solid that bent around from the front door to the concrete in the backyard. The house was as fortified as one could hope for this location as far as exterior and viewing points were concerned. If he was reading their expressions right, it was apparently pretty soundproof as well.

"You are sleeping! In separate! Rooms!" is what Natasha was currently saying, well, arguing.

"No!" Pietro shouted back, "You can't make us! We sleep together! It's safer!"

"No, it's not-" Natasha approached him quickly, sick of his backtalk, and threw him off guard a little- he stumbled but he held his ground, "If someone comes in the house to take you, then they get both of you at once. OUR way, they only get one."

"We don’t need you- if someone gets in the house, we'll fight them off together-" he growled back at her before mumbling, "If we haven't run away by then."

"Run?" Natasha laughed, "How? On that leg? You won't get two blocks."

"Perimeter’s secure." Clint came in saying and Natasha could hear him stumble over duffel.

"Didn't I tell you to move your bag?" Natasha shoved Pietro at his back toward the door.

"It's too heavy." He stumbled and limped a bit, Wanda skittering over quickly to take his hand again.

"Tough it out; I'm not your mother and I'm not your maid." she pointed at him before turning and rolling her eyes at his wild, angry little face, and heading toward another room, "Complaining never made anyone any stronger."

The house had come furnished, of course, in what was basically a spastic IKEA workers submission to Better Homes and Gardens. The color palette the agency decided to work with was creams, lavenders, and cherry-browns in all the common areas, with a floral or vine theme, and soft edges. Like someone's great aunt might live in. The interior of the house itself- walls and floors and such- was white-white, and spackled with tile flooring everywhere except the bedrooms which had slightly off white carpet.

There were three bedrooms- one clearly catering to a boy raised in the middle of the last century and the other obviously constructed for a girl who had an abnormal fixation with the color pink and polka dots. Finally there was the master and en suite, which, regrettably, was done out in deep burgundys and what appeared to be white fur-shags, and black wall ornamentation that one could only deduce was chosen by a 1970's fetishist. Leaving that aside was this horribly obnoxious salmon color someone had vomited all over everything in the en suite, presumably to make all the mint green linens and accent pieces pop. Someone who'd peaked in the 80s had been assigned the bathroom.

Venturing beyond the sleeping quarters, there was a kitchen with an 'open concept'- it was small, so raising a wall would have probably made it a closet. Apparently a Martha Stewart magazine must have been lying around because there were a three jars of olives, noodles, and tiny tomatoes stuffed into jars with cork tops about the neck with twine sitting on the window sill above the sink- a window that looked out at 70 % wall, 25 % neighbor roof, and 5 % sky. And that was all the ambiance for what could pass for the cooking space of a mental institution. Three measly jars.

A living room and dining room truncated each other outside the imaginary line that defined the paired kitchen and, beyond the raised counter where two high legged chairs pulled up, the 'breakfast nook' territory. The dining room, a cube with 3 sides across from the kitchenette, held a country style wood table- the top painted creame while the center column remained natural- covered in a long thin cloth down the middle. Surrounding it were four brown wooden chairs with creame cushions tied to their seats.

The living room, nearer the front of the house was furnished with a creme couch, matching loveseat and armchair, with this ribbing striping its entire upholderied body, as though it were an animal warning others not to come near. To counteract this, there was a purple throw provided over it's back and pillows with vinework stitched in placed at it's pockets. On a wall that was nearly bisecting the square footage of this area and yet didn't quite reach all the way to the ceiling, there was a Television mounted, probably 58" and poised above a small entertainment table with a DVD/Blu-Ray player, a wii, and a cable box. And at the end of it all, near the corner of this wall hoping not to draw attention to itself, was was a door where, inside, beyond the view of the rest of the house and cut off from it like a secret, was the set up of all of the agency's surveillance and security equipment. It also included the closet for the tactical and defensive weapons, and the trap door that led to a 'plan z' escape route. After all the effort put in, this house could do little else short of pulling in visitors by their collars and screaming "I AM AN EXACT AVERAGE OF EVERYONE IN YOUR LIFE YOU'VE FORGOTTEN TO PAY ATTENTION TO!" in their faces.

"Ugh." Natasha pulled the door to the surveillance room closed behind her, the autolocking engaging and strode over to collapse into the puffy new sofa. She huffed again and crossed her legs when Clint gave her an eyebrow and a shake of his head.

"I know how to play this part, but we're inside and this is ridiculous- what do they think it is, the '50s?" She sighed, looking out one of the two windows to the beautiful view of the side of the neighbor's fence. Natasha's arrival outfit had been chosen as a red camisol under a thin, white, sleeveless blouse with big photo prints of roses in red, purple on the bottom half. She tucked this into high waisted white, rolled-cuff shorts and a large, rustic brown belt buckled around her waist to match the brown on the oxford flats on her feet. Clearly not something she usually had to don.

"I'm sure there are khakis in there somewhere." Clint chuckled, sitting in an armchair nearby, his smile slowly melting away. He'd been allowed to wear a green plaid shortsleeve button up over a blue hanes, and a pair of jeans and addidas sneakers. Natasha glanced at him and gently shook her head looking off again without giving a response otherwise.

It was quiet, and in that pause in the otherwise hectic day their thoughts were allowed to bubble over. So, they were doing this. It was done. They were taking care of two children on orders from Director Fury himself in some lower suburb of the Las Vegas area with little more to go on than, "Handle Asset Care."

"We shouldn't be here." Clint’s thoughts, almost silent, snuck out of his mouth, “I'm not a-”, just as the kids came back in,

"Now, what are we supposed to do?" Pietro asked indignantly, Wanda watching with wide eyes from where she trotted behind him. Clint fatigue pressed him further staring at their eyes, expectant and confused. What the h*ll was he supposed to do with a couple of kids- why in the world did they put him here? What was this feeling growing every second they stared at him and he sat there unable to figure out this puzzle? Wanda looked him over as he held still for a moment and her eyes fell away, turning instead to the floor. Ah yes, it was so clear when it was on someone else's face; dissapointment. Yeah, that seemed about right. And yet, he couldn’t just sit there forever-

"Well, I guess we should-" Clint tried, right before a roach the size of freaking bird flew from the "foyer" with a buzzing that could have doubled for a powerline, deciding to launch itself at Pietro. They boy was wearing a pushed up black long sleeve over the blue graphic blue t and was probably the darkest colored thing in the house- camoflauge. As if it were an actual monster, the boy made the most unfiltered, childish, whimpering yip through his teeth and swung at it. As soon as his arm made contact, disgusted, it flew back with the rest of him into his little sister who was frightened by his lack of composure and both of them crumpled to the floor. The adolescent kicked his good leg at the grounded beast who was just looking for some dark color in this sterile house to blend in to and hide on. It's scrambling was halted with a the 'ting' of metal as a blade thrust its tip into the tile through the bug's carapace. The children both stared in silent horror at the animal, whose legs thrashed in panic and confusion, and up the hilt of the 4 inch long weapon to its owner who stared at them with eyes that left them feeling empathy with the insect. A soft whimper bubbled from Wanda.

"Nat-"

"No," She held up a hand to stop him before he could continue and stood, going over to her knife and pulling it free.

"Pick it up and throw it back outside." she ordered. Pietro stared at her frozen for a moment longer, but, keeping his eyes on her as long as he dared, reached out toward the two pieces of bug.

"No. You." She pointed the knife under her finger at Wanda who nearly wilted right there.

"I can do it!" Pietro protested.

"But she's going to."

"No, I am!"

"Pick it up."

"Can't you see she's scared?" Natasha dropped to one knee in front of him so quickly his breath caught.

"The world is a scary place. And you can't keep carrying her like dead weight."

"She's not dead weight! You don't know! You don't have anyone who loves you!"

"Kid-" Clint nearly interjected but Natasha signalled that she still wanted control of the situation.

"Oh, yeah? Then show me what that means. Show me how your love keeps both of you alive."

"I will!"

"Then stop me-" And before he could do anything at all, she'd snatched Wanda away from him. The girl was terrified, crumpling like paper into herself while she reached for her brother who started, reaching back and stumbling on his injured leg, nearly falling back down. He looked up at his target though and bit deeply into his lips, jetting forward. Nearly a blur, he grabbed her ankles with a pained moan to pull her away but Natasha shoved his hands away, swinging Wanda a different direction, and he gave chase.

At least three times he had her in his grasp and Natasha was always able to pry her from him, and both children were becoming increasingly distressed and dissatisfied. Finally Wanda reached out herself and took hold of her brother's arm, and when Natasha pulled to break their bond, Pietro, enraged and losing focus, threw his fist out to strike Natasha but his wild punch, engaged with speed, was dead on for his sister's midsection instead. Whipping her away, Natasha reached out her other palm to receive the force of his hand. It stung. Wanda, resting on Natasha's side in the air, had pulled her legs up- a natural reaction to seeing when you're about to be struck. The realization seemed to strike Pietro- his eyes darted between his enemy and his ward in a condition of disbelief frayed with horror.

"Love won't keep either of you safe. If you don't stop carrying her, both of you are doomed to suffer. You're not strong enough to protect her." Natasha spoke, standing up and let the girl go. She scampered off to her brother.

"Pick it up and put it outside." At once, Wanda ran over and grabbed the bug and raced to the door, but Pietro, chin quivering and brows so furrowed he'd probably have an ache, stared back at Natasha until his eyes watered. When Wanda returned she reached out gently and took his arm, breaking his trance and he limped off with her down the hall. After a few moments a slam cracked through the house. Natasha stood there for just a few seconds before she wiped the blade a bit on the cuff of her shorts and tucked it back into whatever sparse hiding space she'd managed to find in the outfit. Taking a moment to glance down the hall, she turned away and came back, face mussed in frustration, and sighed it back to indifference when she sank back onto the couch, resting her chin on her fist and looking at the wall.

"That wasn't too much?"

"I don't even know how they survived this long."

"I just think you could have done that a little later. They're scared, and turning their fear from bugs and shadows on to you doesn't help them. It's just going to make this month harder."

"We're supposed to be teaching them- that's what I just did. They ought to learn how to protect themselves better. And how to respect… superiors."

"But come on- they're just kids." Clint shook his head sitting forward to lean on his knees trying to look at her.

"So was I." And she felt the need to stand, walking a few steps into the center of the room, arms crossed, shifting her weight to one side, "This is ridiculous. Kids..." she glanced toward the hall and shook her head again, her shiny hair, styled in heavy curls at the bottom waving in small bounces around her neck. Clint caught himself staring at the form she turned away from him and how she kept huffing and looking toward that closed door. As he came to a realization his tire began to melt away and he swallowed a smile, standing up. There was work to be done.

On his feet once again, Clint headed passed her and into that narrow little hall toward the door with a chalkboard nailed to its face where "Pietro" was written. He gave a couple of knocks. Shadows under the door moved around but no sounds were made. He knocked twice more before speaking himself now,

"Alright, come on- come out you guys." There was no response so he leaned in a little closer trying to think for a moment, "No one's going to hurt you," he said as genuinely as he could, "I promise." There was more silence but then that shadow moved and he heard,

"--No, don't trust him. Remember what she did."

"Don't worry about Nat, she's a bit of a brute, huh? But you know, she's just got a hard way of proving points." His shoulder was backhanded and he turned with a small smile to see his partner nodding for him to try saying that again. It was still quiet and both of them stood quietly in this silence sussing out the emptiness for any clues at all about what was going on behind that door.

"It... wasn't a fair fight." a voice responded.

"Oh, yeah? How do you mean?" Clint asked.

"She... she's taller than I am. And, and stronger. I grabbed Wanda, I should have won."

"If you can't get her away from them, you think you can call it a win-?" Natasha interjected and Clint shook his head at her beseechingly to knock that off, signing "stop" at her with his hands a few times off to the side, while Pietro shouted, "You didn't explain the rules good! If I pulled on her I would have hurt her! If I pull you have to let go, you're a cheater!"

"Why don't you come out here and say that to my face?"

"N-no, that's alright, hold on, bud-"

"What are you doing?" Clint threw his hands in silent speech, signing in disbelief.

"What am I doing? What's this 'bud' stuff?"

"We need him to trust us- he doesn't like you."

"So what? I'm his handler- not his mother, and not his friend." She signed back with defiance, "So are you." He shook his head, giving up on the argument before turning back.

"Well, how about you try something else then? Double or nothing. We'll all just forget that first one, like a, like a practice."

"Are you going to do it this time?"

"No." Natasha answered.

"She's a cheater- she'll cheat again, because she's sneaky."

"-Then we'll do something you're good at," Clint continued before Natasha could fire back at him. The quiet dropped in again.

"How do you usually protect your sister?"

"We run." His answer was a bit quieter but he gave it, "Or I'll fight them."

"Alright, we can work with that. How about a spar?"

"Spar?"

"Yeah- all you have to do is land a hit on Natasha and you win. Does that sound good? You'll be the winner." once more they waited.

"N-No!" He pulled back, "No, she'll cheat!"

"Okay, okay, calm down- why don't you just show us your moves then? No winners, no losers- just let us see what you do, hm?" a pause.

"We'll leave you alone for a while if you do." Natasha rolled her eyes and added. The interlude was much shorter, and those shadows came to the door, unlocking and opening it. Wanda hid closer to Pietro when they noticed both adults crowding their door and Pietro glanced back, his arm out toward her comfortingly before glaring up at Natasha.

"You have to leave us alone until tomorrow."

"Done. Let's go."

#3623 words #clintasha #domestic fanfiction #fanfiction #au fanfiction #avengers #clint barton #natasha romanov #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #more to come

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

Text

Where The Wild Roses Grow

Summary: When Jughead becomes an active member of the Southside Serpents, him and Betty are starting to grow further and further apart, as the boiling volcano of Riverdale's Civil War is threatening to erupt in full force. Can a heart to heart with Alice Cooper and an old Serpent jacket give Betty and Jughead the hope they both need?

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(This is huge so grab snacks and drinks. The Bughead scene ruined me. I apologize for all of this. Warning: full angst and sin ahead! I’m not describing it as much anymore cause after the Jughead I saw in the finale that’s a given but still, after I post this, I’ll crawl under my covers in blushing embarassment.😂 Here you go, lovelies! I hope you enjoy this! ❤️)

"On the second day he came with a single red rose

He said, "Give me your loss and your sorrow?"

I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed

"If I show you the roses will you follow?"

The snow is slowly melting under the heaps of rain and so is her will to contribute to life these days. The icy scenery that adorns Riverdale gives out under the rays of sun that stubbornly peek through the pine trees and white oaks, ridding their leaves from the coldness of nature, only to become shiny droplets of clear water that hold the whole kaleidoscope of colors, just like tears and their colossal scale of emotions. He is the ice, she is the stubborn sun; that’s what he tells her through the sad darkness of each night that they lay together but further and further apart. He says it as a compliment, in the most sullen John Wheelwright fashion, but she accepts it gladly as her fingers form infinity signs over the crackling ice of his golden heart. Her hair is golden too under the dim moonlight, it’s a match made in heaven, and she vows that tomorrow she will try to burn hotter than the December sun over the patches of snow that are menacingly trying to turn him into a lifeless statue. And she does. But not today.

There are colors of blue and gold in the sky as the sun dips into the hills far, far away. There is The Register, forgotten and coffee-stained, over the floral plastic tablecloth, opened in page six and the magniloquent article about Riverdale’s corruption and subjection of justice signed by Elizabeth Cooper, Alice Smith-Cooper. There is her history book, her copy of To Kill A Mockingbird stashed on top of it littered with a million colorful sticky tabs and her laptop opened, cursor blinking warningly on the half-finished document about the reflection of Atticus Finch throughout the novel. But there are also Social Service papers and Southside High paperwork and his beanie left on top of his messenger bag, both thrown hastily on a creaky dining chair, and Betty can’t focus on anything important, like school, or the paper, or generally her life so she just cooks, unburies any pot and pan she can find, and cooks.

The limited Tupperware is filled with homemade lasagna, meatloaf with roasted potatoes – his favorite –, fried chicken, some vegetable soup that she knows he is not going to even touch but she just hopes for his sake. There is also apple pie in the fridge but that doesn’t count; she had brought that from home and she is sure it is going to be inhaled by him in a mere matter of seconds when he will notice it lurking behind his usual TV-dinners. Chocolate brownies are being baked in the slow oven and a pot filled with water is boiling, just like her temper that forms a lump in her throat, making her want to shed fat tears of worry and frustration over the pile of breakfast sandwiches she is storing into silicone zip up bags. She is glaring at the clock on the wall, once per nanosecond, the ticking making her more anxious and pushing her more to the verge of screaming, to wail like another Banshee at the premonition of something terrible. She doesn’t know where he is, she doesn’t know what he is doing but she does know that he is with them, as if the perpetual dreadful feeling in her chest needed any more confirmation from the open living room closet where his limited choices of jackets are hanging messily on mismatched hangers except for one.

Heavy, jogging footsteps up the tiny outdoor staircase shake the whole trailer under their squeaky force and Betty literally jumps, peanut butter filled knife dropping against the olive counter with sound, heart flattering with relief that for one more night he is safe and with her. Keys jiggle and the wooden door gives out under his drumming fingers, Betty’s rushing palms urgently coming to wipe the wetness that formed against her cheeks without her even noticing. She hears him halt for a moment and then turn to the kitchen, combat boots thudding against the hardware floor in coordination with her heart each time her antennas are sensing him close to her, either across the hall or glued to her chest, it didn’t matter.

“Hey!” Betty hears her voice greeting cheerfully, surprisingly steady enough to pass as her typical easy-going tone, even though the burden drilled to her chest leaves no room for cheerful. She gives him a quick smile over her shoulder, catching him sporting a sweet, dumbfounded smile while resting a forearm again the kitchen threshold, black leather contradicting on white wood, before her eyes are once again occupied with the task at hand.

“Something smells good in here.” Jughead comments with delight, eyes casting from the steam emitting pot to the alit kitchen and then her killer legs wrapped in skintight dark denim. He licks his lips and for the first time in his life he is not salivating at the sight of food.

“You think?” she continues the lighthearted chat, because that’s what he needs, that’s what they both need, a tiny piece of normality and everyday living mist their tragedy stained small town world. There’s shuffling behind her and the swoosh of leather being thrown carelessly away and she sighs with a small feeling of contentment at the action. He is well aware how much she hates that jacket and the promise behind it; so he makes sure to always shred it off his shoulders himself before stepping into her world of comfort and vanilla. It’s a silent deal between them, a religious habit of his, slipping back into his Jughead Jones shoes the nights shared with her before waking in the morning in an empty bed again as one of those Serpents.

“It’s the brownies.” Betty smiles around the word, knowing that his weakness for chocolate is only a tad smaller than his weak spot for her and her cheeks flush momentarily at his naughty suggestion of tasting both his vices some night, dark chocolate dipping in every hallow and hidden curve of her body as she writhes under his lustful tongue. And just like that, she wants him again, sore thighs be damned, still deliciously aching by his bite marks and their spread opened position all night yesterday.

She can feel him stride towards her and the drumming of her heart increases until there are large hands on her low abdomen, playing with the hem of her white fuzzy sweater, grazing skin, making her sigh and melt back against him.

“Yeah, that too.” Jughead hums, the tip of his nose running from the hollow of her collarbone up her neck and his lips settle against her pulse point, sucking wetly and tasting the salt on her skin, the sweetness of her perfume, the blood that pumps quicker because of him. Home. Her head falls back on his shoulder with a sigh, she offers him more skin to get lost into, bodies rolling sensually as her back collides with his hard chest and her firm behind finds him already half-hard and ready to ravish her. His bony fingers undo the button of her jeans and naughtily sneak inside, the soaking lace drawing a moan from both of them, the vibrations of her neck mingling with his trembling lips, teeth biting hard, and the effect is evident on her panties again, his long fingers stroking her like a fine harp or the world’s filthiest violin.

As fast as it appears the sensation is gone and Betty momentarily frowns before she is dropped on top of the kitchen counter, just like that first night the world came upside down for them. The very first night that, after a bitter confrontation and hateful claws shedding that bloodcurdling jacket from his shoulders, he had made her a woman on that creaky couch in the next room, with words like “mine” and “I need you, don’t leave me” against her open in wonder lips. It’s a desperate battle for dominance now once again, lips bruising lips, tongues twirling wetly in a hurricane of need, fingers creeping on cheekbones, digging on skin. He gasps against her opened lips and her tongue comes out for a lewd invasion, making him groan and fist her ponytail, pulling hair and changing the angle of their kiss to violate her mouth more, until there are scratches of blood against the soft pink of her bubblegum lipstick. Jughead demands her sweater off as he wrinkles it inside his tight fists and she complies, raising her arms and arching her chest towards him when the warm garment is just a useless white fluff on the tiled floor. He smirks in appreciation at the lacey pastel blue bra that greets him, full breasts rising and fall under his intense stare, and he follows her blush up until their eyes connect for a moment, pupils dilated and eyelashes blinking in a disorientated stare. And in that moment she can see all his true colors, the blues and the violets and the dark greys and the pastels behind his eyes, she can see him, her one and only. He feels it, the prying into his soul, and he softens his movements, hand cupping her scarlet cheek with excessive care and baby blues almost watery, pouring every ounce of love he has for her, the beautiful Helen of Riverdale’s civil war.

With a clasp of her ankles behind his knees and a slide of her hips to end up flat against his, the moment of tenderness is gone and he groans as he dives for her bee-stung lips again, inhaling inside the hotness of her sinfully sweet mouth, his thump caressing the corner of it, indicating that he wants it wider, and Betty leaves a low moan of delight at the gesture, complying of course and hungrily reciprocating his kiss, heads tilting from side to side in frenzy, wet sounds fueling the pushing and pulling of their hips. Her hands run down his muscular chest and bury under his black t-shirt, fingers slaying on his flexing abs and delivering a sensual caress up his pecs, bringing the cotton material with them and making him hiss under her touch before pulling back to user the shirt off his body, recklessly tossing it down to join her sweater with a wolfish smirk that makes her stomach flip in excitement before it gets lost against the crook of her neck. He is working to create a mark, just like the plethora of others that she finds in almost every inch of her skin when she showers, and she feels him biting hard on her collarbone, momentarily pulling her flesh harshly while groaning. She moans loudly and her legs slide up his sides in reflex as he reaches behind him and takes hold of her ankle, pushing it up until the heel of her fawn ankle boot is hooked over the waistband of his black ripped jeans.

“What took you so long today?” Betty sighs against his jawline, lips dropping messy pecks under it, on his tender neck, behind his ear. She doesn’t know where she finds the sanity to utter words, especially as her soft palms are roaming over his strong back, feeling his shoulder blades flexing manly with his hard pants, but she needs to make sure that he is still the guy that used to climb windows just to see her.

“I had some things to take care of.” Jughead murmurs uninterested in small talk and only paying attention to the love bite forming against her collarbone, pulling back to smirk momentarily at the sight of it before running his tongue across her heaving sternum, erotic wetness coaxing the base on the other side of her neck.

“Social worker?” her eyebrows knit in concern because their meetings are frequent now that his official move to the foster family is only some days away and she hugs his shoulders tighter without even noticing it, either for comfort or in a desperate attempt to never let him go or both, definitely both.

He shakes his head negatively against her neck, messy raven locks tickling her cheek and she can’t fight the urge to run her fingers through them, scratching his scalp and tugging lightly, opening her mouth to speak again but the only sound that comes out is a strained low sigh as his large palms run up the sides of her jean clad legs, her hipbones, his ribs, until they grasp her breasts firmly, squeezing them heavily over their pastel blue prison.

“Them?” Her stone-cold voice and accusatory tone can be hardly missed and Jughead gets tense for a moment but his lips never stop devouring her porcelain skin, his fingers never stop digging roughly at the swell of her breasts as he gropes them urgently, pads slipping into the lace and nails grazing against their peaks that are already hard and desperate for his attention. Betty is moaning, low and deep, besides the temper that starts once again to rise inside her chest or maybe because of it, she doesn’t know. She just feels ready to explode and that’s surely because of him, because of his heavenly touch and his current un-heavenly transactions with criminals. It’s a strange feeling, for somebody to cause such diverse emotions to her, that someone never being the one to agitate the turbulent waters of her heart only to calm them, and it is confusing and frustrating and so damn mind-blowing intense.

Jughead pulls back with a big exhale, raven locks pocking his pitch black from passion eyes, hips jerking against her heat once, almost violently. “I’m not doing any drugs, if that’s what you’re asking.” He reassures her with his typical smart-ass tone and goes to resume the actions of his hands that still lay casually on her breasts, ready to be done with this troublesome conversation, but she stops him, his head bouncing back as she tugs at his hair, a little more harshly and painfully than intended. Her green eyes are cold and hide a hint of disappointment that Jughead loathes with every fiber of his body so he adopts his usual defensive stare as he waits for her to mention once again the elephant in the room.

“Are you selling them then?” The bomb is dropped; Jughead knows that a new round of fighting is going to begin in a matter of seconds and he wishes he could stop it, he wishes there was a thing in the history of the world that he could say and make them shiny and new again, but there isn’t and he is tired of fighting and tired of trying to prove constantly himself to her and he can feel his tongue slip and not for it to bring her pleasure this time but pain.

“It never crossed my mind that you of all people would think that low of me.” His voice is venomous, just like the snakes he is thrown into, and his eyes narrow in disbelief, actually hurt that she, the person that knows his heart like the back of her moon-scared palm, believed even for a second that he would be responsible of condoning any kind of addiction, let alone that of teenage kids like them.

“Can you blame me?” she grows defensive too, ominous green shade on her doe eyes. “Ever since—” she begins but he is faster than her, always faster, and a hurricane of words emit from the depths of his slowly closing in a suffocating choke throat.

“Ever since what?” Jughead snaps, challenging her to go on if she dared. “I found a family? I found people that want me in their life and they are not ready to flee with the first chance they get?” he shoots question after question unceremoniously, angry that she doesn’t understand his need to finally be accepted by a community that doesn’t treat him a parasite. She scoffs at his words, he glares at her. “What, Betty, you wanted truth, I’m stating the truth!”

The volume of his voice takes her aback and she replies with the same hostile tone and glare. “The truth is that I don’t like the person you’re becoming.” Second bomb.

“The person I’m becoming?” Jughead exhales the words and his eyes are smaller than buttons as disbelief and anger creeps around them. “What about the person you’re becoming?!” He is infuriated now, pacing up and down in front of her, hand gestures intense and erratic. “You defended my dad, Betty, in front of the whole fucking town. You defended them in that stupid article” he points menacingly at the newspaper on the stinky kitchen table “that now seems to be nothing but lies and a popularity façade. What are you trying to prove this time, huh? Tell me.” He holds his ground and demands, chest heaving once again but not from the heat of her body but the heat of anger at her behavior, at his own behavior.

“Are you being serious right now, Jughead?” Betty’s hands come to grip the edge of the counter she is still sitting on, knuckles turning white, and her fingertips itch to just slip and pierce her skin instead of the cheap linoleum and she is sure she will later tonight when she crying in bed but not now, not in front of his towering posture and his furious eyes. She is not going to appear weak now. “Are you really doubting my intentions after everything that I went through this whole month defending you and that clan of criminals?” she doesn’t believe him, she doesn’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth and her heart sinks to her stomach at the revelation that maybe this is actually his true self and all those time she was just holding on her own personal version of purity and illusions.

“Could have fooled me.” He states in a low casual voice but his eyes are lifeless and his tone of apathy bites more deadly than the cobra on his jacket.

She shakes her head and huffs and, unlike his eyes, hers are filled with emotion, with fat, angry, painful tears so she casts her gaze down on the denim of her knees, not wanting to give him the pleasure of breaking right before his eyes, even though she has done it a million times before. “Brilliant.” She chokes. “Just brilliant.” She decides to face him again, catching a frown of concern or maybe regret painting the middle of his eyebrows. “Just because you chose to crawl back into your shell and stop communicating with me, don’t try to turn this whole thing against me.” She spits with much deserved venom and she hopes he sees the salty water in her eyes.

“Well, you might be confused cause you are the one turning distant and so damn cold here.” He groans at the end of his accusation, watching as something goes off at the back of her mind while she straightens her back to face him fearless and shameless, like she always faces all her demons.

“Yeah, of course, my only use anymore is to be hot and ready to be fucked, right Juggie?”

The water in the still boiling pot overflows. It pours viciously on the hot stove with a chilling sound. It gets burnt.

They both jump and he rushes to turn off the appliance before he throws the pot inside the sink with a loud thud, fingers colliding with the torrid iron and getting burnt just like his heart some seconds ago under the deadly sparkles of her words. He hisses a curse and groans in frustration, his palms slamming against the counter, making her jump again, and his shoulders hunch over the sink in despair, Jughead closing his eyes to control his temper. But her look of total emptiness and the rancorous way she said his nickname that always held a fondness and sweetness he had never experienced before from any woman in his life are replaying in his mind again and again like a movie in which everyone dies and there’s no happy ending.

Behind him Betty doesn’t dare to utter any further word. She struck a cord, she knows by the way his bare shoulder blades stay tense and his breaths come out sharp and fuming, and she thought she would feel good inside her skin if she paid him back with a painful dagger of words through his heart but she doesn’t; in fact, she fills more awful than before.

“Hey, Jug, you’re up for some night paroling?” the voice of a boy cuts through the tension, barging in the trailer like he owns the place while continuing his carefree monologue, Jughead straightening up his posture immediately to turn to look at her, topless and seated on the counter, and Betty scoffs incredulously at his new buddies and their lack of manners. “Hunter fixed that motorbike you wanted – oh” he stops mid-stride and scans her up and down before he lets a wolf-whistle in appreciation along with a smirk. “Nice game, man.” He compliments the both of them and Betty narrows her eyes at him in annoyance in coordination with Jughead’s loud clearing of his throat in warming, as she hops to the ground and curls her arms over her chest protectively. She has seen him before, he is the guy responsible for the cute dirty ball of fluff that lurks on Jughead’s doorstep every day, but she doesn’t pay him any more attention as she turns to the boy that makes her see red once more.

“Motorbike?” she raises her eyebrows in a you-gotta-be-kidding-me grimace. “Seriously now?”

Jughead hesitates, voice becoming tentative and low. “It was a gift…” he offers vaguely.

“Like the jacket, I know.” Betty sighs in disappointment. “You can’t really say no to such full of gratitude gestures right?” she spits to his face and chuckles with no humor at all when she sees him drop his head to the ground, not even trying to justify himself.

“Whatever, I’m out of here.” She reaches for her sweater on the floor, her school stuff long forgotten on the table. She just needs to get out, to leave that suffocating trailer, to breathe.

“Betts…” Jughead tries in the usual soft voice Betty still hears in her dreams, assuring her that everything is going to be okay, and he goes to grab her wrist but she squirms out of his touch.

“Don’t.” she snaps coldly at the nickname and his pleading eyes. “And you did well picking friends that they don’t even have the decency to knock” she sends a glare to the Serpent boy that looks from her to Jughead sheepishly “because you’re not having any of my booty call company ever again. We’re done.”

The thin trailer walls shake under the force of the closing door behind her. And then it’s just darkness.

Not all Serpents are bad.

It’s the third evening in a row after their fight that Betty doesn’t go to Pop’s but instead curls Caramel on her chest and lays in her floral bed, drowning in heartbreak. Her green eyes are watery but there are no more tears in her to shed, the waterfalls of that night that she was inconsolable drained, but her head is filled with a million thoughts that don’t seem to take a rest even at the wee hours of morning. Betty needs an intervention.

She finds it from Alice Cooper, as she sits next to her on the bed, sweet smile intact and ready to offer some feministic speech about the importance of independence and the absurd habit of women crying over ungrateful men. Or that’s what Betty expects. Because the only thing that echoes in her pastel room is the only phrase that the younger Cooper never expected to roll off the tip of her mother’s snobbish tongue.

Not all Serpents are bad.

“I don’t care about them, I only care about Jughead.” Betty stubbornly responds at the cliché her mom is trying to convince her of. “He is changing because of them.”

“Change is not always bad.” Alice contradicts in simplicity, her daughter sending her a fed up glare over her shoulder.

“You’re not helping, mom.” She replies sarcastically, a tad annoyed at her now too and her lack of any of her usual authoritative statements. Betty never thought that a day would come when she would crave her mother’s ultimatums.

“I’m just saying that change is bound to happen.” The older woman explains lovingly, a hand rubbing her daughter’s arm. “You’re teenagers, Elizabeth; you’re shaping your personalities, shredding some aspects of them, gaining some others.”

Betty turns to lay on her back with a huff, picking aimlessly at the fur of her beloved stuffed cat. “Yes, but we are not supposed to lose ourselves.”

“Is he really losing himself?” Alice challenges with a raised eyebrow, sure of the answer, because she knows Jughead Jones, she used to be him many, many years ago. Betty opens her mouth to reply, then closes it in a loss. Deep down, she knows too that this isn’t the case.

“He doesn’t belong there, mom.” Green eyes reach their replica pair as Betty shakes her head vigorously, stubborn and stupidly spiteful and just a teen. “He belongs here in Riverdale High and at Pop’s and with—” her lips are running and her tone is the usual Betty Cooper one when she is extremely passionate about something but Alice cuts her off with a knowing look.

“You?” she completes her daughter’s sentence with a years-of-experience smile, the girl on the bed across her sighing a “yeah” in exasperation. “And why not the opposite? Why don’t you belong there with him?” the woman fires back with one of her overconfident expressions and Betty is at a loss again, eyebrows knitting in confusion as to what on earth her mother was suddenly talking about.

Alice laughs lightly at her clueless expression, a hand patting her hip in affection as she stands up. “Come on; I have something to show you.”

Their attic is the same as Betty remembers it, dusty and filled with a lifetime of memories. Everything is organized; newspaper documents, old house décor, Polly’s section, Betty’s section, their parents’ past. It holds her mom’s wedding dress, her dad’s tuxedo, a carton box titled College, another one titled High school. Betty knows this corner like the back of her palm, she and Polly always used to snoop around there, looking at pictures, taking turns wearing Alice’s long wedding veil or her vintage silver pumps. She is utterly confused as to why they are here and unless her mom unburies a yearbook with some inspirational quote from FP that indicates that Jughead has still hope of being saved, Betty finds it completely bizarre.

Her head actually bounces backwards in surprise and her eyes widen when her mom pulls some loose planks off the hardware floor and brings to surface a black box she’s never seen before with the initials A.S. in the middle, a snake forming a circle around them. Alice drops it against an old coffee table and smiles warmly at a bewildered Betty as it opens it to reveal a whole other world, a world that all those years she kept secret in her heart.

There’s a pair of baby shoes, some toys, a rug doll, some elementary school drawings. And then there are fishnets and black leather pants and concert tickets and an empty pack of red Marlboro autographed by Slash and three stacks of photographs and other memorabilia that she doesn’t understand but what she immediately sees and understands is the black leather jacket at the bottom, folded with excessive care so the logo on its back to be untouched by time; Southside Serpents.

“Mom…?” Betty’s head snaps to look at her, shock painted all over her stunning features.

“Yes, I was born in the Southside.” Alice confirms without a hint of shame in her voice. “Yes I was a Serpent; and a damn feisty one.”

Story time begins and Betty learns about her mom’s parents for the first time – not the vague “they died pretty young” she knew all those years – two hippies with a lifestyle based on freedom and free love and utopian socialism. With a free spirited nomad as a father and a rebellious biker gang member as a mother, Alice grew up to be fearless and strong, with a sharp tongue and a red-hot attitude. Her father left for a roadtrip to India when she was ten and never came back and her mother was just a background silhouette on a speeding bike, never becoming a proper mother, never knowing how to become one. The Serpents took her in, raised her, loved her, they became her family. The jacket she wore back then was never a burden or a suffocating knot around her neck; it was a badge of honor, something that she was proud of wearing, something that gave her confidence and unique Alice Smith back then attitude. And because she was confident and because she knew her potential and her ability to succeed she fought for a better quality life. And she got it.

“I’m not the person I was back then, Elizabeth.” She concludes with a sigh, taking an old picture of herself from a stack and examining it with a nostalgic smile. “But I’m still me, here” she presents her the photo “and here.” She pokes her chest and Betty’s eyes go from her preppy looking mother back to the girl on the photo that laughs carelessly with a beer bottle in hand on top of a Harley, waist-long hair messy and leather jacket draped over her shoulders. They look deferent but they are the same; it’s in the eyes.

“Mom” Betty huffs still looking at the picture “I…I don’t know what to say.” A breathy chuckle leaves her lips at the hurricane of new information, her mind still not grasping the idea of uptight Alice Cooper being part of a notorious centuries old biker gang.

“Southside, Northside, we are all Riverdale.” Alice states matter-of-factly and that holds Betty’s attention. “And Riverdale should be unified; you said so in your article. So don’t waste any more time discriminating and setting labels. You were always better than that.” She reminds her with a sweet smile, unfolding the jacket and handling it over to her, like a former queen passing the precious crown to her heir.

“Life’s too short to hide behind meaningless words or pride or ego, honey.” Alice hugs her shoulders from behind, Betty running her thumps over the printed back of the jacket in thought. “If you love this boy and you wanna be with him, then go get him. Deal with the mess together, help each other find your ways.” She encourages her firmly and Betty feels her heart flutter at her words, the reality of how stupidly immature they are both acting settling in her chest. “He is a good boy, baby. And he makes you happy. Go, be braver than me.” Alice nudges her cheek in affection and then she is gone as Betty stands there alone, face to face with the piece of clothing he hates the most.

But not tonight. Tonight will be her own badge of honor.

Jughead pushes the door open, the rusty hinges letting an icky sound under the weight of his palm, as the newly recruited Serpent walks into his dad’s trailer, head hung low and a heavy burden of problems and responsibilities on his shoulders.

He expects to find the place dark, empty and cold. He isn’t naïve enough to believe that after their latest fight Betty would come crawling back to him. His million texts and phone calls were unanswered, his two drives to Riverdale High fruitless, her refusing to even acknowledge him in the parking lot as she walked away hand in hand with Veronica, the brunette girl giving him a sympathetic smile over her shoulder that he only reciprocated with a nod. She is right; the fights are a few too many now, his last words were stupid and harsh for no reason. Things are bad, maybe he is bad too, bad for her. Snakes curling around porcelain necks can only lead to tragedy. So maybe she is better off.

He expects to find the place dark, empty and cold. But it is only dark, neither empty nor cold. It’s filled with that unique feminine scent that can make his toes curl and his breath quicken in a nanosecond and it’s warm, hot, inflamed by the erotic image she is offering, spread out and ready for him and only him.

“Betty…” it isn’t a question, just a confirmation, a sullen relief and deep longing, her name spilling off his lips in a low sigh of ultimate wanton. Blue eyes, shining under the dim fluorescent light that invades the room through the small window, roguish and intrigued, roam over her slender figure on the ugly, floral couch, like another French girl posing lasciviously for the hungry eyes of her biggest admirer.

She isn’t completely naked but that is the madness of it all. Three tiny items on her sinfully promiscuous body are fogging any of his logical thoughts, bringing to the surface only his darkest ones, the ones that all those years he tried to suppress, labeling them fantasies or abnormalities of his brain. A pair of heels, black and deadly stiletto, with tiny straps holding her ankles captive just like his fingers did the first time he got lost between the abyss of her thighs, and all the other lewd filled times that followed, keeping her open and immobile with legs thrown over his board shoulders, feeling even the tiny bones there, at her delicate ankles, spasming under the treatment of his hungry tongue against the place that he only had the privilege to French kiss for hours until, spent and with no other oxygen left in her heaving lungs, she is always begging him to stop before her mind would paralyze under his dirty pleasure spell. A pair of red lace panties, barely there, barely visible doing little to none to hide her heated center, the center of gravity for his male primal needs, sitting low against her prominent hipbones that still hold the shape of his kisses in color purple, some small, some big, some paired with nail scratches from yesterday and the day before and all those days he pushed her roughly against his pistoling member or anchored himself while he was teasing them both, tip getting soaking wet from her need to have him always inside her. And what he sends him spiraling, in the verge of losing his mind and any ability to proceed further and brush his fingertips against the sharp edges of the goddess of his dreams; the black leather jacket – the same snake-decorated leather jacket he is now sporting as a symbol of unity and acceptance – worn over the ultimate weapons of her sexuality, no preppy sweater, no good-girl bra, just the two mounds of swollen flesh that bring pleasure to him in a way he never imagined, bare and stretching the hard leather.

His keys slip from his finger and collide with the ground with a jiggle. His lips part in a silent gasp and his stomach coils with raw excitement, a deliciously strong gut-wrecking feeling. Betty Cooper is a vision to behold wrapped in the black leather of the most infamous jacket in the history of Riverdale.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare?” she challenges him and the wild sea of his blue eyes gets disrupted by her voice, bewildered orbs running from the valley between her breasts where they are practically gawking, to land on her lips, full, luscious, dark red like the lace against the apex of her thighs. He can’t decide which pair of lips is sweeter so he always ravishes both with equal tremendous passion, like a man feasting on his last meal or an exile coming home, kissing the land that holds his identity in utter gratitude.

She swings lightly against her elbows, the ends of her golden locks caressing the biblical symbol of sin behind her, her leg that is bended by the knee on the couch nudging closer to her long and outstretched other. She is clenching them together to ease some of the fire in the place that longs even a brush of his hot, manly breath but not making the first move because she loves it when he is in charge of it all, when he is in control of her body and mind, even if, in reality, she is the one holding him hostage in her erotic webs. She knows what she is doing to him and he knows what he is doing to her and together they push each other limits, tangled up together with a promise of forever.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me.” Jughead tries to get his mind to work, a truly impossible task with the way she is offered in front of him. He bites the inside of his cheek at that, wanting to hold back a choke at the repetition of her hurtful words that plays in his mind, at his desire to have her despite them. There’s a porcelain plate still laying on the kitchen floor behind him, useless and in pieces, symbolizing the constant breaking of both their hearts when they battled with harsh insults and not their inflamed bodies two days ago and a week ago and that very night that he had accepted the jacket of the damned and forgotten as his bulletproof armor against their mad, hostile world.

Betty rises to her feet, cat walking slowly to the man that holds her entire being on his now greased and calloused palms. “And I thought that you would always fight for us.” Click, click, click, heels fall in coordination with his breathing, sharp and quick, as the distance between them shortens and her perfume of arousal and sin invades his senses, calling for him, luring him in. Come, ignite my body, he can hear the echoes breach from her chest, the curves of her breasts against the metallic zipper of the jacket two Sirens enchanting him to a sensuous death and he can’t do anything but close his eyes and take a sharp intake of breath, knowing that he will always be a lost cause at the sight of his own celestial Venus.

“I would.” He confirms curtly, eyes open to show the determination behind their now dark color, a full man now, not a beanie boy holding on his fair share of innocence. She misses the beanie boy but she loves the towering man before her more, because now she can read him, because now, even with blindfolded eyes, she can pinpoint every scar on his hard body, every nervous twitch of muscle, every feverish beat of his iron soul. “I still do. This will never change.” He promises her his life, because what is his living without her in it, but she doesn’t want his sacrifice, she just wants him and the comfort of his arms and his words of delirious wanton against her sweaty skin.

“Then why are you just staring at me still?” with her chin up, Betty faces him fearless and shameless, green orbs piercing through his soul and draining it from the hardly any blood that is still there and not in the delicious bulge between them.

They don’t speak anymore, he doesn’t need any more encouragement. His lips are on her scarlet ones, smudging their color, opening them up, poking them with his wet and demanding tongue. They don’t say “I’m sorry” to each other, they don’t need to anymore, because they have nothing to be sorry for just their fate and their involuntary involvement in tragedies, like two Shakespearean heroes in a world full of Macbeths. They’d rather show it as their bodies curve against each other and their breaths mingle and there’s a music of desperate gasps and heavy panting as he cradles both sides of her face and angles her head in frenzy, messing her hair and pushing her lips more and more against his thirsty ones, wanting to consume her whole, to inhale her and hold her captive forever in his bloodstream.

His hands fist the jacket and his mind is filled with million questions about how and why but she bops her lips sensually up and down his tongue and he loses it, almost loses his footing, because that action is pleasantly recognized by his cock that twitches painfully against the metallic prison of his zipper and he forgets each and every word he ever learned. He goes to push the jacket off her shoulders but she grabs his wrists to stop him, unwrapping her swollen lips from his. Jughead blinks rapidly against the darkness of the room, mind not really registering surroundings or the reason why the warmth of her mouth disappeared.

“This stays on.” The blonde angel lowers his arms to his sides, rolling her chest over his sensually as the tip of her tongue comes out to lick the corner of his mouth. “I want the full Serpent experience tonight.” She whispers filthily against his open lips and sends him a provocative look under innocently flattering eyelashes and Jughead can’t hold back anymore, he grunts almost painfully and regains control of that sinful mouth, twirling his skillful tongue in a way that has her putty in his arms.

Betty’s back collides with the wall; there is a hiss of pain that turns into a weak gasp as Jughead’s teeth bite hard on her lower lip and then disappear, Betty leaning forward in a desperate attempt to follow the anchor of her desire. He pushes her back against the wall, a large hand splaying on the top of her sternum, fingers parallel with her collarbones, and she pants heavily, hands raised up in surrender against the wall, mouth open, eyelashes flickering over lust filled eyes. She surrenders under the intensity of his stare, the pad of his middle finger drawing a straight line down the middle of her breasts, making her arch against the utter simplicity of pleasure that it offers.

“Where did you get the jacket?” his voice comes raspy and authoritative because he needs to know now, intrigued by the change of heart in that particular item of clothing. His eyes cast at the hint of pink that now the misplaced garment offers, Adam’s apple bopping as his fingers trail skin until they are caressing it and then they move under the leather to twitch the already hard nipple, gaining a low moan from the girl captured between the cold wall and his heated body.

“Long story. Not now.” She is not gonna discuss Alice Cooper and her rebellious past while there are bony fingers abusing the sensitive peak of her breast so she vaguely answers around pants and hissing breaths. And then she feels the wet heat of his lips enveloping the tensing nerve-ending and she immediately loses every train of thought as her head falls back with a bang. The sensation lasts only for a minute, then his attention is on the neglected nipple and next she can’t feel him anywhere again, just hears the sexy pop of his lips freeing her reddened skin before she groans and snaps her eyes open. Upon catching his glistering with passion eyes watching her again, or rather her soaked dark nipples stretching against the zipper of the jacket, she smirks, words coming out of her lips to tease him and fuel his fiery, dominating side more that make her legs jelly and her panties soaking wet since day one.

“What?” Betty has his attention, head snapping up, pitch dark eyes peaking behind raven messy waves. “You lost your ways, Serpent King?” it’s simultaneously a title of honor and shame as it rolls off her tongue and he can feel his blood boiling and pumping in his veins, the fingers of the hand that is still firmly on her sternum, turning to dig lightly against her flesh.

Jughead leans to her ear. “You shouldn’t have said that.” It’s a low whisper, a sexual threat, and she shivers against his chest, at his words and his teeth that graze her earlobe as a follow up. “If that’s the case, then a king should always bow down to his queen.” And with that he is lowering himself to the ground, sexy smirk intact as one knee meets the floor and the other stays bended against her calf.

His large palms caress from her breasts to her ribs, the front of her thighs, the back of her calves as his lips sloppily trail open mouthed kisses against her stomach and to her navel, licking a path across the elastic of her underwear before taking it in his teeth and pulling momentarily, then letting it snap back against her skin, making her arch against his mouth and bring her legs together to ease some of the fire he is causing her. Those blue eyes look up to catch her forest green ones and the smirk never leaves his lips as he closes the red lace between his teeth again but this time he rolls them down, spreading her wetness on her thighs on the way, before they are just an accessory around her right ankle. The action turns her on even more as she searches for his hair and tugs forward, bringing his cocky face against the middle of her thighs.

Jughead licks a trail from the inside of her knee up her thigh and then he’s opening her up, nails scratching down the back of her thigh before his hand curls at the crook of her knee and he hoists it up his shoulder, stiletto heel and red panties gridding against the tongue of the snake behind his back while her hips are mimicking their action against his own marvelous tongue. He is fully clothed and she is fully naked, apart from the jacket that now rubs deliciously against her perky nipples, Betty moaning at the combined sensation and scraping his scalp, fingers fisting his hair for dear life. There are heavy licks and audible sucks and she can feel herself falling, falling into the depths of numbness and wholeness, mewling through her smudged lipstick and withering against the cheap wall, the wall that receives a hard slap from her palm as she feels his lips directly on her most sensitive nerves, sucking hard and moaning from the taste of her nectar.

It doesn’t take long, Betty can already feel her legs trembling, and when she feels his fingers joining the feast against her heat she strongly believes that her heart is going to jump right out of her exposed chest. He pushes two fingers inside of her, to the hilt and with no warming, the fallen angel on top of him delivering a deep moan that makes his painful erection twitch against his unbelievably tight jeans and he groans as more wetness runs down his fingers, making her silk and ready for him and the rest of the plans he has for them for tonight. Her hips are staring to spasm, her feminine scent is filling his nostrils making him dizzy and demanding, reaching for the leg on his shoulder and curling a hand behind her knee, rising it a tad and opening her up more as the pad of his fingers dwell on the spot inside her that makes her produce the filthiest of sounds, something that happens again like clockwork and has him smirking and groaning against her tensing muscles.

“Oh God, Jug, please…” his name falls from her lips in a common Betty Cooper erotic sigh and her eyes snap open in wonder as he moans in response and quickens the action of his fingers, his tongue on her clit drawing heart-stopping figure eights that has her grinding her hips against his face in frenzy. She is practically riding his mouth and he loves it, the red lace against her ankle swaying vigorously like a red flag in the face of a bull threatening to escape. What does escape is a long, deep moan from her chest when she looks down to the amazing man between her legs and she catches him with eyes closed, enjoying it as much as her. She violently grabs a fistful of his hair, the action drawing a hiss from him against her dripping wetness and his eyes snap up to take her in, in her most vulnerable and utterly breathtaking form. Her body stiffens and her legs start to tremble, not bearing more of the intensity of his treatment and she is falling, falling into the depths of the universe, with his long fingers pistoling in and out of her and his teeth grazing the bundle of nerves at the center of her existence.

She isn’t able to even form a moan or one of the high-pitched sighs he loves, her lips just open in heavenly agony and utter pleasure and she is spasming relentlessly while he works her more and more, wanting to taste every drop of her release and prolong the flattering of her muscles for as long as possible, as hard as possible. Betty has to stop him at some point, hypersensitive and afraid that her body is going to melt into a useless puddle on the floor if he keeps going, using her hold on his hair to drag him up her body and kiss him senseless, tongue twirling around his soaked lips and throat letting a lustful moan at the taste of herself on him. Her hands run from his hair to his neck and then the lapels of the identical with hers leather jacket but it’s his time to grab her wrists and break their heated make out.

“Turn around.” Jughead’s voice is barely a whisper against her opened in heavy panting lips but its tone is still a command and Betty bites her lip at the feeling of more wetness that rushes to her center just by the implication of his words and his dominating stare. She complies, turning to face the wall, excitement and electrifying desire invading her senses as he helps her hands slide up over and on either side of her head for leverage and taps the inside of her thigh to widen the gap between her legs.

He takes off his clothes as he watches her; the black leather contradicting her golden locks, her porcelain white skin, her sun kissed personality. He lets his own jacket drop, then grabs the back of his dark grey sweater to pull it off, shaking his head from side to side in a manly fashion to get the stray locks of his black mane away from his eyes. He bends for his combat boots and his eyes land on the valley of her legs, thighs glistering under the pure moonlight from his tongue work and her arousal and his member twitches again, demanding attention at this point. He unbuckles his belt and he swears there is a tiny wiggle in anticipation from the glorious hips in front of him and, with a bite on his lower lip, a manly moan and without any more self-control, he yanks his black jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking them off completely. His little minx of a girlfriend offers him a sly smirk over her shoulder and a lick over her upper lip and he loses it right there, snatching a condom from his jacket and quickly rolling it over his impossibly hard member with a hiss of anticipation, before dropping against her back and lining himself to her entrance.

She mewls and pushes back against him and he doesn’t want any more encouragement as he grabs her hip and enters her in one swift movement, his other hand slamming the wall next to hers as he closes his eyes and drops her forehead against the back of her neck, him letting a deep manly moan and her gasping loudly at how firm and hot he feels inside her. He begins a slow, lascivious rhythm, hips rolling in delicious waves and it’s such a slow burn that Betty feels like drowning, like she doesn’t have control of her body anymore, like her fate is handled wholeheartedly over to his amazing hands. There are low moans and sharp intakes of breath and Jughead is murmuring apologies and filthy compliments against the back of her neck, bruising the skin there and making her drop her forehead against the wall, offering him more skin, offering him everything he wanted from her.

Soon, Betty gets frustrated and starts to push back with vigor, wanting for him to speed his pace and have her hard and fast, the way both of them love, but Jughead refuses with a halt of his movements and a painful nail scratch on the side of her thigh that makes her shiver and curse under her breath as he smirks cockily against the snake of her jacket. She knows how to play dirty too though and when he starts moving again, painfully slow and teasingly, she clenches her muscles around his throbbing member and he actually has to anchor himself with both hands from her hips as his hips jerk forward, too wound up for her to play such games on him. There’s a low grunt out his lips and Betty smirks in victory but it doesn’t last long because she suddenly feels empty, the wonderful fullness between her thighs gone and she growls in frustration as he turns her around and picks her up by the back of her thighs, her gasp getting tangled up with his groan. They kiss with fever licks, demanding teeth and roaming hands on her behind, his tip soaking wet from her body’s reaction towards him all the nights spent in this trailer, as he walks them to the bedroom, kicking the door with his foot and dropping her on the mattress that creaks under their weight. There is a devilish smirk on his red lips and Betty clenches her legs together at the sensation a simple facial expression of his is causing to her overly sensitive body.

“Ass up, hands on the headboard, baby.” Soft tone but commanding dark blue eyes and Betty is sure she can come right here and there by that look alone and the view of his hard, naked body. He drops a playful but loud slap on the side of her hip when he sees her not moving but instead eyeing his hard on with lustful eyes and she offers him a foxy smile before going on with his request, resting on her knees, her ass in the air and slender fingers wrapping around the mahogany bars of the vintage double bed. A trembling sigh leaves her lips as the cold air of the room contradicts with the hotness of her skin and the tingling sensation against her center, the position she is in adding a thrilling naughtiness in her already way too turned on mood and she wiggles her hips against him once again, asking for something, anything to feed the hunger between her legs.

“You don’t even know how exquisitely delicious you look right now.” Jughead whispers in awe, eyes capturing the image and storing it at the back of his mind, knowing that this is surely going to be his wet dream from now on, every night she isn’t lying next to him. And what a spectacular wet dream that is.

His fingernails are scratching lightly up and down the back of her thighs as he starts teasing her with his tip, making her shiver and writhe under him, his hands going to settle around her waist, bending it more and pushing the leather material up to trace the adorably sexy dimples against her skin there. His knees push her knees further apart and without warming he is inside her to the hilt one again, Betty snapping her head back with a surprised moan and him dropping over her back with a baritone gasp.

Slow and languid isn’t an option anymore; they’ve missed each other those days that they were stubbornly pushing each other away and now they are way too wound up and ready to chase their pleasurable union down that road of intense sexual magnetism that their bodies seemed to have since the time they shared their first kiss. He is thrusting behind her in a steady rhythm, skin colliding with skin and the sound mingling with the operatic moans that fall out of her voluminous lips, fueling the tightness low on Jughead’s stomach and causing his movements to become curt, sharp, deeper and deeper. He feels on fire, literally catching in flames and burning down in ashes as she pushes back against him with vigor, meeting his thrusts and clenching him more and more in the pouring lava of her feminine abyss.

“Pull my hair.” Betty sighs breathlessly, too lost in the sensation of his hard cock hitting places inside her that makes her legs spasm against his and he groans deep in his chest as he does what he is told, taking hold of her blonde curls and twirling them in a makeshift ponytail, tugging her head lightly towards him. Her eyes roll back to the inside of her skull in pleasure and her sigh is a full on sultry one as he drops his lips on the side on her neck and starts sucking on her thudding pulse point, hard.

Jughead’s hips push and pull quicker, her legs almost give out but he curls a strong arm around her belly and holds her against him, completely at his mercy. The world spins way too crazily, the headboard is banging loudly against the wall, her heels are digging painfully on his calves, his lips are everywhere on her neck, sucking and marking, and his hot raspy breaths echo between her sultry moans and high pitched sighs. They are on the verge, shimmery sweat coaxing both their tense bodies and the leather sticks awkwardly on her skin but she loves every second of it, just as much as he does. Jughead abandons her neck and her hair fall like a waterfall of gold at the side of her face as he straightens his back and takes hold of her hips fiercely, nails scratching against her hipbones in sweet pain, pulling her more ferociously against his thick length, Betty biting the pillow under her and letting a muffled scream as her knuckles turn white around the wooden bars of the bed.

He commands himself not to close his eyes because his need to watch her is desperate right now, the snake in her jacket staring him right in the eyes before his lust-filled orbs drop further down to the skin on her waist that reddens under the iron hold of his fingertips, her frim ass smacking against his hipbones, him getting lost inside her. She feels heavenly, soaking wet, burning hot and tight like a vice and he can’t help but groan loudly as her muscles start to flutter around him and her legs start to shake uncontrollably, the telltale signs of intense orgasm he has imprinted in his mind.

His fingers sneak down where they are connected and once the pad of her middle finger comes in contact with her sensitive clit, her whole body jolts from electricity and an almost painful moan rips her chest as she falls forward, hands sliding down the bars of the bed with a squeaky sound due to her sweaty palms, Jughead’s free hand gripping her breast under the jacket, pinching the hard nipple and rolling it in circles that coordinate with the circles between her thighs.

“Jug, I’m going to co– ah!” her orgasm strikes before she gets the chance to say it, lips falling open in a perfect O and body going rigid as pleasure runs through her bloodstream like a drug. Her head falls back on the shoulder of the arm that is flexing to draw out every ounce of white pleasure from her body and she squeezes him, soaked walls demanding his release and of course he complies, joining her in the crescendo of her erotic loud sighs mingled with his name, thrusts messy and uncalculated as he comes undone inside her body. His hand yanks the hem of the jacket down her shoulder violently, as severe spasms run down his spine, and Jughead drops against her with no control of his body to bite hard the soft skin around a deep primal growl of Betty’s name.

They are all trembling limps and a mess of sweat as they try to calm their raging breaths, him pulling out of her with a tender kiss against the redness on her shoulder, her offering him a lightheaded smirk at the action and a trembling sigh of contentment. He drops back carelessly with a cooing exhale vertical on the messy sheets, too exhausted to actually plop himself up properly on the bed and he takes hold of her ankle to slide her gently down and to his side, Betty throwing an arm carelessly over his stomach and hitching a leg between his, jacket still on but wrinkled and on one side low on her shoulder. Some minutes of blissful silence pass before he speaks up, voice hoarse and deep, still affected by his previous intense high.

“Betty, I love you.” Jughead states, because he has a feeling he is not saying it much these days, and Betty nudges her nose at the crook of his neck, tightening the hold of her arm around his torso, dropping a soft kiss against his collarbone. “What you said the other night, about this, between us, being just sex now… You know that’s not true, right?” he tilts his head to look down at her with concerned knitted eyebrows, her final words in their latest fight still stinking like a flaming iron on his chest.

She rolls practically on top of him, elbows resting on his chest, damp curls tickling his left pec. “I was being petty because I was angry. There’s pressure from everything and everyone around us, it was bound for us to crack under it. Of course I know it and of course I didn’t mean it.” She assures him and he sighs, relieved. “I love you, Juggie, and it’s real. I can feel it in my fingers when I touch your cheeks, I can feel it in my heart when I see your face in the crowd, I can feel it in your eyes when you look at me like that, as if love is a word you only learnt from my lips.” Betty whispers lovingly, fingers tracing the handsome features on his face, illuminated by the moonlight.

“It is.” His own whisper is barely audible and his eyes seem to water, Betty leaning up to press a soft kiss of love and affection against his temple, over untamed waves and droplets of sweat.

“I don’t want to keep pushing you away anymore. I love you too much to do that.” She says in a soft, vulnerable voice. “It’s just, we are changing—”

“Betty, we’re not—” he tries to cut her off with a fierce shake of his head but she has more to say.

“Yes, we are, Juggie. And it’s fine.” She points the word with a slow nod to show him that she is perfectly okay with this reality. “It’s part of this crazy scary thing that’s called growing up. And it’s not fair for me to constantly keep beating you up for the choices you decide to make about your life.” She says apologetically, hating herself for making him choose between her and his need for acceptance, even though she knows how bad he is seeking it.

“Maybe I don’t have a clue about what the hell I’m doing.” Jughead sighs in despair, his eyes focused on his fingers playing with her hair. “Maybe all of this is a giant, disastrous mistake.” He is puzzled, trapped in his own head and the world around him and he fears for the worst, messing everything up, betraying his dad, ruining them. His mind is literally in the verge of exploding and he needs her to be his anchor to sanity.

“Then so be it.” Betty doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “We’re going to face the consequences together. I’m with you, Jug.” He hears those three little words and his heart flutters almost as if she said “I love you” or “come in me”. “You could destroy the world and I’d still be by your side.” Her eyes are sincere and loving, with a hint of determination in their green shade and Jughead is falling in love again, more than he already is, harder, faster with no chance to second guess or to secure his heart.

“You, Betty Cooper, are growing into an amazing woman.” He whispers in awe, hand coming up to caress her cheek, like he is touching a goddess or the world’s finest art work. In his mind, she is both.

“That needs you, Jughead Jones, the most brilliant and terribly handsome man on the planet by her side.” She leans forward to connect their foreheads and a thump caresses the corner of his lips, him tilting his head to peck lightly the pad of her finger.

“Your excessive compliments are slipping far away from the truth but I’m way too exhausted to argue right now.” He breathes in his usual snarky tone and Betty giggles lightly, messing his hair against his forehead. “Seriously Betts, this outfit,” he trails his eyes down her silk body, licking his lips at the sexy heels that are still on her feet and the way her breasts are pushed up against his side “damn, I swear my eyes nearly fell off their sockets when I first saw you on the couch, baby.” He lets a tiny groan at the image and bites his lip, as a hand sneaks at the back of her head and pushes her forward for a lazy, wet kiss.

“Yeah, you kinda demonstrated how much you liked it.” Betty sighs when they pull apart, eyes closed dreamingly and lower lip between her teeth, as her hips roll involuntarily against the side of his thigh, him groaning again as he feels her still wet for him. “And it was mind-blowing.” She whispers against his lips in sultry delight, his chest falling with a deep exhale as he captures her lips again in languid passion.

“When am I learning the story behind this jacket?” he murmurs curiously when they pull back for air, still a tad exhausted to engage in a full make out.

Betty settles back against his shoulder with a small smile. “It’s a gift from an old Serpent. Very long story; you’ll be surprised.” Her lips move in coordination with the pad of her index finger against his pec. “Let’s save that for later, I just wanna be with you close right now.” She purrs and clings to him in a cute girly fashion, his own arm closing tighter over the leather on her back, lips leaving a loving kiss on top of her hair.

The stay in silence for a while, him blinking up at the ceiling in peace now that his angel is again in his arms and her enjoying the heat and scent of his body with closed eyes, the gentle rain creating a soothing background to their deep breathing and delicious aching of bones.

“Hey, Betts?” Jughead whispers abruptly, as low as he can, not sure if she is asleep and not wanting to wake her if that’s the case.

“Hm?” she hums, nudging her cheek against his chest.

“You wanna know what my favorite thing here is?” The question is out of the blue but she doesn’t stop him because of course she wants to know, she always wants to know any big or tiny thing about him. “Every Friday night there’s this movie gathering where they set up this big screen and play retro movies. There are families there, kids our age, couples…” a tiny smile forms on his lips aimed at the abstract shapes of moon dust on the ceiling. “It’s a very nice sight to see amongst all the black leather and gas smoke.”

“Like the Drive-in?” Betty smiles too, even though she can’t see him do so. She can feel it.

“More like an outdoors cinema.” Jughead explains, fingers tracing the skin of her shoulder aimlessly. “They lay down blankets or tablecloths or worn out car sheets and just enjoy.”

She sits up against his chest again, eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise. “And Serpents actually turn up to such thing?”

“Of course.” He scoffs like it’s the obvious because it is. “There are people, Betts, just like us. A jacket doesn’t make a difference.” He states matter-of-factly and her mother’s previous words echo in her head.

Southside, Northside, we are all Riverdale. And Riverdale should be unified; you said so in your article.

“What are they playing this Friday?” she catches herself asking without even noticing.

“Tarantino, Pulp Fiction.” His baby blues shine with a hint of boyish excitement, that light that goes off when he is passionate about something and Betty utterly adores, and she doesn’t think twice before she goes to reply with a dashing grin.

“Then we should go.”

“What?” He almost jumps off the bed, head jerking up and his eyes now big round balls of shock.

“Yeah, we should.” She repeats, seeing him frown, while examining her face in the darkness in confusion. “We haven’t had a date since ages, Juggie. Plus, I really do wanna know your world. I wanna be here for you, for real this time.” Her tone is serious now, she is with him through every step of the way. “Maybe I can meet the guys you hang out with at school there too? If you want to, of course.” Betty’s sweet smile never fazes and Jughead is at a loss once again, mind blank and shut down by the sudden change of events.

“I do but… you, I mean, you don’t have to—” He stutters pathetically because he loves her for what she is trying to do and he will feel the happiest person on the planet if she wants to hold his hand while he dives in this new world that terrifies him but excites him at the same time. But he’s always putting her first and pressuring her or putting her in danger are some things he never did and will never do, so he is ready to refuse, to keep her out of trouble, to keep her pure and untouched, away from this muddy swamp he made his home.

She is stubborn like usual, fingers running to his lips to shush him. “I want to.” She declares, not leaving room for further discussion. “I told you before, Jug, if we’re gonna be together I wanna know everything about you.” She reminds him with a lovesick smile, taking his hand, like she had done back then at Polly’s baby shower, the Serpents being again the cause of conflict between them, and this time she brings her lips to his knuckles, kissing softly. He melts at the tender gesture and his eyes shine with love and devotion at the miracle of a girl that gets to call his.

“Fine, we’ll go.” Jughead can’t really refuse her anything; she has already conquered the most important parts of his identity, his soul and his muse. She squeals in delight and she kisses him with smiley lips and he can’t help but chuckle at her genuine enthusiasm, before raising his eyebrows in warning. “But now don’t go full on worried mode about first impressions and whatnot. After you slammed that door in my face the other night, Ryker practically worships you. He thinks you are so cool.” He drops his voice to mimic the other boy’s tone and then scoffs in exasperation, rolling his eyes too as Betty laughs loudly and smooches his cheek lovingly. He can’t stay broody after that though and he sighs in content as he gets lost in her eyes, his lovely boyish smile curling his lips and reaching his eyes, Betty’s heart thudding deliciously against her ribcage, as she feels an equal smile appear on her lips, her face the definition of a woman madly in love.

Yes, not all Serpents are bad. And her Serpent is definitely the purest soul of them all.

#bughead #jetty #bughead fanfiction #bughead prompts #betty x jughead #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fic #riverdaleships #otp:sundaes & plaids #mywriting

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laurabelle2930 · 7 years

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Forever at Odds: Part 2~Forever out of Place

So after some encouragement from @wherethereissmoak and @tdgal1 I’ve chosen to take the weekly Olicity Hiatus Fic-a-thon prompts and, use them to continue this fic. It should be fun challenge so thanks again to @thebookjumper for organizing this weekly event!

So here’s my entry for this week’s prompt Out of place!

Read it here or on AO3

Part 2~ Forever out of place

“I can’t believe you sold me like a common whore,” Felicity roared as the doors behind her slammed darkly.

Her mother’s ice cold eyes sneered at her daughter’s chosen defiance. She crossed the room and, reached for the only book Felicity had ever bothered to read more than once from cover to cover. The aged leather binding cracked beneath her mother’s skillful hands. “We have a job to do or have you forgotten the vow you took when you turned eighteen?” her mother warned almost somberly as she threw the book towards the center of the oval shaped room. The red and, black curtains whipped about the walls while the elder witch used the still air of the stale room to create a funnel at the base of the dome shaped ceiling.

Felicity watched unimpressed while her mother swept her hands wildly until the funnel cloud began to take it’s cylindrical shape. The book remained frozen at the center of the cyclone hovering innocently while a foolish woman used her gifts to throw a tantrum.

“If you think I’m going to be scared into agreeing you’ve forgotten I’m next in line,” Felicity snarled as her own fingers flew towards the raging storm.

Her mother’s eyes darkened, “Yes next...” she growled before she forced the invented storm to rage outwards towards her daughter’s waiting form.

Felicity blocked the deadly lightning strike with a flick of her beautiful blue eyes. Donna’s lips fell in shock when Felicity then raised her outstretched palms and cried darkly towards the turbulence above their hands, “ENOUGH!” The roaring thunder and drizzling rain vanished. The dark hardwood boards of the ceiling returned to view as the elder blonde stood before her daughter flummoxed.

“How?” she mouthed a bit proudly.

Felicity tilted her head towards her outstretched hand, the hovering book flew towards her waiting fingers. Her satisfied smile grew when she innocently replied, “Some books I didn’t need to read more than once...”

Donna’s frozen eyes began beaming with un-caged pride. “You do understand what we have to gain don’t you? You’ll be apart of history if I succeed.”

Felicity shrugged while she calmly flipped through the aged pages of a book that had been around since the first union between a vampire and, a witch was ever used as a tactic to protect human life. “You and I are the last of the original bloodline mother. We’re the only ones who remember the original pact that the Queen’s made when they first ventured towards our sleepy little hamlet. I’m also the only one that knows you’ve secretly been killing off the other clans for hundreds of years.”

Donna’s dark black robes dragged along the marble floors of her throne room while she moved towards the over-sized bay windows that overlooked the rocky shoreline of the island they’d chosen to call home. “So you let that vile woman capture you to force my hand?”

Felicity’s brow rose a fraction of an inch once she’d finally found the paragraph she’d been searching for, “Yes I was hoping that my capture would tell you it was time to intervene but, alas my plan failed when you sold me into an arranged marriage with.... there it is!” she squealed with childlike delight.

Donna pushed up the latch on the window and, smiled as it swung open. The cool breeze drifting off the frigid waters flowed through the tension filled room as she sighed, “Oh for heaven’s sakes Felicity what are you prattling on about now?” Choosing to ignore the barb she announced proudly, “I’ve found the passage that makes your deal with the bloodsucker null and void!”

Donna shook her head in humor which left Felicity confused as she stood with their family history clutched to her heaving chest. “Let me guess it states the witch has be willing?”

“Yes...” Felicity answered carefully. “It states the witch has the right to break the agreement...”

Donna’s eyes flickered with an ounce of sadness as her heavy, aged voice filled the otherwise silent room. “Baby you’re father was a vampire that rule only applies to one who wouldn’t be compatible with a true born vampire.”

Felicity felt her heart crack at the mention of her true parentage. “You made the deal because the spell that keeps me human is nearing it’s end didn’t you?”

Her mother’s hand fell towards the marble ledge. “Once you’re true nature is revealed my love his family will be the only one’s capable of protecting us from you...” she admitted shamefully. “You’re a coven leader, you’ve been alive for nearly four hundred years and, that boy is the only one capable of controlling the storm that will soon dominate your soul.”

“So you did this to save my life?”

Donna’s resigned sigh made Felicity’s heart bleed. “I did it to keep the Accords intact. I killed your father to keep the Accords intact and, now you’ll be asked to do the same.”

Felicity’s body shuddered, “What if the marriage works? What if they stop culling the human population for food? What if he’s strong enough to control me?”

Her mother’s eyes never left the now invisible horizon line, “Then when the time comes I’ll be forced to kill you too.”

Oliver’s palm felt heavy over her growing womb. His thumb was absentmindedly drifting across her belly button while his eyes danced beneath his weary lids. She brushed his furrowed brow with her fingertips and, smiled at his sleeping face. Four months into their marriage Felicity discovered through one of their many games of twenty questions that Oliver had never known the pleasure that comes from sleep. She smiled at one of their early moments and, wondered if she should have told him the truth before she’d gone and, fallen in love with him.

“What do you mean you’ve never slept? I mean you sleep all day don’t you?”

Felicity was truly perplexed. She’d been alive for over 400 years. She’d been taught to hunt, kill and, even how to charm a vampire. She knew almost everything about them and, one of those facts clearly stated that vampires slept during the day and lived only during the night. Her husband however seemed bound and, determined to poke yet another hole into her many theories.

Oliver was sitting on the bed in front of her with his legs crossed and, his hands folded across his lap. She was sitting in the same position about an inch away. She could smell the blood from his dinner on his breath while he could detect the slight scent of a ham sandwich that she consumed about twenty minutes before they’d begun the game. It seemed odd to his court but, they’d agreed to boundaries. She had her own bed across the massive room with a private bathroom and even a private entrance. The space between them held a massive sitting space with two couches, a small table and a built in entertainment center. Oliver had remained on the other side but, often invited her to join him during the evening hours for what he called a fireside chat. She at first had been hesitant but, eventually she’d begun to pine for the hours they’d spent innocently sitting atop his king sized bed.

His eyes always twinkled when she showed any genuine interest in him. Tonight was of course no exception. “I told you Lissy I was born a vampire. Unlike others of my kind I wasn’t made therefore...”

“The normal rules don’t apply,” she interrupted in quick realization.

He grinned broadly, “Right so I’ve never slept. Once you drift off for the night I usually venture towards the lower levels of the house in search of John for our nightly workouts,” he quipped as Felicity’s knees grazed against his own.

“But during the day you’re in this very bed with your eyes closed!” she pointed out almost a bit too loudly.

His smile grew and despite her reservations she admitted silently that his carefree smile was breathtaking. “I do it so you’ll feel comfortable,” he admitted feebly.

Felicity’s eyes widened as her lips fell and, her shocked words flowed forth, “You mean for the past four months you’ve been wasting your days in this damn room so I’ll feel more at ease?”

Their knees brushed once more when he shrugged in mild embarrassment, “Well usually I spent my days alone since the rest of my court minus Thea does sleep during the day so... this really wasn’t that hard to do...”

She shook her head shamefully, “No you did it so I wouldn’t be afraid. You did it to make me feel at ease at least during the daylight hours since I spent my night time hours hiding in this damn room out of fear towards the house's other residents.”

“You’re not mad are you?” he asked her shyly.

She lifted her shameful eyes and smiled at him sweetly. “No I’m just sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner,” she admitted as their knees once again brushed but, this time she didn’t immediately pull away. She let their bodies remained connected as she timidly bit her bottom lip. She caught the flicker of surprise but, ignored the brilliant blue hue of his eyes and, opted instead to ask another question in order to relieve what she thought was her guilt ridden heart. “So would you be interested in sleeping?”

Oliver’s brows rose in interest, “Felicity Queen are you offering to use a spell to help me experience the mortal pleasure that is sleep?”

Something in her heart clenched when he called her Felicity Queen. The first time it happened she knew the troubling emotion was anger but, now in this moment she wasn’t sure why her heat was so rapidly fluttering. “Well yeah,” she hiccuped nervously. “If you want...” she added almost too quickly.

She saw his fingers stretching out along his knuckles. She too felt her own twined fingers beginning to yearn to be free. She smiled when his eyes fell to his hidden feet. “I think I’d like to spend my days awake with you,” he whispered gently.

“And then perhaps we could try spending our nights asleep together as well?” she whispered in shock.

His affected, “I’d enjoy that prospect as well,” made her entire body burn with warmth. She glanced at his hopeful eyes and, smiled brightly as she slid her free hand towards his bent knee.

“I think I’d like it as well,” she gulped as her thumb grazed over his kneecap.

She felt a shiver of electricity flow through her skin when he finally stroked his thumb softly against her knuckles...

The full moon’s pale light made his cold skin glow with the light of a thousand faceted diamonds. She shook her head as he lumbered toward her in his sleep. She let him rub his forehead along her growing stomach as his soft snores vibrated over her skin. She lazily stoked her fingers through his hair as another memory ran through her fractured heart.

“So what did you have to tell me?” Sara spat with hurt feelings and, perhaps even a bruised ego after Felicity had told her not three hours before that they had a relationship out of requirement and, certainly not friendship.

Felicity caught the hurt in her friend’s soft yet angered tone. “Sara I was upset, I didn’t mean any of it,” she proclaimed as her left hand began to shake. “But I’d just learned about something that could destroy my marriage and, for once I’m not okay with that...” she realized awkwardly.

Sara tilted her head but kept her arms crossed defensively across her chest, “Okay and that would be what exactly?”

Felicity held the positive test in her shaking hand, “I’m in love with him...” she spat back in shock. She glanced down at her still taut stomach and, smiled almost happily as she gently stroked over the flat surface. “I’m in love with him...” she repeated. “I’m completely and hopelessly in love with him...” she nearly giggled while her blonde nemesis stood before her looking shocked and confused.

“Umm Lissy not to interrupt your moment but what does any of this have to do with me?”

Felicity’s eyes flew back to Sara’s confused stare. She swallowed another elated giggle and, then immediately squared her shoulders. “Well quite a bit actually,” she gulped uncomfortably. “You see,” she hiccuped, “I’m pregnant...”

Sara’s eyes blazed as Felicity lifted her shaking left hand with the positive test clenched within her tight grasp. Sara’s labored sounding, “How is that even possible?” was drowned out by Felicity’s hammering heart.

Sara instantly reached for her stomach and, Felicity let her. She let her softly stroke her fingers along the miracle she’d managed to create with a man who’d never been told the truth. Felicity placed her hand over the back of Sara’s and plead with tear rimmed eyes, “Sara I’ve done something unforgivable...”

Her bodyguard and sometimes friend gently cupped her cheek rasping softly, “Lissy what haven’t you told him?”

She sobbed almost silently, “Everything...”

The clock on what used to be her side of the room chimed lightly. It was 3am. The rest of the house would be coming back home soon. The sounds of their laughter would soon fill the lower levels with conversation and, joyful spirits as each fought over who would get to name the baby.

Felicity’s soft smile was replaced by a firm frown when a hollow knock interrupted her peaceful reverie. She recognized the knock as Sara’s. She whispered a layered, “he’s asleep,” allowing the blonde haired protector to enter the room with a degree of caution. Felicity’s sleeping spell was strong but, Oliver’s desire to protect their unborn child was proving to be stronger. Before they’d become intimate he’d sleep soundly for eight hours and, only woke once she’d gently kissed his brow. The first time they had sex the spell weakened so she suggested that it didn’t have to be dark outside for them to be close. That worked but the moment he found out she was pregnant the spell was all but useless. She so much as fluttered against his chest and, he’d be awake searching for the cause of her unease.

Tonight was no exception. They’d made love, she’d let him feed off her as she done so many times before while he slowly ingested the potion she’d created so he could sleep. She thought he was out when she went to meet Sara and, her latest lover Nyssa in the clearing. Sadly the moment she left his arms he awoke and, began searching for her.

Sara approached the bed carefully with a lecture at the tip of her tongue, “His soul is yours Lissy. He about tore apart the castle looking for you,” she scolded as she rummaged through her messenger bag.

Felicity kept running her fingers through his hair slowly, “And mine is his but, Sara I have to know will she accept the agreement?”

Sara removed the parchment Felicity had sent to her mother from the bag and, let it fall over her lap. Oliver’s nose was touched by the faded paper but he never once stirred. Felicity glanced over the broken seal and, sighed in heartache, “What are her terms?”

Sara’s grimace made the demon inside her yearn to be free. “Felicity were you really born a vampire like Oliver?”

“I see she did more than read…”

Sara’s lips formed a scrunched up oh as she cringed in agreement, “She was curious let’s just put it that way?” she offered as a question instead of an answer.

Felicity’s fingers flew over the coiled paper as her chest sagged, “Yes,” she admitted softly. “My father was like Oliver a born vampire who met and, fell in love with my mother a coven leader.” Felicity glanced at Sara’s crestfallen face. Her soft eyes encouraged her to unburden her heavy soul. “He couldn’t control his hunger so months after I was born she had him killed to protect the accords.”

Felicity could see the lingering questions bouncing through Sara’s eyes. “Oh just ask already,” she scolded while the other woman began to focus her thoughts.

“So that spell you’re under I’m guessing isn’t really an aging spell is it?”

Felicity placed her free hand over her stomach and hiccuped in sorrow. “The spell was meant to keep my vampire side dormant. I was raised as a witch, I was trained as a coven leader and, I was put into this family to keep the accords intact.”

Again intrigued Sara asked for more, “So that’s why you and our would be King over there were really able to conceive a child then?”

Felicity felt like a broken record as she scratched beneath the player’s dull needle. “Yes. We’re compatible and, the spell allows me to live like a human but…”

“You can’t change your genetics,” Sara mused aloud.

Felicity grumbled in forced agreement. “No I can’t and, if I hadn’t gotten pregnant in about 20 years my true nature would have taken control and, I like Oliver would have become one of the most powerful vampires in the world.”

“Wait what do you mean if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?”

Felicity wanted to slam the heel of hand against her forehead for letting that small fact slip, “The pregnancy is weakening the spell so by the time our child is born I’ll be back to my true state.”

“So why not just wait until…” Sara’s words died on her tongue when she replaced them swiftly with, “You wouldn’t survive the transition would you?”

She shook her head sullenly, “No. I’ll die like Moira did the moment my child tries to feed.”

Sara hearing those words suddenly pushed for more, “Felicity you have to tell me why she really chose you.”

Felicity’s wide eyes sparkled with the truth before she could form the words. “The spell can’t be redone,” she croaked.

Sara’s lip quivered with a muddled, “Why not?”

“Because it requires the blood of both my parents and, well she’d didn’t remember to save a vile of my father’s blood before she had him killed,” she breathed in anger, “I’m going to become a vampire, but unlike all of you I’ll have the powers of a fully trained witch. In short she sent me here to destroy the oldest clan in history and then myself.”

Sara gulped, “How were you planning to do that?”

Felicity glanced down at her husband lovingly, “I managed to convince him to taking a sleeping potion Sara, how hard would it be to poison all of you in your sleep once I had the most powerful vampire in history under my control?”

She could tell Sara was shocked. They all assumed that she’d offered him the chance to taste mortality out of kindness not out of spite. None of them assumed it was apart of a grander plan, no one assumed that she could truly be that cold. What shocked Felicity was what she had assumed… she assumed she’d never fall in love with a monster, she never assumed she’d realize he never was one. Sara’s pained breaths brought her back to reality. “His mother was a witch...” she croaked. Felicity waited for the pieces of her mother’s plan to fall into place. “He’s like you...” she realized almost numbly. “He’s the only one strong enough to control you isn’t he?” she finally asked in disbelief.

Felicity nodded, “See Sara my entire life I’ve been out of place. I’ve never truly belonged anywhere until I fell in love with him and, now...”

“Two true born vampires are about to bring a child into the world. The mother is a trained witch and, the father is the oldest vampire still alive after the first culling,” she breathed in disbelief.

“She knew I’d fall for him,” Felicity rasped painfully. “She wanted us to kill the clan. Then once he was the sole survivor she’d offer to spare his life and, mine if we agreed to work for her,” she managed to mutter as Sara’s body went limp before her.

“Are you beginning to understand why I was so adamant that he turn me?” she asked softly.

Sara’s sad eyes glowed in remorse. “If he breaks the spell you’ll be sired to him... because you’ll belong to him?” she guessed as Felicity nodded.

“Sort of,” she replied then began to dive into the longer explanation, “If he breaks the blood spell that’s kept me human then my true nature will be allowed to bloom thus forging another blood bond that not even magic can break,” Felicity explained as Sara fought to understand.

“So it’s basically breaking one blood bond by forming another?”

Felicity nodded, “Yes that’s why I’ve encouraged him to feed on me. I needed to make sure I could tolerate the venom in his bite.”

Sara’s nose wrinkled when she realized when Oliver would have chosen to feed. “Oh gross he feeds on you when he’s about to come doesn’t he?”

She couldn’t hide the smile of pure satisfaction that raced across her suddenly elated face. Sara’s now wrinkled brow made Felicity muse aloud, “While I enjoy when he chooses to feed on me it’s been done to prepare me for what it will feel like when he actually turns me.”

Felicity could tell that Sara’s head was swimming so she glanced at that almost forgotten parchment and, asked her very gently, “If you’re asking all these questions then I’m guessing my mother will allow him to change me but the price will be steep won’t it?”

Sara tapped the parchment, “She offered to remove the spell before baby’s born but, Felicity her price is steep...”

Felicity croaked in controlled anger, “She wants the baby doesn’t she?”

Sara couldn’t answer. Her sad eyes showed the heartache her soul was under. Felicity didn’t push she simply frowned as the rolled parchment laid between them.

Sara’s lips parted a few times but, nothing ever came out. Instead of prolonging the moment she simply began to slip towards the door. Her silence was the only answer Felicity truly needed. As the door shut the room once more was flooded with darkness. Felicity felt Oliver’s lips moving along the side of her stomach as her mind began to shake with fear. “I’m not giving her our child Felicity,” he yawned as she began to shuffle down towards his open arms.

“Then you know what you’ll have to do...” she sighed.

He kissed her brow slowly while she molded her body into his. His last words made the demon within her flicker slowly with untamed delight.

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect our child Felicity I promise.”

Felicity finally fell into a fitful sleep knowing that once again she was out of place and soon she feared she’d also be out of time.

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