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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Everything is Blue

Chapter 1: His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him. He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out! I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au. Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr! It even has a sequel! Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her. A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it. He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point? She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories. He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead. Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing. If anything, MK thought he’d be older. He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them. Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time. DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young. Powerful. Weak. Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin. Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops. His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face. The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot. It’s a miracle he’s even standing.

What is this?

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters. The empty canisters. There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?

Is this? Wher e it w e n t?

Wha t i s . . . ?

It’s hard to think. His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel. Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

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He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea. He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze. How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face. He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here. Then again, he doesn’t even know how he got here. He feels dizzy just trying to remember.

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss. Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time. He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing. There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little. He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost. He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before. Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands. He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy

“Here, kid. Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever. Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown. MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

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The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight. MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying

Leave.

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air.

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm. Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again. He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain. The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque. MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable. He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little. Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second.

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud! Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone. Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him. He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know? Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool. You uh...you bring anyone with you?”

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No? Unless-Oh no, is there someone here? Is it a demon guy?” What if he led a bad guy here? What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved. MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves. Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh! That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head. “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt. But! If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker! Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.

“Sure, why not? If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow.

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin. “Totally! I’m, like, the best at meditation. I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects. MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits. Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks. A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move. It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise. “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out. Nothing else matters but the energies around you. Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,”

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride. “I’m a pretty powerful guy. DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too. Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath. The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin. Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King. Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding. He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already? You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope! Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?” He shrugs, and then stands, looking around. Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip. “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong? I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself. “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud. I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off. MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei! She’s...very green. Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid. Not surprising. Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts. “You’re freezing. It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal. Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe? I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately. Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again. “You’re probably fine. Just, take it easy the next few days, alright? Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job. When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely. MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay. Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.

Monkey King deliberates. Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what. We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago. Kay?”

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home. He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find. He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold. He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat. There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice. He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training. It’s good to see them again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore. MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work. Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries. It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day. He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy. Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so.

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam. Luckily the customer hadn��t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing. He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake. Cruel, to yell at one so young. Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump. Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down. He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it? When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

It’s probably nothing. After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments. When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings. When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating. When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up. When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days. When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you. They want you gone. They’re plotting against you. They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that. He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying. He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues. He knows that he’s not a good enough successor. And that just makes him want to do better.

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense. He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know? He’s the Monkey King’s successor. He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager. If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part. Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be. He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter. He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough. He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often. If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week. He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier. Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades. He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet. He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right? That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right? He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough. They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room. He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore. He’s losing feeling in his fingers. He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him. And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out. If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him. He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?

Listen to me.

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it. The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice. He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them. They try to kill him, but it’s never personal. He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him. He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder. They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him. And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close. And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age. And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son. It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen. Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in. Not yet.

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MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon. They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat. After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task. So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm. You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around. He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad. Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number. Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text. He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before.

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape. They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt. MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK. You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it. He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth. He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them. That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently. He sips the tea. It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says. “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt. If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea. A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away. Apparently MK is too cold for its liking. He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning. Mistakes are bound to happen. Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever! You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders. And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is. “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool. Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with. MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright. Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced. Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang. I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories. I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back. He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble. Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it. It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay. The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by. Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled. Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly. MK tilts his head to the side. “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh. So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits. Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK? You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah! What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled. They thought he had killed an innocent girl! He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him. The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit. She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather. Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up. Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently. “More than once. Not that it matters.”

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends. “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better. But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side. “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right. Eugh, gross. Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down. “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter. MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind. He stumbles a bit while walking. He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time. He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing. She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating. Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt. His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue. He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours. Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her. He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon. There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet. He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there. This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face. Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud? You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it. MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful. And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward. The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second. “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something. There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward. Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house. When did they get there? Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid. Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch. Warm. Safe.

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked. Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks. “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK. MK blinks in confusion. He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear. It’s nice, sometimes. Mean other times. MK wonders if that’s his fault. Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him? How can he be better? He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on. MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away. Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote. Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off. It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream. He stands on ice. Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles. He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer. The closer he gets, the more he can make them out. “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls. His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants. He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow. Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face. It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself. He misses the contact. He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him. It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else. Her face is ice cold, yet inviting. He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay? Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly. Of course that’s what he wants. More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration. He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity. She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it. The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm. It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired. He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero. He is warm. He is ready.

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before. Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps. The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin. MK has never felt better. He knows what to do now. He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will. He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while. He forgot he had to. He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching. He remembers, now, how to look at auras. He remembers a lot of things now. It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first? He needs to get all of them, keep them secure. It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first. We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense. MK grins to himself. It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing. He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance. He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory. Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash. They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough. They’re demons. Dangerous. He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.

He heads to their home, not in a hurry. There’s no rush to the inevitable. Is this what self confidence is? The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you? It feels very gratifying. He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.

His phone buzzes. A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is. He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff. Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps. That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh. “Step two, take the staff from him.”

As if they could. MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door. Polite. He still has manners, after all.

“Huh? Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice. MK pats the statue with a fond look. He’ll chip away the extra pieces later. This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise. He can get better at it with practice. Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other. Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes. He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders. Where is he going to put them? There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed. What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave? The old villain hideout?

That’s perfect! After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right? Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan. Gosh, he’s so smart. Because this is him, all him. He finally is smart enough to know what to do. He has to clear out the cave, first. It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers. There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses. He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right? He can fix anything, given enough time. That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK’s release. He nods to himself, and heads off. He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon. That stops him short. He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now? He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away. The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time. The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter. “On it!”

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart. Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times. “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion. A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders. He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind. Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven. The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work. The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going. He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree. Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live. MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim. The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be. Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel. The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up. Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet. Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white. He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool. He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn. He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up. Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually. The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers. They seem new? Why hasn’t he used them before? How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he? MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy. It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right. MK nods to himself. Now, time to get Yin and Jin! Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them. He has to consider DBK’s size. Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady? He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut. Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes. But first, rest.

Right. He needs to head back to his house. Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon. He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one. MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays. The spider demon isn’t easy to find. He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will. He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him. Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing. MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished. It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch. It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers. He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes. Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction. The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver. “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine. Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes. “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern. He tilts his head to a side in confusion. “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all. He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway. “I’m trying out some contacts. Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits. “But those look cool!”

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade. Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind. Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory. Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away. He’s too cold for them.

He needs contact.

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade. Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising. Someone hurt his friend. A demon? A scan of the area reveals no such thing. Just a mean person. He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up. He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town. Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight. When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough! Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable. He heads to his room and paces. How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks. Now, there’s an idea. But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever. Just until they know how to behave. Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment. Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it. Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that. Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out. However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends. This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair. Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her. He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember? Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway. Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to. The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence. He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right? MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her. She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back. “Ooo, we’re rough, now? Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all. Huh. His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot. “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.”

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle. The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her. MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down. Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder. MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard. The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up. “What’s the occasion? Is there something new you wanted to teach me? Is there a demon we have to fight?” We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself. Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun! He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond. Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week. “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know? And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him. But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left! Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re? Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch. Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out. It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all. He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns. He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine. You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days. Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.

“Anyway, get some rest, bud. You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off. The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all. But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans. Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all. He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city. How it will look, when he’s done. He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this. So he sketches. Pins the piece to the wall.

Squints. He doesn’t like it.

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied. But there is no time to waste. So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture. He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part. Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder. It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place. He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects. But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly. He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure. After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything. There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure. There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos. MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums. He wonders if they have statues, a shrine? He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow. MK listens in with interest. What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him. He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply. “He barely knows you, and he’s young. He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them. The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders. MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily. “But, anyway, could you hold still? This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually. DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness. “We are in your debt for helping save my husband. However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire. Volcanoes. She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry. But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles. The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder. Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there. He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges.

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground. MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy! What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son! I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor. Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him. “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore. You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks. He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that. He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts. “But, I get it. You don’t understand. You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming. For a moment, something rises within him.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency. MK blinks, tries to remember where he is. Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan. He got them! Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm. It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him. He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right. Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously. “What…happened to you? You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts. “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK. What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. “I stopped all the bad guys! See?” he gestures to them. “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice. Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion. “Kid, how are you doing this? Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand. “And the-my head voice gave me the idea. Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar. “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains. “It-it told me how to do it. And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here? He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in.

“You shouldn’t have any deviations. Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash. “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever. “I’m just fixing things, okay? I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror. “He’ll be fine! It doesn’t hurt. I’ve been freezing for ages! It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal. His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach. His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it. “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now. Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point. “It’s mine.” Right? Because Monkey King gave it to him. Gifts can’t be taken back, right? MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it. ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud. C’mon.”

Another step forward. MK grips the staff tighter.

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong. His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun. It’s too soft to be true. “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble. MK’s eyes are wild.

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it! I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts. Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder. Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go! Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected. Why is everyone so terrified? This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot. MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart. And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused. He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard. The ice is up to his chest. “Get out of here. Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over. “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets. Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets. The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends. They have to understand. This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other. The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.

She groans, her bike suit torn. He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt. Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is. Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Where does it hurt? I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps. He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.

Gosh, humans. They’re so annoying! If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting. MK nods.

Right. A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash. It crawls over and into everything. Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes. He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice.

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet. With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops. Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud. “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading. He just wants to do right. Why don’t they understand? Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy. Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream. At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises. It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain. Something warm and different and yet familiar stings. Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go! If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else. He doesn’t know who he is. What’s right? What’s wrong? How can he tell?

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat. No, this isn’t right. You froze good people. Innocent people! You froze Tang and Sandy! You made Pigsy cry! You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet. Monkey King is notoriously stubborn. He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet. All you have to do is wait for them to come back. And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.

The voice sounds so self assured. The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin. He chokes on his own breath. It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Everyone’s gone.

He’s alone.

This can’t be right.

It is. You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands. The need to do more, be more. It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet. He feels a hand brush his hair back. He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.

MK stands. The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then! Let’s get to work!”

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages. He doesn’t think he can. He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue. He has to fix that, it’s unsightly! Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head. It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel. We’re going to do great things together.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #possession au #monkie kid mk #sun wukong #monkie kid monkey king #monkie kid mei #monkie kid red son #red son #kitkat1003

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shireness-says · 5 years

Text

Heat

Summary: There's only so much that one can do on a hot and lazy morning. Luckily, Killian has a wife to do it with. Or: CS honeymoon sex. ~3.3K. Rated E for, you know, the sex. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Here it is - my second contribution to the @csseptembersunshine! I don’t know where this smut came from. I’m sure y’all won’t complain too much. Special thanks to my beta, @snidgetsafan, for taking the time to remind me what is and isn’t anatomically possible. Limbs are weird, guys.

Tagging the interested parties: @profdanglaisstuff, @snowbellewells, @thisonesatellite, @optomisticgirl, @phiralovesloki, @kmomof4, @let-it-raines, @winterbaby89, @awkwardnessandbaseball, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

“Knees are so fucking weird,” Emma comments from beside him. It’s still early morning, the sunlight barely peeking through the gauzy curtains they’d hung together in their bedroom, and Killian had been under the apparently mistaken impression that they were both dozing comfortably in the dim morning light. It’s hot in the middle of summer, even in Maine, and even this early in the morning. They barely have a sheet on the bed, and as Killian reluctantly peels an eye open, he can see that Emma’s stuck a leg out from underneath them, likely in search of the breeze from the ceiling fan. It already flutters at the opened drapes on their four-poster bed and licks along the uncovered skin of his shoulders where his right arm is slung over Emma’s waist.

His wife.

They’d been a little too busy attempting to defeat the Black Fairy for him to really revel in that title in the immediate aftermath, but he’s determined to make up for that now. For so long, he thought he’d never get married, never experience this kind of quiet domesticity and the comfort of knowing that you definitely, irrevocably belong with another person. Of course, marriage is just a social institution, two names on a paper and an unnecessarily opulent ritual, but there’s a solemnity to pledging yourself to another person in front of witnesses. None of it will change anything; they committed to each other long ago, but still…

He has a wife.

They're on their honeymoon, supposedly, or at least as close to one as they'll get with the ever-present threats that come with living in Storybrooke. Leaving town had been out of the question; Emma hadn't been comfortable with the idea of leaving her son when the Black Fairy's minions might still have been about. Things have been quiet since the old witch's defeat, but everyone seems to be of the same mind that it's best to keep an eye out for the moment. They'd thought about taking the Jolly out as far as the town's boundaries stretched, and there is still something appealing about the idea of nothing but him and Emma and the sea, but they'd ultimately opted just to stay home, cocooned in the house they're still trying to make their own.

(Just because they're home doesn't mean they're available, however; Emma's put up so many repelling wards, designed to keep out all but Henry - who knows not to interrupt unless death itself is threatening the town - that the house might as well be invisible. The delivery boy has been very good about waiting at the gate for one of them to come down to exchange food for a tip.)

A haze of sex still permeates the room after the activities of the night before. Somewhere in the room is discarded lingerie, a lacy number that Killian had barely restrained himself from tearing straight through when Emma had sauntered out of the bathroom. Their first joining had been heated, furious, suitable for the first night of a delayed honeymoon; the second time around had been more gentle when they'd woken up at half past one, still as hungry but in a measured way that slowly drove their passions higher and higher as they laid on their sides, Killian’s front pressed to Emma’s back as he took her from behind,, all just barely visible in the light of a candle hastily lit by magic.

As for round three... that's still to be seen.

"Not a sentence I expected to hear," he yawns, stretching himself into full consciousness. "Should I be insulted?"

"I mean, if you want to be," Emma snickers. "I was talking about my own knees, but yeah, yours are pretty weird looking too. Hairy."

"Oi!" he protests, wiggling his fingers against Emma's side to make her squirm. That's another benefit of marriage, or at least of finding himself in a committed relationship: learning all of Emma's ticklish spots, and the best way to exploit them. "You like that hair. Elsewhere, at least, if the way you moan when my chest hair rubs against your nipples is any indication."

"Yeah, but leg hair is different," Emma protests in between bursts of laughter.

"And how is that, pray tell?" He stills his fingers for just a moment to let Emma catch her breath. Now that he's awake, there's other things he'd rather do with those fingers anyways - so many places to stroke and tease to coax his darling wife into a state of indescribable pleasure.

"It just is. Because I say so," she grins cheekily.

"Is that so?"

"It is. And you know, if you want this marriage thing to go well, it'd probably be a good idea to remember that. I'm always going to be right. Happy wife, happy life, or something."

"Oh, I'll show you a happy wife," he growls, abruptly capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. It's like his blood springs to a boil immediately, the very touch of her lips setting him on fire. Not that they're stopping at just a gentle brush of the lips; Emma's mouth parts readily to admit his seeking tongue, and he takes full advantage of that permission to practically devour her. There's no resisting temptation when she tastes this good, and Emma gives as good as she gets, nipping at his bottom lip and making him moan - a fact that makes her lips quirk up delightedly. Killian sucks on her own lip in turn before inching his hand up to cup a breast. It only takes a few passes of his thumb to coax the bud to alert tightness, pebbled and sensitive. Emma arches to meet his touch, but that only causes her other nipple to brush against the chest hair she'd so maligned earlier, and her breath catches in a sudden gasp.

"I told you so, love," he teases, only breaking away from her mouth to deliver his mild mockery.

"Oh shut up," she growls back. "Just kiss me, Jones."

"As you wish, Mrs. Jones." He hasn't had a chance to use that particular title nearly enough; he’ll have to rectify that in the near future, as many times as he can.

Somehow, their kisses slow down, become deeper and more thorough. On a morning like this, with no family expecting them and no threat knocking on their door, they've got all the time in the world, and Killian intends to take advantage of every moment. He'd be a fool not to, really.

When he moves to shift his weight over her body, though, Emma hums a note of protest. Killian moves swiftly back to the side, putting some space between them. “Sorry, love, I —”

“No, no, it’s not that I’m not in the mood, it’s just —” she huffs, the noise filled with obvious frustration. “It’s too fucking hot.”

Killian laughs. Even if he’s left a space between his and Emma’s bodies for the moment, his fingertips still trace patterns along the naked skin of her stomach and thighs. “This summer has been fierce,” he admits. Even this early in the morning - it can’t be much past seven, if that - he can already feel the humidity beginning to collect in every corner of the room. Today’s going to be a scorcher.

Emma flops her head over dramatically to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” she grimaces, “but even the sheet feels like too much.”

“That’s quite alright, love,” he replies, stretching his neck to drop a light kiss on her cheek. “I understand.” They lay in a peaceful silence for a minute, bodies pulled between a simmering arousal and that early morning lethargy that still might pull them back under into sleep. Slowly, a plan starts to form in his mind. “Though out of curiosity…” he begins before trailing off again.

“Yeah?”

“Is your only opposition to a little… shall we say, early morning delight the aforementioned heat?” As he speaks, Killian lets his fingers quest across her outer thigh again, his arm thrown across her belly.

A slow, sly smile inches its way across Emma’s face where she still faces him, almost a smirk. He’d almost say that was something she picked up from him, if it wasn’t somehow such an Emma thing. “You got a plan in mind, Captain?” she asks, punctuating the word with a hard consonant and a salacious lick of her lips. If Killian’s arousal had been flagging after their brief intermission, that gesture alone sparks a new fire in him; beneath the thin sheet, he can feel his cock harden in renewed interest.

(Her bare breasts might have something to do with that too, especially with the way she’s stretched to display them to their best advantage. It doesn’t hurt, either, knowing that he’s got her all to himself for days and days yet, and as his wife.

Has he mentioned yet just how glorious it is to be married to the love of his life?)

“Maybe,” he smirks back, before abruptly using his hand to pull Emma onto his own body. She quickly catches on, moving to sit up and properly straddle his body. For the moment, she still rests on his torso, the delectable swell of her buttocks just resting on his hip bones. The aforementioned knees pose more of a challenge as Emma nearly jabs him in the side trying to settle into position. It’s hard to care too much when she’s smiling so happily, but he still can’t help but tease her a bit for it.

“There’s easier ways to take my breath away, darling,” he winks.

“Shut up and kiss me, pirate.”

He complies, of course; he’d be a fool to argue with that kind of command. He pulls Emma down roughly to meet his lips with his hand to the back of her head and his stump on her hips, allowing her hair to cascade around them. Killian allows the kiss for a moment, lets them resume their earlier dueling of tongues and crushing of lips as Emma tries to grind down on his abdomen, before he breaks them apart again, pulling Emma’s hips forward until she’s forced to sit back up or crack her spine in half.

“What are you doing?” she laughs. “Doesn’t this defeat the point?”

“Maybe I’ve got a different idea.” If his tone itself weren’t salacious enough, the way he raises his eyebrow ought to drive that home. Well, that and the way he keeps pulling Emma’s hips further and further up his body. “One I think you’ll like.”

Never let it be said that his Swan isn’t a quick study - especially where a prospect so obvious and enjoyable is involved. She braces her hands against the wall, just above where the wrought iron of their bed frame stops, as Killian pulls her just that last inch into place. There’s something so primal and beautiful, so arousing, about the sight of her folds glistening just inches above his mouth, just begging him to reach up for a taste of her core. Come to think about it, there’s no reason he shouldn’t do exactly that, and with that realization, Killian wraps his hand and stump around the outside of Emma’s thighs to rest along the flesh of her hips and draw her down within proper reach of his mouth.

There’s nothing truly different about attempting this while married than while courting or while betrothed (aside from the ring on his finger, of course), but Killian feels inclined this morning to put a little extra care - or rather, a little extra tenderness; the care is always there, implicit and inextricable in every movement he makes where his love is concerned - into the way he loves her with his mouth. Perhaps he need not be so meticulous - after all, Emma begins to squirm at the mere feel of his warm breath across her center- but he takes his time anyways, making sure to trace along the outside of her folds with exquisite slowness and care. It’s gratifying to hear the shaky little breath that Emma exhales at the touch, and Killian can’t help but grin from his position under her.

Obviously, she feels that somehow - or maybe sees it; he’s a little too focused on the primal glory before him to see where her own eyes are aimed. “Don’t get cocky on me yet, Jones,” she warns, shifting on her knees in anticipation.

“I thought you liked me cocky, Jones” he says, nosing up towards her nub just to see what kind of noise she makes. “Isn’t that rather the aim of all this?”

(For what it’s worth, that earns him another shaky breath. Excellent.)

“Prove it to me first.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He’s more than happy to do exactly that.

The strokes of his tongue pick up speed over time, alternating with flicks to her clit, before he switches to draw the entire flat of his tongue across her opening. Emma moans in response, and Killian takes it as his permission to advance his efforts, beginning to dip his tongue inside her sheath for a new and intense sensation. His jaw is beginning to ache from his slow and continuous efforts, but that becomes a secondary concern when Emma begins grinding down on his face, seeking more friction and the climax he know must be singing in her veins, just waiting to explode. He’s done his best to pay her nub attention with the nudge of his nose when he’s not bid it the attentions of his tongue, but now he fully shifts his attention there to flick his tongue rapidly over the bit of flesh, bringing his hand around from where it had been bracing her thigh to slip a finger inside her core.. Emma pants heavily at the new sensation, beginning to vocalize high-pitched and breathy sounds, and Killian knows that her bliss must be just within reach. Quickly, he switches to sucking on her clit and slips a second finger within her pulsing sheath and curls them in search of that special spot, and thrusts, and sucks, and thrusts, and curls, and sucks, and sucks…

And Emma falls into her orgasm with a loud cry of relief. As her muscles relax in the aftermath, Emma sags, dropping to lean on the bed frame and inadvertently settling more of her weight onto Killian’s face. Honestly, if this is how he dies… what a way to go.

Emma comes back to herself before that, however, and shifts herself back down his body to drape across Killian’s torso, a happy and boneless mess. The same can’t be said for Killian, however; every nerve in his body feels awake and thirsting for contact, and his cock is hard and throbbing and ready for relief, preferably within the clasp of Emma’s body. The way his erect member just brushes against the flesh of her rear, glancing against her damp flesh as she wriggles in a comfortable position, does not help matters in the least.

“God, you’re good at that,” she sighs.

“I only aim to please my lady,” he replies smoothly.

Emma slowly pushes herself back upright. “Feels like you could use a little pleasing yourself.”

“A man can’t help himself, love, when faced with such a siren as youuuuuu.” The last word ends up exhaled on a desperate hiss as Emma lifts and rearranges herself to grind along his cock. It’s not nearly enough, but it’s something, and after working himself up so much lavishing his attentions onto Emma, it feels bloody fantastic.

“Need you, love,” he manages to gasp out as Emma moves slow enough along his member to drive him crazy with the most pleasurable torture. “Gods, but you feel good. Let me make you feel good too, please, love, please —” He’s practically babbling, but doesn’t have the strength to care, not when he’s so close to exactly what he wants - to bury himself deep within her heat and let her ride them both into completion.

“Something you want, Captain?” she smirks, even if Killian can hear her own breath catch with every pass of her hips.

“Just you, love,” he gasps - groans.

Finally, finally, she grasps his cock and guides him to her opening, slowly easing herself down on him in a slick slide. Every shift of her hips as she adjusts herself to her comfort feels glorious; though she’s just rocking her hips back and forth at the moment, settling into his sensual invasion, he can already tell that the moment she starts to properly fuck him, it’ll blow his damn mind and send him into a spectacular orgasm. He just hopes he can hold out more than two minutes.

When Emma does begin to move, lifting her hips and slamming them back down with a tricky little swivel that sends Killian’s eyes rolling back in his head, he knows he was right to worry. The clench and drag of her core around his cock is exquisite beyond words, especially combined with the way her thumbs scrape across his nipples where she braces herself on his chest.

For what it’s worth, he does last longer than two minutes; however, it’s hard to think of anything that might temper his arousal when he’s got a perfect view of where their bodies join again and again. There’s something hypnotizing about it, seeing where they become one in body as well as soul. He’s the one who gets to be so fully enveloped by this blonde angel, and it still astounds him every day - married or not. Sweat glistens upon both their skin now, but there’s a satisfaction in knowing that’s because of their exertions, not the heat increasingly gathering as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

Soon enough, though, they hit a point of no return, thankfully shortly after Emma’s own movements become more purposeful and she stops teasing him in order to properly chase her own climax. Killian helps them both along by bracing his feet against the mattress to thrust up, making Emma moan deeply in response. Her hair just teases his kneecaps when she throws her head back in pleasure; between the way her breasts jostle with each thrust and the sight of her long, slender throat, she looks like some kind of sensual painting, or a spirit sent for him to worship (and be worshipped by in return).

“Close,” Emma gasps out. She’s not much of a talker during sex, her moans and gasps instead the evidence of her pleasure; she must have spotted the tell-tale signs of his own impending release, and sought to warn him not to go off without her. Quickly, he moves his fingers just above where they’re joined to rub at her clit and hopefully send her into her climax before he explodes.

It doesn’t quite work; all the sensations are just a bit too much, and Killian can’t hold back any longer, shooting his release with a loud groan. By some miracle - or maybe just clever fingers - Emma’s right behind him, the telltale clench of her orgasm hitting just as Killian’s own pleasure begins to subside. Somehow, he has the presence of mind even in his sated exhaustion to coax her through it with continued pressure against her nub until Emma finally slumps over his body, utterly drained of energy.

He’d be happy to stay like this forever, just basking in the afterglow with his love (his wife!), but his cock is softening within her body and they really do need to disconnect from one another. Still, once they’ve separated, he clasps Emma to his chest instead of letting her roll off to the side.

“Won’t you get hot?” she murmurs, already falling back towards sleep.

“See if I care,” he whispers back with a kiss to the crown of her hair.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs smut #csseptembersunshine #my writing #heat #they bang #that's it #that's all that happens

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andipxndy-writes · 5 years

Text

The Triplets - Rick & Laura

[[Oh my gosh it’s been 5ever since I’ve actually posted anything on any of my blogs on this site. But here I am, back because my muses decided to pop up!

Anyway, I wrote a thing! Basically, in my procrastination, I’ve been reading through a bunch of old threads, and I got really sucked into my threads with @a-simple-rper and fell in love with these characters and their relationships and... well, basically, I was so inspired that this thing got done in, like, a day and a half. Which is probably a new record for me, considering I’ve actually edited through this thing more than once (I never go back and edit, lol) and it’s more than 5.5k words. I’m actually very proud of myself.

So here’s my cute thing! Edited to completion, methinks. Enjoy!]]

The Triplets

When Rick had woken up that morning, he hadn’t known what to expect. Well, he kind of did – Laura in bed beside him, the light of the sun rising filtering through the curtains, a day filled with work ahead of him.

What he did not expect was to wake up to an empty bed, the bedroom door wide open. He frowned as he sat up, stretching and yawning before heading towards the door and out into the corridor. That was strange… Laura usually woke up after he did.

His unasked question of where exactly his girlfriend was, was answered by the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom. His brows furrowed even more at that – Laura hadn’t been drinking last night, so why was she sick? Did she eat something bad? As far as he knew, nothing had been out of the ordinary.

Approaching the door, he knocked on it. “Laura? You in there?”

There were a few seconds of silence, before Rick heard the feeble “yes,” that he knew could only come from his partner. Which was less than comforting.

“What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad last night?” Getting straight to the point was Rick’s favourite mode of action, and he felt that it was definitely important to use right now, considering she didn’t sound all that great.

“N-no…”

Rick waited silently to see if she would elaborate, but when she didn’t say anything further he sighed. This didn’t make sense. Why was Laura sick?

It seemed as if Laura could sense Rick’s struggle on the other side of the door, so she called out, “Door’s open.”

Rick barely hesitated before pushing the door open, trying not to appear too worried as he did so. He wasn’t surprised to see Laura leaned against the toilet, head resting on her arm on the seat. What did surprise him was the weak, tired smile she gave him.

“How long have you been here?” he asked slowly as he moved to sit beside her, rubbing her back. Weird thing was, she didn’t feel that clammy, or hot, so she couldn’t have been ill…

“A couple hours,” she replied, her voice croaky. “It’s been mostly up and down. I feel good for a few minutes and have a glass of water, then I throw it all up again. It sucks. And dry heaving is the worst part.”

Rick frowned deeply at that, the usual slight amount of concern breaking through his normally stoic expression.

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

“What?” He hadn’t been expecting that either. Laura was always in bed when he woke up – he hadn’t noticed her being away first thing in the morning until today.

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s just a little worse today…”

“Do we need to go to a doctor about it?”

She appeared to contemplate the decision, before the small smile appeared on her face. “No need. Though, you might want to grab your phone.”

His eyebrows rose at that, and he waited for her to elaborate, hoping that she’d actually do so this time.

That was when she picked up something that had been sat on top of the toilet cistern and held it up for him to see, and it took him less than a second to realise what it was.

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

“You might want to call your ma about this one. Because it looks like we’re getting a second chance.”

“And how are you today, Ms. Banks?”

Laura shifted slightly on the bed, looking away from the ultrasound scanner and up at the sonographer. “I’m alright, I guess.”

Honestly, though? She was very nervous, and even Rick could see that on her face. The last time they’d been in this situation, it hadn’t turned out well at all – they’d finally got their hopes up, only for it to be ripped away from them for some reason or other. She was scared of it happening again.

Heck, even Rick was scared of it happening again.

This was their second chance, and they didn’t want it to be ripped away from them like before. They were being extra careful now, doing everything the midwife and the doctor had suggested, making sure there was no room for a single thing to go wrong.

The doctor nodded, smiling comfortingly at the couple. “That’s good, that’s good.” She stopped typing at the computer to face the couple fully. “Now, as you know, we recommended you come in earlier than most just to make sure everything’s alright with this pregnancy, considering what happened in the last one. We’ll be asking some more questions, and keeping a closer eye on you too, just to make sure this one goes smoothly. That sound good to you both?”

The pair nodded, and Laura took Rick’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

The sonographer nodded once. “Good. Now, as we’re having an early scan, we’re going to be doing it vaginally, just so we can see everything. Is that alright with you? It requires a bit more prep than just lifting your shirt, and could take a fair bit longer, but we’ll be able to see more and make sure your baby is healthy.”

After Laura nodded her consent, she headed off to the bathroom to prepare for the scan, lying on the bed awkwardly when she was done. She glanced up at Rick, who (for some reason or other) was looking away.

“If you’re doing that to give me some decency, I’d like to remind you of what position I was in for me to end up here in the first place.”

He turned back to her with a slight smirk. “Are you sure it was this one? I’m pretty sure it was another.”

“Are we really going to have to recall back to that night?”

“I think we can do that.”

“Maybe later,” the sonographer interjected casually, causing Laura to blush. Rick coughed slightly to cover up his laugh.

The couple’s eyes were focused on the ultrasound screen as the probe was moved about, getting the necessary image. It took a good few minutes of staring at seemingly nothing, but then the sonographer spoke.

“Aha! Here we go.” She pointed at the screen. “So, here’s your uterus, and that right there… right there, is the foetus.” After a bit more movement on the screen, she paused. “Hang on…”

Rick and Laura frowned at each other, before looking at the doctor.

“Is something wrong?” Laura asked, and she found her hand in Rick’s again, squeezing it. She didn’t want anything to go wrong. It couldn’t be happening again. They’d barely even started…

She found her heart rate decreasing when Rick squeezed back, getting rid of the fear caused by the doctor’s silence.

The doctor didn’t answer for a little while, seemingly focusing on the screen, before she eventually let out a laugh. “Well, you two are in for a real treat.”

Laura blinked at the sudden change in atmosphere. “What?”

The doctor moved the probe again, before turning to the screen. “Right, so here we have a fetus…” She pointed to another position on the screen. “And we have fetus number two…”

“Oh God…” Rick muttered.

“And fetus number three, kind of separate from the other two but still very much present.”

Laura’s jaw hung open, her eyes wide. “Are you… are you serious?”

The doctor nodded, a smile on her face. “Congratulations, you two. You’re having triplets.”

Laura sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror, standing sideways. She’d long since given up on wearing her usual skinny jeans and tight shirts, since she pretty much popped right out of them, but she wasn’t exactly sure how good she looked in the winter dress Kat had bought her. She was big, yes, but this just made her look huge.

“Are you coming down?”

Laura looked over at the door to see Rick stood there, in a shirt and jeans himself. She turned back to the mirror with a sigh. “I will…”

“Our parents are waiting.”

“Our moms are probably just chatting it up whilst our dads just sit there.”

“If you’re here much longer, Sam will be forced to entertain.”

Laura winced. They both knew how much her dad loved Sam.

Then again, her father didn’t know that she was pregnant yet. Her mother knew, and so did Rick’s parents, but she most definitely knew what sort of reaction she’d get from her dad at this. Then again, he either found out now, or when she was literally about to pop.

“Is George here yet?”

“He’s entertaining the twins.”

“Is the turkey out of the oven?”

“Just as you instructed.”

“What about…?”

“It’s all ready, Laura.”

Laura was pleasantly surprised when she felt Rick’s arms around her, a kiss placed on the top of her head before he rested his on hers. She smiled and leaned back into him.

“He’s gonna be mad…”

Rick raised a single eyebrow at her in the mirror. “He’s fifteen weeks too late to complain.”

Laura smirked. “Well, that’s an attitude I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“It’s just the truth.”

She laughed, kissing what she could reach of his arm before patting his hands so that he let go. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

Rick let go of her, taking a few steps back and letting her walk past him to the door. Noticing how her back was straighter, how the way she walked was a lot more confident, he smiled a little.

That’s his Laura.

Lying in bed, arms wrapped around Laura as she leaned up against the headboard, Rick couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a Sunday morning – even if this whole situation was only happening because Laura had demanded it and hadn’t budged until he’d agreed.

Whilst he had his eyes closed, simply resting and enjoying the peace, Laura was reading a book she’d been given at the clinic, flipping through the chapter on 20 weeks. Reading through the various pieces of information, and looking through the various pictures on the pages, she scowled.

“I look like a whale.”

“Hmmm?” Rick opened his eyes when she spoke, looking up at her.

“I look like a whale,” she repeated, still scowling down at the book. “Look at all the women in these photos, Rick. They can probably reach their toes whilst sitting down.”

Rick blinked at her, though his face appeared as blank as ever. What had brought this on? “You’re pregnant with triplets.”

“And I’m a whale.”

“You’re not a whale. You’re pregnant. With three babies instead of one.”

“I feel huge.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

When she glared at him, he sighed and decided to elaborate.

“You’ve got to be three times as big to fit them all. It’s fine. You’re fine. And beautiful.”

Her expression softened, and she blinked at what he said, blushing. The blush only got darker when he sat up and leaned over to kiss her softly. And then she gasped, pulling away suddenly with wide eyes.

He frowned, concern appearing on his features almost immediately. “What is it?” he asked, trying not to convey how concerned he was through his tone. Had he done something wrong?

“I think… I think I felt a kick.”

It took a few moments for what she said to fully register in Rick’s mind. And then, all of a sudden, it clicked.

A kick.

When Laura saw the small smile beginning to spread on his face, she took his hand and placed it where she’d felt the kick. She knew it was probably futile, feeling for a kick in the same place when the next kick could be anywhere, or not even be felt at all.

She was pleasantly surprised when there actually was a kick in the same place again, right against the palm of Rick’s hand. Looking at him, she didn’t bother stop the laugh coming out at the genuinely surprised expression on his face. Seeing expressions like that, clear on his face without any of his usual restraint, brought her a level of joy that very little could compare to.

Except, probably, the feel of their babies kicking for the first time.

When Rick had first met Laura’s family, it had been pretty awkward to be introduced as her boyfriend. Especially since he was not only much taller than her, but much older and a whole lot more Southern. He was quickly singled out as the odd one out in any family gathering, which he supposed he could deal with. After all, Laura still loved him, and it wasn’t as if her dad hated him for being in a relationship with his daughter, like he did Sam; though, her mother did seem to favour the other a whole lot more than him.

Finding out that she had more extended family, made up of her mother’s sisters and their children, was something Rick thought he would be able to handle. After all, the twins were nice. Their cousins couldn’t be that bad, could they?

He was proven wrong the moment Laura’s mother stepped into the bar with two women he’d never met before.

“Oh, what is that horrid smell?” the older woman asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she looked around the bar.

“Must be the drunkards,” the younger responded casually, her eyes focused on her nails. The response caused Jane to roll her eyes before approaching Rick at the bar, leaving the two women to disapprove of the place.

“Rick, how are you doing?”

“Well thanks, Jane.” He looked up from wiping down the counter. “Did you need Laura?”

“We’ll need her in a bit. Probably when Kat gets here.” The smile melted off her face. “As soon as she steps through that door, start us up on a tab. I’m going to need a drink or two to deal with them.”

He simply nodded, tossing the rag onto his shoulder. “I’ll go give her a heads up.”

“Thank you, Rick.”

He gave another nod before turning and heading into the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to find Laura at the stove, whipping up the next order at a slower speed than usual. Granted, she wasn’t letting her rapidly expanding stomach get in the way of her cooking, but even he could tell that having three babies was draining her energy faster than usual, and reaching for anything below knee height was a struggle for her on a good day. She looked over at him when the door opened, smiling.

“Hey, Ricky, is everything okay?” she asked as she turned back to focus on what she was doing. Even if she looked huge at only 24 weeks, Rick still thought she looked as beautiful as ever.

“Your mom’s here.”

“Oh?” Laura turned to reach for a ladle, lowering the heat on the soup and beginning to spoon it into the waiting bowls. “Did she want something?”

“She’s here with two women.”

“Really?” She paused. “What did they look like?”

“Blonde, like you. She also said something about Kat joining you guys when she gets here.”

Laura was silent for a few moments, before swearing violently under her breath and leaning the ladle on the side of the pot. “Keep an eye on the soup for me,” she muttered as she waddled past him to the door, opening it a little and peeking out. As soon as she spotted her mother, she shut the door quickly and swore again, this time more loudly.

“That’s my aunt and cousin.”

Rick’s eyebrows rose.

“They don’t know I’m pregnant.”

Now Laura’s swearing made sense.

Rick pursed his lips a little as he tried to think of a solution to this. All of them involved Sam, and all outcomes were disastrous. “Do you need someone to stall?”

“My mom knows I’m in here. I’m stuck. Unless I can hide this.” She gestured to her bump.

“That’s 6 months of Rick’s hard work in there,” Sam chirped from the serving window as they approached to deliver orders on their trusty notepad, and take the completed ones to the waiting tables. “You can’t be hiding that.”

“I kind of need to right now.”

Sam blinked at her, before glancing over their shoulder towards the dreaded table. “Is this about the two ladies mom is sitting with? They gave me the stink eye when she introduced me.”

“What they said behind your back must’ve been ten times worse.” Laura groaned and ran a hand over her face.

Rick watched her closely. “Do you need to sit down? You’ve been standing for a while.”

“Probably…”

“Uh, I don’t know whether this is a good thing or not, but Kat just got here and mom is signalling to me to call you,” Sam muttered, a look of genuine sympathy for Laura on their face. “You want me to stall for you?”

Laura sighed, running a hand through her hair and pushing it back before shaking her head. “No, I’ll… I’ll head over.”

Rick nodded, nearing her and kissing her softly. “You’ll be fine. I’m here if you need.”

“That soup is burning.”

He quickly turned to switch it off, causing Laura to laugh as she turned towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she made her way slowly out of the kitchen and towards the table her mother was sat at. Luckily she was approaching from behind her aunt and cousin, facing her mother. She looked incredibly nervous as she reached the table. “Hey, mom, Kat.”

She should’ve expected the scathing comments that were coming.

“Oh, that bastard doorman knocked you up too?” Lara sneered. “I told you, mom, it’s a harem in here.”

Laura spoke before Kat could spit something angrily from where she sat. She could’ve seen the anger boiling from a mile away. “No. I’m dating the barman.”

Lara’s eyes widened. “You mean, that mammoth?”

Her aunt sneered. “Look at you both, having children out of wedlock like heathens. I would’ve thought you taught them better, Jane. This stupidity must come from your husband.”

Jane glared at her sister. “Now, don’t you start, Elizabeth.”

Before anything else could be said, Sam approached the table, the first drinks of the tab on a tray. “Ladies,” they greeted, with their usual grin. When they noticed Laura was standing, though, they frowned. “Laura, you shouldn’t be standing.”

“Oh, and you have an idea on what she should be doing?” Elizabeth asked snarkily, almost glaring at Sam.

They bristled at her tone, but a look from Jane ensured that they said nothing as they placed down the drinks that had been requested earlier, sending Laura and Kat smiles as they left.

As soon as they were gone, Lara scoffed. “What a fool. I cannot believe Katherine stooped to that level. And had little bastards with him.”

Laura had barely blinked before Kat snapped and punched Lara in the face, hard. “Don’t you ever insult Sam or call my children bastards again, you bitch. Otherwise that punch will feel like a tickle compared to what I’ll do to you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as Lara reeled back on her chair, screeching and holding her bloody nose. “Katherine!”

“Oh, don’t you start,” Laura sneered, pulling out a chair and sitting down without invitation – her back ached like hell. “I can’t deal with your whining.”

“How dare you speak to me in that manner!”

Before Laura could reply in a sarcastic manner worthy of Allie in one of her annoying moods, her mother spoke. “I think, perhaps, it’s time you took your child and left, Elizabeth,” Jane stated calmly, though the expression on her face was steely and dark. “And you can show yourself out.”

Elizabeth glared at her sister. “If you think that I am lowly enough to be forced to follow your instructions—”

“Is there a problem here, ma’am?”

All five ladies looked up to see Rick stood by the table, drying a glass in his hands with the usual stony expression on his face. Though, Laura could see the anger hidden behind his eyes. And apparently, so could everyone else.

His appearance was all Elizabeth and Lara needed to get out of there, both of them grabbing their bags and walking hurriedly towards the door without looking back. As soon as they were gone, Rick focused on Laura, his eyes softening and his expression concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Laura responded, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself (and the agitated flutterings of the babies growing inside her) down. “Just need to rest a bit.”

Jane looked guilty as she leaned on the table. “I’d originally come to check on you both before those two decided to tag along… without my consent.” She sent Laura an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s fine, mom. Besides,” Laura grinned at her twin, “I finally got to see the results of Sam’s boxing lessons.”

Kat grinned as she cracked her knuckles. “Oh, sweetie, that was only the beginning.”

Rick gave a small smile as he headed back to the bar, the three women laughing behind him.

If there was one thing Rick hated more than looking ridiculous, it was looking ridiculous in front of other people.

Still, for the sake of his girlfriend and their babies, he sat quietly in the lesson, Laura between his legs and leaning back on him, all four of their hands resting on her now very large bump. Today happened to be a lesson on breathing exercises – and Rick wasn’t sure whether he was looking forward to it.

“Right, now I want you to relax into your partner – think calming thoughts as you slowly breathe out… then in…”

Rick’s hands remained on the bump as Laura leaned back into his torso, her eyes closed as she focused on her breathing.

“Remember, start with a slow breath out to relax your muscles… and think calming thoughts… the stress will only make the pain worse…”

“Did Sam and Kat have to do these…?” Rick asked Laura lowly, leaning down so that only she could hear him.

“If they didn’t, would you make us leave?” Laura muttered back in retaliation.

Rick just rubbed her stomach comfortingly, smiling a little when he felt a couple of kicks. “I’m just saying… they’re pretty uneventful.”

Laura opened her eyes and looked up at him. “What kinds of things were you expecting to do?”

“Stress will make the pain worse, so imagine the stress leaving your body as you breathe out…”

“I don’t know, but maybe something more than breathing exercises…” Rick responded.

Laura scoffed. “Last week you were bouncing the birthing ball like a basketball and commented on all the stupid stuff Sam would do with it if they found it in the bar…”

There was a loud clearing of a throat, and both of them looked towards the teacher, who was glaring at them.

“It would be nice if, after paying for the class, you actually bothered to listen,” she quipped.

“Sorry,” Laura mumbled, and Rick ducked his head, hiding the smirk growing on his face.

The teacher watched them for a few moments, before nodding and continuing with the class. “Now, as I was saying, let the stress flow out of your body like a stream from a spring…”

“You got in trouble with the teacher,” Rick muttered into Laura’s ear with a smirk, and she huffed, pinching his arm in retribution.

“Ass,” she grumbled, though a small smile had formed on her face.

Walking through the supermarket, Laura sighed, leaning heavily on the shopping trolley as she moved. Her feet hurt, her back ached, her hands and feet felt swollen, and she was exhausted near constantly, but today was the only day Rick was willing to leave the bar under Sam’s supervision and go baby shopping with her.

Baby shopping that was taking a whole lot longer than she’d anticipated.

Looking into the trolley, there were a ton of baby outfits and even more diapers there, as well as three baby carriers that could transform into car seats very easily (thank goodness). At that moment, Rick was looking at some strollers, a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Laura asked, sounding pretty much as tired as she felt.

“Three-kid strollers are really expensive…” he muttered, looking between the different types. “What do you think?”

Laura straightened up and looked at the different options available – basically, one. Which was definitely very expensive. “What about a double and a single?” she suggested.

Rick looked over at her. “We’d have to take them on walks together.”

“It’d get you out of the bar more.”

He rolled his eyes at her, before turning back to the strollers. “I guess… but wouldn’t the triplet one be better in the long term?”

Laura opened her mouth to answer when she suddenly felt a discomfort in her lower back, and she leaned more fully on the trolley, breathing slowly.

When Laura didn’t answer, Rick turned around to see her leaning on the trolley. “Laura?” He approached her, rubbing her lower back slowly.

“Braxton Hicks,” she replied, answering the unasked question. “Just real uncomfy right now.”

Rick nodded, before realising she couldn’t see him. “Need to walk around a bit?”

“Yeah, but my back kills…”

He sighed, continuing to rub as she hummed to herself, probably to stop herself from groaning from the discomfort. He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure if it would be allowed… “Want to head over to the sofa section?”

She turned her head to look at him, a frown on her face. “Why?”

“You need to put your feet up.”

“You want us to get kicked out of Wal-Mart?”

“They’d kick out a pregnant woman for resting?”

Laura pursed her lips. Rick had a point… “Okay, help me out…”

Sighing, Rick walked slowly up the stairs, running a hand through his hair. The bar was finally closed for the night, but today had been hectic. The Carter twins had just started Pre-K, because Kat was back to working as a lecturer and Sam worked every day anyway. Except, some kid had turned up at school with chicken pox a week before and now the twins were spotty, itchy and tearful every day, so Kat and Sam had to take shifts taking care of them and making sure they didn’t scratch their skins off.

So he was down a worker.

Then there was the fact that Laura was officially not allowed to be on her feet for more than ten minutes at a time. Which meant that she wasn’t allowed to be in the kitchen – at least, that was how Rick interpreted it, even if she’d fought to get it interpreted differently. Luckily, it had reached the summer, and some kids were on summer break, so Allie offered up the services of her cousin (who happened to be a high school teacher) so that the kitchen could stay open and business could keep bringing in profits. Particularly because it was family season.

The lack of a doorman and the usual chef made it harder for Rick to deal with a shift, considering he also had to do crowd control, and there wasn’t exactly anyone to serve the food (unless that kid who volunteered to help out counted – Rick was pretty sure the kid expected payment for his service).

Now, though, he was looking forward to just relaxing in bed with his woman and letting all the stresses of the day just melt away. Tomorrow, hopefully, Sam would be back for a shift and take some of the stress off Rick, but tonight was a night to relax.

Opening the bedroom door, Rick wasn’t surprised to see Laura sat up in bed, reading with the book set on her bump as she rubbed it fondly. She looked up when she realised Rick was there, and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He shut the door and approached the bed. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’ve rested pretty much all day. I’m not that tired.” She rubbed her stomach. “Plus, it’s their playtime apparently. Mama isn’t allowed to sleep.”

He chuckled as he pulled off his shirt, approaching the bed. “Need me to have a talk with them?”

Her expression soured. “You make it worse. Every time.”

“Hey, at least I’ve tried.”

“Your kids don’t take you seriously. You need to sort that out.”

He just chuckled again, stripping down to his underwear and lying down beside her. “Not long before I’ll be able to.”

Being 31 weeks along, the doctors had suggested that Laura only keep pushing until at least 34 weeks before she delivered – it was certain that she wouldn’t be able to carry to full term, but they needed the babies as developed as possible before they took them out and kept them in the NICU until they were healthy enough to survive on their own. Which meant Laura would be stuck on bed rest for at least three weeks.

She’d only been on rest for half a week, and Rick could already tell she hated it.

A nervous expression appeared on her face, and Rick sat up. “Nervous?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. We’re having three kids. In at least three weeks. What’s not to be nervous about?”

“Remember that you’ll – we’ll – have a support network. We’re not alone in this.”

She smiled widely at that, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. “Yeah… yeah, I guess…”

He leaned over and kissed her softly, gently cradling her head in his hands as he did so. He rested his forehead against hers as he pulled away. “We’re a team. We can make it work. We can do this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she pulled away. “You took that from the antenatal class. You were actually listening?”

“You were the one who got told off for not listening.”

“That was your fault!”

The summer was usually the busiest season for the bar, simply because people were more free to do what they wanted – especially with the kids out of school. Since it had become general knowledge to the regulars that Rick was going to be a dad, Rick more often than not found himself chatting with a dad who had dropped the kids off with the grandparents and was chilling whilst their significant other was at work, and conversations ranged from the sweetest things kids did to the times they literally caused heart attacks, and Rick certainly wasn’t looking forward to the latter.

However, it was when he heard the call that he realised kids started giving heart attacks from before birth.

“Rick!”

His heart leapt into his throat as he shot Sam a look, and the other raced over to take his place at the bar as he ran upstairs to see what was going on. He stiffened when he realised Kat was stood there in the corridor, supporting her pregnant sister.

Her pregnant sister, who was stood with her hands braced against the wall, her face scrunched up in pain and a slowly growing pool of liquid around her feet.

Please let that be pee, please let that be pee…

“Her waters just broke,” Kat explained, rubbing Laura’s back. “She’s been having contractions since this morning.”

Rick’s heart clenched at that. If she’d been having them, why hadn’t they called earlier? He hadn’t been that busy, had he? God, was she in labour?

Oh God, she was in labour.

“Grab the baby bag from our room – it’s under the bed,” he instructed, quickly moving to take Kat’s place in supporting Laura. “Sam has the truck keys.”

“I’ll get it all ready for you.” Kat raced off to do as Rick explained, leaving the pair in the corridor.

Leaning down, Rick kissed Laura’s cheek as he rubbed her lower back and realised her face was wet from tears. “Remember, breathe. Breathe out slow, then in. Don’t panic.”

As Laura began to follow the instructions given in the classes, Rick realised he was also using the breathing technique to keep calm and that his heart was beating twice as fast as usual.

It felt like forever, but Laura eventually relaxed, her breathing returning to normal and her hands unclenching from where they had been scratching at the wall in pain. But the tears kept flowing. Rick leaned down again and kissed her cheeks, letting her know he was still there.

“You ready to move?”

Laura forced out a laugh, still braced against the wall. “Do I have a choice?” She took a deep breath. “And here I was hoping I could hold out for another week…”

“You’re 34 weeks already. You’ve made it far, and you’ve done well. I’m proud of you.”

She smiled at that. “Really?”

He smiled back. “Really.”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly to stop the flow of tears. “Okay then. Let’s go have our babies.”

Rick could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d got emotional in his life: his first wedding; leaving home; that time with his dad when he was a teen…

But this definitely topped that list.

Staring through the windows to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, his eyes were focused on three incubators with wires and tubes leading out of them. Inside them, three babies laid, tiny and helpless and premature, unable to breathe without the aid of a machine.

And as helpless and as tiny as they were, and as terrified as he was to now have three tiny lives entrusted into his care, Rick couldn’t deny the overflow of love he felt as he watched them. The emotion was just… so much more than he was used to.

That’s what he would attribute the crack in his voice to as his mother answered the phone.

“Ricky? Is everything alright?”

“Ma…” He smiled, his eyes still glued to his two daughters and son. “You’re a grandma…”

#universe development: the simple life #muse development: laura banks #written for: asimplerper #writing: mine #writing: rp writings #//in which aj does a thing and is proud

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placna · 6 years

Text

At Least I Tried

My fic for the harringrove challenge that the amazing @rarsablack organizes. Thanks for putting this together, I had a blast! My lyrics prompt: I'm sittin' eyes wide open and I got one thing stuck in my mind,wondering if I dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life. You can read the story HERE ON AO3 or bellow the cut: Summary: Steve has given it a lot of thought before deciding that slipping a note into Billy’s locker is his best option. It’s a solid plan with many advantages. Namely, if Billy reacts badly after reading it, Steve won’t be there to get his teeth punched out. The thing is, Steve’s plans never work out the way he wants. AKA When it comes to throwing himself a pity party, Steve is the king.

Steve has given it a lot of thought before deciding that slipping a note into Billy’s locker is his best option.

It’s a solid plan with many advantages. Namely, if Billy reacts badly after reading it, Steve won’t be there to get his teeth punched out.

“No turning back now,” Steve mutters to himself, squaring his shoulders and striding down the hall to the row of lockers. He steals a quick glance behind him to make sure no one sees him.

It’s super early and save for Jonathan and Nancy, doing god knows what in the darkroom, there isn’t anyone else in the school yet.

One can never be too cautious.

Steve opens and folds the slip of paper again. Now or never.

If his confession doesn’t go as planned, at least he won’t be there to witness the blowout. Billy will have some time too cool off before he has to see Steve again for the third period. And if worst comes to worst, Steve will only have to endure a week and a half of death threats before their graduation.

He’d be forever wondering if he didn’t take this chance.

He pushes the folded note through the slit and hears it flop down inside the locker. He immediately wishes he could take it back, heart speeding, palms sweating.

He lets out a slow exhale. That’s why he chose a note. So that he couldn’t backtrack and so that he wouldn’t blabber nonsense if standing face to face with Billy. Writing might never be his strong suit but in this case, he prefers the advantage of thinking about what exactly he wants to tell Billy.

***

Steve isn’t sure what kind of a reaction he expected but it wasn’t anything like this.

On the sleepless nights he thought about the anger he might provoke. He created scenarios in his head how Billy could use his knowledge to turn Steve’s life into a pile of ashes. Steve would deny it all, of course, and his parents would surely believe his word over Billy’s allegations but there would be rumours. There would be glances and jeering and Steve isn’t sure how he would cope with that.

On the few blessed nights when he fell asleep, Steve dreamt about Billy waiting for him after their classes were over, watching him with hunger in his eyes. There would be a small, pleased smile on his face instead of his usual smirk. He would lick his lips and stare at Steve challengingly, daring him to make good on the promise he made in the note. And Steve would cross the distance between them and kiss him, maybe earning a surprised moan, maybe managing to talk Billy into taking the Camaro for a ride.

What Steve never imagined was Billy ignoring him completely.

At first it’s a relief. Frankly, Billy beating the living daylight out of him seemed just as probable as Billy taking Steve up on his offer. So, no violence is a good sign.

But as the day goes on, Billy doesn’t do anything. Steve doesn’t catch him lingering with his gaze on Steve, Steve doesn’t see any flash of emotions on Billy’s face when they pass each other in the hallway.

Steve loiters once their last period is over. He’s slow to pack up his things, even slower to get to his locker and slower still on his way to his car, giving Billy every chance to catch him alone and talk about it.

Billy doesn’t wait up for him and his Camaro is long gone by the time Steve shuffles to the parking lot.

The next day is the same, so is the day after that. Billy keeps on ignoring him like nothing ever happened.

Steve can hardly focus on anything that goes on at school. He keeps expecting the other shoe to drop. He keeps shooting Tommy and his new gang of fools suspicious glances, waiting for the moment the whispering starts. But it never does.

When Nancy approaches him, expression soft and uncomfortably close to pity, Steve braces himself, the denial already on the tip of his tongue. ‘It’s all just hearsay, Nancy. You of all people should know better,’ he would tell her. But Nancy only wants to know if Steve would like to join her and Jonathan on a trip to the lake this afternoon. There aren’t many things Steve would like less. Laurie and some other people from their school will be there too, Nancy says.

Steve goes with them and spends the whole afternoon trying not to glare at the way Vicki wraps herself around Billy. To his credit, Billy is as quick to flirt and forget as always. He doesn’t seem really interested but then again, he never does. One of the reasons Steve opted for the note.

It takes four days of this for Steve to understand. His cheeks flame when he realizes that Billy Hargrove, of all people, is being the bigger man and this is his way of letting Steve down gently. He doesn’t want to cause a scene, he has no desire to fight with Steve. He no longer has anything to prove, Steve guesses.

With all the fights Billy got himself into recently, all of which he won, Steve figures he should be grateful.

He closes his eyes and wishes he never wrote that stupid, sappy note. He should have known better.

Billy’s silence hurts just as much as a punch to the stomach.

Steve spends the rest of their school days in a haze. Good thing the grading period is already over because Steve’s grades would take a serious nosedive.

***

“’Morning, Steve,” Max says brightly. She seems to be in a good mood and Steve quickly plasters on a smile. He doesn’t want her day to turn sour because of him.

It’s the second week of June, the weather is great, everyone is more than ready for the summer break to begin. Except for Steve.

“Hi, Max,” he says as she gets in the car.

“So? How does it feel?” She asks as she fastens her seatbelt, he doesn’t have to prompt her. “Is it any different now that you’ve finally graduated?”

“It’s weird,” Steve says. “I’m still driving to the school to drop you off but I’m not coming inside for anymore lectures, ever.”

“You should sound happier about that.”

“About taking you to school every day because your brother was gone the moment high school was over?”

“Steve,” Max says with a sigh. “I mean, I’m glad you offered, you know. It’s only a few more days and then our school year is over as well. And you should be proud that you finished high school.”

“Yeah. Well,” Steve peels of the side of the road, leaving Max’s house in the distance. “I know.”

She’s right, of course, but he can’t shake the sense of finality that hit him when his old classmates run in all directions after the graduation ceremony. He’ll never see some of them again and he guesses he should be mostly glad about that but he can’t help the mawkish feelings that gnaw on him.

“So what’s bugging you?”

“The college’s starting soon, I guess,” he manages. “Lots of arrangements to make.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Max watching him. “You’ve got the whole summer to figure it out. Still no luck with the housing?”

Steve shakes his head. “Should have started looking into that earlier.” Earlier, he didn’t even know he was going to Chicago. Earlier, his head was full of stupid hopes and childish dreams. Earlier, he could look his father dead in the eye and claim he’s not going to college. But now there’s nothing for him to do here in this town. Going to college to get away from it all, from the town as well as from his parents, it doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll figure it out,” Max says with confidence and turns her head to stare out of the window.

“Sure,” Steve nods. He doubts it, though.

***

They’re nearly at the school when Max says, “Billy’s postcard arrived yesterday, you know?”

“Oh?” Steve keeps his tone disinterested. “How’s California?”

Max turns hear head sharply, her hair falling like a curtain off her shoulder. “California? He didn’t go to California.”

“Uh-umm, okay,” Steve hums. He desperately wants to ask but he doesn’t. Something in him is still bitter that Billy didn’t even acknowledge him to turn him down.

Steve parks the car but Max doesn’t get out right away. She bites her lip before blurting out, “You should have asked him, you know?”

Steve’s stomach clenches. Damn it, had they all known? “What?”

Max huffs. “You should have asked him, Steve. He would take you with him.”

Steve lets out a humourless chuckle. “I very much doubt that, kid.”

Max unfastens her seatbelt and grabs her bag. “You would have known if you asked!”

Steve heaves a sigh. What does it matter anyway. “I asked him, Max.”

She’s already fumbling for the door handle but she stops dead in her tracks. “What?” Her voice is a shrill of disbelief.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, probably making even bigger mess of it. “I asked him, he didn’t like the idea, we never spoke about it again.”

Max is frowning at him. “That can’t be right, Steve. I just know it.”

“Yeah, well. You know jack shit.”

Max clucks her tongue, reaching for his hand to tug it away from his hair. “When did you ask him? Did he even hear you? Maybe he didn’t understand what you meant.”

“I think I made myself pretty clear in the note, Max.”

“What note?” She sounds urgent.

Steve rolls his eyes, hearing how stupid he sounds when he says, “I left him a note in his locker, like, two weeks before we graduated.”

Max opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her grip on Steve’s arm tightens. “Have you never noticed,” she says, sounding frustrated, “that he didn’t use his locker anymore?”

“What?”

“Said he lost his combination, went to ask about it but I don’t know what they told him.” Max’s staring at him, her eyes wide. “He couldn’t care less and didn’t want to spend forever trying random combinations, so he just stored stuff in the car for the last few weeks.”

Steve gulps. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, Steve.”

“Hey, do you know if they cleared seniors’ lockers yet?”

“I don’t think so? I think they do that once the school year is over for everybody.”

“Good,” Steve says, killing off the engine and getting out of the car.

“Steve?”

“Go to your classes, Max,” he dismisses her. “I feel like spending forever trying random combinations.”

Max looks at him as if he lost his mind and trails after him to the school.

***

It takes a while but finally he gets the locker open, with the trusted pattern on high-low-high numbers.

The note is there, sitting innocently on top of a pile of some books.

Steve snatches it before Max has the chance to get to it. He barely spares the paper a glance before crumpling it into a small ball in his fist. He doesn’t have to look, he remembers every pathetic word of his confession.

Max reaches out her hand, curious. “What does it say?”

Steve shoves the paper into a pocket of his jeans. “A friendship offer,” he says and it’s only a half-lie.

“Oh, Steve,” Max sighs. She can see right through him, Steve realizes.

“He never read it,” Steve says with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

On the bright side, he tells himself, at least he was spared the humiliation of the rejection. And he has the damning note now, so no one from the school can find out.

“I thought he was giving me the cold shoulder,” he says, remembering the past weeks he spent watching Billy expectantly, waiting for the confrontation.

Max gnaws on her lip again. “I’ll… I’ll tell you when he gets back home.”

Steve looks at her and then says, softly, “Kid, he’s never coming back here.” Billy hated this town and he hated everybody in it.

Max shakes her head. “He made me a promise!” She doesn’t sound too sure.

Steve pats her shoulder. “Sure, sure. Hey, you should take all his shit and clear the locker.”

Max grabs the books, then smirks to herself. She thrusts one book into Steve’s hands. “Here, you should keep this one.”

Steve glances down at the book. The spine is slightly cracked. Steve runs his fingers along it. “Firestarter?”

Max hums, shoves some of Billy’s old textbooks into her bag. “I think you might like it.”

“Okay.” He clutches the book to his chest. A keepsake.

The bell rings.

“Go to your classes, Max,” Steve says again.

“Sure.” Max zips her bag, peers into the now empty locker one more time to make sure nothing is left behind. “And Steve?”

“Hm?” His fingers absent-mindedly trace King’s name printed on the spine.

“If you have actually spoken to Billy,” she says, hauling her bag over her shoulder, grinning up at Steve, “you would known he was accepted to the UIC. Right now he’s taking the summer session.”

She sprints to her classes, leaving Steve standing in the middle of the hallway, staring after her in disbelief.

A cautious ray of hope wraps itself around his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t blown all his chances yet.

#harringrove #steve x billy #harringrovechallenge #stranger things fanfiction #my fic stuff

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inkstainedfanfics · 7 years

Text

Coffee Shops and Scars

Request: "hello there! your works are absolutely amazing and I enjoy reading them so much~ keep doing what you do!!! I would love to request a soulmate au where both newt and reader can feel and witness each other's pain and even fresh wounds on their own body!! (eg. if newt gets a paper cut, so does the reader at the same time) welcome to the angst train _(:3/"

Word Count: 3,434

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Warning: Mentions of blood

Requested by @ah-excuse-me but also tagging @caseoffics and @red-roses-and-stories

Your friend holds a bowl of popcorn out to you when it happens.

You curse and grab your arm, curling up and grimacing.

“Again?” Is all Maria says, placing the bowl back in her lap and taking a handful of popcorn.

You groan. “I’m going to kill this idiot when I meet him.”

She laughs. “You’re going to kill your soulmate?”

“Yes.” You grumble.

“Well, how bad is it this time?” She crunches the popcorn in her mouth as the two of you ignore the record droning on in the background.

You remove your hand from your bicep. A red patch of skin grows under where your hand was clutched, bubbling up in the center. You hiss at the sight.

“Oh, that’s disgusting. Do you have your medkit?”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut. “How the hell did he get a burn there?” You mumble, reaching to your hip and unlatching the medkit you carry with you. It holds everything from tiny bandages to a tourniquet. The tourniquet was a joke gift from another friend when they’d noticed all the scars covering your body, but you’re not so sure you won’t need it someday.

“Leaned against an open oven?”

“With their upper arm?”

She shrugs, tossing more popcorn into her mouth. “Possible.”

“Whatever.” You dig around in the bag and find the bottle of burn cream. You’d bought it six months before and used half of it already.

Maria looks back to the record player, watching the disk spin. “You’re missing the best part of the song.”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy.” You spit. You’d been having a perfectly good night before your soulmate had to go and do something stupid.

You finish applying the burn cream when a deep cut suddenly rips opens on your left forearm. A trail of blood rushes out of it, dripping onto your blanket before you can grab anything.

Maria makes no snarky comment this time, just jumps to her feet and grabs a towel, wrapping it around your arm and pulling your kit from your hip.

You drop your head against the back of the couch, gritting your teeth. “Does he hate me? Does he somehow know who I am and hate me?”

She hums to herself as she works, ignoring your question and holding the towel tight against the cut as she pulls out gauze and medical tape.

You shut your eyes, wishing you had any other way of learning about your soulmate. Does it really have to be through injuries?

“You know,” she interrupts your thinking, “if you punch him, you’ll feel it too.”

“I don’t care.”

“If that’s true, I could punch you right now, and you’d get back at him.”

You open an eye, peering at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know.” She raises an eyebrow, eyes still on the medkit. “I’m still not very happy about you eating the last piece of garlic bread last night. I think I could get a pretty good slug going.”

You sigh. “I think he and I are both in enough pain right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say.” She removes the towel and starts wrapping the gauze around your arm. “Do you want to go to that coffee shop tomorrow?”

“If I’m not dead by then, sure.”

Stupid soulmate.

“He can’t be that bad. He’s willing to put up with you.”

You scowl at her teasing. “Not in the mood.”

“It’s not like this is the worst. There was that time your nose broke in the middle of class.”

You wince at the memory. Everyone had stared at the loud crack. You’d even caused a few people to rush out of the room, faces almost green with nausea when they’d seen your crooked nose and the blood pouring down onto your desk.

“Or the time you had a burn on your forehead. That didn’t heal for weeks.”

“Or that time I nearly passed out on stage. Do you remember that?”

Maria laughs. “I do. You’re lucky I was there to catch you.”

“Or the time I was cutting apples and somehow he managed to get a cut on his hand and ruined my apple pie. An hour of work for nothing.” You sigh at the memory.

“I wonder how he gets all these injuries.” Her eyes light up. “Ooo, maybe he’s an adventurer. He’ll take to all of these romantic places and propose to you on a beach.” She beams at the thought. “Wouldn’t that be amazing.”

“I’m sure that’s how it’ll work out for me. I obviously have the best of luck.” You jerk your head to the side, bringing attention to the various scars that run up your bicep, scars in the shape of teeth marks and scars that come in pairs three little holes and scars that are shaped like crooked lines. So many scars all over your body because your soulmate does something dangerous. You’re not so sure it’s adventuring.

You shift in your seat as Maria finishes bandaging the cut. “Do you think he’s nice?”

She packs the gauze back into the medkit. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

You bite your lip. “He gets hurt so much. What if… what if he’s in a gang or something?” It’s a silly worry, you know, but it’s a possibility.

Maria bursts out laughing. “A gang? Really? Your soulmate? For you?”

You turn red. “It could happen!”

“What guy in a gang is going to fall in love with such a goody-two-shoes like you?”

You shake your head and stand. “Forget it.”

“Are you serious? I’m so not forgetting this.”

“I’m going to sleep.”

She calls out for you, but you head to the bedroom, ignoring her laughs as they follow you down the hall. His job is an honest worry of yours. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to you, unless your soulmate is the clumsiest person to have ever existed.

You drag your feet into the room and change into your pajamas, falling onto your half of the bed for the night, careful to avoid the new injuries. The blanket’s lilac smell wafts up to you and helps you drift into a restless sleep.

The morning comes quickly, leaving you in a horrible mood. You’d woken up four times in the night when you’d rolled on the burn and twice when you’d tried to put your cut arm under your head. Maria forces you out of bed anyway.

She pulls the curtains open and lets the stream of sunlight spill onto your face, blinding you. You throw your arm over your eyes.

“Why?” You groan.

“We have to get to the shop.”

“It can’t wait?”

“It’s coffee. You don’t want it in the afternoon.”

You roll your eyes but slide out of bed onto the cold wood floor. You misjudge the fall, though, and your knee aches as a result.

Maria, satisfied that you’re at least out of the tangle of sheets, flits out of the room, far too cheery given the time the clock on the wall is showing. “I’m going to shower. We can go when I’m done.”

You rub your face as she disappears, trying to find the energy to get up. When you finally find it and start to stand, your shoulder slams into the nightstand. You curse, grabbing at it, automatically apologizing to your soulmate in your head before you realize that no, he deserves this. The voice in the back of your head, your noisy conscience, asks if he really does. You frown at the ground, annoyed. There’s that question again: is he good or bad?

You slip on a simple outfit and sit on the edge of the bed, angry with yourself and your conscience and the universe. You pull more gauze from your nearby medkit and unwind what’s already on your arm. Bits of the scab come off with it, but the bleeding is minimum. Having done it so often, you barely pay any attention as you wrap your arm up.

The questions surrounding your soulmate swarm your mind. They send your stomach aflutter despite the fear you’d told Maria about earlier. Sure, he could be someone that gets in fights all the time, but he could be the sweetest guy, earning a broken nose by defending his little sister and getting a burn while cooking dinner for his mother. Maybe he’s just taking care of everyone around him, protecting them so their soulmates don’t get hurt. Maybe he expects you to do the same for everyone you know.

You groan in frustration, setting the gauze aside and dropping your head into your hands. Soulmates suck.

“Something wrong?” Maria asks, entering the room. She grabs her brush from the nightstand.

“Nothing.” You mutter before coughing at the strong lavender smell radiating from her hair.

“You sure? You look weird.”

You push all thoughts of your soulmate from your mind and conjure up a teasing smile. “Thanks. That’s what I want to hear right before we go out.”

She breaks into a grin. “Anytime. Are you ready to go?”

You push yourself to your feet and grab your jacket, still uncomfortable from the thought of your soulmate out there somewhere being someone you don’t know. Why can’t the world just make it easy and introduce the two of you already?

“Let’s go.” You mutter, vowing not to think of any of it again.

The sun beats down on the two of you a few minutes later but doesn’t beat away the morning chill. It doesn’t beat away the morning horde of people, either. They stride around your hunched figure, cups of coffee already in one hand, briefcases in the other. You shiver and pull your jacket closed around you, wondering how so many people are okay with being up so early.

Maria doesn’t seem to notice your mood or the weather at all as she chatters away. “I know that you don’t drink coffee that much yet, but trust me, once you try one of the drinks here, you’ll want it every day.”

You fake a grin and nod while reassuring yourself that you will never let her get you out of bed so early ever again.

Thankfully, your destination is only a few blocks away. Two buildings nearly squash the coffee shop, hiding the front door. Even its sign is hard to see, so small it could just be an advertisement for Belle’s Bakery instead of actually being above the bakery.

Bells ring at the top of the door when Maria pushes it open, letting a wave of heat hit you in the face. With it comes a rich perfume of coffee beans and the comfortable smell of freshly baked bread. Maybe it won’t be so bad if there’s donuts.

Maria points to a table, sending you to it as she walks to the counter to order drinks. You stand in the entrance, though, taking in the small shop.

Four shelves with empty pots and carafes sit on the caramel colored walls above three metal tables each. Despite the rush of people on the sidewalk outside, only two couples and a lonely man sit at the tables, each separated from one another by at least another table.

A man at the table with a scar on his left cheek reaches for a flower in the vase between him and his girlfriend. The pink flower isn’t the only of its kind; the shop owners scattered vases throughout the room, leaving some on the front counter and sticking others in the tables nearby. You lean down to smell the flowers in the one next to you. They give off a lovely, light scent that intertwines with the bread and coffee smell perfectly. You close your eyes, breathing it in and imagining being on the receiving end of the man with the scar’s flower.

Okay, maybe your day is brightening some.

A voice interrupts your daydreaming. “Excuse me?”

You twirl around, startled.

You ram right into a man.

The first thing you realize is how much your hand hurts and how cute the little oof sound he made was. The next thing you realize is that your shoe is caught on a chair’s leg.

You stumble back, grabbing for a hold on anything. You curl your fingers around the door handle when they smack it, but it pulls open as you fall, not helping you stand at all. Reaching out with your other hand, you hit the vase with the flowers you were just smelling, sending it crashing to the ground with you. You land with a bang on the hard tile floor, thoughts flying away as your entire back and your elbows and your head slam into the ground. Groaning in pain as the bells above you jingle and the vase’s water oozes through your clothes, you lie there.

You’re not sure what hurts more: the scorching coffee burning into your stomach or the glass biting into your hand.

Or maybe it’s Maria’s voice in your ear whispering something about soulmates and true love and injuries and some other stuff you don’t really care about right now.

“Medkit.” You mutter between the booming pounds of your headache.

You feel her tug at your hip, removing the medkit. You can hear the panic in the voices of everyone else that was in the shop, but you squeeze your eyes shut, not looking at them, afraid that if you do, you might vomit everywhere and make matters even more embarrassing.

Maria takes your hand, slowly plucking the glass out with tweezers.

You’re certain your stomach is going to match that burned patch on your arm when you change tonight. At least that pain is fading fast.

So is your headache and the ache of your elbows and back. The only pain left is in your hand. You open your eyes to look at it, to see how bad the damage is because it feels like you’ve torn it into shreds.

You sit up, holding yourself up with the arm that isn’t in Maria’s hands. One of the workers kneels next to you, opposite Maria. The man with the scar on his cheek has a hand wrapped around his girlfriend’s waist, guiding her back to their table. The lonely man from the nearby table sits at your feet, digging through your medkit for something. A wincing redhead sits next to him, focused completely on you.

The redhead notices your gaze. “Terribly sorry.”

You start to shake your head but stop when it sends the world spinning. You take a moment to put your stomach back into place before you reply.

“It was my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”

You let out a long breath, trying to right the world and ignore the pain in your palm. “I should have been more careful. You’re fine.”

“Honestly—“

“Trust me.” You interrupt. “I’ve had far worse. I swear, my soulmate must be an assassin or something for all the injuries he gives me.”

The man stills, then breaks into a smile. “Oh? My soulmate barely ever causes me any pain.”

“You’re lucky.” You grumble, glancing at your hand.

Your stomach turns. Bad decision.

“Funny, though, they caused me some today.”

“Yeah?” You question, starting to tune out. You’ve heard all the stories, and you’re sick of them. The world doesn’t care about introducing you to your own soulmate, why should you have to hear about someone else’s?

“Yeah. A knee ache first, then a sore shoulder.”

“That’s nice.” You mutter absentmindedly before processing what he said. “Wait…” You freeze, running through the morning in your head. No. It can’t be.

Now,” he lifts his hand, “a bloodied hand.”

You run through every curse word you know as you take in the man’s hand. It’s cut in the exact same spots as yours, and there’s a bandage wrapped around his left arm. No. It’s not possible.

But here he is. Alive. In person. Not a gang member or an assassin or anything horrid. Just a normal guy.

“I’m Newt.” He says, growing quieter at your lack of words.

Maria, sitting at your side, smirks. You introduce yourself, eyes still wide, still trying to take in everything about him.

He’s cute with all his freckles and the mop of red hair that keeps threatening to droop into his green eyes. Taller than you’d imagined, lankier too, but his grin is adorable, the way it sits crooked on his face but causes his eyes to light up and sets crinkles near them.

You grit your teeth as Maria takes the last piece of glass out and grabs more gauze. “You’re going to need to buy more soon.”

“Maybe you should tell my soulmate to stop getting hurt.” You mutter. The word feels odd on your tongue now as you stare at Newt. He grins again, ducking his head and peering up.

“I suppose I owe you.”

“You owe me a lot.” You don’t mean that, though, too happy at knowing who he is to care about the scars right now.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“When?”

He laughs once, raising his eyebrows. “I have something to take care of, and we both need to change.”

You realize with a grimace that he’s right. A brown stain covers your top and you reek of coffee. That’s not even taking into account the water soaking your back and the blood stains on your sleeve.

“But maybe,” he says, “you could give me your address?”

“Today? Okay.” You know you sound lame, but you’re not sure what else to say. Every word you know is just gone. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but it had never turned out like this.

He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “So sorry, again. I should have been watching out. I know that people startle easily. I’m told I can be quite quiet.”

He rambles on, cheeks turning red as the others around listen in. You turn red, too, but only because you realize just how cute this man in front of you is and just how many flips your stomach is doing.

“Newt.” You interject.

“Hmm?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A grin splits his face. “Pleasure’s all mine. Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs, quieter now as the lonely man finishes working on his hand, “my soulmate.”

You fluster under his gaze. “Yes, well, I won’t be all pleasant. Now that I know you, I can keep you from doing stupid things that hurt us both. I’m going to be a bother.”

Newt laughs at you again, but you find that you don’t mind, that something inside you lights up at his laugh. “Someone has to, I suppose. I’m glad it’ll be you.”

Your blush deepens at the words. Newt notices and turns crimson, too.

Maria helps you to your feet at the same time Newt stands. He pulls the door open for you, holding it until you and Maria are on the sidewalk.

“I go this way.” He murmurs, pointing in the opposite direction of your path.

Maria wanders a few feet away, giving the two of you space.

Newt’s body blocks most of the wind as he steps closer. “Is your hand all right?”

“It aches, but I’ll live.”

He laughs again, but it’s nervous this time. “Merlin, they don’t tell you what to do at this moment, do they?”

You feel weight slide from your back and you sigh lightly, glad he doesn’t know what he’s doing either. “No, they don’t.”

“I’m sorry again for the trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the way I would have chosen, but it’s better than some people’s. At least we’ll have an interesting tale.”

Newt’s eyes search you, an odd look in them that you find endearing. Is everything this man does cute?

“True. I’ll see you in an hour?”

You swallow, begging your heart to quit pounding. “An hour it is.”

He nods, hesitates, then turns. You walk to Maria’s side, ignoring her questions about him and your thoughts and your feelings.

You make it a block before you jump when a hand wraps around your arm.

An already familiar voice comes from behind you. “Merlin’s beard, I’m terrible at not scaring you.”

You turn, heart racing, and not because of your fear. “Sorry, did I forget something?”

“Your address. I need your address.”

Of course. You rattle off where you’re staying, hoping he can remember it.

And as he smiles at you a final time, your heart jumps, and you know you’ve found the one.

#newt scamander #newt Scamander x reader #newt Scamander imagine #newt Scamander one shot #newt Scamander au #soulmate aus are fun to write #lmk what you think of this one #it got a lot longer than I imagined it would be #I hope you all like it #it's not angst but I think I'm going to eventually write another that's a bit of a follow up #to this one that will have more angst to it #fluff #fbawtft #I hope you guys like this #idk #it's late here lol #enjoy the story!

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