#What the hell kind of apples are you eating that are always a little bitter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lemontwst · 4 years

Text

Nessun Dorma | 01 - f!ver.

he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x f!reader. | male version here.

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.

⟶ index | prologue.

You can’t say no to him.

You don't think you'd ever be able to deny Mira anything, really. Not when he looks at you like a kicked puppy… a tall, imposing kicked puppy with weird horns on his head who could probably cremate you alive without breaking a sweat.

"Of course I would stay with you! Do you even have to ask?" You reach out to touch his face. His skin always feels so cold under your fingers, but the fire in his eyes burns brighter than ever, as if the intensity of his flames depends solely on the intensity of your affection for him.

"I love you, Mira."

Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.

You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.

“I… I love you too.”

He sounds like he’s about to cry. One of his hands rests against your chest. It’s an innocent touch. He’s just feeling your heartbeat under his palm, tiny and steady like that of a little bird, “I will always, always love you. Even if one day you grow to hate me. Even if you forget about me. Even should you fall in love with somebody else…”

You suddenly feel very tired.

His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.

“I love you, (y/n).”

The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.

___

A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.

It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.

You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.

"(y/n)! What the hell...?" Your friend rolls away from you, finally letting go of the octopus hold he had on you all night. He's all disheveled as he gives you a weak glare, falling back into the makeshift bed you two share with a groan.

It's not even a bed, really. Just a pile of cotton blankets messily thrown under the skylight of an unused barn. This is your little hiding place, and despite you two having perfectly comfortable beds in the main house with Grandma and Grandpa, you prefer to spend your summer nights sleeping in this very loft, where it's cool and open and comfortable.

"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”

Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”

"No… not really."

"Nothing at all?

"No, just…"

"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.

Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.

"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"

Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.

He knows you too well.

"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.

"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.

"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.

"Yeah," Epel walks the length of the loft and starts going down the ladder to the ground level of the barn. Before his head completely disappears under the edge of the loft, he throws you an arrogant smirk, "I wouldn't want the deafenin' roars of your stomach wakin’ up every wolf 'n boar in the area."

You're rushing after him immediately.

He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.

___

You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.

Your journey might not have had the best start—your parents left you on a doorstep in a basket when you were a small baby, but Epel's grandparents took you in and cared for you like you were theirs, and you grew up surrounded by love in a small farming community.

Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything built after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.

Oh, and you have Beau.

The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.

Beau is minuscule. The tiniest lamb you've ever seen, always struggling to follow behind you on unsteady legs like you're his mother. Epel says it's because he feels a kinship with a fellow pipsqueak. You're always quick to point out that Epel is not that much taller than you anyway.

"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"

Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.

"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.

You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.

Sigh. Children.

___

You're always dead tired when you finally reach your bed. Farm life is fun and rewarding, but it’s also incredibly exhausting. That coupled with the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep lately means that you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow, barely having the strength to say goodnight to Epel before you’re spiraling into a deep sleep.

…

You know you should be surprised to see him, but you never are. You can always feel him creeping around the outer edges of your dreamscape, but it doesn’t bother you. You invite him in every time, even if you forget all about it when you wake up, almost like you know instinctively that he won’t hurt you. Almost like you know him.

The man in your dreams is gorgeous, the kind of beauty that makes you want to learn sculpting so you can attempt to immortalize it. His skin is paler than marble, free of scars or blemishes. His ebony hair looks silky, a stream of ink that frames his handsome face and falls past his shoulders. He is tall, the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and the evil-looking horns on his head make him look ever more imposing.

But what you find most striking about him are his eyes. Emerald gems with flames inside them. It’s the only detail of his that you remember when you wake up, the rest of him a cloud of black smoke when you attempt to picture him outside of your dreams.

“Good evening, Deerlet.” His voice has the texture of silk and when he speaks, it feels like the ground shakes beneath your feet. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you, I wonder?” He closes in on you with slow, purposeful steps, elegant as a cat even as he leans forward slightly, like he wants to keep you in place by towering over you. His expression is curious and serene. You have a feeling he always looks at you like this.

“Why are you here?” You take a few steps back, not because you’re scared of him, but because you're scared of how badly you suddenly want to reach out and touch him. Your bare feet step on something soft, like flowers, and suddenly the dull landscape around you shifts into a view that feels strangely familiar to you. An open meadow and a purple sky above you. An endless sea of black roses around you.

“Your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.” He closes the distance again, as attracted to you as you are to him. You’re like two ends of a magnet, when one pulls back the other follows. “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation.” The small, arrogant smile on his face sends a flurry of tingles down your spine.

“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”

You feel like you already know where this is going.

“So I’ve brought you your gift today,” He reaches out to touch your elbows, languidly pulling you closer to him in a half-embrace that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s too much empty space between the two of you. His fingers linger over your skin, barely touching you.

“Do you want to know what it is?” He whispers against your ear. One of his hands gently cradles your face. His lips brush against your temple and you shiver, completely paralyzed on the spot, “It’s my love, of course.”

Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing, then gently lowers you over the roses.

"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.

He chuckles above you, but he's not amused. It's a pained, bitter sound, like you just reached inside his ribcage and crushed his heart in your hand. His ebony hair tickles your skin when he leans down to press kisses against your jaw, "Oh, you do know me, beloved. You are the other end of my soul, as I am yours."

His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your thighs wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers reach your inner thigh and he runs a slow circle against the wet, trembling flesh, eager to soak in your juices.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth. A forked tongue peaks between his lips, slowly running over one of his lucid fingers. It brings back a memory of that time you dropped jam on your forearm, and that same forked tongue cheekily swept it away. The vision is so clear it leaves the hint of a name in your dry mouth.

"Mi… ra?"

His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of milky fluid behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.

"Is… is that your name?" You manage to gasp the words out, suppressing a shiver when he hums low in his throat. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to just give in already. To stop asking questions and wrap your arms around him instead, letting him use your body until he's satisfied. The urge to make him happy is almost primal in you, cauterizing your synapses. The need for him almost tears you apart.

"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the soft flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."

His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the cloth of your dress makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.

You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of slick down your thighs. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your dress. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.

"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your pussy clenches in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your dress apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.

Nothing could have prepared you for the thunder that rattles the landscape of your psyche when his forked tongue makes contact with your perky nipple. Your hands find his broad shoulders and you hang on for dear life as he licks, nibbles and sucks like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. His mouth is devastatingly gentle and you weakly beg for more. Mira smirks and ignores you, dragging out his tender torture for as long as he can, even as you desperately grind your drenched core against him.

"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your core hurts from clenching without something to hold your walls apart, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.

Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, slick pooling under you like dew against the roses.

"... You little brat." Mira pulls away, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are full of mischief as he looks down at you, the smirk ever present on his handsome face, "Is this how you treat your King?"

You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."

His expression falls and he suddenly looks flustered. It seems like he enjoys hearing that you belong to him quite a bit. Mira quickly composes himself, the fire in his eyes now dim and subtle like a dangerous warning.

You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.

"This is far from me being mean." He growls at you, allowing his instincts to take over for just a second, "So I advise you don't do that again." The stern look on his face makes his presence feel even more oppressing than usual.

It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your touching powers and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.

The world around you loses focus. There's no more questions, no more doubts, you don't need to know anything about him, you just want him to touch you while you moan and gasp and whimper his name. It feels like you're on the verge of shattering and when Mira caresses you with his magic one more time, your stomach squeezes and releases, the dam in your abdomen breaks and blinding white flashes in front of your vision. You're left boneless and dazed and shivering, the shock from climaxing so hard and so abruptly leaving you speechless as you gasp and try to catch your breath.

...Holy shit. You catch his eyes and notice the subtle way he’s panting, sweat coating his forehead as he stares at every twitch of your body with intense rapture. Mira looks almost famished, desperation written all over his face. He looks like he’s in pain.

"I'm trying to be gentle, daelin." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to keep the pieces of his disintegrating self-control together. Your scent is everywhere. The light spice in the air threatens to render Malleus insane and he has to momentarily block you out to keep himself from turning into his half-draconic form.

No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…

"...I know."

Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.

"I trust you, Mira."

Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.

You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.

"... I'll make you feel good." He sounds oddly resolute as he looks at you, his pupils large on a background of gentle flames. He kind of looks like a happy cat and you can't help but giggle. He's still as awkwardly sweet as the scrawny boy in your memories.

"You already did."

He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."

You let out a surprised gasp when he lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your wet pussy. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.

Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces the line of your entrance. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your slit. Then he runs his tongue up until it finds your clit and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow semi-circles around the sensitive nub.

"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.

"The tip…" his tongue flicks your clitoris and your head falls back, slick dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue under the hard nub and slooowly licks up and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release.

Your core pulses desperately with the need to cum all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…

"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your core against his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"

He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his fingers plunges into you, finally granting your clenching walls some sort of relief.

Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He adds another finger in and rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.

You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.

You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.

"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." his cheeks and chin are all shiny and sticky but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the cum off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.

“(y/n), I can’t take it anymore…” He breathes frantically, finally allowing himself some sort of relief as he takes his erection out of his pants. His dick is so hard it fucking hurts. He really wanted to take things slow for your sake, but he only ended up edging himself to the point of almost going into a rut.

He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.

"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your pussy clenches with traitorous want.

"Not this time, probably not." Mira cradles your little body in his arms, "I'd have to train you for it to fit. Stretch you out until your insides have my imprint." He runs a hand down his face in a quick, agitated movement. Every single cell in his body is fighting against the urge to ravish you. His muscles hurt from tightening so violently and Malleus has to force himself to count to ten to keep from showing his cock inside you at once.

“It’s… fine. I won’t hurt you.” He promises, searching your face for your approval as he lines himself against your entrance. He’s been alive for centuries and yet his heart has never beaten so fast. His hawk-like eyes are focused on you and you alone, burning the image of you laying helpless under him inside his corneas.

Then you nod up at him, looking so cute as you try to put on a brave face that Malleus almost cums right then and there. The head of his dick slowly pushes inside you. Your head lulls back and Mira's hands shake violently.

It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily. Stars, it's stretching you so well. You're soaking wet and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being filled completely wiping out every thought in your head.

He finally touches the deepest place inside you, his large cock still not completely inside, and you both go completely still. The only sounds that break the humid silence are your loud gasps and his feeble ones, mixing together in a cacophony of absolute amazement as you two take in the surreal feeling of finally being connected.

Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.

"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, rouge dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.

"So small." He makes a show of hovering over you completely and suddenly the sky disappears. There's only him. Above you and around you and inside you. You're face to face with his chest, and as you lean your head back, trying to catch his eyes, you see that he has to tuck his chin against his neck to look back at you.

…

...

Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.

"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.

"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"

You can't speak, so you give him another frantic nod, squeezing your eyes shut. You're not prepared for how good it feels when he pulls back. His veins scrape against you, the stretching becomes almost unbearable and you're left moaning long and loud in a way that makes Malleus sweat. If you could see him now, you'd notice he looks almost shy, like the first time you kissed his cheek.

He's almost out of you when he decides to thrust back in, scattering stars across your stomach with a single, gentle motion. Every nerve ending tingles with pleasure. Sweet nonsense falls from your lips and Malleus has to grit his teeth and dig his clawed fingers into the ground in order to cling to the last remains of his thinning patience. His fangs hurt with the primal urge to mark you.

"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet girl—my cute little Deerlet—" His hips snap back against your smaller ones in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.

"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, “Say that you’re mine."

The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.

"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.

"Malleus." He corrects you through gritted teeth, then he stops moving entirely, ignoring your disappointed cries as he desperately tries to resist the pull your body has on him, "Say I'm yours, Malleus."

"I'm yours, Malleus." His real name becomes a moan in your mouth and Malleus finally snaps. There's no more gentle, just a carnal urgency and a need that has waited centuries to be satisfied. He pulls his hips back and then slams into you and fuck, you should be screaming by now but you can't, there's not enough air as you bounce over the flowers and sob, clinging to him like he's your lifeline.

The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word so unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.

Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.

He cums so much. You can feel his hot semen fill you up and then spill out like it's a waterfall. He's not letting go of you, his face hidden in your hair as he recovers from the star-shattering pleasure of finally, finally being one with you.

"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.

...

He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry—

You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.

Nonononono— Maker, please—

He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.

He looks lost. His dark lashes are wet with tears, his mouth is curved in a confused frown and that's when you realize that he loves you so much, but he doesn't know how to process the feeling. He's like a panicked child and you are fading. And he’s always going to remember this moment, but you won’t.

You scream out his name, his real name.

…

And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.

Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.

___

Life goes on.

You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.

Epel hates that you have to travel so far when you could just help him out at the farm like you usually do, but you’ll be attending NRC coming September, and you want to save some pocket money for you and Epel to spend on all the cool city stuff you can’t find in your hole of a town.

Beau likes to walk you to the bus stop. Epel would too, but you won’t let him waste his time on you when he has his own work to take care of. Your lamb companion stops following you when the dirt road opens to the fields, getting distracted by the dandelions sprinkled at the edges of the village.

"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.

The bus stop isn't far, a lone plastic port on a background of sunflowers. As per usual you're the only one here, but the occasional horse and buggy passes by, and the farmers who live in the nearby granges all greet you with cheerful smiles on their faces. They all know where you're headed and wish you a good day at work. You really can't keep anything to yourself in such a small community.

The commute to the beach takes almost an hour. The road zig-zags and then straightens towards the coastline. You're almost tempted to doze off, but finding your way to the beach if you miss your stop is going to be a pain in the ass, so you force yourself to stay awake, keeping your eyes on the picturesque horizon and daydreaming about your mysterious man with the emerald eyes.

You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.

…

You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.

___

The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.

There's people everywhere, craving drinks and food before they go lay down on their beach towels for the rest of the day, their flip-flops leaving sand in every corner of the bar that you'll be sweeping for an eternity. Screaming children run this and that way like they're high on vitamin gummies. Their melting popsicles leave a sticky trail on the ground. They step on it and spread liquid sugar everywhere.

…

Why do you work here again?

…

Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.

Said coworker perks up when he sees you. His ears give an excited wiggle (Maker, he's adorable) and he shoots you a smirk that shows his little fangs, "Ah, kitten! Always a sight for sore eyes." He hisses a 'kishishishi' that you've learned to recognize as his laughter, his closed eyes looking like little half-moons.

"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”

Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.

“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.

"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.

You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.

___

“I am dying.” You groan and rest your head on the counter, the coolness of the wood soothing your flushed face, “Why did I take this job anyway? I don't need the money! I can just live off the land with my lamb companion and eat apple jam for the rest of my days."

Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”

You turn your head to look at him, cheek smushed against the counter. Rush hour is finally over, but god, you're in pieces. Waiting tables is not as easy as it sounds, and dealing with entitled moms on vacation is a torture worse than stepping on two Legos at the same time.

The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.

"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.

"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.

"It's not masochism, it's the law of the Savannah." He places the glass right in front of your face. You lift your head off the counter and wrap your hands around the cold beverage as he shoots you a mischievous look. He waits for you to take a sip before adding: "But it's nice ta know you're so interested in my sexual preferences."

You choke.

He laughs that kishishishi sound.

As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.

You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.

This kind of flirting is… not uncommon between the two of you, but it never really leads to anything, if only because you're both stuck manning the bar and you can't really leave the place unattended.

But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, his casual teasing makes you feel like the hottest person on this beach, so you don't discourage it. You take another sip of tea, sighing through your nose at how pleasant the cold beverage feels when it runs down your throat.

...

"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."

...

What?

You look at him like he's grown another head.

"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.

"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"

You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your swimsuit peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.

"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.

"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."

Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"

"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.

___

Left alone in an empty beach bar, Ruggie barely resists the urge to slam his head against the counter. His shoulders are burning like he's been marked like cattle, and all he wants to do is to walk into the ocean until the waves swallow him completely. Maybe the abhorrent heat that singes his skin would fucking disappear then. And if not, at least the cold water would kill his boner.

This happens every fucking time. Every fucking time. He should be smarter than this, and yet he always falls for the same tricks, and the worst part is that he's tricking himself. Ruggie knows that flirting with you is akin to showing burning coals in his abdomen. He gets so fucking excited his entire body starts tingling with electricity, which is not the ideal state to be when you're at work.

And yet he still does it anyway.

Maybe he really is a masochist.

And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.

And oh God, you're going to the same school as him in September. You're going to be prancing around in your little uniform, calling him 'senpai' and shit and he's going to have to go through his heat while being tortured like that.

Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.

Yeah, he's fucked.

___

"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.

Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."

This is not the first time you've done this song and dance. With how little you've been sleeping lately, you're always looking for excuses to be carried around by Epel. Your legs feel like jello, you are not walking all the way to the barn tonight. Just changing into your pajamas has been hard enough.

"Yeah, but you slept like a rock all night!" You hug him from behind and rest your lips against his shoulder, giving him an unimpressed look from over his shoulder, "I woke up to you drooling all over my shirt multiple times."

Epel flushes the color of the fruit he's named after and mumbles something unintelligible. He waves goodnight to his grandparents and so do you, then he struggles towards the front door, pretty much having to drag you across the hallway.

"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"

The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.

"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."

Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.

"Why don't ya go ask yer darlin' Ruggie to carry ya then?" His accent gets more jumbled as his irritation grows. Still, for all his fussing, Epel bends down and waits for you to climb on his shoulders.

You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.

A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.

"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."

"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.

You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.

"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.

He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.

"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."

Epel almost chokes on his saliva.

You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.

You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."

It’s true. Epel often rolls on top of you in his sleep, and nothing you do ever seems to shake him off or wake him up. You figure you can just get right to it, since he apparently loves resting his head on your chest while he snores.

Your friend closes the distance between you with three hesitant steps. "... You're such a moron, seriously." He mumbles, kneeling between your legs and then draping himself over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. He smells like apples, as always. His cotton pajamas and his fluffy hair make him the perfect cuddle buddy. You sigh contently into his hair and wrap your arms tighter around his back.

It’s quiet for a bit. Epel’s weight is strangely comforting over you. The sound of his steady breaths is a familiar lullaby, and you quickly find yourself floating in that comfy, tingly space between sleep and wake.

…

“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”

Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.

“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and start scratching his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.

…

“Have you ever kissed him?”

Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.

You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”

He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.

“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I haven’t kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.

Right?

“... Do you want to?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Everything seems to still around you. Your heartbeat speeds up as you look into Epel's eyes. You know he's pretty manly despite his soft features, but he's never been so… forward before. You two have always been like siblings, so you really didn't think Epel felt that way about you. Maybe he's just joking?

… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.

Do you want to?

…

"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.

His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…

___

❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?

⟶ Lay back and let Epel take the lead. You deserve this after being teased in your dreams by your mystery man and teased in real life by your hyena coworker. Besides, you kind of want to see what your stubborn Epel is capable of in bed... (sub!deerlet content)

⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)

vote here | what is this?

❥ taglist: @mirrorsandpacts @stormweaver13 @bobaryn @justsomepersons @mokkeguts @maiieus @trashmomarcya @dat-bi-bitch @lem-thebeast @mythrule @hfhgjgji @zzz-sleeplessy-soft-xxx @anicious @kae-draws-sometimes @cogitover @sammy6667 @shrimp-heads @twistedmintcandy @gyghii @akelois @maknae-lenna @chiefcashgianthero @carasketch @mayorkoopbob @linseyz @gardenondreams @andromeda-gay @equus-meretrix @the-king-of-blue @spacebabesupernova @kagicannotsee @doraconia @hello-starlight @yandere-romanticaa @skyboo @uwu-dreams @kay8675 @meltyans @drawbud @msyaoigodkanna @roseinbloom02 @hoodiedevil @ikemenisruiningme @miiluka @hello-selene94 @moondustinhislungs @nosochek-3o @epher-posts @monoshii-wasu @rosavine @bitch-let-me-die @raychel @pumpkiethepie @hypmicluvbot @theallpowerfulrosami @mmquinno @mayunnaise21 @ruvelise

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst #nessun dorma

951 notes · View notes

script-nef · 4 years

Text

Mystery lady | Aizawa Shouta

Category: fluff, crack?

2.2k words; Eri has another caretaker?

“All right, we have a surprise visitor today.” Aizawa mumbled underneath his scarf, packing the rest of his paperwork into a pile. “Don’t be annoying and suffocate her.” Heads swivelled as the large door slowly creaked open to reveal the small and adorable guest.

“Eri-chan?” Midoriya shot up from his seat, eyes popping out of his head. Others followed suit, squealing at her cute attire. Aizawa lifted her up and placed her on his desk, patting her head.

“She’s available to stay with us for about an hour, or until her caretaker comes.” Everyone—well, nearly everyone—crowded over Eri, eager to talk to her. The last time they saw her was months ago, after all. Aizawa would only give small slivers of information like “she went to the hospital today” or “she’s fine, stop asking” after the students pestered him. It was only when Iida interrupted, concerned for her personal space, that they stepped back a bit.

“Ah, I have to get some forms from the staff room… Look after her for a moment. You are going to be heroes.” With that, the teacher slid out of the room with his yellow sleeping bag in tow. After he left, all attention was directed to Eri.

“It’s been ages since we last saw you! How are you, is everything okay?”

“How’s it like living with Aizawa-sensei? Is he kind? Is he taking good care of you?” They took turns asking, giving her some snacks. Watching her face light up melted their hearts.

“Yep! He asks me a lot if I’m okay and gives me sweets! He once gave me this really bitter one and laughed when I spat it out. It was a really weird but funny grin.” The class couldn’t really imagine their apathetic teacher giving anyone any other type of a smile. The same one which scared them down to their bones.

Others chimed in with their questions, ranging from “Have you gone to any other places?” to “Have you found any other foods you like?” or “Are you going to school now?” Eri answered all of them with a bright smile.

It made Midoriya almost tear up, how her attitude and personality changed from the moment they saved her from Overhaul’s grasp. He knew his influence over her wasn’t completely gone, but it was steadily disappearing, and nothing brought him greater joy than that.

“Wait, but… where do you go when Aizawa-sensei teaches us? Surely he doesn’t just leave you alone in the faculty’s dorm?” Yaoyorozu spoke up, fingers sifting through Eri’s silver locks. When Eri looked back at her in puzzlement, she replied with “that’s a fancy word for teachers.”

“Oh, [Name] looks after me.” The class looked quizzically at her, heads tilted in curiosity.

“Who?”

“[Name]! She lives with us, and she’s so kind and the best. She always wakes me up with fireflies and it’s so pretty!” Everyone stopped at that.

“...And is she like, our age, or…?”

“No? She’s an adult.”

Sparks flew around in the students’ minds as they tried to connect the dots.

Aizawa-sensei lives in the faculty dorms in the Heights Alliance. Eri-chan lives with him. This mystery person lives with Eri-chan. Therefore, she must be living with our teacher. Aizawa-sensei is living with another adult, a female, no less. What the hell?

They murmured amongst each other, trying to speculate how this was possible. Eri stared in confusion. “Why are you whispering?”

“Eri-chan, when you say ‘lives with us’, did you mean like she moved in when you moved in or she was living with Aizawa-sensei before you came?”

“She moved into the dorms after I came.” The students nodded, saying how it would be unusual for the antisocial teacher to voluntarily live with anyone. Or for anyone to agree to the arrangement. “But she told me she was living with him before he came into the dorms. She complained about it a lot, how she had to travel every day just to see him. She’s happier now!”

This made them stop again. But in an attempt to stop interrogating her about this mysterious lady and focus on Eri herself, Kirishima steered the conversation.

“Uh, so what do you do all day?”

“[Name] is an artist, but she said she was also a teacher. I’m being homeschooled by her, but it’s so fun! And she always makes cakes and candy apples as a well-done reward. Then we take naps, watch TV and then eat dinner when Aizawa-san comes back. We sometimes go to the park and have picnics. She drew me a rabbit to play with on the grass and it came to life. It was so cute!”

Eri’s bubbly and enthusiastic voice made everyone coo at her adorableness. After sitting in countless non-hero lessons, she was like a ray of sunshine which brightened up their day. They didn’t know who this lady was, but she was apparently taking incredibly good care of their “little sister”.

“You must really like her then! She sounds like a lovely person.” Uraraka wiped the smudge of chocolate off Eri’s cheek, pinching it lightly in the process.

“Yep! She’s really lovely and hugs me a lot. Sometimes she calls Aizawa-san over and we cuddle for hours while watching movies!” This was the sentence which absolutely broke everyone’s brain. They stared dumbfoundedly at her confused face until one of them regained their ability to speak. Now that she said that, there was no way they could skip past this person.

“Can you… tell us more about [Name]? Especially about her and Aizawa-sensei?”

“Um, well…”

“Wow, I am lost. My lack of sense of direction never ceases to amaze me… that’s the third time I’ve walked past the Nurse’s Office. Hm, not worrying at all, I’m perfectly fine.” A breath of fatigue and annoyance slipped out as you made a right, even though that’s what you did last time. “Ah yes, all around me are familiar signs, but no faces. If only the song could come true.”

The empty corridors were being filled with your muttering until you stopped in your tracks. “Wait a second, she’s in 1-A. Which means it would be on the second floor since the first would be the teacher’s lounges and whatnot. I need to go upstairs. Ugh, why didn’t I think this 10 minutes ago?” A pause. “It’s because I don’t use my two withering brain cells.”

Even on the second floor, you found yourself lost. Another 10 minutes would have been wasted trying to gauge your location if it weren’t for the loud squeals and shouts exploding out of a room. That fits the description Shouta gave. Energetic and no regards for the eardrums of anyone nearby, especially ones trying to sleep.

As you came closer, individual voices could be heard.

“Aizawa-sensei did that? I can’t believe it!”

“He doesn’t seem like a romantic type at all. I should believe the sky is collapsing before this.”

“He does it all the time, every single day. Ah, that’s her! [Name]!” Slipping into the classroom and nodding to the students, you carefully embraced the small child and held her up in your arms. The weight of her body on your arms and her arms around your neck immediately calmed your heart rate down.

“Oh thank goodness I found you, I had no idea where I was! I swear I’m worse than Zoro when it comes to finding my way around.”

“Who’s Zoro?”

“Uhm, a fictional character you don’t need to worry about. You’re too young for One Piece.” Eri nodded with a smile and pulled at your sleeve. “Yes, dear?”

“[Name], they’re all Aizawa-san’s students! They’re so nice!”

“Yes, Grumpy told us about them, right? The band of misfits who he loves very much even though he never said it out loud or sometimes says the complete opposite. Remember how he said ‘I would rather drink an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar than go to another class’ yesterday but still woke up at 6? He’s such a tsundere.”

“He doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

“What, Grumpy? No, he loves it, I can tell. I’m psychic.”

“Psychic?”

“I can read what other people think. It’s my Quirk.”

“Isn’t your Quirk Piggy?”

“...I have two quirks? No, that doesn’t make sense. Alright, you got me, I’m lying. And it’s Pygmalion, remember? Piggy is cute but very misleading.”

The students watched the light banter between you and Eri, eyes shifting to whoever was speaking. A lightbulb went off in Sero’s head which stopped the conversation.

“Wait, I’ve seen you around before! You’re in the cafeteria every night!” Your attention changed to the boy, and the gaggle of wide-eyed children, at that.

“Oh, I thought I was sneaky enough. Guess not. Okay, hello everyone! I’m [Surname] [Name], and I’m taking care of Eri along with that grouch you call a teacher in the faculty’s dorms. I’m not a suspicious person, I have all of my credentials and papers. And this little lady has a maths test to start!” Eri squealed and attempted to wriggle out of your arms at that, determined to escape. She slipped off and hid behind Midoriya, sticking her tongue out at you.

“I want to stay here!” You crouched down to her eye level, trying to reason with her. It was hard to say no since she barely asks for anything, and you never wanted to stop her from experiencing the outside world.

“Sweetie, these students must have their classwork to do and we might be disturbing them. And we don’t want to do that, ri—”

“Actually!” Kaminari cut in. “Sorry for interrupting, but we have absolutely no work right now!” Iida attempted to say “Yes we do.” but was smothered into silence by Ashido. “We have all the time in the world to talk to Eri-chan!” Her head spun to yours at that, large puppy-dog eyes fluttering with clasped hands. This was a move you tried to ban in the house because it instantly made you weak.

“Alright then… If we’re not disrupting you guys, then I don’t see the harm. I’ll be sitting here, just to keep an eye out for our little miss. Don’t mind me.” Making yourself comfortable, you whipped out a novel from your bag and started reading. Although, the session lasted for only 2 minutes since the lack of rambunctious noise made you look up to 21 pairs of eyes staring back at you. “Can I… help you?”

“Miss, you live with Eri-chan, right?”

“Yes. Also, just call me [Name]. Yobisute is fine, don’t be so distant!”

“Ah, right. So you live with Aizawa-sensei.”

“Yup! You guys have it hard, having Grumpy for a teacher. Although I shouldn’t be the one saying that, seeing how I’ve been going out with him for the past… 3 years? Wow, time flies.” Screams of “What?” and “He’s dating someone?” filled the room. “Ah, so he didn’t mention me, huh? Typical Grumpy.”

“What do you see in him?” Todoroki’s voice cut through the chatter. Midoriya shrieked and explained to the bichrome boy how that has an offensive meaning. “Oh, I see. Sorry.” You laughed at the boy’s lack of social understanding.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I do want to get back at him, though. You guys want to hear about all the things he did with me over the years?” 21 heads nodded. “Well then, sit down and storytime will begin.”

Aizawa was looking at hell. Or at least a perfect replication of it in his homeroom class. You, standing in his spot and recounting everything he’s ever done with you, and his students, looking like they were practically engraving your words into their brains.

“What are you doing?” The children shrieked at his appearance. The fact that they didn’t realise he was there until he spoke up made Aizawa mentally note to increase their schoolwork in perception. It’s vital in Hero work, after all. You, on the other hand, aren’t even phased.

“What’s up, Mr Grinch? You somehow look more tired than this morning, what an accomplishment in uh… 8 hours.” He flicked your forehead for that, ignoring your yelp of pain. “This is a terrible way to treat your girlfriend!”

“And yet you haven’t broken up with me.” His students squealed and whistled at his comment. Acts which stopped as soon as he glared at them. “I’m back now, you said Eri needs to do her maths test.” He picked up the little girl from his desk and placed her on your folded arms, making sure she’s stable before letting go.

“Alright, alright, we’re going. Did you guys have fun?” A chorus of “Yes!” nearly blasted yours and his eardrums off. Eri was saved thanks to Aizawa’s quick reflexes. He clasped his hands over her ears just in time. “Nice! Okay, we have to go now. Bye guys!” Another chorus of “Bye [Name]!” echoed.

Your boyfriend followed you out of the classroom, patting Eri’s head while shooing you off. “I don’t have night patrol today.”

“That’s great! I bought some cake from that bakery around the corner. Brave through the day and come back to me in one piece, okay?” Your lips connected to his but he immediately pulled back at the screams from behind him. Nearly every single student had their face peeking out of the room, eyes glittering. “Oh oops.”

“Shit.”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta imagine #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha imagine #boku no hero academia imagine #bnha one shot #boku no hero academia one shot #bnha #boku no hero academia #aizawa #aizawa shouta #crack #fluff #female reader

694 notes · View notes

miss-owl-eyes · 3 years

Text

⋇⋆➶𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴➴⋆⋇

Uh oh! All Bertholdt brainrot! Again!

❀𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘬❀

❀𝘈𝘖𝘛 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘬❀

══✿══°˖✧✿✧˖°══✿══

He really likes cranberry-apple juice, it tastes slightly bitter and sweet and he just likes that kinda thing

Always has a phone protective layer over the screen because he ends up dropping it more than he’d like to admit

He also lost his AirPods like 3 times so he only uses the wired ones now

Hates beer but drinks vodka on rough nights, he comes home drunk and a bit depressed.

He’s the kind of drunk that asks to cuddle but doesn’t let go, he’s also the little spoon and wraps himself around you

He also likes double stuff oreos, he doesn’t eat them in one bite, instead he takes little bites or licks off the cream

He watched my little pony when he was a kid, sometimes he still watches it. His favorite is twilight sparkle.

He drinks sprite at room temperature... Annie smacks him for it and Reiner contemplates his life.

He stares at dogs when he goes to shelters (only shelters) and puts his hand up to it to see what it does, one time it licked where his hand was and he cried a little

He wants to own a puppy with you one day, not a real child, a puppy.

Man acts a lil too 💅 sometimes, he said “I’d suck a dick for $20” and you just stared at him. He also randomly moans when you’re on a call with a friend, he blushes a lot tho, it’s just cute. Hell only so it if he’s comfortable with you.

He listens to alt/rock music and can sing bottoms up WORD FOR WORD, every playlist he has has at least one (1) Nicki Minaj song on it

If he’s in the middle of a panic episode he’s surprised more easily, poke him and he’ll yelp, hug him and he’ll freeze up, just pet him and he’ll be content

Downloads those shitty games you see on ads and is actually really good at them, it’s almost scary. Also really good at Tetris? His fingers are too fast to keep up

He may be shy but if you take him on a date, he’s gonna be an idiot, I’m talking ice skating and tripping like Bambi, getting an ear piercing with you, even buying candy to eat a movie, he loves having fun with you

Very cuddly in the morning, he’ll wake up and immediately throw his arm around your waist and pull you in, sometimes he rests his head on your back or pulls your face to his chest, he sleeps shirtless so he’s w a r m

He collects squishmallows and names them all, if you two do the deed, he always turns them around or covers their eyes, he’ll say “not in front of the children”

Speaking of doing the deed... NSFW under the cut!

Needy as hell. He’ll hold your waist and whine a bit while grinding his erection against your lower back. He’ll groan and moan while sucking on the back of your neck

Low-key into (consensual) somnophilia, he’ll grind against your ass while you sleep and he spoons you, the thrill of you waking up to him grinding on you with a hard-on is enthralling to him

Very experimental, he’ll try anything once, doesn’t matter what it is, he’s even sucked off a dildo for you and used it on himself in front of you, he loves it

Really into teasing, he loves having you tie his arms behind his back and chew at his nipples until he’s squirming, or when he’s been giving you oral for hours and not tending to his painful erection, he’s both a masochist and a sadist

Has a huge biting and mark-up kink, he loves it when you litter his neck in purple and red marks in hard-to-hide spots, kiss softly and bite hard on his hips, suck him off and leave a good bite on his inner thigh next to his ass, he goes feral if his entire body is covered in marks

He’s dominant sometimes, not often, but sometimes. Hell tie you up and sit on your lap and whisper the dirtiest things in your ear and nibble on your neck, he’ll nibble on your nipples and lick the pain away with his tongue until you’re fully overstimmed

Sadist and a masochist, use it to your advantage!

#aot headcanons #aot bertholdt #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan bertholdt #snk bertholdt #snk headcanons #shingeki no kyoujin bertholdt #shingeki no kyoujin headcanons #bertholdt hoover #bertholdt fubar

90 notes · View notes

snickiebear · 3 years

Note

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

#silly things from silly friends #kakasaku #that one ninja anime #200 follower event :)#a shared pen

19 notes · View notes

headtothecoast · 4 years

Text

jaskier can get out of any restraint.

it started as many things did for the bard, in bed with someone offering to teach him something interesting. first, it was a contortionist from a traveling troupe of performers who could escape tons of restraints and taught him how to get out of the fun and not fun kinds. then it was a blacksmith who spent several days showing him how to properly make things like chains, locks etc and what they looks like poorly made and where there weaknesses are. and jaskier, the sponge, files everything away and practices sometimes with a pair of restraints he’d been given by the contortionist.

geralt may think him inept at using swords and he’d be half right, jaskier lacked geralts strength on a good day, but that didn’t mean he didn’t keep anything on his person. just not the sort of thing geralt recognized. usually it was mistaken for jewelry and often it was hidden exceptionally well. at first it was fun at least, until he got locked in someone’s stellar for breaking wedding vows he doesn’t remember making and before he knows it he’s out of the restraints and oh dear that lock doesn’t look too difficult either and he walks out without a scratch.

then, after befriending geralt he gets into more and more precarious situations. usually it doesn’t take more than an hour, tops to get out of everything. the ones that take longer usually have him back before dinner and before daylight at the earliest. geralt must assume he’s been off in someone else’s bed but will still begrudgingly leave with him the next morning even if had had spent all of the previous night working through an impurity weakness in one of the chains that had taken ages to find because the rest of the restraints were expertly made but geralt didn’t care for sleeping in and he wasn’t about to start that fight.

but then he’s kidnapped by people who mean business, who have talked to everyone that came before and found out the bard had a talent for escaping. and one moment he’s telling geralt he’ll be off in the market buying quills and the next he is groggily waking up naked in a cell. normally he’d be fine but naked means naked and he doesn’t have knives, scraps of metal sewn into his clothes or any of his jewelry. it’s dark and he’s drugged which means even if he could get a look at his restraints to find the weak point he doesn’t know if he’d be quick enough to actually escape. in addition, while he had practiced restraints blindfolded, he usually had some tool on him and for the first time in over 20 years jaskier is nervous.

he wakes up again later and realizes they must be continuously drugging him and the lack of light means he doesn’t know what day it is or how much time has passed. he’s gagged so the most he can do is hum to himself and too much movement makes him pass out again.

no one comes to talk to him, no demands, no guards, no one to charm. finally jaskier realizes hes starting to feel a little panic. he’s not sure he can get out of this one but the second the though glances across his mind he’s out again.

it is two weeks before geralt finds him, 2 days before the drugs are completely out of his system, several before he can eat more than some bread and an apple, and almost a month before geralt works up the nerve to really talk to him about what happened. jaskier had been slowly starving in a cave while geralt had hand to threaten every single person across 2 towns to figure out who might even be responsible, let alone figure out where he was. it was reckless of him and -

before geralt continues jaskier is laughing. it started as a chuckle and turned a dark sort of bitter before jaskier is saying geralt this is no where near the first time i’ve been abducted. hell, i’ve lost count at this point. usually i can get myself out just fine but pretty hard to do with the pick sewn into your pants stays in your pants, if you know what i mean. fuck, i’m going to have to replace that pair remind me in the next town i need a new pick as well

and geralt is speechless. doesn’t know what to do with the information and he’s angry, why didn’t you tell me?

and jaskier just shrugs saying, i mean it had been happening before i met you and no one ever kept me long enough to really interrogate me or anything - don’t worry, your witcher secrets would be safe with me even if i failed to get out

and geralt really doesn’t know how to take that because he had been concerned, jaskier had been left to starve to death and geralt nearly hadnt found him - this wasn’t about jaskier knowing information about him this was about geralt failing to keep him safe

and jaskier must see something playing out on his face because his eyes look softer and he’s reaching for geralt and saying something but geralts mind goes numb because jaskier is hugging him after all he’s been through, after near death experiences and dislocated wrists breaking out of restraints for over 20 years and geralt hadn’t even fucking noticed

and finally geralt forced out a i will find you jaskier

and jaskier is nodding into the hug and geralt slowly brings his arms up to encircle him and jaskier hair is so soft and he’s close and warm and safe and so he repeats himself with as much emotion as he can wring out of his dry heart, i will always find you

and jaskier places a kiss on his forehead and geralt vows to place a tracking spell on him if necessary because he refuses to let anyone take jaskier from him again

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #the witcher #geraskier headcanons

674 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 2)

A/n: I’ll just be going by episode now, so there might be quite a bit of overlapping show dialogue. Side note! Song suggestion for this series 1: “Not ALone” by Starkid!

Word Count: 10,000+

Warning: Blood, violence, minor PTSD, heavy emotions, Doctor Who drama (disease, death, dehumanizing clones, human experimentation, possession)

"Where's Rose?" The Doctor asked as Y/n entered the TARDIS alone.

"Taking her time," Y/n joked in response. "Saying goodbye to Mickey and Jackie." The Doctor nodded as Y/n moved to his side, dropping his small bag of things in the corner. "You should teach me how to drive the TARDIS."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Y/n nodded. "I mean, if we're going to be stuck together for... ever." He released a heavy breath and the Doctor snorted softly in amusement. "Seriously though. If I'm stuck with you forever, I think I ought to pick up a few useful things. Starting with driving the TARDIS."

Looking away was obviously an attempt to hide his smile, but he failed. Y/n could hear it in his voice when he spoke. "Okay, I'll teach you then."

Before Y/n could respond, Rose came in. "So, where we headed off to now?"

At that the Doctor changed moods, focusing on the blonde and allowing his shy smile to turn to a grin. "Further than we've ever gone before." He didn't lie. When they landed and exited the TARDIS, both Rose and Y/n were shocked at what they saw. The Doctor took his cue to explain. "It's the year five billion and twenty-three, we're in the galaxy N-87, and this! This is new Earth." He looked around, squinting in the sunlight. Even making that face, he was handsome. This regeneration fit the Doctor well. Y/n couldn't lie about that.

"It's just..." Rose mumbled. "That's just-" Her laughter cut her off.

"Insane," Y/n finished. "Like in the movies of the future. Things that have only been imagined, where we're from." Y/n's breath had been taken away. "It's beautiful."

"Not bad," the Doctor agreed. "Not bad at all."

Rose shook her head, running her hands through her hair to push it out of her face. "That's amazing!" She looped her free arm with Y/n's. "I'll never get used to this. You?"

"I hope not," Y/n sighed contentedly. He was glad to be back in the TARDIS. Back with Rose and the Doctor. He was glad to be away from an Earth that had mostly just hurt him, staring at a magnificent future full of promise and success.

That seemed to ring true with Rose. "I never will, it seems." She let go of Y/n's arm, jumping up and down to state next, "Different ground beneath my feet." She stopped, eyes rising to the clouds. "Different sky." She looked at the Doctor next. "What's that smell?"

The Doctor leaned down to pull grass up, holding it out for the other two to smell. "Apple grass."

"Apple grass," Rose said, her tone mocking normality, as if the idea of apple grass wasn't totally bizarre. What the hell was apple GRASS? Could you eat it, or was it just a smell? Who knew. Y/n laughed at himself as Rose hummed, "It's beautiful." She beamed at the Doctor and Y/n looked over to see her take the Doctor's arm. The Timelord looked down at her and Y/n smiled. They were sweet together. He hoped this little group of theirs lasted a very long time. "Can I just say," Rose began. "Traveling with you. I love it."

There was something in the way she said that. Something that made Y/n cough to cover a laugh. Had he been that obvious? Surely not. "Me too," the Doctor responded brightly. He dropped his arm to take her hand, reaching over with his other hand to grab Y/n's as well. "Come on!" He pulled them into a jog toward a stretch of grass where they all lay out and enjoyed the scenery before them. "So the year five billion, the sun expands, the world gets roasted," The Doctor began.

"That was our first date," Rose joked.

“Not the best,” Y/n piped up.

Rose giggled at that. "I think I preferred the Daleks to Cassandra." Y/n laughed at the memory of the stretched skin parading as the last human, even if it wasn’t as much a bitter memory for Y/n was if was for Rose. “How ridiculous."

"I like to remember it, actually. It was what started it all. What began this whole thing. We even had chips." The trio laughed and reminisced for a second. Long enough for Y/n to see the longing look Rose shot the Doctor. It set off a determination in Y/n. If there was limited time for things to happen between them, Y/n wasn't going to sit back and let them waste it. "Anyway," the Doctor continued before Y/n could come up with anything. "Planet gone, all rocks and dust, but the human race lives on, spreads out across the stars. As soon as the Earth burns up, oh, they get all nostalgic," the Doctor sasses. Y/n's smile falls. "Big revival movement. They find this place." He sat up then. "Same size as the Earth, same air, same orbit, lovely. The call goes out, the humans move in."

The Doctor's words got softer and softer as Y/n zoned out, accidentally ignoring the conversation in favor of remembering something.

There was a weight, in my chest. Not... MY chest, but his chest. A weight that was setting into my body, this body, making everything heavy as well. That heaviness came with darkness, and both seemed to be sinking into his skin.

Screams. The memory of the screams were so fresh and new. They were so bright and painful. Compared to them, and the blood, and the death and loss, the heaviness and darkness was almost a relief.

I see a hand. My hand. His hand. I see it reach out and touch the TARDIS. She's making the sound that has always been her sound, but it's new to these ears. The first time he is hearing it. "Guess this means you're just like me. Last of your kind."

God it hurts even more. That hand moves from the TARDIS, over his heart. My heart. Our heart. I know it's not me, this is not my memory. This isn't happening now. I know this isn't something I experienced, and yet it feels so personal and real. A memory I should not have. An experience that is so clear in my mind, even though it shouldn't exist at all. Scenes of the same story, cut into bits that don't make sense - all that hurt that burns and drags and rips apart. That first night running away, and the many nights afterward. The nights alone. The nights with no one but the TARDIS. I know all of that, but I do not know who I am. It's confusing and it hurts and I can't stand it. I can't stand it! I CAN'T STAND IT!

"Y/n?"

"What?" Even Y/n knows there's something wrong when he speaks. He can hear it even in his own voice. He can hear his voice shake. His voice. He looks down and wiggles his fingers. His fingers. This is the present. The here and now. This is real. This happened to Y/n, of Earth.

Rose reaches out a hand, resting it on Y/n's shoulders. Her face is wrought with concern. "What's wrong?"

How is he supposed to answer that? With the truth? ...I suppose that's all he had. "Sorry, I just find myself a tad distracted today. What did I miss?" A small lie seemed to be nicer. Things had only started to get good, and Y/n didn't know what he'd do if things went south now. After all, how would the Doctor react to all of this? Probably not well.

The Doctor seemed to sense something, but didn't press as Y/n was obviously not in the mindset to talk about it. So he moved on. "Rose mentioned how she wanted to go to the city, but I think we should go there first." They all stood, turning to face a tall, silver building with a giant symbol on the side.

"And what's there?" Y/n asked.

The trio began to stand as Rose responded. "He says it's some sort of hospital."

"Well, you see that green moon on the side?" He motioned to the symbol, which was indeed what he said it was. "That's the universal sign for hospitals." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I got this. A message on the psychic paper." He opened the thing to reveal words, moving as they wrote and rewrote themselves on repeat. "Someone wants to see me."

"Ah," Rose hummed. "And I thought we were just sight seeing."

Y/n scoffed, his smile growing. Things felt good again, the bad feelings from the memory before fading away now in the light of a new planet with endless possibilities. "Since when have we gone anywhere just sight for seeing?"

At that Rose's smile turned to a grin. "Fair enough." She sighed, getting excited. "Come on then, let's go and buy some grapes.” Her arm looped through the Doctor's first and then Y/n's and the trio walked like that to the hospital to see who was calling the Doctor. They got nearly all the way there on small talk and unimportant things before someone made a real comment.

"You know," the Doctor mumbled, as if he meant the other two not to hear it, even as he looked at them. "I've never liked hospitals." His tone was low and clearly uncomfortable.

"Is that so?" Y/n laughed, rolling his eyes.

"What?" the Doctor asked, his lips parting as his lips curved upward. Y/n's laugh had always been rather contagious to him, but more so recently.

Rose softly chuckled a second before responding, "Just... bit rich, coming from you."

"I can't help it," the Doctor remarked. "I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."

Y/n and Rose laughed but let it go in favor of looking at their surroundings. It was then that Rose dropped the arms of the two men she'd been holding onto until this point, wandering a bit to see as much as she could from every angle available to her. "Very smart," She complimented, just to follow up with, "Not exactly NHS is it?"

"No shop," the Doctor noticed. "I like the little shop." Y/n stayed quiet as he usually did, leaving the remarking to the other two as he took things in. He was never as snarky as the Doctor, or as amazed by things as Rose. Y/n had gotten good at expecting everything. Even if he found himself enjoying how things were and what he was learning, he was rarely stunned and often more thrilled. He didn't want to point and act like some tourist or child though, so he kept his thoughts to himself and soaked in as much as he could. After a second, the Doctor moved closer to him. "Like it?"

"Love it," Y/n responded, trying to contain his enthusiasm. "A place of healing and help. Somewhere things are clean and people are happy." He paused, seeing the Doctor's expression go sour. "Now you listen to me, Doctor. I know that not all patients get saved and not all hospitals work. I know how hard it is afterward too, when you have to pay for your care. But... I like the idea that... some people survive. The work done here matters. It makes a difference, you know?" He released a short breath. "You know, I wanted to be a Doctor when I was a kid. And then..." His smile dropped and the Doctor remembered what Rose had told him what seemed ages ago, about Y/n's parents. "Had a lot of school to catch up on. Didn't have time, I guess. Did bad in school enough without having missed it for a decade straight, give or take."

Rose was the one who changed the subject. "Okay but I thought, in the future, they would have cured everything.”

Taking the opening, the Doctor launched into an explanation. Y/n slipped his hands in his pockets and kept his mouth shut this time. "The human race moves on, but so do the viruses. It's an ongoing war."

A woman in a long dress passed, and only when Rose locked eyes with her and seemed to go dumb did Y/n looked closer and realize the woman... "They're cats," Rose mumbled, eyes wide.

"Now don't stare," the Doctor scolded. "Think what you look like to them, all pink and yellow." He did a once over of Rose, his eyes falling down her body then popping back up. His gaze suddenly shot away, locking with Y/n’s in time to see his huge smirk after having picked up on the moment. Suddenly flustered, the Doctor was quick to add, "That's where I'd put the shop!" He pointed to an empty bit of space on a wall behind Rose, then turned when Rose and Y/n looked away, taking the second to put some distance between them and him. When they turned back, he was in the elevator. "Ward 26, thanks," he told the lift calmly.

Definite attempts were made to catch room with the Doctor, but Rose and Y/n were both too late. The door closed, leaving them on the outside. "Damn," Y/n whispered, teeth catching his lower lip.

"Oh, too late, I'm going up," the Doctor told them. His voice was getting quieter though and he was immediately becoming harder to hear.

"All right," Rose dismissed. "There's another lift. Y/n and I will be up after you." She hit the button to open the door.

"Ward 26," the Doctor reminded. "And..." What he said next was too hard to hear at that point.

Eyes locked as Rose and Y/n both looked to the other for interpretation, but neither knew. "WHAT?" Rose yelled, trying to get him to repeat it. The Doctor did repeat it, but they still didn't get it. Y/n moved his ear against the door to try and hear better. "The what?" Rose tried again. The Doctor began but then cut off, and the door opened so they brushed it off and went inside. They could ask him when they reunited in ward 26. When they went in, Rose said, "Ward 26, thanks," and the lift began to move.

Almost immediately, they realized they didn't have to ask the Doctor what he meant. The elevator spoke about disinfectant, and Y/n had the pieces click in his head that that was the word the Doctor had said. It was too late though, as both of them were taken off guard by the sudden liquid spraying them both down. The were drenched, and then dried, and then it was over. During the process was pure chaos though and at some point Rose latched onto Y/n, pulling herself into his chest. When the doors opened again, she looked up at him.

It was a weird time for it to happen, but Y/n had the thought that her eyes were rather pretty this close. They'd never been this close before, but now he could see all the different colors in them. They were hazel, not brown, and had flecks of gold and green in nice patterns. Those eyes of hers traveled his face and then jetted away and suddenly they were Rose and Y/n again, except.. just a little different. Y/n felt awkward for no apparent reason, and Rose seemed to feel it too. She cleared her throat and stepped out into the hallway and Y/n paused only a split second to collect himself before following.

They didn't talk about it. Mostly because neither knew what had just happened, but also in big part because they realized they were in a dirty hallway that had more basement vibes than hospital ward vibes.

"The human children are clean." The pair looked over to see a small, pale man with vibrant red markings all over his body. There was something... creepy about him. As if he was wrong, but not enough that it was noticeable. Just - a little off. Slightly right of center. It was unnerving.

"Um," Rose began. Y/n did the feely stuff and intimidating when the situation called for it, but he was still trained to ignore strangers and avoid conversations about himself, so most of the casual socializing was and had always been up to Rose. "We're looking for ward 26."

The man turned, beginning to walk down the tunnel. "This way, Rose Tyler. Come along with me, Y/n L/n."

Rose and Y/n looked at each other in alarm. No one safe ever knew their names on an alien planet they'd never been to before. Especially someone they didn't know. Rose grabbed a pipe, but Y/n walked ahead of her, hands in his pocket as if this was just another day, face set and hard.

Catching up to the small man who walked with his shoulders curled in, Y/n spoke quietly. Keeping that calm air about him. "What's your name, sir? Seems only fair, since you know mine."

"Chip," the small man replied.

Nothing else was said until they got into the room they were aiming for. It seemed to be the end of their journey as Chip jogged ahead, excited to reach their destination. Inside the room played a movie on one of those projectors Y/n had only seen at movie theaters, when he worked for one once. He was surprised to see it here as it must have been ancient, considering how far in the future it was, but Rose caught his attention by grabbing his arm. His gaze moved to her body tense with what seemed to be confused trepidation... until he looked at the screen himself and recognized a face. It was then he realized what she was really feeling was shock. Maybe even a little fear.

"It's-"

"Cassandra," Y/n finished.

"Peek a boo!" A voice behind them greeted. The pair spun around to see Chip... and a little ways away from him, Cassandra herself.

Rose immediately got defensive. She was a completely different person from who she used to be when she hid behind the Doctor and didn't know how anything went. Y/n stayed close to her to back her up, but didn't say anything. The first time they'd met, Y/n and Cassandra had been friends before she'd tried to kill everyone on the ship. She'd offered to save him if he just came with her. Of course he'd turned her down, but he'd been sad to see her die as he always was when he saw poor souls waste themselves. Especially people like Cassandra who wouldn't just accept when it was time to give up and die.

Seeing her again made him feel... terrible. Not guilty, but sick to his stomach. She was here, after everything they'd been through? His thoughts were all about protecting Rose. He may still have compassion and mercy, but he couldn't die this time around, and he was far less willing to give people the opportunity to hurt those he cared about.

"Don't come anywhere near me, Cassandra," Rose threatened, wielding her pipe from earlier.

"Why?" Cassandra asked, rather bitterly. "What do you think I'm going to do? Flap you to death?"

Rose hesitated. "Yeah, well, what about him?" She pointed out, using her pipe to remind Cassandra of her little lackey.

"Oh, that's just Chip," Cassandra dismissed. "He's my pet."

"He's not your pet," Y/n spoke up then. "He's a person."

"I worship the mistress," Chip argued, rather aggressively. Y/n glared. What the hell?

"Moisturize me, moisturize me," Cassandra reminded, as if it wasn't the most important thing on her mind right now. Chip answered her command immediately. "He's not even a proper life form," Cassandra assured. Her tone was soft and comforting, but her eyes weren't on Rose in answer to her question. They were on Y/n. What she said had been to ease him. "He's a force-grown clone. I modeled him on my favorite pattern." Her tone became appreciative. "But he's so faithful. Chip sees to my physical needs."

Rose scoffed, somehow having ended up behind Y/n again. It was only then that he realized he'd been slowly making his way closer. Even after all this time and his obedience to the Doctor that had often made him stay put (as well as the fact that someone had to stay behind and inform the Doctor of where Rose went when she wandered off, and if anything too bad had happened), he was still curious. Maybe the more curious of him and Rose. That curiosity drove him to step head first into everything, unless instructed specifically not to. Rose was the reckless one... except now, when they needed to understand perhaps in order to survive this encounter, if whatever Cassandra had planned was as questionable and dangerous as their last encounter.

"I hope that means food." Rose's voice pulled Y/n out of his thoughts, making him fail when he tried to hold back a single, soft snort of amusement. "How come you're still alive?"

"After you murdered me?" Cassandra drawled rather bitterly.

"You tried first," Y/n sassed back, rolling his eyes.

"It was your own fault," Rose followed up.

Chip piped up then. "The brain of my mistress survived," he explained. "And her pretty blue eyes were salvaged from the bin."

Y/n groaned, not liking the way Chip looked at Cassandra after Rose's earlier comment. “What about the skin?" Rose asked to divert the subject. "I saw it. You-" she laughed, cutting off. "You got ripped apart."

"That piece of skin was taken from the front of my body," Cassandra began. "This piece is the back."

Rose had a good laugh about that as she tried to say, "Right, so you're talking out of your-"

"Ask not!" Cassandra interrupted, her feathers ruffled by Rose's giggle interrupted speaking.

"The mistress was lucky to survive." Chip seemed proud. "Chip secreted m'lady into the hospital.

"So they don't know you're here," Rose realized.

"Chip steals meds." He continued as if Rose hadn't spoken. "Helps m'lady. Soothes her." He turned to Cassandra, his hand raising to run along the back of Cassandra's... skin. "Strokes her."

Y/n groaned and Rose intervened on both of their behalves. "You can stop right there, Chip."

"But why?" Y/n demanded. "You two are obviously... involved." He said it with disgust and Rose closed her eyes next to him, shaking her head in disapproval of the mental images that were surely trying to surface in her mind as she fought them. "Why, Chip? Don't you have anything better to do? A life of your own to live? Why waste it in a basement where you're not supposed to be, hiding and taking care of a woman who obviously doesn't care about you. She talks about you like you're a pair of shoes and not a person! Why would you stay?"

That seemed to puzzle Chip. "How could I go? Life is not easy. It doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, it is always hard and bad. It only matters who you are with."

In that moment, Y/n thought of the Doctor. And he thought of Rose. Wouldn't Y/n do the same, if one of them couldn't take care of themselves because they had gone too far and made irreversible decisions that had ruined themselves? Wouldn't he take care of them and do as they asked and done everything in his power to protect them?

Cassandra's voice rang out, and Y/n looked at her to see she was looking back. "He doesn't change that I'm so alone, though, hidden down here. The last human in existence."

Too caught up in genuinely pitying Cassandra, Y/n stayed silent. It gave Rose the room to speak. "Don't start that again." Her tone got louder as she grew more irritated. "They call this planet New Earth."

"A vegetable planet," Cassandra seethed.

Rose followed what Chip did earlier and acted as if Cassandra hadn't spoken. "And there's millions of humans out there, millions of them."

"Mutant stock," Cassandra huffed pridefully.

"Stock?" When Y/n spoke, the room went silent. There was something different about him, Cassandra realized. He was... scary. He radiated authority now. The last time she had seen him, he was quiet and curious and soft. She could still see a tenderness, but there was a danger too. At some point Y/n had learned how to be both vengeful and merciful, and she realized she was toeing the line of crossing into his wrathful side.

"They evolved, Cassandra," Rose continued, slowly. Y/n hadn't spoken again, but he did that thing that the Doctor did too. When he got quiet and terrifying and you wanted to shut up for fear of setting him off on you. Rose knew she was safe, but even she seemed to be treading lightly. "They just evolved. Like they should. You stayed still. You got yourself all- pickled and preserved." She was getting worked up now. Her anger seemed less dangerous and the room relaxed, as if letting go a breath it had been holding. "What good did it do you?" Rose demanded.

Cassandra didn't address what Rose said. Instead, her eyes slid to the movie still being played by the projector. Rose rolled her eyes, but Y/n listened. Y/n always listened. "Oh, I remember that night." He looked at the screen as she spoke, watching the video play out. He tried to imagine what a party like that would be like. The ambiance and the sounds and the heat and the drinks and the people. The chatter and music. He could feel it, with the help of the video. He wondered if Cassandra was permanently stuck in that night, in her head. If she played this video to hold onto the feelings she experienced when she was still herself. "Drinks for the ambassador of Thrace. That was the last time anyone told me I was beautiful. After that, it all became such hard work." Her tone turned into near growling and Y/n felt his heart get heavy. Why did society do this to women? Why couldn't standards just be... realistic, for once?

A thought occurred to him then. Maybe if society as a whole valued people for their personality and not for their looks, maybe Cassandra would have been different. Maybe she'd have been more than a pretty face. Maybe she'd have met someone who really cared about her, and they'd have settled down and made a family. Maybe she wouldn't have thought her only worth was her looks, and then crossed far too many lines to keep it so she still meant something.

"You've got a knack for survival, I'll give you that," Rose voiced after it got quiet for too long. Cassandra kept looking at Y/n, as if waiting for him to speak, but he didn't have anything to say that was worth saying so he stayed silent.

"But I've not been idle, Rose," Cassandra told them both, even though she only addressed the blonde. "Tucked away, underneath this hospital, I've been listening. The sisters are up to trouble. They're hiding something."

That peaked the pair's interest. "Do you know anything, or are you toying with us?" Y/n demanded.

"These cats have secrets," Cassandra gave in response. "I know them, I know them all. Hush, let me whisper. Come close."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "You must be joking if you think I'm going anywhere near you," she sassed, returning to her deep amusement that left her laughing through her words. She began to step back, moving out of the room, and that was when things went wrong. Suddenly a bunch of light went wild, wrapping around Rose's hands and keeping them tethered to her sides. Her face went slack and her body relaxed and she froze.

Before Y/n could process and react, Cassandra spoke. "Chip, activate the psycho-graft!"

Y/n spun around, eyes wild. "You let her go now! If you hurt even a single hair on her head Cassandra, I will-"

"No need for dramatics," Cassandra drawled. "I'll let her go completely unharmed, I promise." Chip pulled a lever and a cylindrical blue light encased Rose. Y/n wasn't sure if he'd make it worse by going in there after her so he turned on Cassandra instead.

He reached down, grabbing the pipe Rose had abandoned a while ago, running at Cassandra with it hefted over his head, ready to bring down onto her face. There was a weird pinkish light above her that went behind him toward Rose, just before he used the pipe to smash in what was Cassandra's sort-of face. The skin split under the pressure and blood sprayed on Y/n's clothes and the lower part of his neck. It was farther than even the Doctor had gone in the violence department since the Time War, but it was Y/n's first thought with little time to react.

It didn't matter though. When he turned around, Rose was on the ground and Chip was approaching her limp body that was slowly coming around as the blonde began to move.

"Moisturize me," Rose mumbled. Y/n froze, eyes wide with part terror and part unbridled rage. Chip went off to be obedient, but when he turned back, Rose's eyes hand already landed on her body, features forming in awe. "Arms," she mumbled. "How bizarre." Her breathing got shallow as she grew excited, beginning to sit up. "Fingers!" She gasped as blonde strands began to fall in her face. "Hair!" Her hands grabbed at said hair as if it was a wonder. Y/n supposed... it was. The woman who definitely wasn't Rose scrambled to her feet. "Let me see! Let me see!" She raced to a mirror. "Oh my god! I'm a chav!"

It was then that Y/n knocked into his senses. His curiosity had distracted him. His confusion and wonder. His questions didn't matter though when Rose was in danger. "Cassandra, I don't know how you did it but you get out of her right now do you understand me? NOW. You may have Chip at your beck and call but you've done this against Rose's will!"

Cassandra wasn't listening. "Look at me! From class to brass!" She fiddled with the end of Rose's shirt, then hesitated, raising a hand to the zipper of Rose's jacket. "Although..." She began zipping it down, exposing a bit more skin. Y/n felt himself swallow. Why was he suddenly so warm? "Curves," Cassandra purred. "Ooh baby. It's like living inside a bouncy castle!"

It was the way Chip was looking at Rose's body that really sent Y/n. He was stuck trying to figure out how to talk to Cassandra, or even scare her if necessary, but he kept getting distracted by the odd look on Rose's face. One that was... Well, that wasn't a thought he was addressing at all, actually. All he knew was that he felt something in him snap. Cassandra was ogling a body that wasn't hers, and Chip was joining in, and neither had Rose's consent and it made Y/n lose his thin control.

Suddenly he was racing froward and Cassandra gasped as her back was slammed against the wall that Y/n pinned her against, his arm on her chest. "I said," he seethed, teeth working together. "Bring her back. Now."

"Ooh," Cassandra cooed. "You really have gotten quite scary, Y/n. I'm very impressed." Her eyes moved to her old body then to the blood on Y/n. "More violent too, wow. Willing to get things done." Her eyes raked every inch of Y/n they could reach. "And much more handsome. I was attracted to you back then, but now? You've really grown into yourself it's a great look on you."

"Stop it," Y/n snapped.

Cassandra giggled. "Don't worry love, Rose thinks so too." That stopped Y/n short. "Oh, didn't expect that one?" Her giggle was bright and triumphant. "She's had feelings for you going on ages now. Since you two met, really. Been hiding them when you showed no interest in anyone and refused to talk about romance. Tried to move on to Mickey... and then the Doctor came around. But you fell for him." Her smile turned mocking. "But of course, you'd take him. The two men she loved the most, being together, without her."

"That's not-" Y/n swallowed. How had he never noticed before? Had they both had their one secret? The one secret they'd kept from each other all this time? His had been the loneliness that had grafted into him, making itself a personality trait. The loneliness that drove him for years to believe he'd never experience love, let alone have it last. The secret that he had never felt the way he felt about the Doctor for anyone... anyone except for Rose. Kind Rose who had come to Y/n in a time when he didn't understand his own emotions enough to name them before she got with Mickey and it was too late. Rose, who he had forced to form a sister-brother relationship with to dodge the feelings he had for her that neither of them were capable of or willing to act on. And her secret, that the entire time she had felt the exact same way?

Had he really wasted all of the time they could have been together thinking she could never like him in return?

"What's the matter?" Cassandra purred, smirking. "Cat got your tongue?"

Y/n's face hardened. "You're lying. And even if you're not, this isn't your secret to tell me. Rose is the only one allowed to tell me her feelings. Get out!"

"But you've killed me, haven't you? How am I supposed to go back to my old body? I have nowhere to go and its all your fault, Y/n. Going back is suicide."

"You shouldn't have left that bloody body in the first place," Y/n seethed. But then he calmed, because out of the group he was always the one who calmed and thought things out so that as many people as possible could win. Sure, Cassandra had taken Rose against her will... but she was also right. How could Y/n ask her to go back, when her body was destroyed by his own hands? "Go into me, then. Leave her be. If you can't go back to your own body, take mine. Not hers."

Cassandra's expression grew soft. "You love her." Y/n glared. "Just like you love the Doctor. How... how do you handle that? Loving two people so much you'd die or worse - give yourself up for them, alive and all? Because Rose remembers when you were Empty. She remembers clear as day how afraid of not death, but being trapped in a body you cannot control. And now you can't die, but if you allow me this, you will be trapped. How can you agree to that?"

Y/n pursed his lips. "Life is complicated, Cassandra. Some feelings you tell yourself are out of bounds and off limits. Some feelings you can rationalize. Some people give you a new prospect on life. One so wonderful that staying alive forever sounds amazing. And some people... they're worth being afraid for. They're worth losing control for. Some people are just worth it."

That seemed to sit very deeply with Cassandra. "You know, you're most beautiful like this. Protecting those you care about. Fighting for the greater good. Being the quiet hero with a hidden strength enough to stop even an alien war lord." Her smile grew. "Fine, I will do as you ask, because we were friends then and I'm unhappy we didn't end as such. But one thing before I go."

"What?" Y/n asked.

And then Cassandra, in Rose's body, kissed Y/n. It was different than the times Y/n had pictures kissing Rose. It was desperate and passionate and... a little aggressive. It felt like he imagined Rose would. Her hair was soft and filtered nicely between his fingers. Her lips were a little chapped, but not enough to be noticeable, just enough to make the kiss just a little rough for a second until they continued kissing and they became soft. Her skin was warm and smooth and her hands clung to him like he was a life preserver and she was drowning.

When they parted, Cassandra didn't hesitate. She moved right from Rose into Y/n in the small space between them. The blonde leaned into Y/n but soon shook off the weird feeling, leaning away to look into Y/n's eyes. Because she had heard and felt everything, and her mind was reeling from that kiss, even if she hadn't been in control when Cassandra had used her body to initiate it.

Cassandra was the first one to speak, but this time it was in Y/n's voice. "You know I pride myself on being very proud and sexy and hard to move. I have not been known to be emotional. This one though..." She turned away, pushing Rose off and beginning to walk back toward the lifts.

Rose woke up then. "Cassandra you can't-!"

"Shut up," Cassandra snapped. "We don't have time for this. We have to find the Doctor, and Y/n consented, so there's nothing you can do about it so come on." Rose followed after, Chip after her, and the three of them headed to find the Doctor together. After a long time in quiet, Cassandra spat with her usual spite, "That Doctor of yours is a total hypocrite by the way. Changing his face like that and becoming younger and prettier. You both think so, I saw in both of your heads. Am in one of them now."

As if by a show of mercy, Rose's phone rang and she answered it. "Hello?" Her voice was tired, her hand rising to massage her temple. The whole thing with Cassandra had already given her a headache. The kiss... it had reminded her of something. Something that hurt to think about.

The Doctor was on the other line. "Rose, where are you? Is Y/n with you?"

"Don't tell him about me," Cassandra rushed. "He'll just lose it and cause a commotion, and we don't have time to waste. The sisters really are up to something, and I really do have information."

Rose glared but followed the order, begrudgingly. "Yes, Y/n's here. We've... picked up another friend too. His name is Chip."

"Where have you been? How long does it take to get to ward 26, and how did you meet someone else?" The Doctor asked, rather curious.

A huff came from her as she tried to hide her bitter laughter as she refrained from telling him the adventure they'd just gone on. She'd never hidden something like this from the Doctor before... but Cassandra was right. "We'll be there soon, it's a long story. What have you been up to?"

"Oh you'll never guess," The Doctor practically sang. "I'm with the Face of Boe. Remember him?"

"Yeah," Rose answered, without much spirit.

On the line, the Doctor paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. You-"

"I.. have to go," the Doctor drawled. "Talk to you later." And then he hung up and Rose sighed. The elevator grew silent as they were cleaned again. The blood was gone as if it had never been there and Rose watched it pool on the ground under them before slipping down the drain. She couldn't believe he'd really... done that, for her. Jesus.

When they reached the Doctor, Cassandra held back with Chip for some reason. She dismissed Chip and he wandered off, leaving her alone. She looked like she was listening to something, though the only sound Rose could hear were the patients and the speaker, but neither were something that would have interested Cassandra surely.

Rose was distracted by the Doctor, who pulled her over to inspect the patients he had been spending time with while she had been missing, filling her in on his confusion.

"Y/n, are you listening?"

Cassandra looked over to see the Doctor had approached. Fortunately, though she had not been paying attention, Y/n had been. "Yes, something is up," Cassandra agreed, her face nearing one of Y/n's more calm expressions. It was something Rose had never thought Cassandra was capable of feeling. She almost looked... thoughtful. Her voice was off from Y/n's though. Obviously wrong. She tried to keep going high and her accent was different. Behind the Doctor, Rose sighed.

"What- what's with the voice?" The Doctor asked, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Rose dismissed, trying to keep things going so they could figure this out without distractions. They could figure that whole thing out when this problem was dealt with.

The Doctor didn't seem to be done though. "That's the second time you've totally zoned out Y/n, are you sure you're alright?"

Cassandra flinched. She knew what was going on in Y/n's head. Why he had been spaced out and different. She knew what it meant about the Doctor, too. It was a small flinch, one you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking, but Rose and the Doctor were looking and so they did notice. Casandra looked at Rose, tears in her eyes. "I need out of here. Please."

Rose felt herself go speechless. Was Y/n so broken that he had messed Casandra up so quickly? Or was it the fact that Cassandra already had a soft spot for him that she pitied him so much? "Fine," she sighed halfheartedly. "Doctor, give us a moment if you would. Just a moment and then we'll be back, promise."

They went around the corner, Rose making sure the Doctor didn't follow. Casandra didn't wait longer than that. She transported into Rose again with that same purple mist and then Rose cleared her throat, her posture changing as Casandra took control. Y/n wiped his eyes and then pulled Rose back to the Doctor. "Sorry about that," he replied. "Rose and I had something to discuss. Best friend things, very important." Casandra smiled beside him, despite knowing that he didn't really think of her as his best friend. "Come on-"

"Are you guys up to something?" The Doctor asked.

"Nothing at all," Cassandra drawled in an voice that was very much not Rose Tyler's. "Just mucking about New Earth, having new experiences and lots of fun. New planet, new age. New me." She looked the Doctor up and down and Y/n rolled his eyes.

"Guess I can't talk much then," the Doctor joked, distracted as he always was by a pretty face. Why were the smartest ones always the most susceptible to an attractive woman? Though, Y/n supposed he couldn't talk much. "New Doctor."

"That you are," Cassandra purred. And then she did something that none of them saw coming. She grabbed the Doctor's face and snogged him just as aggressively as she had Y/n.

Was she collecting or something?

Or... did Rose want her to do it as much as Casandra was curious what it would be like?

When she'd had her fun, she parted and directed them to the terminals. The Doctor looked at Y/n, who cracked a smile at the man's frazzled state, despite who had put him in it. "Yep," he squeaked. Y/n snorted, trying and failing to contain it. "Still got it." Y/n rolled his eyes and shook his head then caught up to Cassandra, the Doctor following after them while he tried to contain his gleeful grin.

By the time they got to the trams, everyone had calmed down. They looked at the map of the place, but it didn't yield much. No shop, the Doctor noticed. No spa, Y/n joked. "Something else is missing too," Cassandra noticed seriously. She seemed a lot closer to her old self. "When I was downstairs, those nurse-cat-nuns were talking about intensive care... but where is it?"

"You're right, well done," the Doctor praised.

"Why would they hide a whole department?" Cassandra wondered, ignoring his praise. "It's got to be there somewhere. Search the subframe."

"What if the subframe's locked?" The Doctor questioned.

"Try the installation protocol," Cassandra told him like it was quite simple.

Y/n was impressed. Not that he didn't expect her to be smart, but that he couldn't believe someone as smart as her had been reduced to a pretty face for so long.

The Doctor did so, offering sarcastic grumblings as he did. He put his screwdriver to the screen and fiddled. Suddenly, the wall was moving and lowering and exposing a hidden tunnel behind it. Y/n stepped up between Casandra and the Doctor. "So... in we go?"

"Suppose so," the Doctor confirmed. Cassandra lead the way, but Y/n didn't miss the suspicious look he shot Rose. Y/n internally sighed, realizing they weren't going to be able to hold off this whole charade for much longer. "Intensive care," the Doctor mused as he followed second in the line as they moved into the tunnel. “Certainly looks intensive."

"Quite so," Y/n scoffed.

They moved forward, into a hallway and then down stairs into an impossibly large, cylindrical cavern whose wall were covered floor to ceiling with green pods. There were levels above and below them that seemed to stretch for eternity, the walkways looping in circles on every level. The Doctor moved to one, using the screwdriver to open a pod. What they saw was horrific. A man with ratted hair and a long, beige hospital gown that was dingy and dirty. He was sitting in a chair, his head lolling from side to side and his skin covered in rot and welts and sickness of all kinds. He looked like he was dying. Y/n raised a hand, gasping softly as he covered his mouth to hold himself back from reaching out to the person.

"That's disgusting," Cassandra sneered quietly. "What's wrong with him?"

"Shut up," Y/n snapped. "He can hear you," he added to try and cover it up, hoping he hadn't brought attention to how out of character that was for 'Rose' to say.

The Doctor ignored both of them. He looked at the man with a heartbroken look, shaking his head in remorse. He couldn't do anything, so he said the same thing he always did when he couldn't save someone. "I'm sorry." Y/n moved closer. "I'm so sorry." He closed that door then moved to the next one, Y/n limply following behind.

The person in the next pod was in the exact same condition. "What disease is that?" Casandra asked, her voice tinged in disgust.

"All of them." The Doctor's voice was gravely, low with anger for the people in the pods. "Every single disease in the galaxy. They've been infected with everything."

"What about us?" Casandra asked, alarmed. "Are we safe?"

Y/n sighed, shaking his head. "That's not the point. The pain they're going through. Can you imagine, every disease ever? All in one body? Did you see how many pods there were? Countless amounts of people, all infected with diseases that will rot them away slowly until they just... die. In pain. Alone. No one who cares about them, or who will remember them. Just... gone." He went to reach out and touch the woman in the pod they had just opened. "Isolated, unable to move and having no one to call out to. How lonely would that be?"

The Doctor caught Y/n's hand. "Don't touch them. The air is sterile, but they'll infect you too if you touch them."

Y/n's face fell. "They've never even been touched? Existing alone in the dark, in a world of pain and emptiness and loneliness. No one knows they exist as they cry for help. How long has it been since they've been touched?"

No one answered. The Doctor just closed the door, and the trio turned away and looked out across the railing, taking in the countless pods with new eyes. Every single green light they could see was yet another person living that life that Y/n had painted. There were even more lights they could not see. An unknowable amount. Maybe endless.

It was that thought that triggered it.

It was like a swarm of bees. He had seen that image again on Earth in his exploration. Most in cartoons, or horror movies he'd caught scenes of in passing, but still. That's what it looked like. Except these weren't harmless insects that only gave you a little sting and then moved on. This was like maybe a bee, but you're deathly allergic and now there's a whole swarm coming just for you, with the intent to wipe you out if its the last thing they do.

The Daleks, and with them, possibly the end of everything.

War has a smell. I know it, even though I myself have never been in one. He was though, and for some reason I know that because I know what he knows. The smell doesn't bother you after a while. It doesn't even really bother you at all until after the fighting is over and you smell is again. Smell anything like it at all, and those memories come back. Not enough to ruin you, but enough to shake you to your core. To put a bitter taste in your mouth and remind you of the faces of everyone you lost.

And it hurts.

A hand on Y/n's shoulder and the boy looked over to lock eyes with the Doctor. The men locked eyes and the Doctor was startled to see a look in Y/n's eyes he had not seen in a long time. A haunted look from years of fighting a battle they were all losing. A look from years of fighting similar, smaller battles. Alone. A look the Doctor had seen in his family and comrades once, but only ever saw in his own eyes now adays.

Y/n looked away. "Let's go." He realized he did know what they had said. The injustice of it all. That's what drove him. These people. They needed help. That was more important than the memories.

As they walked, Casandra moved closer to Y/n. She knew exactly what had just happened, and what he needed. A distraction. "Why don't they just die?" She asked.

Y/n would have hit there right then and there if the Doctor hadn't piped up. "Plague carriers. The last to go."

"It's for the greater cause." The trio looked over to see one of the nurses.

"Novice Hame," the Doctor greeted with a voice forming into an edge so sharp it could cut just by being spoken. "When you took your vows, did you agree to this?"

"The sisterhood has sworn to help," the sister said, as if to reassure.

It wasn't working. "What, by killing?" The Doctor yelled.

"They're not real people," the cat woman told them.

It only made Y/n more angry. He couldn't think right. His mind was mixed up in a war he'd never been apart of, torn between a man that no longer existed dealing with a problem that had long ago reached a point of no return, and Y/n who was compassionate and understanding and talked and explained rather than threw pipes at skin trampolines and thought about attacking cat ladies who just had messed up ideals about clones, but still had the right ideas. This was the part where Y/n intervened and calmed everyone down. This was the part he talked to her and made her see where she was wrong, like he so often did.

Y/n wasn't in the mood to help, though. So he stood by the Doctor and he seethed and he saw those pods and he thought of people who were created to suffer, alone, in pain, until they died. Y/n snapped. "Come here." The woman looked at Y/n, surprised by the rage in his face. "Doctor, your screwdriver please." The Doctor hesitated, unsure of what Y/n had in mind, but handed it over anyway. Seeing the Doctor obey, the woman did too. Y/n pulled her into his side, opened the pod to expose another sick person. "Look at her." The cat lady did, and she seemed unfazed. At first. "Look at the pain she's in." As if on cue, the woman began to beg for her life. Plead for help. "Look at her!" Hame flinched. "Do you see a creature without intelligence? Because when I look at her, I see a person. A person who doesn't know what's happened or why, or how to stop it, but wants to DESPERATELY because it hurts so much and it has always hut and it will always hurt until she dies. I don't care if she was grown or born or found floating in space, look into her eyes and tell me you cannot see someone who feels and thinks and would have had a real life, if it weren't for you people locking her up and using her like- like some sort of cattle."

Novice Hame did not have anything to say to that.

The Doctor did though. "How many is the turn over?" He asked her, coming to her other side. A thousand a day? A thousand the next? Thousand the next? How many thousands? For how many years? HOW MANY?"

To that, the woman had a response. Y/n watched the woman in the pod as the nurse spoke. "Mankind needed us. They came to this planet with so many illnesses, we couldn't cope. We did try. We tried everything. We tried using clone meat and bio-cattle, but the results were too slow. So the sisterhood grew its own flesh. That's all they are. Flesh."

"That's all we all are." Y/n closed the door and locked it, his face crumpling as he faced the nurse. "We're all just flesh, growing and stretching and getting leathery with age. We have brains, but so do they. They think and talk and interact. Look me in the face and tell me not one of them has ever spoken before what happened a few minutes ago. They've never reacted to pain or begged for their lives. Look me in the face and tell me that. That it's never happened before."

Novice Hame didn't say anything, once again.

"These people are alive," the Doctor stated, pointing at the pod Y/n had just closed.

"But the humans out there, in the world. They're healthy. Alive." She seemed to be struggling after Y/n and the Doctor's delivery. "Happy, because of us."

"If they live because of this, then life is worthless," the Doctor spit.

The nurse shook her head. "But who are you to decide that?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied without missing a beat, stepping up to her. "And if you don't like it, if you want to take it to a higher authority, there isn't one. It stops with me."

It was at that time that Casandra spoke again. "Just to confirm," she began. "None of the humans in this city actually know about this?"

Y/n closed his eyes.

Goddamnit Casandra.

"Hold on," the Doctor interrupted before the nurse could speak again. "I can understand the bodies. I can understand your vows, but one thing I can't understand - what have you done to Rose?" The nurse stuttered her confusion, but the Doctor didn't step down. "I'm being very, very calm. You want to be aware of that: very, very calm. And the only reason I'm being so very very calm, is that the brain is a delicate thing. Whatever you've done to Rose's head, I want it reversed."

"They haven't done anything," Y/n mumbled.

The Doctor turned very fast on Y/n. "These people are dying, and Rose would care. If they didn't do something... if something happened to her, you seem to be the one who knows. Explain. Now."

"It's Casandra," Y/n sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She needed a body to travel and she needed our help to figure out what was going on around here, so she hijinxed Rose. Well-" he shrugged. "Me at first, and then Rose."

The Doctor didn't seem to be expecting that. "Casandra?"

Casandra moved closer to the Doctor, smirking. "Wake up and smell the perfume." She sprayed him with something then and the Doctor fell.

"What the hell Casandra?" Y/n demanded.

"Oh pick him up and stop complaining. We need to get out of here." She turned to the nurse and went to say something, and then she hesitated and her eyes passed to Y/n and lingered for too long. "You know Y/n, I’ve lived off of spite since the last time I saw you guys. I've been angry and determined and... I only wanted to figure this whole thing out so I could use the information against the nuns and try and blackmail them. I-" She swallowed, looking away. "Being in your head. Seeing the thing you think and feel. You have such an odd way of doing things. Back then... you were upset when I died. You tried to stop me. You begged me. You tried to make me to be a good guy so we didn't have to end it in a tragedy. You were nice to me, even though I was just a piece of skin and went against all you and this girl of yours like about humans. Even though she hated me, and most humans hated me, you didn't." Her shoulders sagged. "What do we do, Y/n?"

He smiled. His anger from moments ago melted. "I've got the Doctor. We need to get the Matrim here, and then release the people. She needs to pay for what she's done, and they need to be be free."

So that's what they did. Casandra pulled out a tube that set off an alarm, and then waited for the Matrim to turn the corner. The two women locked eyes until the Matrim got close enough, and then Casandra pulled a lever and all the pods opened. "See ya!" Casandra hollered, waving as the trio turned and began to retreat.

As they were going, more pods began to explode, and because the booms and sparks, the Doctor woke up. "What's happening?" he slurred.

"Not now Dear, we'll get back to this later I promise." Y/n kept walking, trying to move quickly while holding the Doctor in his arms. He paused a moment to put the man down, now that he was awake. "Come along!"

The Doctor shook himself out of his sleepiness, looking around at the bumbling infected, and the open pods that were beginning to empty. "What have you guys done?"

"It wasn't us!" Casandra scoffed.

"One touch and you get every disease in the world, and I want that body safe, Casandra!" She rolled her eyes and Y/n almost smiled at her sass, if it wasn't for everything else. "We've got to go down!" Casandra went to complain to the Doctor yelled, "RUN!" Needless to say, you listen to the Doctor when he yells. The trio began to race down the steps, moving as fast as they could to the basement. Casandra screamed and it echoed. In the distance, they heard Chip's quick footsteps racing to meet them. In only moments he had joined them. And then there were four. When Casandra moved toward the elevators, the Doctor stopped her. "No, the lifts have closed down. There's a quarantine, nothing's moving."

"Where are we going then?" Y/n demanded.

Casandra yelled, "THIS WAY!" They began running, jerking through an opening where more infected were streaming in through a hallway that intersected the one they were currently running through.

Long story short: Chip and Y/n didn't make it.

The Doctor stopped, looking for a way to get to Y/n. "Go!" Y/n screamed.

"I won't leave you!" The Doctor screamed back.

Y/n shook his head. "I can't die, Doctor. You solve this thing, and we'll figure out the rest later." The Doctor hesitated, looking at Y/n with pain and regret. "I promise I'll be okay. I promised I wasn't going anywhere, and I don't break my promises." The Doctor hesitated longer so Y/n grunted and ordered, "GO!" Finally, he did, chasing after Casandra in Rose's body to make sure they all got out okay.

"Mistress!" Chip wailed. "My mistress!"

"CHIP!" Y/n screamed, shaking the man into sense. "You need to hide. Come on!" He guided the small man against the wall, pressing against him so his whole body covered Chip. He was small enough to pull it off. "Do not touch my skin, do you understand? Keep your skin from touching mine at all costs." Chip curled in on himself, making himself smaller and pressing his face into Y/n's back. Hands other than Chip's wrapped around Y/n's arms and ankle and face and hands.

Then there was pain. Y/n could feel his body rotting and dying. He'd last plenty long enough to keep Chip safe, but he felt incredible pain as he was inducted with every disease known in the entire universe. He got sicker and sicker and sicker, until the crowd in the room began to clear and go away, satisfied with touching him. When the room was empty, Y/n finally collapsed. He lay on the ground as Chip kneeled next to him.

"You saved my life."

"Don't think too much about it," Y/n joked dryly. "I can't die. I'm sick forever now though. Maybe. Maybe I'll reset. Come back to life cured. I guess we'll see."

They stayed there for what seemed hours, until more people shuffled into the room. These people had the same worn out gowns on, but they weren't sick at all. They looked at Chip first, hugging him and touching his face and arms and hands, like they did earlier, except this time no disease spread.

Suddenly there was a voice. Like an angel sent directly from God. "Y/N!"

"We're in here!" Chip called, running to find the Doctor and bring him back.

Upon seeing Y/n on the floor, the Doctor shook his head. "What is with you? One rule, Y/n: no touching. You've had this problem before."

"An issue of mine it seems. Can't keep my hands to myself."

Chip interrupted. "He saved my life. Stood in front of the disease because it doesn't hurt him.

The Doctor's face was soft as he kneeled next to Y/n. "It does hurt him. And it would have hurt him forever if I wasn't so amazing." He reached out but Y/n jerked his head away. "It's okay," the Doctor assured, grabbing Y/n's face. The man gasped, eyes widening as there was a sizzling sound and he felt, just as he did with the sickness, his body getting better. For a little extra dramatic affair, the Doctor leaned down and kissed Y/n. It was a good kiss. Soft and full of love and admiration and care. When the Doctor leaned away, Y/n was completely cured. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," Y/n joked weakly.

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. "Lucky me."

"Lucky us," Y/n corrected. That they could agree on.

The first thing they did was see the face of Boe. It was sort of vague and odd, but overall a nice experience. It ended with convincing Casandra to leave Rose though, and that was another matter.

"Y/n I'll die," Casandra begged, turning to the only person she knew would care about her. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you've been in my head same as I've been in yours. I let you in and we talked. I know what's happening with you, and no one else does. Please. We can really be friends. For real."

Y/n sighed, his face full of pain. "Casandra, I love you. I consider you a friend, and I genuinely care about you. But..." He closed his eyes. "The Doctor's right, and this isn't your body.

Casandra broke then. "I don't want to die." She covered her face before rested her forehead on Y/n's chest.

"No one does," the Doctor said.

"Help me!" She begged, turning her head as Y/n held her so she could still be heard.

"I can't."

"I can." Eyes turned to Chip, who stepped forward. "I am willing Mistress, take me."

Y/n's eyes widened. "Chip-" His mouth worked, but nothing came out. "Don't you want your own life, even for a short while? Don't you want to be your own man with the small time you have left?"

Chip looked at Y/n very seriously. "You gave your body for me. You'd just as soon give it for them." He motioned to the Doctor and Rose, and Y/n sighed, knowing he couldn't argue. "I want to give my body to her. One last gift to the Mistress."

Casandra left Rose and went into Chip, and there was a second they took to stabilize Rose before the Doctor turned back to Casandra. "You can't-"

"She can," Y/n interrupted. All eyes turned to him. "I know them better than both of you. Casandra doesn't care about him, you're right. He deserves better, definitely. But... it's like the Ood. He doesn't care about free will like we do. He WANTS this, and so does she. It doesn't realy matter what we think they should do. They both want this."

The argument ended there.

"You at least have to stand trial for what you've done," the Doctor ordered.

"That would be rather dramatic. I'm afraid we don't have time for that, though. See, Chip's is only a half life and he's already been through so much. I can feel his little heart now. It's racing." She paused, head tilting. "He's failing." Another pause. "I don't think he's going to last-" And then she fell and Y/n shot out to catch her.

"You alright?" Y/n asked, raising a hand to brush his thumb against Casandra's cheek.

"I'm fine," she answered. There was a long pause where she considered that, and then changed her answer. "I'm dying... But that's fine."

"I can take you to the city-" the Doctor began.

"No you won't," Casandra interrupted. "The city is new. This world is new. There's no place for Chip and me anymore." She looked at the Doctor. "You were right Doctor. It's time to die." Y/n felt his face crumble and he forced it neutral, but Rose hadn't missed it. "And that's good," Casandra assured, looking at Y/n to raise a hand and touch his face.

"You know Sandy," Y/n said. The nickname came from the last time they talked. He hadn't used it since she had been revealed as a traitor. "How about we let you do one last thing? I know what you need." She looked at him, and they shared a smile. They knew what the other was thinking in that moment. Y/n and Cassandra both had never been so seen by someone else.

They took Casandra to the night of the tape she had been watching on loop for years to cope with her life decisions. The night that she was told she was beautiful for the last time. Y/n watched from a distance as his friend died, in the arms of the past self she had wished to be forever, but had lost long ago.

That day, Rose and the Doctor both held Y/n as he cried. They didn't ask what had been going on with him zoning out, or what Casandra had meant when she said she knew what was going on inside his head, that was for another day. Today, he cried, and they held him until he stopped, and afterward they continued their adventure and let him mourn in peace.

He deserved that at the very least.

Story Taglist: @shoochi @e-reads-fics

#tenth doctor #male reader #dr who #doctor who #doctor who imagine #dr who imagine #dr who x reader #dr who x male reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who x male reader #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x male reader #tenth doctor imagine #dr who fan fiction #doctor who fanfiction

153 notes · View notes

justlookfrightened · 4 years

Note

4, 5, or 35 ? Because I’m indecisive as hell and love your writing.

From this prompt list: 4. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”; 5. “But I’ve never told you that before.” ; and 35. “Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you.”

Bitty played hockey and Samwell and went on to be a cookbook author; Jack went directly into the NHL.

Bitty’s eyes traveled up the the shelves of the cupboard, wondering what ingredients he could reasonably expect someone who did not cook or bake for a living to have.

Flour, of course, if they were volunteering to be on a baking show. Most likely all purpose. Sugar (white) and salt (iodized). Butter. Maybe they usually used margarine, but Bitty would not compromise on that. Butter surely counted as a common ingredient. Shortening, too.

What about spices? Most people probably had cinnamon in their cabinets, even if it was twelve years old and devoid of flavor. Would nutmeg or allspice be too much? Maybe.

And this contestant had requested a fruit pie. If they were going for common ingredients, that would most likely mean apple. Apples were nearly always plentiful and cheap at supermarkets, so if this pie was going to use fresh fruit (and it was), it would be apple.

Bitty had misgivings about appearing on “So You Think You Can Bake,” the new Food Network show that pitted expert bakers against celebrities. The idea was that the expert would develop a recipe they thought was suitable for an inexperienced home cook.

Then the expert and the celebrity would both make the dish in separate kitchens while being filmed.

The expert baker and celebrity contestant would have their creations scored anonymously. If the celebrity chef received at least eighty percent of the score of the celebrity baker, they won money for the baker to keep and the celebrity to donate to charity. Total scores counted toward the final competition at season’s end, when the three best pairs would be brought back for the final, competing for a $50,0000 prize.

There were so many things that could go wrong. Bitty could get paired with a celebrity chef with no palate, or no coordination, or even no real interest in winning. Some people could mess up a perfectly good recipe by not measuring accurately, or doing steps in the wrong order, or even mistaking the salt for the sugar. If the celebrity chef messed up, it wouldn’t just look bad for them. It would throw shade on Bitty, whose job, after all, was to explain how to bake in a way that people would understand. Relatable was his brand.

But Eileen, the PR rep who handled his books for the publishing house, thought it would be a good idea.

“This show is literally made for you,” she said. “And the exposure would be great. Think of the campaign for your next book.”

So Bitty agreed. Then he found out who his assigned celebrity was.

“A hockey player?” Bitty asked. “Whose only memorable sound bite is ‘Eat more protein’? Which did not go viral for the reasons he thinks it did. I mean, I wasn’t expecting Beyonce, or even Taylor Swift, but why not a Kacey Musgraves?”

Bitty wasn’t at all bitter that, at 24, he no longer had regular access to an ice rink. He could pay to rent ice to figure skate, but it was hard to find the motivation since he was no longer in competition, and he hadn’t yet found a men’s league hockey team where he felt comfortable.

“I know Jack Zimmermann isn’t who most people think of as a home cook,” Eileen said. “But the producers were thrilled. They think he’ll bring on a whole new demographic.”

“How’d they rope him into it anyway?” Bitty asked, scrolling through interview after interview with Jack talking saying, “We win and lose as a team,” and “We have to protect the neutral zone and get the puck down low,” and “We need to keep our feet moving and have a shoot-first mentality.”

It was like they taught him six phrases in media training and he used them over and over again, in random order.

He wasn’t hard to look at, Bitty would give him that. And the physique -- yeah, his nutrition plan was definitely protein-heavy. Why would he agree to do a baking show?

“My agent said it would be a good idea,” Jack Zimmermann said when he and Bitty had their first meeting. “He said it would humanize me. Actually, he said it would be the beginning of an arc of character development I wasn’t expecting, but that’s just the way he is.”

The actual first meeting was in the green room, waiting to go on-set for the “first meeting” taping. Jack had been sitting in a chair along the wall when Bitty came in, reading an actual, honest-to-God book.

Bitty had to shove his phone in his pocket as he cleared his throat to get Jack’s attention. It seemed like Jack kept reading for a few seconds after he noticed Bitty, which was annoying, because the book would always be there, but Bitty was prepared to be gracious.

“Mr. Zimmermann? I’m Eric Bittle,” Bitty said. “We’re going to be working together. Pleased to meet you.”

“I know,” Jack said.

Okay.

“When we start the taping, I’m going to ask you about any experience you have baking, any favorite desserts, things you’ve always wanted to learn to make,” Bitty said. “Anything you want me to steer the conversation toward? Or stay away from?”

“Are we supposed to be doing this?” Jack said. “Talking, I mean.”

“Um, yes?” Bitty said. “It’s not like we’re concocting a fake story. We just want the on-camera talk to go smoothly. So have you baked before?”

“No.”

“Any favorite desserts?”

“I don’t really eat sweets.”

“Well, you’re going to have to eat something sweet,” Bitty said. “Anything you want to make?”

Jack shrugged.

“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?” Bitty asked.

“Uh, you can call me Jack,” Jack said, then launched into his explanation about his agent, a man with the improbable name of John Johnson.

Bitty shook his head at that, and tried to keep the conversation going.

“You’re Canadian, right?”

“Dual citizenship,” Jack said. “But I mostly grew up in Montreal.”

“Anything special from back home?”

Then the assistant came to bring them on the set, dressed to look like a home kitchen, each of them seated at a table with mugs in front of them. The mugs just held water, but the audience wouldn’t see that; it was supposed to look like two friends talking over coffee.

Bitty decided to pick up the conversation where he left off in the green room, since it was the only thing he hadn’t struck out on already.

“So, Jack, I understand you’re from Montreal. Do have any memories of classic desserts or baked goods from your childhood?”

Jack paused and looked like he was really thinking, like he didn’t want to disappoint the producers.

“We used to have tarte au sucre at the holidays,” he finally said. “I liked that.”

“Sugar pie?” Bitty said, thankful that at least the cooking terms had stuck from his college French class. “We could do something with that.”

“But I’d like to do something that has some healthy ingredients,” Jack had said.

“Is fruit healthy enough?” Bitty asked. “Maybe a fruit pie? You might not know this, but that’s kind of my specialty.”

Jack had offered a smile at that, and said, “Good to know. Maybe we can win this thing, eh?”

The taping didn’t last long, and soon Bitty was collecting his things from the green room.

“Wait, Jack, I forgot to ask you, any allergies? I wouldn’t want to kill you for a silly TV show.”

“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” Jack said. “But no, no food allergies. Is there anything I should practice beforehand?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that,” Bitty said, starting to feel like maybe Jack wasn’t as wooden as he’d seemed at first. He seemed to relax once the taping ended. Maybe this would be okay after all.

Bitty started by making an apple pie, trying to write down the steps as precisely as he could just as he did them.

It didn’t work.

Sure, he could measure and mix the dry ingredients for the crust, and tell Jack to make sure his butter and shortening were cold, but how could he explain the twisting motion for the pastry cutter? When he had to start by explaining what a pastry cutter was?

And how would Jack know when he was done cutting and should add the ice water? Bitty had read recipes over the years saying the mixture should look like everything from rough crumbs to small peas … which were not the same thing by a long shot. Bitty had learned what it should look like at his MooMaw’s elbow; sure, he’d tried to put it into words in his cookbooks, but there was a reason he always included photos.

Jack had said he’d never baked. He wouldn’t know what it should look like.

Bitty called the producers to ask if he could include pictures in the recipe he developed for Jack. The answer -- hand-drawn sketches were fine, as long he drew them himself, but no photographs -- was not encouraging.

Bitty started over and this time took a photograph of the dough mixture just before he added the water. He could use that to write a description, he decided. Then he had to think about how to explain when the dough was wet enough.

Once he had the dough made, the process for making the filling was easier. Peel and slice apples, coat with flour and a little cinnamon and sugar -- and, a last-minute brainstorm for Canadian Jack, a little maple syrup -- and set aside. He toyed with the idea of including maple sugar for the crust, but the studio pantry probably didn’t have real maple sugar. He could boil some syrup down -- but that wasn’t something Jack could (or would) do, probably. Better to just do an egg wash and sprinkle some sugar on for the sparkle.

The instructions for rolling out the dough were simple enough, provided Jack followed them. That was the hard part. Most people couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone with pie dough.

Bitty moved to his laptop and wrote at the top of the instructions:

“A general note on making pie dough. Do less than you think you need to. Don’t work it too much. If you do, it will be tough. So if you’re not sure if you should stop messing with it, stop.”

Then he did his best to put into words what it should like with all the fats cut in (“If you don’t see any powdery flour, it’s probably good”) and with the ice water added (“It should be moist, not wet”).

Then he thought about the top. Normally, people thought of lattices as being hard to do. But if the baker was methodical and followed directions, it wasn’t so bad. And it would be easier to put strips on top of the pie than to pick up the whole top crust and put it on intact. It didn’t really matter if the bottom was a mess; this wasn’t the Great British Bake-Off with Mary Berry and her hatred of soggy bottoms. The pie would be served from the dish, and no one would know if the bottom crust was torn and mended as long it still tasted good.

So, a nice, tightly woven lattice for the top. Bitty set to drawing a detailed diagram.

Bitty printed the recipe he developed -- all ten pages -- to bring with him and hand to Jack. He’d already supplied it to the producers to make sure they agreed all the ingredients were things a home cook would have in their pantry, or at least have ready access to.

“Real maple syrup?” the production assistant had asked. “What about something like Pillsbury pancake syrup? That’s what most people use.”

“My baker is Canadian,” Bitty argued. “He’d have the real stuff.”

“Fine, I guess.”

Bitty was dressed for TV in dark skinny jeans, a light T-shirt and a Samwell red button-down over it with red Chuck Taylors. The provided apron, he knew, would be beige with a dark red logo.

Jack came in dressed in charcoal gray tailored slacks and a light blue shirt, almost exactly the same color as his eyes. Yeah, he was good-looking. Bitty wasn’t sure if he would bring in the sports-loving young men the producers were hoping for, but it wouldn’t matter. The women would love him. And the gay boys like him. But no one ever counted them as their own demographic.

When the got into the studio, Bitty handed over the recipe.

Jack’s eyes widened when he saw how long it was.

“Does this take all day?” he asked.

“I can do it in about two hours,” Bitty said. “Counting chilling and baking time.”

“You’ll have three hours to complete the challenge,” the host said. “As long as you finish in that time, any differential in how long it takes won’t count against you.

Jack nodded, a determined set to his jaw. Bitty was almost glad they would be separated so he didn’t have to worry about cutting himself on that jawline.

Then Bitty was escorted to his studio kitchen, where he proceeded to make a pie, narrating each step, just like he was making a vlog post.

He made sure to turn the top of the bowl to the camera when he was done cutting the fats in, and again when he added the water.

“You see those streaks of butter and shortening?” he said, when he gathered the dough into disks to chill. “You want those to make flaky crust.”

He made sure to slice the apples evenly, and mix them gently with the flour and flavorings, then he rolled his dough out.

He clucked at himself -- but didn’t say anything -- when he realized he’d forgotten to tell Jack to make sure he had the thinnest possible layer of fat on his work surface before he scattered flour over it.

Then, once the pie was done, he actually slapped himself upside the head.

“I never said anything about covering the edges with foil at the beginning,” he said. “Poor guy is definitely gonna have burnt edges. Oh well.”

Bitty’s pie came out of the oven at the two-hour mark, and he donned oven mitts to be filmed carrying it into the judging room.

“You’ve got some time if you want to head to the green room relax,” the production assistant said. “Someone will come get you before Jack is ready to bring his pie in.”

Bitty flung himself onto the couch and groaned. He could have used the $5,000 prize from this stage of the competition to get ahead on his rent for a couple of months … and maybe even rent an ice rink for a couple of hours to clear his mind. He didn’t regret his choice of career -- writing cookbooks, running his vlog, making appearances like this -- but the money tended to come in fits and starts.

He realized he’d never even asked Jack what his charity was. The show must have asked him at some point, so Bitty was sure he’d find out eventually. He hoped Jack would donate to his chosen charity regardless. He could certainly afford it. The only real advantage for the charity to having Jack appear on the show was publicity. Well, and convincing people that straight, athletic young men could bake and enjoy it.

But Bitty forgot to tell him to use foil to guard the edges, so they probably wouldn’t advance, and it would all be Bitty’s fault. Jack -- he had to be competitive, right? -- well, it didn’t matter if hated Bitty. They hardly knew one another.

“Eric? Jack’s pie is done. Time to go to the judging room.”

Bitty roused himself from the sofa, resigned to his fate. If nothing else, he’d learned a lesson.

He took his place behind his pie and waited for Jack and his pie with its inevitable burnt edges.

He was sitting there when Jack came in, carrying his beautiful golden brown pie aloft. Jack set it on the empty cooling rack next to Bitty’s and stepped back.

It was beautiful. The lattice was maybe not quite as straight, not quite as even as Bitty’s, but it was close.

Bitty couldn’t help a pleased grin, first at the pie, then at Jack, who had finished with fifteen minutes to spare.

“Okay, you two. We’re going to break for lunch while Jack’s pie cools,” the production assistant said. “We need you back in an hour in the same clothes, so don’t mess them up.”

Bitty was about to head out when Jack said, “Want to grab a sandwich? There’s a place down the block.”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “I have some questions for you.”

“And me for you,” Jack said.

Once they had their food and settled at a table, Bitty said, “How did you keep the edges from burning?”

“I made foil collars,” Jack said.

“But I’ve never told you that before,” Bitty said.

“You always do it on your YouTube channel,” Jack said.

“Wait … you’ve seen … but you said you’d never baked,” Bitty said.

“I hadn’t,” Jack said. “That doesn’t mean I’ve never watched anyone else bake on YouTube. When Johnson said you were doing this, it seemed like a good opportunity to meet you.”

“To meet me?” Bitty really had to start thinking of some of his own words instead of just repeating Jack’s.

��Well, yeah,” Jack said. “Someone showed me your videos when you were at Samwell, and I was intrigued by a hockey player who baked. Made me wonder what it would have been like to be on a college team, or whether I’d develop any other interests.”

“Someone?”

Jack actually blushed. “My mother. She went to Samwell.”

It was almost a physical effort for Bitty to push that out of his head. Jack’s mother was … nope. Not going there.

“So you wanted to make pie because you’d see me make it before?”

“A lot,” Jack said. “But the instructions were really helpful.”

“I thought we’d lost it when I realized I’d never said anything about the foil,” Bitty admitted.

“But I figured you could make a donation to your charity anyway.”

Jack nodded.

“I plan on adding to it even if we win,” he said. “What do you want to do with the money? Bitty was not going to tell Jack Zimmermann that he needed money to pay his rent. Not this unexpected Jack Zimmermann, who for some reason had been interested in Bitty for years. Despite, Bitty reminded himself, being straight. Almost certainly.

“Some of it will buy ice time,” he said. “I miss skating, you know? I used to figure skate before I played hockey.”

“I’m not sure what I’d do if I couldn’t skate every day,” Jack said. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t say that. Don’t want to make you jealous.”

“Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you,” Bitty said. ”I have the job I want. I just want to be able to skate for fun. Like you want to bake for fun, I guess.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jack said. “It was pretty stressful. I kept wanting to make it perfect, but you said not to overwork it. But maybe it would be more fun if it wasn’t being recorded for TV.”

“Maybe we could bake together sometime?” Bitty said.

“Then skate?” Jack suggested. “On our practice ice.”

“That would be really great,” Bitty said. “Ready to go back? By the way, you never said what your charity is.”

“You Can Play,” Jack said. “I’m thinking of coming out next year.”

#omg check please #omgcheckplease #pre-zimbits #my fic #prompt fill

146 notes · View notes

fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

Text

eleven: before the first day of the world

i always thought the quote 'we contain multitudes' was a john green quote because of the way its use had, over time, evolved from unironic to deeply ironic to some weird squeamish mix of the two that meant half of the audience would cringe when it was deployed while the other half would nod very seriously and lean back in their seats, thinking fondly about the summer of '97. for the record, i've always been part of the former. except for this one time in my anthropology class this spring where we were talking about the complexities of human behavior in different environments and i, seeing a glowing opportunity to inject some 2012 tumblr-era humor into the room, typed into the zoom chat: we contain multitudes.

unfortunately, we do. but not in the john green sense, which would mean we smoke cigarettes and want to contribute to world peace, or we crochet blankets and simultaneously want to destroy the small backwater town we grew up in with an electric chainsaw. i'm talking about something less looking for alaska and more i will rip all your hair out with a screwdriver. something that cuts at the fabric of your relationship with the people around you, something that makes it hard to figure out which path to take back to your dorm.

have you ever been ruined by someone who, after ruining you, skipped off happily to lunch with jessica who lives down the hallway and whom you would trust with your bank account number, and found yourself unable to do anything but give half of the lunch parade your blessings?

let's make it simpler: sometimes people are more fucked up than they're worth.

and yet i believe that there is no such thing as a bad person. the adjective-noun combination assumes that the noun always possesses the quality of the adjective, while the people who elbow you down the stairs and into the yawning mouth of hell and then wander off singing cheerily into the woods are the same ones who bring friends care packages when they're sick, who entertain long, thoughtful conversations about philosophy and the flaws of the world, who make great lab partners in group projects. the girl whose definition of love is a chain around the neck is a wonderful orator. the boy who only knows how to understand other people by cutting them up and putting them back together wants to design buildings that will save lives. people are inconsistent. we contradict ourselves and then, upon noticing the contradictions, panic, knock over a vase of flowers, and burn the whole house down.

it always comes back to fire when i write about the last fourteen weeks of spring. we're incredibly flammable, you and i. we're instant fire-starters. we're chemically insane.

at the start of the semester when i allowed someone to tell me in an awkward, prepubescent voice that i was broken i wanted to hate them. then i wanted to forgive them; then i wanted to be their friend. three months later i discovered how hard it is to stay on good terms with someone who knifed you without even realizing they were holding something in their hand to begin with, and yet he's still here. talking to the person who lives at the other end of the hallway. walking to the dining hall with the alligator stairwell, his hands shoved in his pockets. trying to graduate. trying to stay alive.

dear friend: i don't want to be your friend anymore. but don't die on me.

that's the sentiment i leave spring with. a bittersweet note that's more bitter than sweet, like ninety-seven percent cacao chocolate, the really awful shit, the stuff i like to think only white american yoga moms with fat apple-faced babies tied to their hips are willing to eat, and even then, only for the instagram sponsorship. when i think of spring i think of the aftertaste, because everything was sweet in the moment, in the immediacy of the screaming sun and the shifting sky above your head. everything looked like it was made of stars. it was only after i'd chewed up the burnt thing you picked off the ground and gave me, swallowed, and walked the long way back to my dorm, that i realized you'd handed me a pile of dirt.

it was pretty good dirt though, and you know the other day someone asked me, after scrolling through this blog with an eye on their watch and the other on the words flying across the screen, if i hated it here after all. if i wish i'd stayed in singapore, among the palm fronds and the pale, moon-white butterflies. no, i said incredulously, my spoon jammed in my kool-aid jello cup. this is the happiest i've been in ten years.

lately i've been trying to articulate the sense of hopelessness i experienced while growing up. how does one even begin to describe the endless staircase of the days, how each week yawned before me like an abyss with an immortal, unbreakable heart? how do you give a voice to despair?

this morning i went to target with my friend. we didn't find a rectangular frying pan so i bought a bag of mandarins instead, and it was sunny on the way there but on the way back a smear of white cloud dashed across the sky and wrapped its soft fingers around the sun's mouth, by which i mean it got colder, by which i mean that for a while, it felt like spring again. when we got back to our dorm i put the mandarins in the fridge and wandered back into my room and then put on the podcast i've been listening to all week, listened to them talk about monsters and knights and the intricacies of war, love, forgiveness. today i didn't sleep through lunch like i did the day before. today i sat in the garden and read a book.

i think the thing about growing up the way i did is that by the time i was fourteen it felt like it was all over. like i'd ruined everything before it'd ever really begun, and even knowing what steps i might take to mend the god-sized crater i'd dug in my backyard, i couldn't bring myself to take them. so things ended. and because life is a bitch and forgiveness never comes from those you most desire it from, you just kind of laugh and drag yourself through the debris.

i think this is why, in spite of the shouting and the cherry-flavored regrets and the hallways full of footsteps like thunderstorms, and the girls and the boys with their teeth like claws, their claws like daggers, their words careless enough to kill, i feel like a person here. because i came here with nothing. two suitcases, one weighing twenty kilograms and the other weighing nothing at all. i repeat: this is nothing at all. do you understand what i am saying? i was no one when i got here. and now i am no one with some prepubescent mistakes scratched into my forearm and a few ideas about self-preservation. but the pages of this book are still blank. they are inviting me to fill them with the illegible dancing chicken scrawl that is my specialty and the bane of every english professor's existence.

i look over my shoulder and my old bookshelf full of journals, red journals, journals packed with the misery of the last nineteen years shrugs its shoulders. it says they gave you bad books and you wrote half-decent stories; what else could you have done? you did the best that you could in the circumstances you were given. you're still doing that now. then, satisfied with its little speech, it burns itself down.

and that's all i need, really, to keep going.

05.31.21

#trying a new thing in which i stick the post under a cut and pick a nice line from the thing to use as a sick one liner opening #let me know how you like it. if you dont like it i will come to your doorstep and cry for 8 hours just so you know #but i will only accept honest feedback of course. just letting you know #you know #yeah #oh yeah

14 notes · View notes

kaeyas-beloved · 4 years

Note

Hey there! Can i request a chubby/thicker mc? But instead of insecure, she’s confident af? People think she’s a bitch at first, but they’re proved wrong when she’s actually really good at giving life advice? If i were to be more specific, then she likes coloring her nails, stuff like that and is a bit of a bitch at first but can be your best friend at the same time? Thanks!(i checked your rules, and you didn’t have any specific numbers, so hcs, anyone but pls choose Arthot) thanks!

Can i add more text? If i can, then the chubby but confident mc is also really proud of her lover? Thank you again!

Hello! You absolutely can (both request and add more text)! Sorry this took so long, headcannons aren’t really my forte, but I still hope you like them! Also, I added Isaac and Mozart since I had some ideas for them :)

Thank you for requesting!

(It’s under the cut since these are sorta long)

Arthur, Isaac & Mozart w/ a Chubby!Confident!Reader/MC

Arthur Conan Doyle

Now don’t get me wrong, Arthur loves all women no matter what they look like or their personality (unless they’re evil like that one Sister from his route - you know the one)

But when a women has the confidence level of a queen?? You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

There’s just something about women who aren’t like all the others he’s been with that really gets him.

Even if you insulted everything that you could about him the first time you both met.

It was the boldness in your words and the way you carried yourself without a care what others said that has him infatuated and wanting to know more.

The first couple interactions with the other residents had him falling on his ass laughing.

Never has he seen someone make Theo and Wolfie shut up so fast.

After that he knows exactly when some kind of verbal brawl between her and another resident, most likely Theo, will occur and he kicks back for the show.

Kind of gets hurt when she says something particularly harsh but brushes it off like he does.

A week passes and Arthur has figured out that she’s a little like Theo in a sense, bitter on the outside but secretly soft on the inside.

How does he know? Well he’s experienced this secret side of her of course!

It was during one of his self-deprecating moods, his past coming to haunt his thoughts when (y/n) walked in with his dinner, seeing as he skipped out on it.

The writer was so deep in thought that he didn’t even hear her come in until the glass of Rouge was set down beside him, shocking him.

A flirty line was on the tip of his tongue when a quiet “Hey” came from her, in the softest voice he’s every heard from her, that one word silencing him.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on in that head of yours but... don’t let it consume you. It won’t be easy but you gotta push past it and not let it eat at you, that’s how it wins...”

Arthur’s breath hitched when the faintest of smiles appeared on her lips, he was sure that he was seeing an actual angel.

After that it was like clock work and the two were hanging out more and more, going out in town a lot (with Vic too).

Her advice hit him in a way and like she said, it wasn’t easy, but it was a start for him.

From the very start of their relationship as a couple (y/n) would constantly give Arthur praises anytime he moved forward to forgiving and just bettering himself in general.

Rewards usually involve kisses and cuddles

Maybe a little more ;)

Like I mentioned earlier he doesn’t care that you may be a little thicker than the other women in town, it’s more for him to love!

He’s honestly so happy that you love your body despite what others may say, he’s a very proud boyfriend.

But even if you do, that won't stop him from loving every inch of you and your body.

All in all, it’s a relationship that includes a lot of love and proud moments for one another :)

Isaac Newton

Poor Apple Boi is a little scared of you, don’t be mean to him please he’s shy and insecure T_T

Like don’t get him wrong confident women are great but... you might be a little too confident sometimes for his heart to keep up.

“(Y/N) yOU cAn’T sAY tHinGS LiKE tHAT!!” is something he thinks a lot when a particularly mean thing might exit your mouth.

Begs to any God that will listen that there’s some passive side to you that will help lower his blood pressure.

But if there isn’t that’s alright, he guess, cause most of the time you aren’t actually that bad.

That was before the both of you ran into the children he teaches at the fountain, his heart and mind doing literal summer salts cause what if you make one of them cry? What then!? He can't handle crying children!

Nevertheless Isaac still asks if you could help educate them and you agree without complaint - surprisingly

About half an hour later when his group of kids were working (you split them into two groups, one for him and another for you) he took a glance your way and - HOLY SHIT IS SHE SMILING!?

Takes a double take on that, splashes a little of the freezing fountain water in his face and when he still sees you smiling down at the young ones Isaac thinks he's done for.

But then he hears what you’re telling the children

“If you’re willing to put the effort into it and continue to push forward then you can do and be anything you want...”

You hear that? It’s the sound of his poor heart malfunctioning

Isaac may have an extended life but even then he didn’t think he’d live to see the day that a genuine smile, with no snide present, wound grace your face and that such encouraging words would come from you.

You weren’t rocket science to him anymore, he saw that there was more to you and unconsciously he started to soften up around you.

When the two of you got into a relationship it was a lot of you taking the lead, trying to help the shy man out of his cocoon.

And when he did take those steps and started to speck more and say what was on his mind? He got smooches, loads of them.

You are very very proud that he’s growing into the man he wants to be.

One time when you guys were out and about some snob women were making some comments about your weight. Baby was furious and was ready to reassure you that you were beautiful no matter what you looked like, even if he isn’t the best at comforting people.

He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when all you did was say something equally bad (if not worse) to them, grabbed his hand and left.

When he asked if you were okay he was very happy to hear that their words didn’t hurt you because their opinion didn’t matter to you.

He did, however, turn a little red when you said that if anyone’s opinion mattered it was his because you love him and knows that he loves you <3

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Won’t lie, both of you got into the equivalent of a cat fight the first time you ran into each other.

It was so bad Jean and Napoleon had to step in before either of you said something that might actually hurt the other.

After that night it was like an unspoken rule between the two of you that under no circumstances should your paths cross.

Which was incredibly hard since Sebastian assigned you to bring him his meals.

Not one interaction went without some sort of mean jab being sent to the other.

One time you got some pink nail polish on Mozart’s white piano and he lost it

It seemed absolutely impossible for there to be any chance that the two could get along

All hope was nearly lost, but then came the day that (y/n) said something to him that just turned this mess of a relationship around.

The pianist was having a hard time composing a certain piece and nothing was coming to him no matter what he did.

About to give up for the day, in came the human with a bottle of Blanc for him. When her eyes spotted the disaster that was crumpled sheet music, many of the notes scratched out, she knew exactly what was going on.

“Put yourself back to a time that you were happy and full of joy... Or, think about what you feel when you eat something really good - like chocolate, I know you love it. If there were colours to accompany the feeling, what would they be? Would they be slow moving like a river or burst like fireworks? Use those as a pace and let your heart do the rest...”

Before the haughty musical genius could question a single word she just told him, (y/n) was already out of the room, off to finish the rest of her chores

Nevertheless Mozart tries it out and by the end of the night he’s got a masterpiece written out in front of him.

And you have an IOU with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart written on it - and he hates having to owe people.

So here he is, out in town for the first time in forever, showing you 19th century Paris since he remembered overhearing you say how you wanted to take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Surprisingly, it went well. Every time you said something that would usually elicit a remark from him was met instead with him holding his tongue, your soft voice from the day before playing in his mind each time.

When you caught on that he was actually trying to be nice you too made the effort, thus resulting in the two of you growing just a little closer.

You also gave him some nail polish remover that you had to help clean his piano cause he was having trouble.

From then on the harsh words became playful more than anything.

Could care less what you look like, though is very happy that you're comfortable in your own skin.

During Mozart's performances (y/n) claps the loudest and he knows it, she's told him that it's because she's very proud that he's started to play his music for others and because he wants to, not because he's force to.

His lips always twitch up when he hears her cheer for him, it fills him with joy every time knowing the meaning behind the action and that it comes with love.

BONUS!

Vincent and her got along instantly when he spotted these beautiful designs that she painted on her nails. He wanted to know how she did it without smudging anything since nails are such a small canvas to work with.

Theo got confused and upset when he saw that she was nice to his brother and not him.

She's totally destroyed Shakespeare cause no one messes with her friends goddammit!

Requests are closed right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy my other works while you wait for them to open! You might find something you like, who knows :)

Masterlist

170 notes · View notes

emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

for anyone you'd like, maybe 2, 17, 19, 30? 👀

YOU! IT'S YOU! The one who hath done me a great service! >:D *sends all the hugs!* So, you wish to hear me ramble some more, do you? Welcome to the fountain that is my fingers then! Let's talk about some children! >:3

2. Is your oc picky about food? What kinds of foods do they like and dislike? What do they consider a comfort or “safe” food?

Can I tell you something about Fane and food? He loves it when he makes himself eat it. The boy literally doesn't eat sometimes because one: his stomach is in constant distress due to vomiting almost every morning (doesn't happen all the time, but enough to cause some damage), and two: he believes he doesn't deserve to enjoy food, so when he does eat and actually finds comfort with it, his appetite disappears. However! That means Fane isn't especially picky about his food! He does have favorites though! I'll list them!

Likes:

Meat (any kind, really, but Fane does enjoy ram and deer meat especially.)

Fruit (mainly apples, has fond memories of them and he likes the CRUNCH.)

Nuts (particulary almonds because they have a sweet after taste and CRUNCH.)

Dried meats (Fane likes the rip and tear action when eating them and it gives himself something to continuously gnaw on.)

Cakes, cookies, pies, etc. (He likes bite sized cakes. Yes, frilly cakes. Blame Solas. He adores peanut butter cookies. Bonus if there's any chocolate on them. And he really, really likes blueberry pie! Again, sweet!)

Dislikes:

Spicy foods of any kind (Snow dragon + spicy foods = DEATH TO EVERYONE WITHIN A FIVE MILE RADIUS. Also, tongue goes bleh and then he can't taste anything for a while.)

Vegetables (Fane eats vegetables sparingly. The boy is a DRAGON, not a rabbit.)

Bitter foods (the exception to this is coffee and dark chocolate which Fane can't live without.)

Impartial to cheese (Fane's okay with cheese, but the tang makes him scrunch up his nose most of the time. Especially Orlesian made cheeses.)

All in all, Fane is pretty plain jane. He eats to survive, and it isn't until later in the story that he learns that he can enjoy food and not be guilty about it.

17. If your oc had a social media page, what would it be like? What would they post about? How much personal information would they feel comfortable posting on it? How often would they update it?

AHAHAH! Fane? Social media?! Honestly, Fane would be that type of person that makes a social media page just to shut up someone else! They'd be like, "You should do this! It's the big thing right now!" Meanwhile, five thousand year old dragon is like, "I don't understand any of this shit. Why is half the words abbreviated?! A ten year old is on here?! This world is fucking trash." Secretly, Fane is a lurker and would just have a page to snoop on other people and silently rag on them. Not directly trolling, but he'd be like, "Solas, come here. These people are fucking ridiculous! Like who the hell thinks it's okay to eat soap?! Where the hell did we go wrong?!" and Solas is just happy Fane's found a hobby that doesn't involve destroying a wall.

So, really, Fane would only have page to have a page. He wouldn't personalize it nor would he put any information besides his name on it. And if anything, Fane would be a meme lord and just post memes all day long. He resonates with them, he thinks. Also, A LOT of dark humor. Fane is...intense. Let's leave it at that. Pfft.

19. How would an enemy describe this oc?

Absolutely terrifying. I mean, do you want a six foot, athletic muscled, white haired, two toned eyed, great sword wielding, and a penchant for kicking elf-dragon bearing down on you? With eyes that seemingly shift and morph into different colors and a snarl from elven lips that made you think there was actually a dragon about to snap your head off? Or a boot that slams into a breastplate so hard that it cracks pure silverite down the middle? Do you want to watch as a pale face that looks dark with battle induced anger and adrenaline twist from an ancient insanity that put most 'madmen' to shame? Do you want to see the blood splatter across that same face, eyes dark and bright all at once as one of your fellows is cleaved in two and all that face does is watch with utter boredom until those two toned eyes land on you? Do you want to feel the sensation of dread, panic, and pure terror as a large frame that shouldn't be able to move with such graceful, fluid movements, but does as it slams you into a wall, once sturdy bricks crumbling to fall upon you as those same soul delving eyes just watch without missing a beat?

Do you want to die with a hand in your chest as a spectral, blue claw splits your chest open, letting you observe and accept that the end is near? No? Well, then, don't dance with the Dragon of the Dread Wolf unless you know the steps. *tips my hat* Good day.

30. Tell a random fact about this oc!

Random fact, random fact...hmm. Ah! Well, just for a little treat, a little tease for late story, I'll share something that'll make for some speculation, but won't give anything away. *clears throat*

Fane has the capacity to harness a portion of an Old God's soul. *smiles pleasantly before walking away*

And there we are! :D Thank you for the ask! Always love them! <3

#oc: fane lavellan #asks #dragon age #go on speculate on that last one #*cackles manically*#that enemy description one was FUN ngl #fane is intimidating and scary and very very violent in battle #outside of it he's just sad though and eats cake and researches dragons :3 #very feral either way though XD #thank you again!

6 notes · View notes

lemontwst · 4 years

Text

Nessun Dorma | 01 - m!ver.

he says i am sorry i am not an easy person to want i look at him surprised who said i wanted easy i don’t crave easy i crave goddamn difficult

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: harem x m!reader. | female version here.

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: cyoa + smut.

⟶ index | prologue.

You can’t say no to him.

"I love you, Mira."

Your heart flutters at your own words and for a second you don't even know if you mean that as a friend or as a lover. But, well, you're only sixteen years old. You have a lifetime to figure it out.

You think Mira stops breathing, but it's hard to tell because the rise and fall of his chest is usually pretty much imperceptible anyway.

“I… I love you too.”

You suddenly feel very tired.

His gentle voice is like a lullaby in this field of roses. His words leave you dazed, like he’s casting a spell on you.

“I love you, (y/n).”

The last thing you hear is Mira wishing you a happy birthday before you fall into a warm, comfortable sleep without dreams.

___

A sharp pain in your chest jerks you awake.

It fucking hurts, like your heart is being pierced by a shard of glass. Like the fissures of your very existence are being pulled apart at the seams.

You clutch the spot above your heart, almost elbowing Epel in the face with all your trashing, trying to catch your breath.

"Sorry! I… had a nightmare… I think.”

Your friend is used to it by now, “Do you remember what it was about?”

"No… not really."

"Nothing at all?

"No, just…"

"Green eyes." Epel finishes the sentence for you. You've been having the same nightmare for a while, and your friend knows all about it, considering he sleeps right next to you most of the time.

Green eyes. Burning emerald. It's all you remember, alongside a gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling of longing that stays with you long after you've woken up.

"... Hey, you okay?" You must have looked as miserable as you feel, because Epel leans closer to you, peering into your face with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah… it's just a stupid dream." You shrug, leaning your head against his shoulder, "But you know what would make me feel better?"

Epel shrugs, but the way his brow crinkles tells you he's already prepared himself for whatever dumb thing you're about to say.

He knows you too well.

"I'd feel sooo much better if I had an additional piece of toast for breakfast today…" you sigh dreamily and Epel sighs.

"Fine." He shrugs you off and stands up. When he stretches, a peek of white skin flashes under his light blue shirt.

"What, really?" Your eyebrows shoot up. It's not usually this easy to get him to hand over his morning toast.

You're rushing after him immediately.

He can’t claim the bread if he’s dead.

___

You live a simple, happy life here in the Village of Harvest.

Sure, your days might not be terribly exciting. You don't have things like a mall, or a cinema or… anything invented after the seventeenth century, really, but you have Epel and your grandparents and that's enough.

Oh, and you have Beau.

The little lamb trots towards you as soon as you're out of the house, your belly full with toast and Grandma's delicious apple jam, and starts nibbling at your socks immediately.

"Good morning, sweetie." You pick up Beau in a swift movement and hold him to your chest with one arm, carrying a wicker basket in the other, "Ready to pick some apples?"

Beau starts nibbling on your hair in response. This little guy… he's always munching.

"Just make sure he doesn't actually eat the apples." Epel starts walking in front of you, throwing Beau an unimpressed look.

You can't be sure but you feel like Beau is glaring back at him.

Sigh. Children.

___

…

“In any case, I won’t be able to celebrate with you tomorrow.”

You feel like you already know where this is going.

Not granting you the chance to run away, the man picks you up like you weigh nothing and gently lowers you over the roses.

"I don't… I don't even know you." You meekly push at his chest, turning your head away. It's like trying to move a mountain, and the hardness under your hands makes you blush something fierce.

His adoring voice, barely a whisper against your skin, leaves you dazed and gasping for air. Your legs open almost instinctively for him, your dick wet with excitement. A clawed hand makes his way from your shoulder to your side, slowing down when it passes over your chest breast as if he's indulging in the forbidden fruit. His fingers glide inside your shorts and he runs a slow circle against the humid head of your member, eager to soak in your juices.

"Mi… ra?"

His eyes dart to yours and you think they're actually burning. Emerald flickers to life. His snake pupils shrink. He makes a show of slowly running his thumb down his tongue, leaving a trail of precum behind. Your stomach clenches with need, your entire body lighting up like he just poured gasoline on you and burned it with a match.

"It's what you call me." It's a habit of his to sound both sad and adoring, you realize. You open your mouth to scold him for being so cryptic, but snap it shut when his hands rest on your chest. He palms the taut flesh gently, a small smirk on his arrogant face, "My precious Deerlet. Always so insatiably curious."

His thumbs slowly circle your hard nipples. Little jolts of electricity run down your spine, your chest growing sensitive under his ministrations. It's agonizingly slow. The sweet way he rubs you through the fabric of your shirt makes you quiver with need, your voice coming out in short little gasps that make his eyes darken to a dangerous jade.

You lay your hand on top of his. You can feel his hard veins move under your palm as he gropes you, and the sensation sends another wave of arousal down your crotch. Shaking like a frightened animal, you slowly move his hand to the side and slide it under your tank top. A gasp leaves you when his fingers touch your bare skin. Mira exhales a long, pained sigh through his nose, then allows his digits to explore the expanse of your flesh. His fingertips tingle and his muscles tighten almost violently as the impulse to fuck you threatens to overtake him.

"Patience, daelin." He teases you, his deep voice a heated, playful murmur. Your dick throbs in response. A small, frustrated whine leaves your lips.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this." He takes his hand away and your heart almost breaks, but the pain is soon replaced by scalding embarrassment when he rips the front of your shirt apart, easily, like it's tissue paper.

"Mira!" You're sobbing at this point. Your body is on fire and your dick hurts from the lack of attention, "Please—" He moves to your other nipple and you arch for him, making a pretty line with your back. Mira takes this chance to slip a hand under you, keeping your chest raised to his mouth so that your head falls back, away from the dangerous tips of his horns. But he still doesn't touch you where you want him.

Suddenly, another memory comes to mind, as if summoned by your sexual frustration. You remember something that makes him shiver without fail, and suddenly you feel like you've regained some sort of power over this arrogant man. You bring a hand to his horn and tug and the loud, startled moan that leaves him is enough to satisfy the hunger in your stomach, precum leaking in your shorts like dew against the fabric.

You try not to look too offended that he stopped touching you, giving him a defiant look that makes his smirk grow wider, "It is when the King is mean to his Queen."

You yelp when he grabs the back of your knees and pushes your legs against your body in a quick, rough movement, leaving you spread open and helpless under his watchful gaze.

It's like he's speaking the words directly into your ears. His voice bounces off the walls in your head, heated and demanding as a spark of his magic runs over your sensitive skin. It's a tingly feeling that makes your heart stutter, more intimate than anything you've ever felt. He shares just a fraction of his arousal with you through the link between your magic and his and suddenly you're crying and convulsing on top of the flowers, the heat between your legs akin to flowing magma.

No no no, he can't do that to you. Not now. Not during your first time. He wants to cherish and protect you. He won't let his feral instincts get in the way of this precious moment…

"...I know."

Malleus opens his eyes. A small, tired smile greets him. Your face is sweaty and flushed, like that one time he took you deep into the woods.

"I trust you, Mira."

Love washes over him like high tide across a deserted shore, filling every crack on his eroded heart, replacing the pitch-black ink that constantly threatens to swallow him.

You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. You are his and he is yours. Forever, like you promised him.

"You already did."

He snorts, "I'll make you feel better."

You let out a surprised gasp when he slips your shorts off of you and lowers his face right between your legs. You hear him take a deep breath and then he's exhaling right against your engorged dick. Your legs tremble in response and Mira chuckles. You don't need to look at him to know he's smiling that closed-eye smile you like so much.

Your excitement flares back to life as his tongue traces a slow line from the base to the head. The split in his tongue feels… weird, but it's also strangely erotic, and you can't help but moan shamelessly as he teases your urethra. Then he runs his tongue flat over your glans and suddenly you can't bear to look at him anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as little earthquakes shake you from head to toe, your hips going numb as he draws slow circles around the sensitive head.

"Which one feels better?" He has the nerve to ask you even as you convulse under him.

"The tip…" he greedily sucks on your glans and your head falls back, precum dripping out of you like a fucking river and coating his face in a lucid sheen of arousal, "Or the base?" He drags his tongue down the shaft and gently sucks on your ballsack and you nearly lose your mind, your hands tangling in his raven hair and gripping his horns for comfort. Mira gasps loudly against you, claws digging into your legs from the shock of the sudden stimulation, but you don't even notice it, lost as you are on the edge of your release. He brings a hand to your shaft and starts pumping, coating his fingers in precum and saliva as he continues to suck on your glans hungrily.

Your dick throbs desperately with the need to shoot your semen all over Mira's face. Everything feels wet and hot and stars, his tongue is lapping up everything you have to give him. It's like he's desperate not to let even a single drop go to waste…

"Mira!" You cry out in a broken voice, trying to grind your dick up into his eager mouth, "Mira—I'm going to—"

He suddenly lets go of one of your legs. The boneless limb falls over his shoulder, your soft thigh caressing the side of his soaked face. He doesn't grace you with a warning before one of his wet fingers plunges into your asshole, the tight passage clenching in shock at the sudden intrusion.

Your moans increase in volume. You trash under him as if you want to get away. This is almost too much. It's scary. He pumps his index finger in and out of you, smearing saliva all over your walls, then he presses that sensitive button inside you and suddenly the bliss is debilitating. He carefully stretches your cute little hole until he can push another finger in. Your back arches as another orgasm crashes over you, scalding hot and earth-shattering and too fucking vivid for this to be just a dream.

You completely miss the dazed expression on Mira's face when your cum fills his mouth, the dark jade of his eyes fading into a glassy mint.

You're so out of it as you slump back against the roses that you almost don't hear him when he speaks again.

"This scent is—addicting—" his chest heaves and he looks almost intoxicated, "I feel like I'm getting drunk on you..." semen drips off his chin but he clearly doesn't mind. Not when he starts wiping the thick liquid off with a hand before bringing it to his mouth, swallowing as much of it as he can. It's strange how he looks like an animal and a prince at the same time. An otherworldly creature of indescribable beauty, even as he eagerly eats your essence off his face.

He lets his hot member fall against your stomach. He’s fucking huge, you stare with wide eyes at the point where his length ends across your abdomen.

"It… it won't fit…" You mumble, even as your inexperienced asshole clenches with traitorous want.

It's so big. Your vision goes out of focus as your hole clenches around him greedily despite the pain. Stars, it's stretching you so well. He tried to prepare you for this and yet he still has to push to enter you because you're so fucking tight. Your legs shake uncontrollably, the feeling of being so thoroughly filled wiping out every thought in your head.

Mira is inside you. You completely forget that this is a dream, that sentence repeating inside your head over and over again.

"...Small." He mutters. You look at him and your heart almost collapses at the tender expression on his face. You think his pupils might have turned into little hearts, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks as sweat drips off his hair and chin.

…

...

Fuck. Your heart lodges in your throat and your hole clenches around him, coaxing a surprised moan from both your lips.

"(y/n)..." your name sounds heavenly when he says it like that. On a quiet, vulnerable gasp.

"I… I'm going to start moving now, okay?"

"My (y/n)—" He eases into a steady rhythm, pushing what he can of his shaft inside you and rubbing your abused prostate with every thrust of his powerful hips. Sweat pours down his face, his hair sticks to his chin and his tongue swipes the salt off his lips, "My sweet boy—my cute little Deerlet—" His waist snaps back into your smaller one in short strokes, his movements growing more and more frenzied as tight, magma hot pleasure builds inside him. The obscene sounds that fill the air turn him on so much he's now full-blown moaning. His beautiful voice calls your name shamelessly, desperately, like you could disappear from under him at any given moment.

"I love you—you're mine—" He growls placing a large hand under your ass as he pounds into you, keeping your hips locked to his, loving the way your dick bounces against his stomach, “Say that you’re mine."

The order resonates inside your head. You're not even offended that he's using his magic to intimidate you. You can barely cling to your consciousness at this point.

"I am—I'm—yours, Mira!" You don't even know which way is up anymore, but you know that what you're saying is true. You belong to him. Your best friend. The love of your life.

The loud "Fuck!" that leaves his mouth pushes you over the edge, the word unexpected but so fucking sexy coming from his graceful mouth. You clench down around him, delirious as stars explode behind your vision, and drag him right over the edge with you.

Malleus holds you so close to him you feel like you might melt into each other as he releases pulse after shuddering pulse of his essence into you.

"I love you." He mutters, voice breaking.

...

He's crying. That lone thought destroys something inside you and you start feverishly kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck, anything you can reach as you try to soothe him.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry—

You feel him starting to fade in your arms. You can feel yourself starting to fade.

Nonononono— Maker, please—

He pulls away from you and you finally see his face.

You scream out his name, his real name.

…

And then you wake up, sobbing all over yourself, unable to remember.

Epel tries his best to comfort you, but you don't stop crying for a long time.

___

Life goes on.

You have a part-time job at a beach bar, on the coastline that extends about 60 miles away from the village.

"See you later, Beau." You chuckle, knowing he will go back to the farm as soon as he gets bored. Beau ignores you and munches away.

You always think about him when you’re riding this bus.

…

You should probably stop being so obsessed with him.

___

The sun is almost in the middle of the sky when you get to the beach bar, and as per usual, it's a crowded mess. This is the infernal hour, and not only because it's hot as sin.

…

Why do you work here again?

…

Because the pay is good, and your coworker is cute.

"Now move your bum and go change. I need my sla—coworker to serve some tables outside.”

Figures. His lazy ass hates leaving the coolness of the bar to handle the customers sitting outside.

“Is that how you ask for favors, Ruggie?~" You tease him as you step behind the counter and head for the changing rooms in the back.

"I'd smooch ya as a treat but snoggin's not allowed in front of the children." He gives you a cheeky smile. One of the moms around the bar throws him a glare, but he shamelessly ignores it.

You shake your head and grin to yourself. At least you have him around to make this job a little more bearable.

___

Ruggie snorts next to you. He finishes cleaning a beer glass and places it back on the decorative shelf behind you, “Says the one who only works half a shift.”

The sun is starting to set. The blue sky fades into a gentle orange above the deep indigo of the calm sea. Your shift is almost over, but Ruggie will have to stay here for a while longer.

"I'm not a masochist like you." Your eyes follow him as he wipes, cleans, moves, washes and dries plates and glasses at half the speed it takes you to do it. He's like a super cleaning pro.

"Ye gotta work if you want ta eat." He pops open a can of peach tea, then pours it in a glass filled with ice.

You choke.

He laughs that kishishishi sound.

As you wipe your mouth with your wrist and send him a half-assed glare, a familiar sparkle sizzles the air between you.

You bask in the sudden heat for a second, watching as Ruggie's blue-gray eyes trace a slow path down your body.

But something you can't help but wonder… would he act on it if you two were alone and away from trying eyes? Would you act on it? Ruggie is very cute… and witty and funny and reliable...

...

"Uh…" Ruggie suddenly looks away, his cheek tinged the lightest shade of pink, "You may uh… want to take that shirt off, kitten."

...

What?

You look at him like he's grown another head.

"Excuse me?" You must have sounded more outraged than you feel, because your voice sends Ruggie into an embarrassed panic.

"N-not like that! It's just…! You've been sweating a lot and your shirt's gone transparent! I can see everythin' from here— I mean, what if a perverted old man walks in and sees you like that?"

You look down at your white shirt. It wasn't visible while you were wearing your green apron, but you can indeed see the outline of your nipples peek out from under the wet fabric, and you figure your wet back looks the same. Oops.

"Ah shit, sorry I didn't notice." You stand up and Ruggie turns his head away at the speed of light.

"No no… s'fine I have— a jacket you can wear while you walk home if ya need it."

Your lips quirk in a grateful smile as you head for the changing room, "Thank you! You're the best, Ruggie!"

"Yeah, yeah…" he breathes, quietly rubbing his temples as soon as you're out of the room.

___

And yet he still does it anyway.

Maybe he really is a masochist.

And maybe he should actually bend you over this counter and finally get rid of the frustration that's been building up inside him for the past two months.

Ruggie pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and downs it in one gulp.

Yeah, he's fucked.

___

"Epel! Carry me!~" You cling to your friend, Grandma and Grandpa chuckling at your antics from the sofa and the armchair respectively.

Having finished washing the dishes, Epel wipes his hands on a dishcloth and pushes you away with his elbow, "No thanks. I'm tired too ya know."

"If you're this tired then why don't ya just quit the beach job already?"

The two of you step outside, greeted by the loud crying of the cicadas. There's not a cloud above you, the stars clearly visible in the inky blue of the night.

"I can't do that. Ruggie needs me."

Epel scoffs. It's the exact same sound he made when he saw you come home wearing your coworker's jacket.

You do so happily, nuzzling into him like a spoiled cat.

A pair of emerald eyes flashes behind your eyelids, but you shrug it off.

"Sorry but I'm too drunk to go back to the beach to ask him."

"Only you can get drunk after two glasses of apple cider." Epel smirks, ignoring you when you hit his arm and start whining again.

You lay down onto Epel's checkered blanket like a starfish.

"Where am I supposed ta sleep? On the ground?" Epel turns the lantern off, then lights the incense to keep away mosquitoes and other bugs and places it on the windowsill.

He turns towards you with his hands on his hips, watching as you lay in your shared nest without a care in the world, and sighs. So spoiled.

"You can sleep on top of me, I don't care."

Epel almost chokes on his saliva.

You laugh at his flustered face. It almost looks like he's angry, eyes wide and an outraged blush on his cheeks.

You open your arms for him, "Come on! It's not like we won't end up in this position in the morning anyway."

…

“Do you do this with Ruggie too?”

Epel mutters so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t say it accusingly just… like he’s sulking.

“... What?” Any semblance of sleep disappears from your mind as you catch his dejected tone of voice, “You mean like hugging?— Of course not.” You bring a hand to his hair and scratch his skull like you know he likes it, and you feel him relax in your arms.

…

“Have you ever kissed him?”

Okay, now you’re definitely wide awake.

You look down at him, trying to catch his expression, “Epel, what are you talking about?”

He raises his head and pins you down with a demanding, silvery gaze. You sigh and lay your head back down, closing your eyes as you think of the best way to answer him.

“I haven’t kissed him.” You open your eyes and catch Epel’s expression shift just a little. He tries to keep an impassive front, but you can tell he’s relieved, “But I’ve never kissed you either.” You could maybe understand the cuddle comparison, since Epel is your designated snuggle friend, but who you kiss or don’t kiss shouldn’t matter to him.

Right?

“... Do you want to?”

… He's not. His eyes dart to your lips and darken, like there's a thunderstorm inside his gaze. Soft blue turns to rainy gray.

Do you want to?

…

"Yes." You think Epel stops breathing, but you don't have time to think about it because he's suddenly leaning towards you, stopping only when his lips are a few centimetres away from yours.

His labored breaths fan your lips and send a flurry of tingles down your abdomen…

___

❥ How do you handle this situation with Epel?

⟶ Touch him, claim him, make him beg for the next kiss. With the way he’s always clinging to you, you suspect this is what Epel has always wanted anyway. (dom!deerlet content)

vote here | what is this?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #nessun dorma #m!reader

326 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 4 years

Text

Heatstroke - chapter 6

Let’s pretend the lake is clean and in no way full of leeches...

[AO3]

The events of Saturday evening had left Gold conflicted. Throwing a drink over Lacey had initially made him feel a sort of smug satisfaction, but on the journey home he began to experience a twinge of regret. He rarely lost his composure, even in the face of extreme provocation, and he was uncomfortable with the idea of someone getting under his skin so much that it caused him to act out of character. Ordinarily he would have returned home and drunk a couple of whiskies while reading a good book, but instead he packed an overnight bag, along with a few food items, and drove out to the cabin that he owned in the midst of the woods. A night away from Storybrooke, and the memories of recent awkward interactions, would be welcome.

The cabin was as cool and restful as always, and he made himself a small meal of bread, cheese and sliced apples, eaten with a glass of cold white wine out on the back porch overlooking the lake. Insects buzzed in the air, but the citronella candles kept them away from him for the most part. Gold took a sip of wine, thinking over his altercation in the bar.

Knowing the young woman’s first name made it easy to make some enquiries into her identity, and he had made one or two phone calls while he sat there, and done a couple of online searches until he had some answers. Her name was Lacey French, she was twenty-six, and she had moved to Storybrooke from New York to take up a journalist post with the Storybrooke Mirror. Quite why she wanted to pursue journalism in a small town rather than the city was unclear, and Gold had learned to be suspicious of anomalies. His wealth and power had made him enemies, and while he knew that everything he did was entirely legal—one of the reasons he had so little patience with those that failed to honour their agreements—that didn’t stop people looking for something that wasn’t there. She didn’t appear to be poking her nose in anywhere it didn’t belong so far, though. Unless you counted his back garden.

He set down his glass, using his forefinger to pick up crumbs of cheese and eat them. Whatever the reason Miss French was in Storybrooke, it was probably nothing to do with him. He just needed to ignore her as best he could, and hope she ignored him in turn. The last thing he needed was to lose his head over a beautiful woman.

Gold blinked, straightening up, his heart thumping. Where the hell did that thought come from? Okay, she’s beautiful, anyone can see that - anyone who isn’t blind, anyway - but she’s a bloody disaster! I am absolutely not losing my head over her! I’m not losing anything! Except maybe my dignity.

He shook his head, pushing the plate away and drinking the last of his wine. Time to go to bed before his imagination really got him in trouble.

Sunday was Gold’s day to unwind. It was the one day he kept the shop closed, and used the time to catch up on jobs in the house, or to read and relax. The previous Sunday, he had decided to sunbathe in the garden, but given how that had ended, he was pleased that he had chosen to come to the cabin. It was a welcome retreat into nature and solitude, and waking up to the sound of birdsong and the whisper of leaves was soothing to a mind that was constantly thinking and planning and fretting. He threw back the covers, walking through to the kitchen and putting on a pot of coffee. The early morning sunshine was already sending dappled light through the trees, and he left the coffee brewing, walking out onto the back porch and breathing deeply. The air was beginning to lose the chill of the night, and Gold looked out over the lake that lapped at the wooden decking at the foot of the steps. It was cool and tranquil, and looked inviting, so he went inside to grab a towel, taking off the loose pants he slept in and walking naked to the back door and down to the lake

Cold water was an invigorating shock to warm skin, and his head burst through the surface, tendrils of weed stroking his shoulders like a lover’s caress. Gold swam across the lake and back in long, slow strokes, enjoying the weightlessness of his body in the water, his leg relieved of the pain of standing. A dip in the lake, followed by a hot shower and a pot of good coffee. It was a good way to start the day.

After a few lengths he swam back to the deck and climbed out of the lake, water pouring off his body and his skin tingling from the chill. The wooden boards of the deck felt warm in comparison, and he grasped the towel and drew up his knees, drying himself off quickly before towelling his hair. Dappled sunlight provided a little warmth, and he grabbed the cane and pushed to his feet, looking out over the lake again and enjoying the feel of the light breeze against his naked skin. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and drawing the clean scent of the forest into his lungs, and felt a sense of peace steal over him.

“Oh my God!”

Gold’s eyes flew open, and he almost stumbled and fell before he found his balance, his hand getting a death grip on the cane handle. Across the lake, staring at him incredulously, was the lithe figure of Lacey French. She was dressed in a pair of purple running tights and a matching crop top, her hair tied up on her head and her chest heaving with either exertion or outrage. Possibly both.

“I don’t fucking believe this!” she announced, gesturing at him.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Duh? I’m running?” She flapped her hands up and down herself before pointing an accusing finger at him. “Why are you naked? Again!”

“Why are you here?” he demanded, jabbing a finger at his feet.

“You do realise there’s a trail here, right?” she said, and wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you gonna cover up, or what?”

Gold had been thinking about wrapping the towel around himself, but at her words he clenched his jaw and met her eyes insolently, leaning on the cane a little harder and letting his hip swing outward. The movement made his cock bounce.

“Oh, man!” Lacey shielded her eyes with a hand and turned away. “I don’t believe this…”

“Why don’t you just keep running, then?” he said waspishly. “I fail to see why I should be inconvenienced on my own property. Again!”

He mimicked her affronted tone, head wobbling from side to side. Lacey turned back to face him, hands going to hips. He watched her eyes flick briefly to his groin and back up.

“Look, Gold, I just went into your damn garden to get my cat back!” she said hotly. “I didn’t know I lived next door to a bloody naturist!”

“So you just thought you’d throw a gin and tonic at my crotch, did you?” he snapped, hand flicking outwards.

“Oh my God, for the last time, it was the cat!” she shouted. “It wasn’t me! He was sitting on the table next to you and he knocked the glass off! I tried to get to him before he could do it but I was too slow! Be mad at me for that if you have to be, but he was the one that threw a drink at your balls, not me!”

Gold had opened his mouth to say something cutting, but closed it again. Oh.

“And the second time, when I did throw a drink at you, you kind of deserved it!” she added, and he found his voice again, feeling himself swell with indignation.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, I didn’t steal your underwear!” he snapped. “I told you!”

She gave him a withering look.

“You expect me to believe my cat went on - on a campaign of taking you my panties?”

“Well, it wasn’t bloody me!” he growled, and she tossed her head.

“Whatever. I’m out of here. Try to stop exposing yourself every five minutes, would you?”

She ran on, buttocks clenching pleasantly, and Gold glared after her.

“I’ll expose myself as often as I like on my own bloody property!” he shouted.

She didn’t look back, and he felt his nostrils flare, fists clenching. Well. Peace shattered.

Running with a hangover was a bad idea at the best of times, and coming across her neighbour stark naked didn't help. Still, he had provided an interesting distraction, and by the time Lacey had settled back into her run she could stop being indignant and start to see the funny side of her encounter in the woods. So much so that as she left the trails and joined the road into Storybrooke, she had to stop, doubling over and giggling madly. Wow, I almost feel sorry for the guy. If you can’t get your cock out on your own back porch, where can you?

She was still grinning to herself when she got back to the house, and she went to shower and dress before making herself eggs on toast and coffee and carrying it outside. She ate quickly, hungry from her run, and pushed the plate away before reaching for her coffee. The morning was pleasantly warm, and she thought it would be a hot day. It was fortunate she had gotten out of the door for her run early. In some respects.

Darcy was sunning himself on the grass, black fur tinged with reddish brown in the sunlight. Lacey glanced towards the drying rack where her latest load of laundry was hanging, reminding herself to check it was dry before she went back inside. She took a sip of coffee, enjoying the bitter taste that was mellowed by the cream and sugar she had added. Darcy looked up, catching her eye and getting to his feet before stretching and yawning, his tail curling over. He sauntered towards her, tail in the air, and stopped to sniff at the clean laundry hanging on the rack. Lacey took another sip of coffee. She was watching Darcy with half an eye as she mused over her plans for the day. The kitchen floor needed mopping, and she could unpack the rest of her things that were still in boxes, but other than that her time was her own.

Her attention was caught by Darcy tugging at something, and glanced around, putting down her cup. Her eyes widened as he dragged a pair of coral-coloured lace panties from the rack and trotted off down the garden with them. Lacey bounced out of her chair.

“Hey!” she shouted, heading down the porch steps, and Darcy ran faster.

She put on a burst of speed, but he squeezed through the hole in the fence before she could catch him. Swearing under her breath, Lacey ran around to the front of the house and through to the back garden. At least it was unlikely that Gold would be back anytime soon. She couldn’t see Darcy, and she looked around in vain, hands opening and closing, before a click from behind her made her turn. There was a cat flap in the kitchen door, and Darcy was sitting just outside it, watching her with his tail curled around his feet. There were no panties to be seen, and Lacey threw up her hands.

“You’re killing me!” she complained. “So it was you! And you just let me make a total idiot of myself accusing Mr Gold!”

Darcy bent his head to lick a forepaw, wholly unconcerned, and Lacey sighed.

“Great. So there’s a pair of panties in his house now, is there?” she said. “Well. I guess I’ll have to find some way to apologise. I don’t believe this!”

She scooped up Darcy and stomped off, listening to him purring contentedly against her chest. Anyone would think the little bugger planned this whole thing to embarrass me.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

46 notes · View notes

profoundnet · 4 years

Photo

PROFOUND MEMBER MASTERPOST FOR SEPTEMBER 2020!

Featuring Destiel/Gen works by @friendofcarlotta, @nickelkeep, @castielslostwings, @haybibiboi, youfoundmykeys, @goldenraeofsun, @aishitara, @vaudelin, @one-more-offbeat-anthem, @shealynn88, Feathers7501, @sketching-fox, @mittensmorgul, @andimeantittosting, sapphirecobalt, shadowkat83, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, Endellion, ArielAquarial, @allmystars-i, @darcydelaney!

Join us on Discord!

Masterpost below the cut.

FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

The Heroes’ Journey (E, 36k)

When you perform a spell to defeat God himself, there’s bound to be side effects — such as every version of Team Free Will getting zapped to an alternate universe. The former residents of the Endverse find themselves in an underground bunker full of the kinds of food they haven’t seen in years and clothes that magically fit them. As Dean adjusts to life in a world where Croatoan never got out of control, he faces some tough questions: Can he forgive Sam for saying yes to Lucifer? And is his relationship with Cas really beyond saving? The residents of the bunker, meanwhile, wake up as employees of HunterCorp, whose CEO is one John Winchester. Being around people Dean lost years ago is no picnic, and it’s changing the dynamic of his relationship with Cas in ways he never expected. But is the change meant to last, or will they fall back into old patterns when they return to their own universe?

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Recovery From Drug Addiction

Home (G, 2.2k)

This is the story of a car, and the boy who loves it so fiercely, it becomes a home. As the boy grows into a man, his car is the one constant in his life. Until, one day, he meets an angel, and "home" takes on a new meaning.

Tags: Canon Compliant, POV Impala, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff, Kid Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Are Great Dads

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime (E, 5.7k)

Two men. Two Identical injuries. For Dean and Cas, is that where the similarities start or end?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Smut and Humor, No Angst, Minor Injuries, Stitches, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort

Text Me in the Morning (T, 2.7k)

"Just blowing off steam?" Sam glared at Dean. "So, you haven't been honest with him, or you haven't been honest with yourself?" "Excuse me?" Dean set his mug on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Sam. "It means that you're in love with Cas, and won't admit it. Figures my brother is a coward."

Tags: Canon Compliant, Established Castiel/Dean, Secret Relationship, Long-Suffering Sam, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Misunderstandings, Texting, Castiel and Dean Need to Use Their Words

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

After the End (E, 27k)

In 2014, Dean Winchester led a raid on the asylum in Detroit where a Sam-wearing-Lucifer was waiting for him. Everyone knows what happened next: the Chitaquan soldiers who accompanied Dean died horribly at the hands of Lucifer’s minions while Lucifer murdered Dean in the garden below and warned the Dean from days past that no matter what he tried, he would always end up there. There were no survivors. Or were there? This story picks up where “The End” leaves off, from Castiel’s perspective from inside the asylum, a twist of fate, and conditional divine intervention no one saw coming. It details what happens after Lucifer dies, Dean lives, and the world doesn’t actually stop turning. A canon-compliant “fix-it” fic for the Endverse and a Dean and Cas who deserved better. Or: "The End" was not the End. This is the story of what came after.

Tags: Endverse fix-it, Happy endverse, temp MCD (dean's canon death in the rose garden), low-angst, canon-compliant (I swear, this is a happy fix-it), explicit sex, s15 tie-ins.

Wait For It (E, 44k)

With Chuck out of the picture and Jack stepping up as the New God, Team Free Will suddenly has to face the most difficult mission they've ever tackled: moving on. Change is tough, that's a given. What's not new? Dean's coping mechanisms being the absolute worst. Problem is, this time, his stubborn refusal to leave the past where it belongs lands him in hot water that's so deep, even Castiel may not be able to pull him out in time. An epic post-canon love story about a hunter who can't seem to look forward and an ex-angel who is done looking back.

Tags: Post-canon, Alternate ending to Season 15, illustrated, getting together, love confessions, hurt/comfort, kidnapped Dean, BAMF Castiel, explicit sex, very happy ending. Accompanied by art by @ladyrandombox.

lovemuppet - @haybibiboi - lovemuppet

“How Do You Like Them Apples?”: A Co-Pearenting Fic. (T, 1.4k)

based on a prompt by Cryptomoon: "Neighboring long time orchard owners, Dean of Winchester Family Apples and Cas of Eden Farms have been bitter rivals their whole lives. Eden Farms grows pears and Dean thinks that's absolutely stupid because it's Eden, they should grow apples. But that's beside the point. They've hated each other since they could walk. Now they each have taken over their family's farms and do their best to civilly ignore one another. Until! Some trees on the edge of their properties spontaneously cross breed and they are forced to figure out what to do with these co-parented Pearapples. Applepears?"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, au where pears and apples are the same genus, affronts to god and science, jokes? about homicide.

“The Only Rest You’ll See For Hours” (G, 441 words)

Prompt by saltnhalo: 30 minute speed writing based on knightiesart sky doodles. (I used the two desert looking ones)

Tags: post series band aid, no one dies, everything's fine

youfoundmykeys - reafre

grip (SFW)

“You’re the one who gripped me tight, and brought me back to light...” art by reafre date: 18-23 September, 2020 tools: pencil, watercolour, pearl watercolour on paper.

Tags: video, hands, soft, anniversary

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Ridin’ the Quarantine Out (E, 8.5k)

“Like I said,” Dean says, chuckling, “no one’s ever died from blue balls. So you can't go out there and break quarantine to bang some rando.” Cas doesn’t find this funny in the slightest. “No human has died,” he clarifies. “What the hell are you talking about?” Dean narrows his eyes. “If you think some weird fact about guinea pigs is gonna sway-” “I’m an incubus,” Cas interrupts. “I will literally die if I don’t feed.”

Tags: They were quarantined, incubus!cas, virgin!cas, first time, top!cas, bottom!dean, dom sub undertones, mentions of COVID-19, mutual pining

aishitara - @aishitara - aishitara

K-I-S-S-I-N-G (M, 3.9k)

Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast. Avoids Cas like his life depends on it. Dean huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him on /that/ part, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel was dead was anything to go by, he was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from him and Cas. He wasn’t… he wasn’t hiding, okay? He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not on purpose. Just. Because. Of reasons.

Tags: Fluff, a wee touch of the angst, Sam Ships It, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sort Of, Feelings, Dean just doesn't want to talk about it ok

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin

a world well done (M, 54k)

After five years of being overlooked for the job title of his dreams, Dean has grown accustomed to his fair share of disappointment. But the guy who got the position, a nepotistic hire named Castiel Novak, is really pushing the boundaries of his patience. Too bad the guy’s a dud, but the legacy project has survived worse. Castiel can be as antisocial as he wants and hide out in his office all he likes; Dean will just batten down the hatches and ensure his team weathers the storm coming their way.

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings & Miscommunications, Slow Build

one_more_offbeat_anthem - @one-more-offbeat-anthem - one_more_offbeat_anthem

Roll With It, Baby (T, 13k)

August 1987. Indianapolis, Indiana. The Pan-American Games are back again, and professional roller skaters Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester are supposed to be teammates--and friends. Over their six years on the US team, they’ve done their best to get along, but with Cas as a roller figure skater and Dean as a roller hockey player, they sometimes miss the mark. But something’s different this year, at their second Pan-American Games. Maybe it’s the sultry end-of-summer heat over the main stadium at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Maybe it’s the competition. Maybe it’s Rick Astley's recent hit single "Never Gonna Give You Up." Whatever it is, the next two weeks are going to change things…potentially forever.

Tags: 1980s, the mixtape, professional roller skating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, first kiss, mild homophobia

shealynn88 - @shealynn88 - shealynn88

The Light Will Guide You Home (E, 4.6k)

Dean is visiting his long-distance friend for the first time. He knows what he wants, but does Cas feel the same? Dean laughs. “Cas, is that you? Can I…?” He reaches out for a hug, then draws back in embarrassment. The human-like form throws him off, but he knows it’s impolite to initiate physical contact with a Luminate, he’s studied the culture for over a decade.

Tags: consentacles, sci-fi AU, alien!Cas, human!Dean

Feathers7501 - Feathers7501

Dreams of Blue (G, 1.1k)

Dean is leading his best life... or is he?

Tags: memory wipe

sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

Along My Restless Palms (NSFW)

Comission done for Kat, the first of my bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was to illustrate this specifc scene (where Dean dreams about Castiel in the Highlands - YES, they are wearing kilts) in the Fic Along My Restless Palms!

Tags: highlands, kilts

Caring for the wings (SFW)

Comission for Jennifer, one of winner bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was the fluffiest thing ever: Chibi versions of Dean and Castiel, and Dean taking care of Cas´s wings, with the feathers all fluffy, like those little dogs after a bath and air drier on the Pet Shop.

Tags: chibi art, wings

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Happy Resurrection Day (T, 3.7k)

The world didn't end, and Dean and Cas finally get to choose each other. It only took twelve years and a little road trip back to where it all started.

Tags: post canon, road trips, getting together, first kiss, anniversary

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

A Gentleman’s Inheritance (M, 11k)

For the Supernatural Regency Bang. Castiel Shurley has always done his duty by his family. When his father dies, Castiel inherits not only the title of Viscount, but also deep debts. At his aristocratic mother's behest, he agrees to court Miss Celeste "Charlie" Middleton—a wealthy heiress, but the daughter of cits. Though they are not in love—and though he secretly has feelings for her cousin, the charming Dean Winchester—Castiel and Charlie soon agree to wed. But Castiel's life is upended by the arrival of his scandalous Aunt Amara, who reveals that he is not the son of Charles and Naomi, but illegitimate, taken from his unwed mother to serve as Charles’s heir. When she carries out her threat to reveal the truth to the world, Castiel loses his title, his home, and his place in the world. Feeling honour-bound to break off his engagement, he finds himself invited to stay instead, as a member of Dean and Charlie's unconventional household, and learns the meaning of freedom.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Disinherited Castiel, Forced Adoption

sapphirecobalt - sapphirecobalt

The Bee Knocker Story (M, 7.2k)

Dean recalls the infamous bee knocker that started it all. Or, the one where Cas is upset and Dean goes to great lengths to cheer him up.

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic fluff, emotional hurt comfort, Artist Dean, gardens and gardening

shadowkat83 - Shadowkat83

Sober (G, 605 words)

Dean leans against a tree trying to come to terms with what he is seeing and feeling. How did everything end up like this? Lyrics Sober by Bad Wolves

Tags: Endverse, Songfic, angst, implied relationships

Maleyah (Katherine_Kat) - @maleyah-givemetomorrow - Maleyah

Hot Wings Cas (SFW)

Yoga teacher Castiel for my fic Hot Wings and Magic Hands

Tags: yoga teacher cas, idiots in love, wing tattoos

Take A Breath (SFW)

Time for a breath and a break. The ending they deserve with Sam, Gabe, Charlie and Jody in the background (if you squint)

Tags: the end of the road, married, breathe boys, cuddles

Aceriee-art’s DTIYS (SFW)

Art for Aceriee-art's DTIYS challenge

Tags: dtiys, aceriee-art, sassy Dean, blatant use of emojis

Thank You Cas Kisses (SFW)

Cas blowing kisses at the viewer, cause thank you

Tags: thank you, cas blows a kiss, tiny bee

Endellion - Endellion

You Make Me Want to Stay (G, 1.5k)

A teenage Dean meets a boy named Castiel at one of the many high schools he goes to and this time when his dad says it's time to move on, he doesn't want to.

Tags: implied/referenced homophobia, AU no hunting, AU highschool

Brutus (G, 216 words)

Sam and Cas and a dog. Dean can't resist Cas' puppy dog eyes.

Tags: fluffy, cute

ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

The Right Kind of Motivation (E, 2k)

Alone in the house for the first time in months, Dean is having trouble finding the motivation to clean. Castiel decides it’s time to bring out the big guns, and Dean is more than willing to play along. Can be read as a standalone.

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic, Alternate Universe, Dick Pics, Masturbation

allmystars - @allmystars-i - allmystars

Brownies and Blowjobs (E, 2.3k)

"It’s fucking 2020, I should be able to watch Netflix nude while making brownies without you getting preachy about it." Dean wants Castiel's attention, but he doesn't know how to ask for it, so he bakes brownies... completely naked.

Tags: Blowjobs, Handjobs, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Naked Baking, Porn Without Plot

darcydelaney - @darcydelaney - DarcyDelaney

Bookworm (T, 2.1k)

Cas asks Dean to spend the day reading with him at a brewery. It's not Dean's ideal date at first, but it doesn't stop him from falling in love with Cas all over again.

Tags: Brewery, Date Night, Fluff

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profound monthly masterpost #profoundnet #september masterpost #member art #member fic

24 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 5 years

Text

lovely ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ (02)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: boyfriend au words: 3744 warnings: crack humour, a liddol bit of fluff, slight suggestive sexual content, jeongguk and y/n being chaotic lowkey & five year old jeno being an actual savage... a/n: happy 2 see such a great response to the lovely couple with part one !!!!!! pls continue to luv and support them (♥ó㉨ò)ノ (pls see series parts on my masterlist!!)

➸ Jeongguk and Y/N play Mom and Dad for a little bit.

Jeongguk could cry. He could quite honestly, genuinely, whole-heartedly cry, right here and right now in the middle of his living room, surrounded by mess and feathers from the bedroom pillows.

He loves kids, don’t get him wrong- my God, he loves kids, and loves how kids can make a house feel like a home, how kids say some really fucking weird things; but, Jeongguk finds that kids are a lot of hard work. He has half the heart to call his parents and say sorry urgently, because children are like tiny spawns of Satan, demons wanting to cause chaos at every corner.

The last time Jeongguk and yourself were given the mission of looking after your niece and nephews, they were much smaller, and therefore easier to look after. All they did was sleep, and cry when they were hungry or needed to pee or poop, and were perfectly content doing absolutely nothing all damn day. Now, three years later, when your sister and her husband are going on a small self-care vacation to Spain, Jeongguk removes himself from the situation to observe the situation, which in description is the view of his living room completely ransacked and bustling with life, crazed children dashing around at full speed, like Mario Kart characters using the star.

It’s so overwhelming that he actually doesn’t even know what to say. When the fuck did they get so hard to look after?

Whenever your niece and nephews came over to visit, they clung to Jeongguk like moths to lamplight. You never knew why. Jeongguk was fun, and easy to get along with, and perhaps his kind-hearted nature was universally loved by all ages. Even when they were babies and newborns, they settled with Jeongguk, staying silent and googly-eyed whereas in your arms they screeched, like banshees or dinosaurs swinging in trees. You couldn’t fault them; Jeongguk was irresistible, maternal almost in the way his voice changed around the kids, the way he laughed at their weird jokes and forced himself into pretend roles, like the mean villain coming to take over their Playmobil hospital.

Eight a.m, that’s when they arrived. Jeongguk had got up at six, eager and anxious, already cutting up salad bowls made up of apple slices and watermelons. Over an overly bitter cup of tea, you heard him ask, “wait, can three year olds eat watermelon?”, and you glared at him to resist the urge to respond with something that may well hurt his feelings.

“I usually like to put them to bed at about eight, but they won’t go to sleep even if you force their eyes closed, so just be firm with them,” is what your sister had said, frantically trying to detach a clinging boy from her leg. Jeongguk blinked owlishly, standing behind you in the hallway as you followed behind her wordless. Maybe Jeongguk didn’t know what firm meant. Raising your voice and being stern with little tiny precious angelic creatures? Never.

(1)

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but you’re boring.”

Five year olds can be blunt and mean. You now know this to be a fact, because the eldest of the four just said that to you, his hands on his hips with his lips in an unamused pout. He stands by the window, one foot on the Playmobil ambulance and the other on his leg like a flamingo.

“What? Why, what did I do?” you ask, confused and honestly, slightly offended. Jeongguk sits off to one side petting the hair of the youngest, his secret favourite because she’s not quite old enough to ask questions or complain.

“That’s what I mean, you’re not doing anything,” he huffs. “You’re supposed to be the bad police officer.”

“There’s no such thing as a bad police officer,” you try to tell him. You pause, realising you’re wrong but also realising that you’re not advised to get political with a five year old, especially one who still thinks the tooth fairy is a real thing. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

“You suck,” comes his reply. Jeongguk snorts, shrugging when you glance at him angrily.

“Stop, you know I’m your favourite Aunt,” you say to him sweetly.

Your nephew, sassy and honest little Jeno, pulls a face and sits back down with a huff, snatching the ambulance off the carpet to thrust the small man inside. “You’re my only Aunt, Auntie Y/N.”

Right.

The not-so-bad-police-officer gets snatched away from you seconds later and you decide, with finality and assertiveness, that you’re done with playing pretend with them. You lift yourself up off the floor, crouching over to take Yeji away from Jeongguk’s arms. Jeongguk pouts, his eyes blown wide as he watches the baby being lifted away from him and towards you.

“Uncle Jeongguk can be the villain,” you suggest, making Jeno forget how uncool you are as he launches into an enthusiastic cheer, followed by his siblings who are making noise just because he is. Jeongguk stares at you, pleading. “Anybody hungry?”

“No thanks, Auntie Y/N,” Jeno replies.

“Oh, do we have animal crackers?” asks Sanha politely, and you nod, taking his hand as you walk towards the kitchen, where a neatly packed bag sits on the counter where you left it when the four little monsters came by your apartment this morning.

Jeongguk lets his body slump as he realises he has nowhere to run, no excuses to pull up, and he positions himself on all fours to get the police officer miniature and indulge in Jeno’s futuristic fantasies of a police officer murdering hospital patients. Honestly, sometimes you have to respect a child’s morbid creativity, even when it scares the living hell out of you.

(2)

“Y/N, did you move Jeno’s inhaler?”

“No, why?”

Jeongguk appears in the doorway to the kitchen, scratching the back of his neck out of a nervous, absent-minded habit. His eyes are glued to the four children in the living room.

“They’re running around a lot, I don’t want Jeno to lose his breath and have an attack,” Jeongguk explains, meanwhile you rummage around in your sister’s handy dandy travel bag and search for the tiny blue inhaler. Jeongguk braves looking away from them and instead over to you, “if it’s not in there, it’s fine, I’ll check the bathroom again.”

You hum, searching blindly. “Yeah, it’s not here, baby. Check the cabinet under the sink, I’m eighty nine percent sure that it’s in one of those plastic boxes.”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows push up in amusement: “Jeno’s life is counting on this eighty nine percent.”

“The more you question me, the less confident I get. Check the bathroom,” you reply, shoving a baby carrot into your mouth as you follow Jeongguk out of the kitchen, opting to watch the kids while he rummages around in hordes of bathroom mess. While Jeongguk hurries into the hallway to check the bathroom, you step out into the living room and pause comically.

The four kids seem perfectly happy, loud and obnoxious and covered in a thin layer of white feathers, bleeding from one of the pillows mangled on the floor. Without context, this looks like a murder scene, with crayons broken and split around the floor and the couch throw on the floor next to the Playmobil set, and you’re half praying on everybody’s behalf that those pillows arent the ones from the master bedroom, because you’re pretty sure you don’t have any spares laying around for later.

“Found it,” Jeongguk returns a few minutes later, holding the small inhaler in his hands. After taking a second out of the room, when he comes back he doesn’t quite know what to say. “The mess wasn’t my fault.”

You frown, your hands on your hips. “I know. Maybe you should put on a movie, keep them entertained for a bit so they don’t completely trash our house.”

Jeongguk chews the inside of his lip. “Is it cheating if we call over Seokjin to help? He’s always on kiddie pool duty, he’s better with kids than we are.”

“You’re so good with kids, shut up,” you say to him, gently smacking his arm. “They love you.”

So, he huffs. Stealing a kiss from you, he gently pushes you backwards and then steps across the room, expertly mindful of the landmines of lego on the floor as he grabs Jeno and moves him away from the coffee table, to sit on the couch next to his siblings while Jeongguk retreats to the movie box, filled with animated films that the kids go absolutely bonkers for. You hear the start of an argument over which Disney movie to watch first as you return to the kitchen, chopping up vegetables that, secretly, you know will make you the ultimate uncool Aunt.

(3)

“I hate carrots.”

“You do like carrots.”

A gag. “Vegetables! Yuck!”

With one hand, you rake through your hair, staring tiredly at Jeno and Jaemin as they fuss over the food on their plates. And it’s not even like you wanted to give them carrots! You’re just following the note left for you in the bag, with the instructions of an actual parent being your law. Jeongguk sits at the other end of the table, twirling his fork around his food as he watches, feeling increasingly guilty.

It’s hard being an Aunt, especially hard being the uncool Aunt. He knows it’s just a joke, just something the kids say because you’re looking out for them, and he frowns, looking around the table.

“I’m allergic to carrots,” Jeno says suddenly.

“Don’t lie,” you tell him, aeroplane feeding Yeji who seems to be the only baby present who appreciates your efforts. She laughs and squeals as the spoon of food comes towards her and that makes you smile, animated sound effects as she eats it.

Jeno pouts, “It’s true.”

“Your Mom told me to feed you this, don’t hate me,” you say to him, making your own pout which he, as a stubborn five year old, ignores. “Come on, eat all your food and you can have pudding afterwards. I’ll let you have two slices of cake instead of one.”

He feels tempted. “Can I leave the carrots?”

“No. Carrots will make you super strong,” you explain. “Uncle Jeongguk ate carrots when he was a kid and now he’s real strong, look!”

Jeno glances at Jeongguk, who smiles for effect and encouragement. “Auntie Y/N is right. I hated carrots too, but I wanted to be big and strong so I ate all my vegetables.”

A groan of sadness comes out of Jeno’s mouth. At this point, Jaemin is convinced, wolfing down his carrots that he actually doesn’t hate after-all, considering they’re gone in a matter of seconds. Sanha seems unbothered about the entire thing, quietly eating his food because he knows that he wants that additional slice of cake, even if Jeno is going to refuse it, he is not!

Before you can have a mental breakdown at the dinner table, Jeongguk leans over slightly and looks at Jeno with a gentle and wide-eyed expression, child-like, engaging. “Did you also know that all the good kids on Santa’s nice list eat vegetables?”

Mid-mumble, Jeno freezes, looking at Uncle Jeongguk. “Really?” Intonation, his voice is so high.

Jeongguk nods. “Mhm! Santa said that if you eat your veggies and say thank you to whoever made you the meal, he’ll bring you anything you want on Christmas Day. Don’t you wanna be on the good list?”

Jeno nods furiously. “Yep! Uncle Jeongguk, that’s so cool, you know Santa!”

Eh...If it works. Jeongguk doesn’t argue or disagree as Jeno quickly finishes his plate without protest, seemingly fine at the end considering he just said he was allergic. As he scoffs down the contents of his plate, you look over at Jeongguk and silently thank him, slumping as if suggesting that you were tired. He grins, knowing the feeling.

(4)

Splash.

“Careful, honey, don’t get the floor all wet.”

“Sorry, Auntie Y/N. It was the ducky’s fault!”

Bath time is a chore, surprisingly harder than it was when they were babies and needed extra attention in the water. Sanha sits solo in the bathtub, the sound of Jaemin and Jeno running around in the bedroom an ambience as you crouch by the tub and help Sanha get clean. Yeji is the only child clean and patient, so calm and cute and cuddly and ready to go to sleep the second her bathtime is over. Jeongguk groans somewhere in the apartment, keeping the twins entertained while Sanha finishes up.

“O-kay,” you say, after a few minutes of helping wash away some suspicious chocolate stains off his arms. Most likely super-cool-Uncle-Jeongguk gave them something extra after dessert, and honestly, that wouldn’t surprise you if it were true. “All done! Feel better?”

Sanha nods, letting the duck float away. “Yep. I’m cold.”

“Once you’re dry and changed, we can put on the heating and finish up watching Cars, does that sound okay?”

“That sounds fun, Auntie Y/N! You’re the bestest,” he grins, and you grin too, because honestly, you’re taking coolness points in gasps, and anything to prove you’re not some grouchy unfun Aunt is welcomed and encouraged. Sanha doesn’t make a fuss as he gets dried, shuddering for extra effect and happily snuggling into his duck onesie once everything is dry and ready for him to get changed.

Sanha is a human rocket. He hops into his onesie and races back into the living room, reaching his final destination of Uncle Jeongguk as a loud groan fills the house, likely due to the fact that Sanha has jumped on top of his Uncle, like he always does, just to get the reaction. You sniff, leaning to flush the toilet because apparently they haven’t quite mastered that one yet, and drain the bathtub. The floor sits wet, pooling like an extra tub or the floor of a shower and you sigh, grabbing an extra towel off the rack to soak up the bathwater, the low bubbling sound of the water disappearing briefly out-yelling the terrorsome three out in the living room.

“Need any help, baby?”

Behind you, Jeongguk appears in the doorway, not quite in and not quite out. He hovers, waiting patiently to see if he can find an excuse to stop being a couch for the three kids. You lean over the bathtub, taking out their small toys and setting them on the side with hopes that they will dry overnight.

“Nah, I’m okay,” you tell him, looking over your shoulder with a smile. Jeongguk stands there, having changed, in an oversized jumper and sweats. “What are they doing?”

“Fighting,” Jeongguk says. “I’d break it up, but I wanna see if they’ll learn their lesson once they get hurt.”

“That’s perfect. But fucked. Are we fucked up?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “Worked for me and my brother when we were younger. I turned out okay!”

You look at him for a moment with a bewildered look. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

The bathtub makes a gurgle, the water gone and you crouch to pick up the bathmat, hanging it over the small radiator for it to dry faster. Jeongguk then takes several steps backwards as you meet him outside, his smile widening as you close the door and turn off the light, falling into his arms with a soft thud and sigh. His arms wrap around you sweetly, warm and tight, like home. Jeongguk likes weekends for the moments he gets to spend with you, but today, he’s barely seen you in his own home. Longing- Jeongguk tightens his arms around you and presses his lips to the crown of your head, gently swaying you from side to side like a waltz. He knows you feel the same way, the same kind of tired and wanting energy, as your arms lock around him tighter.

“Come on,” Jeongguk mutters, pouting slightly when you pull out of his embrace and glance up at him through your eyelashes. He exaggerates it, humming, and then leaning to press his lips to yours. Moments after he pulls away, he comes back in for another, and another, his hands molded behind your back. “Love you,” he adds in between one kiss, and you hum in reply. It’s enough.

There’s a pitter-patter of feet. “Ewwww! Auntie Y/N and Uncle Jeongguk are having sex!”

You pull away from Jeongguk with such speed that it might give you whiplash; Jeno stands looking slightly horrified in the hallway, near the door to the living room, proud of his rising of ews that follow from his siblings near the TV.

“Don’t say that! Where did you even learn that word?” you gasp, moving towards the five year old.

Jeno shrugs. “Heard it at Mommy’s birthday party. Uncle Taehyung said it.”

You sigh knowingly. “Should have known.”

“Please don’t go around saying that when your Mom and Dad come to get you,” Jeongguk adds in, looking flustered from behind you.

That wouldn’t be the most impressive thing to hear when you walk through the door to collect your kids.

(5)

The bathroom light switches off. Jeongguk closes the door and rubs his face, groaning out aches from his shoulders as he approaches the bed, shirtless, his toes curling into the carpet.

“I swear they weren’t that crazy last time we looked after them,” Jeongguk says, sinking onto the bed. “Have they always been like that? Am I the crazy one?”

“It’s this scary thing called growing up,” you reply, sitting back against your pillows with your phone in your hands, the screen lighting up with new messages from your sister. “Can’t believe you got them to go to sleep without any trouble. It’s giving me baby-fever…”

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna have to ask you to slow down,” replies Jeongguk, sounding winded.

“Everytime you hang out with them, it just proves to me how good you are with kids, and how, you know, someday you might be a Dad and- ugh, you’re gonna be great,” you sigh, followed by Jeongguk grunting with amusement and shuffling to lay right beside you, his nose on your arm. You set your phone down, turning to match together against him like a puzzle. “They’re not shy when it comes to picking favourites. God, they really hate me.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, “No, they don't. They love you- you’re so good with looking after them. If I was doing all this alone, there’s no doubt I’d probs forget to feed them at dinner time. I’d straight up order a pizza and forget that kids need certain foods to grow up.”

Laughter suffices as a reply, and that’s that for a little bit. In his head, Jeongguk wants to talk all about how great of a Mom you’ll be, how amazing it would be for him to watch you raise children, his children. He doesn’t say any of these things, because he’s one-hundred-percent certain that you know it all already, and that you’re just modest and insecure about it. So, Jeongguk hums and pulls you closer for a hug, smooching your lips when you’re close enough.

The door is closed. The four kids are sleeping, Yeji so deep in sleep that not even her brothers could wake her up if they screamed. Jeongguk knows this. You know this. So, he moves his hand from your back to your ass, feeling the curve, feeling the smile against his teeth.

“Stop, our niece and nephews are next door,” you warn him, quietly, mumbles against his mouth. Jeongguk smirks, gently nipping your bottom lip with his teeth and pushing his head into your neck.

“And it would suck to wake them up,” Jeongguk replies, worming his way into places hot and inviting. “So, keep it quiet, yeah?”

You huff, rolling to your back and parting your legs as Jeongguk slots in between. “I love when you get bossy on an evening,” you say to mock him and he laughs quietly.

“I love you,” he breathes, and you don’t get time to reply.

He knows, though.

(6)

“And they were good?”

Jeongguk and yourself share a glance.

“Golden,” you say.

Your sister stands in the kitchen, giving you both the stink eye while the three older kids race around the house, excited at the fact their cool parents are home three days later. Honestly, she knows you’re lying, because these are her kids and she knows them better than anybody.

Anyway, she shrugs. “They must always be good for you guys. You can babysit more often.”

Jeongguk tenses in his seat. He loves these kids but, holy fuck, the thought of looking after them again so soon makes him want to throw up. If there is one thing Jeongguk has learnt from looking after three wild rampaging children and one angelic princess baby- but, again, he has no favouritism!-, it’s that it is absolutely harder than it looks.

It’s not enough to put him off though.

When the house is emptied of tiny humans and is left cold and quiet and a little bit messy, Jeongguk stoops to pick up left behind piles of mess on the floor and he finds himself smiling. Now that he thinks about it, it was actually kind of fun. Being a Dad for the day. Then he thinks about being a Dad one day. His eyes find you across the room hauling the hoover out of the storage cupboard and his heart does somersaults.

(7)

[5:45pm] Mean Sibling #1: Tell me why Jeno is talking about how you and Jeongguk had sex [5:46pm] You: OMG THATS NOT TRUE [5:46pm] You: well, i mean… [5:46pm] You: not in front of them !!!! what kind of aunt do you think i am????? [5:49pm] Mean Sibling #1: How does he even know what sex means….how does he know that word [5:50pm] Mean Sibling #1: Hyo is laughing at me. what does my husband know that i don’t [5:52pm] You: that sounds like a you problem [5:54pm] Mean Sibling #1: ok well sorry for accusing you :P gotta give my FIVE YEAR OLD a talk….dear fucking god [5:59pm] Mean Sibling #1: wait a damn second wtf do you mean NOT IN FRONT OF THEM??? [6:00pm] Mean Sibling #1: Y/N ANSWER UR PHONE [6:01pm] Mean Sibling #1: Y/N [6:03pm] Mean Sibling #1: fucker

786 notes · View notes