#i hope it's coherent enough to give you a rough idea of where i am coming from with this lmao

[jeanmoreaux]

Hi!!! Sorry for this question, I haven’t read SoC in a while™️ and I wanted to ask what makes Kaz and Wylan kind of similar in your POV? Cz I remember him looking up to Kaz in some sort of way but not that they were specifically alike 😂 pls help this aging fan, I’m just curious!

oh, i'm happy to share some of my thought on what i mentioned in this post about regarding wylan as somewhat of an alter to kaz! i'd love to give you some exact quotes and page numbers, but i sadly don't have the time to go back to the text and search for all the details. consequently, my claims will be rather broad and you might have to make up your own mind, on a re-read, if you (dis-)agree with my thoughts on the matter.

first, it's important to mention that, for me, wylan embodies many of the qualities of who we assume kaz rietveld was. he's honest, earnest, a little sheltered, has a firm moral compass and generally believes in kindness/goodness. he's then—quite violently—thrust into this new life, left all alone with no one to lean on. interestingly, both their "rebirths" are closely related to water (there is sure something to be said about the symbolism of water as something cleansing and its important role in baptisms.... also the implications of almost drowning but ultimately making it to shore. it's like a shared metaphor.)

They both then cleverly adopt personas to survive ketterdam's streets and distance themselves from their pasts. and here is were a lot of differences in their circumstance and environment come in. kaz's only option is to "toughen up" and turn into "the bastard of the barrel" & dirtyhands. wylan, on the other hand, continually makes himself out to be this naive ingénue in the criminal world (even way past beyond the point that's true) to fly under the radar. the thing is, since wylan falls in with the crows and has people like kaz around to do the "morally dirty" work, he gets to hold on to many of his qualities that kaz had to lay down to survive. kaz didn't have someone to do that for him.

((wylan occasionally makes some offhand remarks that hint a potential for violence, or at least an awareness of necessary violence, but he's never actually forced to act violently to save or protect others. there's not really a reason for him to suppress his empathy completely. it's clear, though, that if push came to shove he could stomach what the situation throws at him and deal with it. he's not a delicate flower, but compared to kaz he's lucky enough that he doesn't have to repress his natural tendency for kindness.))

Both characters are also intelligent and curious (they need so understand how things work) and they use that as a way to work around their individual weaknesses (kaz's issues with mobility & wylans dyslexia). for both of them, their intelligence is probably their greatest asset. they also both like a puzzle (mainly because they enjoy the process of solving it). generally i'd say their minds work much alike, which we see especially during the planning and execution of the plan to steal jan van eck's seal or when wylan deciphers kaz's cryptic infos that lead him to his mom—it's just that wylan usually doesn't use his faculties for crime. this also this is also somewhat hinted at by inej (and jesper) in ck when they're hatching out some plan and she goes like "wait, wylan, is that a scheming face?!" which is very much an expression for a look that has only ever been brought up in connection with kaz before that point. an interesting detail, that doesn't have to mean anything but is worth mentioning, is the fact that kaz often trusts wylan with more details than the other crows. whether that be to receive some input or just have a second person look for holes in his plan or out of necessity or some other reason is not always clear, but it definitely means that kaz values wylan's talents and mental faculties.

oh, and ofc wylan is probably just as cunning as kaz when he wants to be. they both can read people motives and intentions pretty well while being skilled in concealing their own (think: kaz in almost every situation ever, also think: wylan's kuwei stunt in soc or his spiel towards the end of ck). wylan's various tricks he uses to divert attention form his dyslexia fall in this cunning behaviour as well, i'd say. like, he knows exactly how to hide that he can't read but at the same time get people to help him without them even noticing (pretending he's too new to an area to understand written direction or claiming he can't read someone's handwriting, not knowing sufficient fjerdan to complete the writing on the map, etc.). if i remember correctly not even kaz figures it out, wylan has to tell him about it.

#honorable mention: remember the time wylan bet kaz that his dad would sacrifice him for profit without second thought #and kaz lost the wager #what an iconic interaction between them that's so THEM #oh and just ignore any typos and mistakes—i am tired and my brain is mush atm #i hope it's coherent enough to give you a rough idea of where i am coming from with this lmao #have a nice day <3 #anon #answer #mish talks books #mish talks soc

[writing-for-life]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN DREAM'S HAIR USED TO BE WHITE!! oh my god. i just saw your post about killala and i have now perished. thanks for breaking my heart.

but also hi!! i'm relatively new to the fandom and it's a great place to be. i haven't finished reading all the comics yet but i'm curious to know:

what do you think are the main differences between TV!Dream and Comics!Dream? i've heard so many people claiming that he is incapable of changing, for instance, and though the show does convey his overall rigidity pretty well, i'm not getting the vibe that he's immutable.

also!! it's clear that he feels a lot. which is always funny to me when the corinthian is like yo, try this and maybe you'll feel something for a change but like. he does!!! or i get the impression that he does. he probably feels too much if anything?? all of it simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained. how would you personally analyze his relationship with his own emotions?

i hope all of this is coherent enough for you to answer lmao, i saw your post about enjoying being asked sandman questions two seconds after i woke up and barged into your inbox. hope you have a lovely day!

Thanks so much for the ask, and welcome if you’re new(ish) to the fandom! 🤗

I’m sorry I broke your heart—much more heartbreak to come I fear if you haven’t read the comics yet, so I’ll try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible.

I am one of those people who believes the differences between comics!Dream and show!Dream are actually not as big as they are made out to be where it matters, and you will definitely find people who disagree. At the end of the day, we all read it through our own lens and will never be fully objective about it.

The main difference I see is that they filed off the rough edges of the comics a bit to make a new audience sympathise more. It’s very hard to do that with a character who is basically in full arsehole mode for most of the first 40 issues or so, and even then only slowly begins to come out of it (although we can obviously see glimmers of what lies below the surface at the beginning of the comics, too, but it’s far more subtle than in the show). I’ve worked in musical theatre for a over decade of my life and understand a bit about bringing the written word to stage/screen, and some things simply don’t translate well from book to stage/screen, and you have to change it. So my personal opinion is we get a more sympathetic Morpheus and certain changes so the audience can do exactly that—sympathise off the bat. You will lose an audience pretty quickly if they don’t care about the protagonist and the universe he moves in, and you can’t be as nuanced about it as you can be in a written work. We’re talking about streaming services thinking about profits here, even if people don’t want to hear it.

Also: The more you sympathise with a character, the deeper the emotional investment and the more you feel, even if it hurts.

Having said this, I don’t think Morpheus is incapable of change, and I never got where that idea comes from. His biggest flaw is that he believes he cannot change (and even he has moments when he admits he might have). In the introduction to Endless Nights, Neil Gaiman says that he was once asked to describe The Sandman in twenty-five words or less, and famously, it was this (you might have heard it):

“The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision.”

And I think some people might have wrongly taken that for an either/or thing. I don’t want to say too much at this point because I don’t know how much you know (if you’d like spoilers or already know how it ends, let me know, I’ll happily expand on it). Only so much:

He is capable of change, also in the comics. Very obviously so. But just like he denies he has his own story (which also isn’t true), he denies he can change. Or at least he thinks he perhaps cannot change enough (it’s actually hard to write about this without giving everything away, help! 🙈).

As for his feelings: He does feel, but again, it is something he pushes down and will deny himself. Until it bursts to the surface and breaks through, and when that happens, it’s usually with, well, let’s say varying results, and that’s putting it mildly. Personally, I’d say he has problems relating to his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. Quite the opposite in my view. He holds the collective unconscious—all unprocessed feelings and whatever else floats around in that collective mess, and it’s exactly what he says to the Corinthian in that famous scene: he needs to keep a lid on it and keep that lid firmly closed so all of it doesn’t consume him. But that also means denying himself the feelings that are linked to his own personhood (if you want to call it that). There’s Dream of the Endless, and then there’s Morpheus. And while they’re one and the same and inseparable, Morpheus is also the “point of view”. The character, the person, if you will. And deep down, he craves that personhood so badly. Out of all the Endless, he is the only one who basically collects names because they mean having something beyond his function, which is also mirrored in what he tells Death in “The Sound of her Wings”: he wants something more. He is the only one whose realm is populated with sentient beings (yes, I know Despair has rats, but I think you get my drift). He is desperately lonely and struggles with it. He seeks connection yet denies it to himself. That’s not someone who doesn’t feel.

I don’t know if this answers your questions at all—I was doing the wild “spoiler-free” dance 🤣 But please let me know if you want me to go a bit deeper, I love talking about this stuff.

You can also have a look at my metas if you haven’t already. The headers pretty much explain what they’re about and what spoiler-level to expect, but none of them are truly spoiler-free I guess:

Again, thanks so much for encroaching on my inbox, and feel free to follow up if anything was left unanswered.

@dreamaturgy ask answered

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #sandman meta #ask answered #send asks #sandman analysis #sandman character analysis #sandman comics #the sandman netflix

[cursestothemoon]

I’m so excited your requests are open!!! Can I request a blurb of rough sex with Charlie where he throws around and manhandles his girlfriend (it’s all safe and consensual). I just know he’s a bit burly dude who would have no problem picking up his girlfriend with one arm

Watch Your Mouth

C.W. x FEM!READER

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), vaginal penetration, manhandling, size kink, tummy bulge, praise kink, sub!reader/dom!Charlie, mentions of edging, spanking, overstimulation, UNPROTECTED SEX (wrap it before you tap it), kind of subspace (nothing too intense), also unedited because i am lazy ✋🏻😔

“But it hurts.” You whined into your boyfriend's ear.

Subtlety was fading fast in your act, after Charlie spent all night last night teasing you with the idea of an orgasm but never actually letting you get there you were far past the point of just horny.

Charlie placed a warning hand on your thigh, fingers gripping the flesh tight enough to have you squirming, “Eat your food and behave.”

His tone was husky, whispers harsh as he tried to keep you at bay in front of his family. Perhaps dinner at the Weasley’s- a usual Friday event- wasn’t the best place to start acting up but really it was Charlie’s fault. He had to have known his teasing would result in something of this sort.

You also knew his hand could be heavy when he wanted it to be, spanks from Charlie always left a mark that could be felt for days following. So you listened to him, quietly picking at your roast as your mind wandered to what might be in store for you once you two got home.

“Yeah, better get going, it’s getting rather late.” Charlie announced as he stood up from the couch, your hand in his.

You had to restrain from vibrating with excitement as you stood up next to Charlie, your head barely reaching his broad shoulders.

Everyone bid farewell to you two, a longer exchange than you would’ve liked but you managed. Finally Charlie pulled you into his side, tucking you under his arm as he appareled you two to your flat- after the war he wanted to move closer to his family and you had no complaints.

Leaning on the hardwood floor of your living room, you stumbled a bit only to be grabbed by Charlie. His arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up and off your feet, carrying you to the bedroom. He grunted through the doorframe, making sure he wasn’t going to hit your head on the wall as he passed through before tossing you onto the bed. Upon hitting the mattress your body bounced roughly, only adding fuel to the fire of your excitement.

Charlie pulled his boots off hastily, hands moving to unbutton his shirt and fling it somewhere in the room to be retrieved later for you to wear. In just a pair of tight black boxer briefs and a single silver chain dangling between his pecs, a dragon tooth at the end.

You watched him with wide eyes, breath hitching as he grabbed your hips and flipped you over with ease. His palm, open and heavy, rested on your plump backside. You panicked, trying to turn around to face him, because you knew what that meant but you thought you had been a good girl.

“But I was good.” You whined trying to move your butt away from him.

He tutted, pulling your hips back to where they were, “You were good...after I had to tell you to behave, and now you’re questioning me.”

“Because I was good. If you hadn’t been mean, not letting me cum, then I wouldn’t have been so needy. S’your fault.”

The silence was deafening and you realized you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“My fault?” Charlie questioned, his voice unnervingly calm.

You shook your head quickly, trying to back track as best you could, “No, no no, I didn’t- I’m sorry, I’m your good girl, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “My good girl wouldn’t blame me for her being a horny slag. My good girl wouldn’t question my authority. My good girl would take her punishment, but no. You just had to open your mouth, didn’t you?”

Charlie didn’t give you a chance to respond, instead grabbing the material of your tights and quite literally tearing them apart, exposing your g-string and soaking cunt. He continued to rip and tear your tights until whatever was left didn’t have enough structure to stay on, he picked up the pieces and tossed them to the floor before roughly tugging your shirt and bra off. 

There was a moment of silence again, as Charlie adjusted the rings on his fingers. You barely allowed yourself to calm down before he was sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbing you by the waist to roughly pull you across his lap. The action made you squeal, your legs kicking up in an attempt to stall the punishment that was coming. He wasn’t having it, forcing your legs under his thick thigh to keep them out of the way before playing with the thin string that made up the back of your thong. You let out a muffled whine as he pulled on it, lifting it up and making the front of your panties rub against your throbbing clit then letting it go, snapping it against your skin.

“Only thing I wanna hear out of your mouth are apologies after every swat. Understood?” He asked, hand running across the globes of your ass.

You nodded, not wanting to anger him further.

“So you do know how to watch your fucking mouth, good.”

You had little time to prepare before his hand came down onto your backside with a painful sting sending pools of arousal straight to your core.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

Another swat hit your warm flesh, then another, and another. With each slap apologies fell passed your lips along with muffled cries, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

Forty spanks later your butt was beet red and practically numb, his ring clad hand massaging the raw skin making you whimper. He dipped his hand down to your core, running two fingers up your slit collecting your juices before teasing your entrance making you jolt. His other arm came down to keep you still as his fingers entered you, making your walls clench. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the moans as he started to thrust his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, alternating between fast thrusts and massaging the spongey spot that made your vision go fuzzy.

You gripped his calf tightly as your orgasm neared, your legs started shaking and you could only hope he’d let you finally get off. Only you weren’t so lucky, Charlie pulled his hand away quickly watching as you writhed around in his lap.

“You wanna cum? I’ll make you cum until you’re begging me to stop.”

His hand dove back in between your legs, this time with an unbelievably fast pace making you let out loud, wanton cries. Charlie’s arm pressed down on your hips firmly, giving you no wiggle room as your toes curled and eyes screwed shut, orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You were shoved onto the bed as you heaved, Charlie having no trouble moving your from place to place without your cooperation. He got down on his knees, eye level with your pussy clenching pathetically around nothing.

Making sure you were still sensitive from your first climax, he was quick to dive into your weeping cunt. Tongue lapping at your glistening folds and nose nudging your clit, your twitching was uncontrollable as he was relentless with his mouth. Your hands tangled themselves in his deliciously wavy red mane as his copper beard rubbed the insides of your thighs raw.

You were unable to form coherent sentences, choked cries, waterlogged moans, and desperate pleas were the only things leaving your lips. Charlie gripped your thighs tightly, keeping them open after they had started to close around his head. You came again, loud sobs sounding through the room as he continued his torturous lapping at your cunt only to pull away seconds after your second orgasm hit you to aggressively rub at your clit.

“Go on, cum, you were begging for this.”

The back and forth motion only got faster as you tried to close your thighs and push his hand away, a third orgasm washing over you before you could even realize. Charlie pulled his hand away after giving your clit a harsh slap making you cry out again. 

Charlie took his time peeling off his briefs, his prick taut against his abdomen with precum leaking from the mouth watering tip. He had always had a rather gorgeous cock, the lively red of the spongey head contrasting the creamy beige of the shaft had you clenching your legs in need. You’d never say no to that no matter how worn out or sensitive you were, he was just far too beautiful. But the sheer size alone had excited nerves mixing in your belly, regardless of how often you’ve seen him nude. His tip was dangerously close to his navel, and not only was he gifted with length but his veiny cock was girthy- never failing to stretch your aching pussy out just how you liked it. 

You watched as his hand gave a few languid strokes to himself before your eyes traveled over the expanse of his torso. His skin was dappled with countless freckles and a few scars scattered here and there from misbehaving dragons or rowdy brothers, most of the time his sheer size as a human had your walls convulsing. Charlie was big, he was tall but by no means lanky, his thighs were deliciously thick along with his biceps, his entire being painted in the likeness of Norse mythology’s Thor. 

“How cute, my little girl is staring.” Charlie teased, hand abandoning his cock and coming closer to you on the bed again. 

He gripped your hips with his large hands, pulling you up onto your knees with your ass in the air. You were too tired to hold your head up, opting to rest it on the mattress instead as you watched Charlie - as best you could from this position- as he paced a hand on the still raw skin of your backside. You didn’t need a mirror to know that a few visible handprints would be left on the skin for a while. The cool feeling of his hand on the skin made you jolt forward, but Charlie hunched over carefully and placed a handful of feathery kisses on the tender skin- you could’ve sworn the pain started to subside immediately at the contact. 

You whimpered as you felt him start to prod at your entrance, he chuckled at the way you wiggled your butt back into him hoping for more. Giving you what you wanted, he pushed in all the way, careful to go slow keeping in mind that he was rather large. 

“Look at you, taking m’cock so well.” He grunted, bottoming out. 

Cries emitted from your parted lips as you nodded into the sheets, words and sentences long gone as he started to thrust. You knew what was in store, and it only made your moans and chants of Charlie that much louder. It was no secret he had stamina, a product of his insatiable libido was usually you getting to cum twice before Charlie even thought of filling you up himself. Seeing as tonight you had already trembled through two, four and five seemed a bit daunting- but you need it. 

He quickened his pace, eagerly thrusting into your tight cunt as his voice started to crack with each grunt and groan before looping an arm around your midsection and pulling your back flush against his chest. The new position had your head lulling back, pornographic moans crooning from your mouth and into his neck. Your hand came up to make its way the back of Charlie’s head, fingers carding through the copper curls at the nape of his neck as his hips snapped up into you at a hellish pace. His hand, the one not occupied with holding you up, moved to rest on your lower belly wanting to feel the way your tummy bulged with each of his thrusts. You were so tiny compared to him, so dainty, and it made his thrusts get that much harder.

His breath fanned over your ear and neck as he spoke huskily, “Such a tight little cunt f’me, can feel my cock in your belly.”

You hummed in response, his hand pulling yours down to rest where his was just moments before. The outline of his dick, each time he thrusted, running up the inside of your palm making you clench around him. 

“S’like I’m gonna slit you in two, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

With pathetic cries and nods you answered, “Yes, want you t’split me in two, need it.”

Orgasm number four hit you before you could even register what was happening but Charlie didn’t slow his thrusts, instead dropping a hand to your pulsing clit to rub rough circles and the engorged nub. His other hand, still holding you up, shifted so he could grab a handful of your breast, pinching and pulling at your erect nipples as best he could while he kept you upright. The overstimulation had you seeing stars, orgasm number five was already knocking on your door ready to come barreling in. At some point, your not sure when seeing as your mind was foggy from your fast approaching orgasm, Charlie had doubled over with your body firmly held in his arms as his hips continued to thrust into your weeping pussy at lightning speed, your back still held tightly against his chest only now your chin was hitting the mattress with each rough thrust. 

You could register the stuttering of his thrusts meaning he was nearing his own release and you could finally let go for a fifth time. The weight of his body on top of yours mixed in with his forearm pressing into your abdomen and fingers massaging your clit while his balls were slapping against your glistening and used pussy had your body trembling uncontrollably in his grasp. Charlie gave a choked moan of your name as he finished deep inside you, your body spasming along with the walls of your cunt as you came with him. 

Charlie held you to his chest still, but shifted so he was now on his side and you were no longer taking any of his weight. Slowly he went to pull out of you, making you whimper at the feeling, your over used cunt far too sensitive for the movement.

“Shh, you’re ok,” He cooed, gentling running a palm down the side of your face and through your hair. “Gotta get you cleaned up, yeah? Then I want my best girl’s cuddles, ok?”

His voice was gently, coaxing you to open your eyes and look at him as you answered with a feeble nod, “Ok, then cuddles...” you murmured.

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989​

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

@erinblack003

@maybesandohnos

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley smut #charlie weasley blurb #charlie weasley x reader

[whump-a-la-mode]

Angel Whumpee, bound and gagged. Demon Whumper. Human caretaker who doesn’t know what they are doing because they didn’t know their angel buddy/friend/lover was a cosmic being until they were kidnapped.

I am so sorry that this took so long, you sent this right as Nanowrimo started! But, at long last, here we are. I really hope it’s okay, I’ve never done anything like this before. Enjoy!

CW//Suffocation, restraints, gags, death threats

Whumpee was burning.

That was the only possible explanation in Caretaker's mind as they burst through the doors of the abandoned warehouse. Though the air was clear of smoke, the scent of flame still hung heavy, threatening to singe at their eyes nonetheless.

Scorch marks along the walls seemed to serve almost as rudimentary arrows, all pointing towards the same, horrid thing. No, not thing. Caretaker shook their head at the very thought. At the end of the warehouse was not a thing.

No, it was a victim. More than that, it was their friend.

Whumpee... They didn't know where to start. Their body did, however, as, a moment later, Caretaker found themself kneeling at their friend's side before they had even realized they were running.

Whumpee was hurt. That was the first coherent word that came to mind once the fury and flame behind their eyes had worn off. Hurt.

The burns were the first thing that Caretaker noticed, though they weren't entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because of the horrid, overwhelming smell, or the sheer disgust they felt upon seeing the wounds. Along Whumpee's side, and on their cheek, skin had peeled away, leaving only singed edges and furious, bleeding flesh beneath.

The second thing that they noticed was the ropes. Perhaps the restraints were even more egregious than the horrid, bleeding injuries. In a sense, they served only to put salt in said wounds.

Little did Caretaker know, Whumpee would have done just about anything for some salt in that moment. A circle of it, ideally.

However, there wasn't much at all they could do. Not with the way they were bound— A rough, cloth gag shoved into their mouth and tied behind their head, with their limbs uncaringly hogtied. Clearly, they'd be left in the position for far too long, given the way their knees and elbows quivered.

"Whumpee?" It was only after several moments of horrified staring that Caretaker regained enough common sense to think to speak. "Whumpee, what happened? Who... Who did this?"

When their friend had disappeared a few days prior, they hadn't known what to expect. Running from the law, perhaps, from debt? They'd always been quiet about their past. A mental break was always possible, too, of course.

The idea of a kidnapping had never so much as crossed their mind. Yet, sitting before them, trussed up like a turkey, was all the proof they could ever need.

With the gag leaving them speechless, Whumpee could only look up at their friend, eyes wide and quivering.

"R-Right." Caretaker barely managed to stammer. "Okay, I- Let me just-"

They couldn't believe that their very first thought hadn't been releasing their friend from their bindings. But, it wasn't as though their mind was working all too well. Hands trembling something awful, they reached first for the knot holding the gag in place.

With a yelp, Caretaker yanked their hands back. Flame. When they had attempted to untie the knot, there had been flame.

Flame from a cloth gag. In what world did that make sense?

Sense had no place at that moment, however. Instead, Caretaker's attention was drawn to Whumpee, who now furiously shook their head.

"Hey, hey." Soothing had never been their strong suit, but they supposed they could at least give it a try. "I don't know what's going on, and I'm not going to pretend that I do. But I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

The shaking of their head grew only more furious. Caretaker quirked a brow.

"You... Don't want to leave? You're- You- You should see yourself in a mirror, I don't know how you're even alive-"

Whumpee had been warning them.

Caretaker hadn't caught on. Not until it was too late. Not until the door at the front of the warehouse had opened once more, letting in the barest shreds of light from the outside.

A stranger. In Caretaker's mind, that was who entered through the door and into the building. A complete stranger.

Whumpee, on the other hand, went as white as a ghost.

The approaching figure was intimidating in all the ways one wouldn't expect. Their stature was far from impressive, with wiry limbs attached to a torso that was just a little bit too long. Short, black hair disguised all but the barest glimpses of their eyes as they moved forth, shrouded in a plaid suit and an air of grandeur.

"Now." Every step the stranger made sent a great, resounding click through the warehouse, as though they wore tap shoes. "Isn't this strange? If I remember correctly, when I left this place, I only had one prisoner.

Now I have two. Would anyone care to explain that?"

Calm as the stranger's voice was, Caretaker felt as though their lungs had just been stolen of their air. Why did everything feel so very hot, all of a sudden?

More importantly, why couldn’t they move?

Caretaker, a puppet on strings, stood to their feet, arms quivering at their sides.

The nearer the stranger got, the hotter the room seemed to become. By the time that they reached forward to touch their prey’s chin, cup it in their hand, force them to look upwards, Caretaker’s clothes had become soaked through with sweat.

“I’m a busy man.”

The stranger’s smile was too wide.

“I simply don’t have time for two of you. Especially with how fussy your little friend is. I think that means, unfortunately, that I’m the one here who has to make the hard choice.”

Caretaker’s jaw quivered in their attacker’s grasp.

“What... Are... You...” That was all they could manage. Three choked-out words.

Three choked out words had elicited only a barking laugh from the stranger.

“Call me Whumper, dear, not that you will need to call me much of anything for long.”

That was when the real choking began.

Whumper’s hand shot to their throat, gripping their windpipe and crushing it, as easily as a bug. Caretaker felt a cough coming on, but it came out only as a desperate wheeze.

This was it.

Checking on a friend. They’d only been checking on a friend. Now, this was it. There was no fighting they could do. No, their killer was a coward. Too much of a coward to allow them to move.

Their vision went out just as the scream sounded. Whumper’s scream. An instant later, their breath was returned to them, just as it was taken by their captor-- they heard as they were slammed against a wall on the other side of the room.

Caretaker’s vision filtered back to their mind.

Before them did not stand Whumpee.

Rather, shaking and panting, stood an angel, wings and all. Now, Caretaker had the same question to ask them.

“What are you?”

“I- I would think that’s- Pretty clear now-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Though wounded by the gag, Whumpee’s mouth still managed to form into a smirk.

“We aren’t allowed to tell our charges what we are, Caretaker.”

#angel whumpee #demon whumper #human caretaker #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump ask #whump prompt #supernatural whump

[chaos-mybeloved]

S.H.I.E.L.D Business

Hello! I'm now fully on Summer vacation and I forgot how fun it is to write things without an academic purpose so I decided to try something new. I wanted to write my first ever fanfic but then didn't know where to start and this happened instead. I hope someone enjoys it! Its a reader insert, first time writing one of these. Also, I'm black so I had black reader in mind when writing but I didn't really describe anything in detail.

Word count: 1500 (ish)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female agent!reader

Warnings: There's some smut in there, not overly explicit but its there 18+ content

Agent Y/LN is one of SHIELD's best agents

She and her team are SHIELD's elite, even more so than the STRIKE team. She works directly with Fury and Agent Hill

Steve Rogers knows all of this. He's read her mission reports, watched her training footage, he even has every word in her SHIELD file memorized. He's a little obsessed

When Bucky turns up and with that the threat that Hydra might still exist within SHIELD, she is called into work with the Avengers; all of Fury's most trusted agents working together

Steve is more than excited to work with her, he's been dreaming of an opportunity like this since he's heard of her

However, things aren't working out quite in Steve's favour when it turns out that she has taken a liking to Bucky more than Steve. She laughs with him and brings him out of his shell better than even Steve has been able to since his return. Something about kindred spirits.

Steve shuts down a little, sinking into his pit of despair and self-loathing, so much so that he makes a bad call on a mission and nearly gets everyone killed

Y/LN takes over and gets the mission back on track, saving everyone's ass in the process

When they get back to the base she seeks Steve out to ask what has gotten into him. The conversation gets heated and Steve gets angry enough to tell her that she's the problem

She sees that Steve needs the release so she lets him when he reaches out and kisses her. She lets him stick his tongue in her mouth and taste everything she has to give

She lets him run his big, smooth hands from her face, down her neck and over her breasts to finally slip under the tank top she’s wearing. She feels him moan into her mouth and she swallows it down, knowing how bad he needs this. He almost got everyone killed because of how bad he needs this so she lets him

The first touch of skin to skin seems to break some of the restraint he had left because suddenly his hands aren't just exploring anymore, they're demanding. He grips the flesh on her tummy hard enough to bruise and she lets him do it simply flicking her own tongue over the roof of his mouth, giving back just as much as she's getting.

Her hands haven't left the confines of his hair. The golden strands slipping and sliding through her fingers like silk. She's in no rush to move any time soon, content to let Steve rush enough for the both of them. He seems to be in a fever now; his hands are hot and searing as they knead and squeeze every inch of skin they can reach.

When he finally makes his way back to her breasts, his finger immediately finds her nipples and pinch. The little sigh she lets out cracks him open even further. He wrenches his mouth away from hers and trails it down her jaw and neck instead. He bites and sucks and she knows he wants to leave marks, reminders that he was here, that he got to have this if even for a short time. The marks will stay for a while, she knows, and she lets him anyway.

When he starts mumbling incoherently into the junction between her neck and shoulder she knows he's too far gone to think about this anymore. She huffs internally thinking about how he's probably thought about this enough to fill a lifetime. She hopes her reality won't disappoint.

He bunches the material of her top up under her armpits and his mouth moves down to her fully exposed breasts. His sucking and biting continue there now too. His tongue feels just as hot as his hands did as it flicks over a nipple and then the other one as if he can't decide where to place his attention. His hands, however, seem to have an idea of their own. With his mouth now covering where his hands used to be, his hands move down, down, down, until he's teasing at the button of her tac pants.

He hesitates. He doesn't want to stop but somewhere in his desperation-filled brain, he can register that this might be too far. He was moving out of sheer desperation before but he finds that he needs the verbal confirmation that she wants this just as bad. Without removing his mouth, he opens his eyes and looks up into her own. The deep blue of his eyes has been swallowed almost entirely by black. He looks consumed and neither of them are even fully naked yet.

"Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me."

It's the most coherent thing he's said since he kissed her even if he did mumble it around her nipple. She looks down at him fully taking in his trembling fingers poised to strike the moment she says so. She's used to having power, she's even used to people giving up theirs to her but this feels different. This is almost intoxicating, and alarm bells start going off in her head because it feels just a little bit addicting too. It feels as if he stopped right now she might also, not fall apart, but definitely splinter somehow as if something is missing. Something will be missing. Goddamn you, Steve Rogers.

"Go on, soldier," she smirks down at him, "do your worst."

He nearly rips her pants straight down the middle with the force he uses to pry the button open. She chuckles but it quickly turns into a moan when he dives straight for her pussy. His fingers feel a lot bigger down there than they had on her chest. They're nimble though; artist fingers no matter how much of a soldier he is now. He rubs at her eager but slow, sensual. She's about to lose her damn mind.

She can't decide what she wants out of this. She knows his strength, he can give it to her hard and dirty if she asks but the pace he's set now is good. Slow and dirty and rough might be the way to go tonight. They don't really have the time but that all seems irrelevant as he slips one of those long fingers into her.

He's started mumbling nonsense into her skin again. He seems content with the work he's done on her breasts for now. The brown nipples are puffy and shiny with spit. Her entire chest really is covered in Steve's spit. It's a subtle claim but a claim nonetheless.

"What am I allowed to do?"

It takes her a second to register the question; his fingers haven’t stopped their slow attack on her pussy.

"Whatever you want, Captain," her breath rushes out of her as his thumb gently massages her clit. "You're the one who started it and I'm trusting you to finish it."

And finishes he does. She had caught him in an empty board room and so the large desk in the middle of the room will have to do. He removes his hand and her pants and then picks her up without any warning, almost in one complete motion. Before she even realizes what's happening she's on her back with her legs over his shoulders and a face in her pussy eating like it's his last meal.

She lets go after that. She doesn't keep track of her first orgasm of the night, nor the next one, nor the one after that leaves her clenching around the thick length of him. She doesn't keep track of the praises he whispers into her skin like prayers, words she realizes he's been saying the whole time. She doesn't actively process the feeling of his lips back on hers but she thinks she kisses him back. She must because he's moaning again, right into her mouth like the sound is only for her. It is only for her she realizes much, much later. When everything is over, when the heat has cooled between them and those dark blue eyes are no longer peering into her soul, and her body has stopped shaking with leftover pleasure that's when she realizes what just happened between them.

She drags herself off the table and back onto her two feet. It's a lot harder than she thought it would be. She slips back into her pants and top as Steve sits there watching her. She lets him do that too.

"What happens now." Million-dollar question Steve. She looks at him, really, really looks at him. The golden boy sitting at the edge of the desk naked as the day he was born. He's huge. All bulging biceps and tight abs. Tree trunk thighs and hulking frame. With all of that though he's still just a man. His shoulders are pulled up towards his ears, his arms are tucked against his torso, his head is ducked, and he's looking up at her through his golden lashes. He's huge but he seems so small.

She thinks she's going to ruin him. He's going to let her.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve has a crush and nearly gets everyone killed #it's okay though because the reader is badass and can handle it #steve rogers x female reader #reader insert #G takes on writing

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

Maid/ Butler AU: Have there been times where it’s just solely Jaune and Weiss or Pyrrha and Weiss having sex while the other is away? For example: While Pyrrha is out helping Winter with some errands, is Jaune back at the mansion railing Weiss?

Whoops, I got carried away again.

Pyrrha blushed in embarrassment as she was indeed out in a clothing store in Atlas with Miss Winter at the moment, as per a suggestion she made. While it was nice spending time with Miss Winter, Pyrrha had a very good idea what kind of fun that was happening back at the Schnee Manor right now. 

Mainly because she received a short video from Jaune of Weiss and him while they were out shopping. 

Pyrrha quickly looked around to make sure no one was nearby, as she was waiting outside the changing room Winter was currently using. Seeing no one at all, she pulled out her scroll again and discreetly opened the video on mute.

-.-.-.-.-.-In video-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“FUCK FUCK FUCK! Fuck me more daddy!” 

Normally, Weiss Schnee would be appalled after hearing such vulgarity. However in this moment, she was actually the one saying, or more accurately screaming, them. And she didn’t feel the slightest bit ashamed.

Nor was she ashamed of her current position. Face down on her bed, her cheek pressing harshly against the once neatly made light blue blanket. Her eyes watering and makeup running off her face as tears escaped from the pleasure, landing on her sheets. She had her small pale ass propped up in the air for her daddy to easily pump his cock into her dripping cunt.

Something that Jaune, who was her daddy at the moment, was all too happy to do. 

“That’s my good little Snow Slut.” Jaune was positioned behind her also on the be. He was on his left knee with his right leg up, letting him fuck her pussy with every inch of his cock. His left hand was clamped down on her slim hip, not letting her get too far away from his jackhammer like thrusts. His hips were slamming forward with such force the way they were slapping into her petite ass was probably going to leave some bruising. 

Good thing Weiss was such a kinky slut during sex that she actually loved it.

“How’s! This! For! Harder! You! Pompous! Bitch!?” Each word from Jaune was accompanied by a harsh thrust into his current fuck toy. 

Weiss’s eyes almost rolled back as the pleasure from her pussy tripled. She clenched her teeth briefly, trying to adjust to the new force fucking her. She wasn’t even aware that some drool still leaked out past her teeth. When she finally managed to speak again, it was just what Jaune wanted to hear. “YES OH FUCK YES! I love it Daddy! I’m a filthy slut and I love your cock so much! I love it when you’re so rough with me! Yo- AAH!” 

Weiss was suddenly yanked backwards to be against Jaune’s chest, a sharp cry leaving her throat. No one would be able to tell if it was from pain or pleasure, but for Weiss it didn’t matter because they were pretty much the same thing to her right now. 

“You like this that much huh?” Jaune’s grip tightened in her ponytail. This was his preferred method of getting her in position. His left hand was clenched tightly and the heiress’s silky white hair was tangled around his fingers. The slightest pull and Jaune could move Wiess however he wanted with ease.

And she fucking loved it!

Though despite having all the control, Jaune just kept her pulled tightly back against his body, still thrusting against her. Jaune moved his head next to hers and used her ponytail to make her turn her head to the left to face him. She looked at him like the fucked stupid girl she was at the moment, with hearts in her pupils and everything. “J-Ja-? MMMPH!”

Her question was stopped as he kissed her roughly, dominating her mouth as per usual. His tongue pushed against hers and pushed it down, then slowly swirled around it. 

As he did, he thrust one last time into her pussy, entering as far as he could and erupted. Weiss felt the sensation of Jaune’s warm cum pumping into her pussy and came hard. Her eyes rolled back as spurt after spurt of cum emptied into her hungry pussy. She would never get tired of how amazing it felt to be filled with his seed. Fortunately she had an IUD so she didn’t need to worry about getting pregnant….. just yet.

After a last few twitches from his cock, Jaune pulled his out of her pussy while. Some of his cum following behind and dripping onto the bed. He ended their kiss, sucking on her bottom lip as he pulled away which got a needy whimper from Weiss. With one last nibble, he pulled away completely. Jaune looked at her with a warm smile, and Weiss looked back at him with a bliss filled panting love. Panting a little, Jaune leaned towards her again, but not for another kiss like she was both expecting and hoping for. 

Instead, Jaune leaned in next to her ear and in a slightly smug voice he said, “Smile and say hi to the camera my little Snow Slut~.”

Weiss still had enough self-awareness for her eyes to widen slightly. Weiss, with some help from Jaune’s hand in her ponytail, turned her head to look to the right of her. 

There was Jaune’s right arm reaching behind her, holding up his scroll in his hand. On the screen she could see herself looking like a complete mess from the rough fucking she just been through. She could also see a small red light at the bottom, indicating the scroll was recording. Just as soon as she saw it, it was taken away as Jaune lowered his scroll again. Now completely coherent again, Weiss turned back to face Jaune and quietly yelled, “J-Jaune! W-what are you doing!?! You recorded us!? Why?!” Worry was evident in her voice.

Jaune dropped the scroll onto the bed with a quiet *Thud* and moved his now free hand under her arm to gently cup her chin. “Because, you mention that you’ve wanted to try filming your fun times with Pyrrha and me for your own personal use, so I figured why not start now? Oh, and Pyrrha did ask Winter to install a modified Atlas Military grade security chip into all of our scrolls. She did that about two days ago, so we’re all safe from hacking. Don’t worry Weiss,” Jaune kissed her again, this time it was quick, but also much more gently and loving. “Pyrrha and I are the only ones that get to see you like this~.” He ended his explanation with another tender kiss, this one lasting longer, and Jaune felt Weiss melt back into him.

Weiss pulled away and pouted cutely at him. “You scared me, you dolt.”

“I’m sorry Snow Angel, I should have warned you. But dust, you were so hot.” Weiss blushed slightly at his genuine compliment. “How about I make it up to you? That is, if you’re up for it.”

Weiss smiled, his stamina really was incredible. “I suppose I could let you have the chance, but I’d rather just cuddle. My father was… rather hard to deal with today.”

Jaune nodded and slowly guided them both to laying down on the soft mattress. He then quickly pulled the blanket over both them and became the big spoon. Weiss sighed happily as Jaune’s arm wrapped around her and held her close, making her feel very… cared for.

However, she noticed that she was laying something under her thigh that wasn’t too comfortable. She reached down and pulled out a scroll. She offered it behind her and got comfortable again. “Jaune. Your scroll.”

“Oh, sorry Weiss.” Jaune gently took his scroll from her. As he did, he noticed he never ended the recording. ‘Whoops.’ He tapped the stop button and the video ended.

-.-.-.-.-.-Back at clothing store with Pyrrha-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Pyrrha was blushing as she lowered her scroll, though her blush was more from being turned on rather than being embarrassed. “It took some time, but yes Jaune and I do solely sleep with Miss Weiss on occasion. There is no doubt that Jaune loves me and I him, but Miss Weiss has grown quite attached to our ‘affection’, and we are more than willing to give her it.” 

Pyrrha’s imagination started to wander again, but she reeled it back in and continued. “However, we aren’t always together for Miss Weiss to get her needed affection, so we just agreed that this would be best. Though I we all agreed that we shouldn’t get too carried away with how often we do it in a row. For example, Jaune shouldn’t spend a week in a row having sex with Weiss every night without me joining or having a turn.” 

Pyrrha was still thinking about the video and how turned on it got her. She bit her lips, trying to calm herself down. “Jaune also needs to make sure he saves some for me~.”

Whether she meant sex, energy, cum, or time with Weiss was anyone’s guess.

“I suppose I’ll be asking for a turn when we retu-”

A call from the changing room interrupted Pyrrha. “Pyrrha, could you please come in her and help me with this dress?”

“Yes Miss Winter, right away!” Pyrrha quickly put her scroll away into her purse  and stood up. She swiftly opened the door and swiftly closed it behind her. 

Inside the small room she was greeted by the sight of a bare naked Winter Schnee sitting on the bench inside, looking Pyrrha in the eye with a somewhat nervous yet very excited smile. Her left hand was down between her legs spreading her pussy lips open for Pyrrha to see. The shocked redhead could already see how wet and excited Winter was. “Surprise~.”

Pyrrha was able to recover from her shock after Winter spoke up. With a swift movement of her hand a Pyrrha locked the changing room door with a *click*. She then stepped towards Winter. ‘I guess I’ll be having some fun of my own before we head back~.’ She stopped right in front of Winter and slowly began to undress, an eager smirk on her own lips to match Winter’s.

“I received quite a fun little video from Jaune just now.”

“And I see you’re as aroused as I am then~?”

“Very much so… Mistress.”

A confident chuckle filled the room. “So that’s what you want right now? Well I hope you’ll be able to stay quiet~.”

“I will, I promise.”

“We’ll see about that won’t we… my good little Ice Bitch~.”

Jaune wasn’t the only one that would be having some fun with a Schnee tonight.

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #weiss schnee #winter schnee #butler jaune #maid pyrrha #maid and butler au #maid/butler arkos #ask #sfw #non sfw #anonymous

[serenasoutherlyns]

Not a Summer Crush Part Five

a/n: i haven't been doing this on purpose, but i keep alternating, long chapter followed by short chapter. i think the longest is 6k words and this one is 2.5k-ish, my apologies for its shortness. but!! this one has everyone's favorite Rita Calhoun, jealousy, Serena Southerlyn's meddling tactics, middle school, and even graduate school. enjoy, and remember any feedback is appreciated more than you all could ever know.

Part Five

When Alex got home from work that evening, she finally had a moment to process that day’s moment on the courthouse steps. She texted Serena, trying to fit all the pieces together in her head.

Alex: What the hell?

Serena: ?

Alex: Serena!

Serena: Yes?

She gave up on coherent texting and decided to call her friend instead.

---

Casey was confusing herself again. Having second thoughts was not how she would put it. No, she was still sure of what she wanted (as sure as she was going to be, doing something very new and all), it was the methods that were bothering her. Namely, that she felt like she had none.

Alex had been difficult early on. The beginning was, in most respects, the most difficult time of their relationship. They had both been in rough patches, trying to be different people than they’d been before, and Casey thought, hoped, they’d both been successful. Alex had found a sense of balance and justice that guided her to powerful places. And Casey could look around her life and point lots of little things out: the tennis racquet beside her softball bat, their well-stocked kitchen, the literary journals lined up in a row on her bookshelf, little markers of stability and self-assuredness that reminded her how she’d changed and stayed the same over the years. She hadn’t felt this untethered since she kissed Alex for the first time.

“Casey, it’s called having a crush,” Rita said after she explained herself over a scotch.

---

“What’s going on, Alex?” Serena’s voice came over the speakerphone as Alex set it down on the countertop.

“Do you want to tell me why you asked my second chair out on the courthouse steps in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday?”

Serena laughed at her. “I don’t think I did,” she said.

“Hey, Caroline,” Alex mocked Serena’s slightly husky voice, “Won’t you please reserve me a spot on your dance card this weekend?” She said as she popped the cork out of a bottle of wine with an angry pop as punctuation.

“I don’t talk like that,” Serena said. “And all I did was tell her I wanted to dance, I don’t think I asked her for anything, in fact.”

“I don’t remember it like that.”

“So it’s on your mind, huh.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Alex thought of what to say as she sipped.

“I mean,” Serena filled the silence, “If you aren’t going to, I will, you know?”

“Serena!” Alex all but yelled into the phone.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, “that’s what I thought.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I wasn’t

asking her out, I was giving you a reason to go dancing with her again.

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you don’t. Look, I’ll make a groupchat with you, Casey, me and Caroline, and make plans in there, thus implying that all of us are going. It’s simple.”

“What?” Alex asked, actually not following her friend at this point.

“Just let it happen, Lex. Where is Casey, anyway?”

Alex swirled her wine around. “Rita absconded with her after work today. She said it was something about a case.”

“I don’t think they’re opposing one another on anything right now,” Serena said.

“I’ve learned not to ask questions,” Alex said, referencing the schemes Rita and her wife liked to pull occasionally. Then, realizing what she might be implying, she said, “Remember Sophie’s birthday last year?” and was answered with Serena’s light laugh from the other end of the call.

---

Casey’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess so.” Rita was surprised that Casey didn’t fight her on it. She decided to push.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” Casey looked at her.

“We haven’t like, set a date,” she said. “Do people usually set dates for that kind of thing?

“They usually have a plan of some kind, I think. I mean, I do.”

Rita’s phone buzzed three times, two texts and a photo from Pippa. She didn’t hide her nerves fast enough for Casey to miss it. She shot her friend a look over her glass, saying, “you have a plan, right?”

Rita rolled her eyes. “Stop deflecting.” This time it was Casey’s turn to get the notifications.

New Groupchat (4)

Serena: So, Saturday night, right? Where?

Caroline: Why don’t you meet me at my apartment? The place is kind of hard to find.

Serena: Works for me. Alex? Casey?

Casey had no idea what the texts were about, suspected Serena of some kind of scheme.

Casey: Sure? But what are we doing?

Serena: Dancing!

Caroline: Dancing. Ashley’s on the road so I needed another partner.

Alex: We’re going dancing on Saturday.

Casey looked up from her phone to find an expectant Rita looking at her. “Apparently, I’m going dancing on Saturday.

“With Caroline?”

“And Alex. And Serena.”

Rita smiled wryly. “Good luck.”

---

“Okay, okay, order, order,” you said quieting the room of middle schoolers at the end of practice. “Remember, I can’t be there with you this weekend at the competition, and I have to leave early tonight,” you said, to a chorus of sighs, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you’ll all do great, I know it. Listen to your teachers, stick to your plans, and do your best.” The adoring eyes of the team were all on you. “And, if you win, I’ll buy you pizza. Deal?”

Nothing motivates tweens like a pizza party, but you weren’t worried about their performance. If nothing else, you knew Ophélie was a zealous team captain, putting it delicately. She had learned to be persistent from you, which was great at a competition, more annoying when she had chores. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek as you said goodbye to the team, despite her “no affection in public rule” (because the nature of the adolescent is to be embarrassed), and sent a text to Casey letting her know you’d be out soon.

When you saw her waiting for you outside the school building, your heart skipped a beat. It was that same feeling that you’d felt when Alex was in your apartment-- an intimacy that should’ve felt unusual, out of place, instead felt perfectly natural and comfortable. You hugged in greeting, grateful that you’d all decided that would be acceptable affection for colleagues.

“You know,” you said, “You really didn’t have to come meet me here.” Casey shrugged.

“I wanted to. Nice sweater,” she said, teasing you. It was one of those summer evenings where the sunset had brought a cool breeze with it, and you’d stolen one of Ophélie’s uniform cardigans. It was simple and navy blue, but the school logo embroidered on the breast gave it away. The two of you walked together towards the nearest subway station.

“Thanks,” you said, in an unserious tone. “Where’s Alex?”

“She’s already at the bar,” Casey replied, “I was told to retrieve you before the announcement.”

“It can’t be any big surprise,” you said, wondering. “She’s been agonizing over these applications forever.”

“She’s Gillian. She agonizes.” You looked up at the buildings, lights beginning to come on in the apartment buildings and off in the offices. Casey looked at your lifted head and the way it created a line, sloping and elegant, jawline to neck to collarbone. She pushed one palm with the opposite thumb and bit her lip, thinking about her conversation with Rita. She was right, they needed a plan, or one of these days she was going to kiss you without thinking.

Your voice snapped her out of it, but she didn’t hear what you said. “Casey?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were excited to come dancing again this weekend.” The two of you walked down the stairs to the subway station, you in front, looking over your shoulder as Casey answered you.

“Oh! Yes, I definitely am. I didn’t know that Serena could dance, Alex told me it was her idea.”

“Apparently she studied abroad. I’m glad she asked, though.” That gave the knot of jealousy in Casey’s stomach a tug. She had no right to be jealous, but she couldn’t help but feel it. Serena is beautiful, and single, she doesn’t work with them, she’s super smart and funny, and apparently she knows how to dance.

“I’m glad we’ll have enough people to switch up partners a couple times,” Casey said, assuaging the jealousy.

“That’s the best part,” you agreed.

---

You made it to the table just in time to hear the announcement.

The third announcement. It would appear that Rita had somehow gotten ahold on all of Gillian’s acceptance letters and was withholding them from the rest of the group (except, of course, for the honoree herself, who was happy to go along with the plan, not that she had much of a choice). Glasses were raised and congratulations expressed as Rita said, “the third acceptance is… Yale!”

Polite applause came around the table. Gillian smiled bashfully as everyone told her how proud they were. Of all of you, she was the only person smart enough (or crazy enough) to go back to school after navigating the complex legal world of New York City.

“Which ones did we miss?” Casey said as the two of you slid into the two open seats.

“She got into Columbia,” Serena said, “which means she could stay in Manhattan. A few glasses around the table were raised again, encouraging her to stay close.

“And Stanford,” Alex added. You shot Gillian an excited look, happy at the mention of your alma mater.

“How many more letters are there?” You asked. Rita checked the pile of envelopes in her hand.

“Two.”

As soon as Sophie noticed that neither you nor Casey yet had a drink, there were whiskeys in your hands. As soon as Serena remembered that you were returning from coaching a mock trial team, and remembering what she knew of Casey’s feelings about kids, she began to ask you questions. How was the team, what case are they presenting, do they love you, (truly who wouldn’t). She was almost tiring you out.

“Is she always this persistent?” you asked Alex, smiling at Serena as you did so. You had to know if your eyes were deceiving you, your wishful thinking getting the best of your powers of observation yesterday when you saw her jealous look.

You were correct.

Almost faster than could be perceived, Alex’s eyes narrowed, looking into Serena’s, not yours; as if to say what the hell are you doing. Raised shoulders, her fingers pressing slightly into the table, her tongue in the back of her throat: you’d seen enough jealous boyfriends (of women you were about to dance with, if you’re honest) in clubs to know what it looked like.

Well. That was going to be good information to have at your disposal. If nothing else, for

confirmation: that you weren’t crazy, that there was something there to notice, from both of them.

---

You would’ve considered your offer of your apartment more thoroughly had you initially understood that there would be four of you going out that Saturday night. You weren’t sure, at first, if Serena had been asking you out. Honestly, you would probably not turn her down if she did. It would certainly be a simpler path to take, and there was no denying that Serena was beautiful and smart. Of course, your affections were otherwise engaged.

But, since she had invited Casey and Alex along, you considered it more likely that she was “creating some amount of opportunity,” (a real thing you’d really heard her say once) than making a double date. It would make sense, you thought, if Alex had told her how she was feeling; and the more days that went by, the more little tender interactions, the more often you noticed her resting her eyes in your direction, the more confident you were that you weren’t making up the chemistry.

Casey was a little harder to read, but you had noticed she’d seemed slightly… preoccupied the last few times you’d been alone together. One thing you knew: their marriage was rock solid. Neither of them would do something without the others’ approval. You could only hope they had a plan. You didn’t-- unless trying to seem as desirable yet appropriate as possible could be considered a plan.

There were four people in your apartment. You couldn’t remember the last time you had people over to your place rather than Ashley and Ramin’s, so it felt especially cramped. You were each drinking a glass of wine (from Ramin’s fancy stash, you were not going to let them know just yet that the only wine you bought was two buck chuck), you and Serena were sitting on the barstools at your counter while Alex and Casey sat on the couch. You had your music collection on shuffle, which led to a few laughs at the funny combinations.

It was your turn to feel jealous, or maybe to yearn. You hoped that one of them would see the new collection of books sitting on your table: Marriage and Other Alternatives, More Than Two, and What Love Is (and what it could be). A quiet buzz of anticipation (or was it the wine?) pleasantly lodged itself in your mind as the four of you slung your bags over your shoulders and headed out for the night.

---

Pippa Cox touched her lipstick up in the mirror before returning to the table she was (finally) sharing with Rita Calhoun. For such a smart woman, Pippa had often thought, Rita was prone to running from her feelings. Having gotten her on this date was a feat indeed, even though she knew (the glances, the blushing, the way she would drift into her space, natural as anything) that they shared feelings. As Pippa sat down, Rita smiled.

Unfortunately, as Rita reached for her glass, her phone buzzed in her purse. She shrugged-- what was the point of texting when she was on a date? If it was a client, they would call her secretary who would call her. No need to fret.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” she said, reaching across the table to take Pippa’s hand in her own. She knew how difficult it had been for her to get back into dating, to trust anyone with her heart, which was part of why she had been so apprehensive to pursue her even though the attraction was there. She’d pinched herself when Pippa had been the one to ask, happy to be the pursued for once.

“Good,” Pippa said, “because I want you to myself tonight.” Rita nodded, bit her lip, and smiled. There was another buzz, then another, then another. Three in a row? The only people she knew who texted like that were Casey and Serena, both of whom had plans tonight.

Plans together, with Alex. Involving Caroline. She sighed, hoping that she wasn’t about to do something to hurt Pippa’s feelings. Pippa, to her credit, looked curiously at Rita’s bag as she opened it.

Notifications: 4 new messages.

Serena: This experience is simultaneously adorable and infuriating.

Serena sent a photo.

Serena sent a video.

Serena: I’m tempted to leave and let them figure it out.

Rita laughed to herself. The picture was a selfie of you four sitting at a booth, you and Alex on one side and Casey and Serena on the other. Serena had her head leaned on Casey’s shoulder, who looking across the table, while you were pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek. Alex had a contented smile, and your table had evidence of more than a couple drinks for each of you. The video was one of you and Alex. You were holding one of her hands with the other wrapped around her waist. Alex looked terrified, poor thing, every body part was flying in the opposite direction. The sounds of Casey and Serena encouraging you both mixed with the horns and drums coming from the stage. Rita agreed with Serena, it was adorable and infuriating.

Rita: Well, that’s cute and maddening for sure.

Serena: I’ll send updates.

Rita: Tomorrow. Please don’t interrupt *my* date again, thank you.

Serena: OMG did she finally ask you out!?!??

Rita: TOMORROW.

Rita put her phone down, answering Pippa’s curious look with a wave of her hand. “Serena drama,” she said, and Pippa gave an understanding nod. “I made her promise to leave me alone for a while.” Pippa leant across the table and pecked Rita’s lips.

“Good.”

---

tags: @addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @cmmndrwidw @hi-i-1 @lesbianologist

#There you have it folks #maybe one day this will be finished #svu fanfic #law and order svu #not a summer crush #Serena southerlyn #Rita Calhoun #casey Novak #Alex cabot #Calex #Alex cabot x reader #casey Novak x reader #Alex cabot x casey Novak x reader #“Serena drama” ok Rita #god this was hard to write I don’t even know why #forgive typos #no beta we die like men

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 2, chapter 6

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Content warnings: torture mention, drowning mention, emeto/vomit as a result of drowning, restraint, suicidal ideation, fantasy violence

The demons discovered that it was nearly impossible for Morgan to die by drowning in healing potion. The healing effect always overcame the asphyxiation eventually, even when he lost consciousness under the liquid. His body's survival reflexes took care of the rest, expelling the liquid from his lungs and stomach in violent, shuddering spasms. Naturally, the vipers gave up trying to feed the potion to him in favour of this much more entertaining method. But eventually it really had started to act a little slower. His involuntary heaving was bringing up a little more potion each time, his injuries taking a little longer to heal. So they had started being even more careful with him, to prolong their amusement as much as possible.

At the moment, they had hooked a chain around his bound wrists and fed it through a fixture on the ceiling. There was not quite enough slack in the chain to allow him to kneel. They had tried dangling him by his wrists previously, but the compression of his lungs had nearly seen him suffocate before his feeble gasping had alerted them to their mistake. If they had just left him unattended a little longer, perhaps he could finally have escaped this misery, but it was not his to be so lucky.

Morgan swayed where he stood, hands suspended slightly above his head. Occasionally he would drift off and lose his precarious balance, his reflexes too sluggish to prevent himself from falling before the chain snapped taut and wrenched him back to painful awareness. The demons had left him to "rest" alone like this for... some time. He didn't know how long. It didn't really matter.

He was drifting in and out of awareness when gentle fingers touched his left shoulder. He jerked away as far as his limited range of movement would allow without losing his footing. It sometimes amused the claw vipers to treat him with a mocking kindness when they weren't being unbearably cruel. He didn't bother opening his eyes, didn't want to see the pleasure that played across their faces with each protest they could wring out of him. But the touch retreated and nothing followed. No cut, no strike, no burn. Just a voice saying something. It wasn't one of the demons, he realized. He struggled to focus. He hadn't been fully lucid in what felt like a very long time.

The chain suspending his arms gave way suddenly. Without its support, Morgan lurched backward. The chain connecting the shackles on his ankles pulled tight as he stumbled, unable to catch himself. This was more in line with what he'd expected, the breath coming out of him all at once in a surprised huff as he collided with the unyielding ground. Secondary pain crept like fire licking across his skin as partially healed wounds reopened at the impact. He caught the whimper before it left his lips, loosened the muscles in his throat so it came out a sigh instead. It was all the resistance he could muster. He was still so tired, even after the time that had passed. Hope flickered faintly as he curled onto his side in a futile, instinctual effort to protect himself. Maybe this time they would finally push him past the point of recovery. He tried to focus on the rhythm of his hatefully stubborn body as it refused to stop surviving. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He anchored himself on the ragged breaths. Eventually - soon - they would stoke the ember of his pain into a bright flame of agony and it would consume him anew. But right now he was still something almost like a person, not just a conduit for anguish. He clung to that as best he could.

A hand touched Morgan's ribs, feather-light, then another one came to rest on his left shoulder again. He closed his eyes tighter. So it was going to be like this again, he thought dully. No preamble, just straight to work on his vulnerable arm. They had been favouring that approach lately. He waited, tense and trembling. Any moment now the hand would move down his arm, its claws painting swaths of agony across his flesh, heightening his sensitivity for whatever else they had planned. The longer it waited, the sharper his fear grew. This was another one of the games they liked, making it hard to guess when the pain was coming. There was no winning in this game. In any of them.

The voice was speaking again. Had it ever stopped? He hadn't made the effort to listen to them in a while. They didn't seem to like that, but this wasn't one of their voices, he remembered. Focus was elusive, but the sound finally resolved into words.

"... out of here. Think you can stand? I can always carry you if I have to." It sounded almost like Blaise, but that was impossible. He'd ruled out the idea of rescue long ago, dismissed it the moment it occurred to him. No one had any real reason to notice his absence, to go looking for him. They should have just assumed he had ventured out in search of information and fallen to any of the terrors of the desert. What point would there be in seeking him out? He had no knowledge that Cain didn't also have, no skills that couldn't be replaced by someone else. He cracked his eyes open, hardly daring to hope. This could still be some sort of cruel trick, a new game they had devised to toy with his mind.

It certainly looked like Blaise, for some reason. She crouched down next to Morgan, slipping her arm around his back. If this was one of their horrible games, they had gone to great lengths on the illusion. "There you are. I've got you. Come on now, up we go." She helped him to his feet and stepped back to look him in the eyes. Maybe it was real after all. "Let's get you out of here. What the hell did - no, never mind. We can talk later. Right now we have to go."

Still mentally scattered, not coherent enough to form sentences, not sure if he should even believe this was really happening, Morgan lifted his cuffed hands toward her pleadingly. He wasn't going to breathe freely until he was unbound, that much he knew for certain. And without any form of magic at his disposal, he was still totally helpless.

Blaise examined the cuffs, squinting in the dim light. "Do you know where the key is?" Morgan shook his head mutely. "Hm. I can probably pick this. Just need to get a good look at it." She glanced around quickly, then started to move toward the stone slab in the corner of the room. "Looks like there's a couple of braziers I can light over here, hang on."

Morgan moved to follow her more slowly, still hobbled by both the shackles and his unsteady legs. He was starting to feel more like himself with each passing moment, though. His eyes scanned past the doorway and he froze as he saw movement. It was one of the claw vipers passing by. Maybe it would keep going.

He was not that lucky. The demon stopped, then turned around to look at him. "It seems our little mouse has slipped from its trap," it observed as it slithered into the room. Morgan bared his teeth and stumbled back and to the side, positioning himself as far from Blaise as he could. If the viper was focused on him and had its back to the more formidable opponent, it would be that much easier for her to kill. His wits were returning, even though his coordination was lagging behind.

The snake demon played into the ploy a little too well, heading for him without so much as a glance around the room. It snatched the chain still trailing from his cuffs, giving it a rough yank that made him stagger directly into its waiting embrace. "It must be ready to play," it jeered, teasing its claws over his skin. Morgan hissed as they dug in, dragging familiar stinging lines over his ribs and down his side. Then the demon's eyes rolled back and its body went limp as an arrow sprouted from its throat. Well, that eliminated any lingering doubt. His eyes trained on the doorway now, Morgan stepped around the body and made his way over to Blaise as quickly as he could manage.

"Hey, are you... uh, you okay there?" Blaise was eyeing his side as she fished her roll of picking tools out of her pack. "I have some of those potions from Lysander if -"

"No," Morgan growled sharply. When he tore his eyes from the door to glance at Blaise, she was giving him a strange look. "It's not deep," he clarified. Words were starting to come a little easier now. These incisions were shallow, though they were bleeding freely. Still, he was never going to drink a healing potion again as long as he lived.

"All right, your call." She took the manacles in a gentle grip, examining them in the light. "You know, there's a locksmith in the city-"

"Please," Morgan said, hating the desperation in his voice. "I am useless in these." Now that freedom actually seemed possible, the restriction was getting unbearable.

"Okay, okay. Yeah. All right. I'll be quick as I can." Morgan kept his gaze locked on the doorway, watching intently for any movement. The risk was high, making her focus on this instead of just leaving. A selfish decision. He started to regret it after a moment, but by that time she was already deep in concentration. Every time he thought about speaking up to change his mind, the promise of immediate freedom won out over his deepening concern. It was a tense minute while Blaise worked at the cuffs, but they finally cracked open.

Morgan rolled his shoulders back, relishing the freedom of movement - and suddenly there was another claw viper in the doorway, this one brandishing a kris. It must have spied the corpse of the first one. Before Blaise had a chance to draw her bow, it was moving on them. Almost without thinking, Morgan poured his newly freed magic into the ground. It felt good to use it again, like stretching a cramped muscle. The earth whipped up around the demon, grasping tendrils ensnaring it before it had a chance to react. It looked briefly surprised before it was yanked under, its body disappearing beneath a mound of earth. There was a muffled crunching sound as the ground smoothed back down. The effort left Morgan light-headed, and he sagged against the stone. How long had it been? How weak had he gotten?

Blaise stared at the ground where the viper had been. "Is it dead?"

"Yes." He reached out mentally to examine the skeleton of the unfortunate demon. It was crushed beyond recognition. Perhaps he'd overreacted a little. He reached out again, more slowly this time. The earth rose up around his ankles to pry apart the metal shackles. It took more effort than he anticipated. He could tell he didn't have enough in him to form a whole new golem, but there must be... yes, there were plenty of dead beneath these sands. A single skeleton rose from behind him, shaky, weaponless. It creaked over to a weapon rack and seized a scimitar. That would have to do. He couldn't risk spending the energy on more.

"All right, come on. Let's get out of here. I don't have any of Deckard's scrolls on me but we aren't too far from a waypoint, then we'll get you back to the city. Be nice to get cleaned up, yeah?"

"...Yes." Morgan was suddenly acutely aware of the state he was in. It had been a baseline discomfort before, pale in comparison to the rest of the things going on. Layers of blood and potion were caked on his skin, and his hair was horribly tangled. He pushed aside the unpleasant sensations for the time being; that was a problem to solve later.

Blaise took the lead, retracing her steps through the winding corridors at a cautious pace. The skeleton took up the rear with Morgan between them. He was uncomfortably on edge, hypersensitive now that he was actually using his senses again instead of trying to ignore them. When they finally broke into the daylight, he had to close his eyes completely against the overwhelming brightness. The sun felt harsh on his skin. The sand felt sharp under his feet. He had to stop for a moment to try to reorient himself, pressing his hand over his eyes.

"Akarat's bane," Blaise said softly. He'd heard that curse on the lips of the mercenaries around Lut Gholein. That felt like such a long time ago. It sounded like it was aimed toward him.

"Sorry, I just need... a moment," he said. He cracked his eyes open to gauge how upset she might be. She was digging through her bag with a frown. She pulled out a square of brown fabric, shook it out, and held it out to him at arm's length.

"Here, put this on. You don't want to walk through town like that."

"I... thank you." It was a light cloak, much too large for him. He slipped it on gratefully. It got the sun off his skin, and its hood sheltered his eyes from the sunlight. "Thank you," he repeated. "For saving me. Again. I am in your debt."

Blaise waved her hand dismissively, looking away. "If anything, it's Deckard you should thank. He wanted to tell you about something he found. When he couldn't track you down, he asked me to go looking. Looks like it's a good thing I found you when I did. Come on, the waypoint isn't far."

Morgan followed in silence, concentrating on each step. If he narrowed his focus, the sensory barrage was less overwhelming. Somehow he made it back to the palace this way, just blindly following Blaise as she shepherded him into his room. He nodded numbly as she told him where she was going. Hopefully that information wouldn't be pressingly important. When the door clicked shut behind her, he breathed out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding in. He was alone and unrestrained for the first time in... a long time. Probably. It had felt like an awfully long time. He pressed his back up against the wall, closing his eyes.

They opened again almost immediately as a bolt of irrational fear shot through him. He was still in the palace, he reassured himself, but for just a second it had felt as though he might open his eyes to find himself back in that gods-forsaken room, surrounded by demons that were all cold claws and relentless cruelty. That was impossible. He was safe now. This was real, not some feverish near-death fantasy. Morgan crossed over to the tub and leaned over it. His steps were unhindered. The ceramic was smooth and cool under his fingers. He took even, steady breaths to ground himself. This was real, he reminded himself again. His hands still trembled.

#my writing #story: unbidden #torture tw #drowning tw #suffocation tw #suicidal ideation tw #emeto tw #emetophobia tw #restraint tw #fantasy violence tw #whump #whump writing #vomit tw

[hotpinkhoshi]

the pact | epilogue

pairing: jinyoung x reader

genre: romance, smut, a lil angst

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), pure sugary sweet FLUFF

word count: 5.4k

summary: you desperately need to get over your decade-long crush on lim jaebeom, and your close friend jinyoung needs to get over his ex—so the two of you make an arrangement: just sex, no feelings. what could go wrong?

a/n: wow, you have no idea just how excited i am to finally post this! i can’t believe it’s finally over, and i just want to thank you guys so much for how sweet you’ve been to me along the way. i really hope you all enjoy the epilogue, please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think about the ending! 

a special thanks to kat @listlessmaenads​ and nik @jinyoungmoans​ for making sure this doesn’t suck 😘

↳ index here

It turned out, Jinyoung was a pretty great boyfriend. 

He showed his love every day, often not through words but through his actions. He texted you first thing in the morning, wishing you a good day at work because he woke up at dawn for his workout—like a crazy person. 

He called you on his lunch breaks if he couldn’t visit you at the store, and even surprised you with takeout from your favorite restaurant on one particularly rough day.

He was a true gentleman. 

Too much of a gentleman, to be frank. 

You’d gone on three dates already, and each and every one of them had ended with an innocent kiss at your door. Nothing more. It was driving you insane. 

The closest you’d gotten had been your third and most recent date, when you’d gone for ice cream and a movie. During the movie, he had kissed you breathless, despite the film playing on the screen in front of you. But as soon as you’d lifted the arm rest to climb onto his lap, he’d pulled away from your eager lips. 

“Not here,” he’d whispered to you, leading you to believe maybe, he’d want to come inside when he walked you to your door. Yet that night had ended like all of the others. 

But tonight—you would make sure tonight was different. 

Jinyoung invited you over so that he could make dinner for you, and to you, this seemed like the perfect chance. 

You knew he wanted you, and he was just being polite, but you needed him. It wasn’t the sex you missed, not completely at least. You missed the intimacy. Being close to him, as close as two people could be, stealing each other’s breath, skin to skin. 

You’d worn a dress you knew he’d like. Not particularly short or revealing, but snug in all the right places. You wanted to remind him of what was underneath the fabric, all of the skin that was his to kiss and worship. Your hair was pulled up, revealing the back of your neck, a spot he loved to kiss. 

Whatever game he was playing, it would end tonight. You’d make sure of it. 

You clutched the baking pan in your fingers as you waited for Jinyoung to answer the door, fingers tapping impatiently against the glass. 

He only made you wait a few more seconds before he was opening the door, a sweet smile on his lips until he took in your appearance. His smile faltered, eyes raking down your frame until they filled with a darkness you’d been craving. 

“Hi,” you said innocently, extending your arms to offer him the dish in your hands. “I made dessert.” 

Jinyoung coughed, eyes shooting up from your exposed thighs to your face. “Dessert? Uh…” he blinked a few times, then seemed to snap himself out of it enough to form coherent words. “Great. Good. Come in.” 

Taking the pan from you, he welcomed you into his apartment. You could practically feel the heat coming from his gaze as you bent down to unfasten the straps of your heels so that you could slip your shoes off. 

“What did you make? It smells amazing,” you said, straightening up and turning towards him. Jinyoung was clutching the baking dish so tightly his knuckles were going white. 

“Carbonara. What’s… what’s this?” he asked. 

“Banana bread,” you answered. 

You’d dedicated the whole day to finding the best recipe, one that you could follow without too much difficulty, and hopefully not screw up. You hadn’t been able to taste test it, but it had smelled good while it was baking, and you figured that was a good sign. 

Jinyoung’s lips lifted into a smile, no doubt remembering the disastrous assignment from high school that had ended up hard as a rock and nearly caused you to fail the class. 

“I’m impressed,” he replied. “Come on, it’s ready now.” 

Over the next few minutes, Jinyoung visibly relaxed, less focused on your curves in your dress and more on the act of serving you dinner and pouring the wine.

It was so similar, yet so different to the first time Jinyoung had invited you over for a meal. At the time, you’d come over for the sex, but ended up having a really great meal and even better conversations. 

He’d gone as far as to light a candle at the table and set some roses in a vase. Simple as it seemed, it was a level of effort you’d never received from any other man. And the food was incredible, too. 

“You need to teach me how to cook,” you told him. “It’s not fair.”

Jinyoung chuckled, reaching up to wipe a drop of sauce off of your chin. “I can do that. Even though this really isn’t that complicated…” 

“Oh, trust me, I’d find a way to ruin it,” you admitted, finishing up your last bite. “But I want to be able to make something delicious for you.” 

“You’re delicious enough on your own, babe,” Jinyoung replied, though the look on his face told you he knew just how cringeworthy it was before the statement even left his mouth.

You winced, inhaling through your teeth. “Yikes.” 

“I’m so sorry. It just came out,” he said, and you noticed the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“Well,” you started, wiping at the corners of your mouth with your napkin. “At least I know you’re just as smooth as you’ve always been.” 

Jinyoung’s face turned into an expression of mock offense. “Hey, I’m very smooth. In fact, I’ve been saving all of my most romantic moves just for you. Exhibit A,” he said, gesturing to the candlelit dinner in front of you. 

You couldn’t help but to snort, though you conceded with a nod. “You’re right. This is really nice. Is there an exhibit B?” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Licking his lips, Jinyoung shrugged. “Maybe. But first, we need to try your dessert,” he suggested, though when he stood to clear your plates he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips that took all the air from your lungs. 

Half of you wanted to say screw it, grab him and drag him back to the bedroom. But that wouldn’t be very romantic, and you did want this to be special. Finally, after all this time, you were both on the same page and could show each other how you truly felt. 

“Here we are,” Jinyoung began, setting the baking dish on the table and peeling back the foil. “Do you want the first taste, or should I do the honors?” 

“You try it. I’m too nervous,” you replied. 

Your boyfriend laughed, placing a small slice on his plate and digging in with his fork. You watched with wide eyes as he brought a bite to his mouth, his expression completely unreadable as he chewed. 

“Is it okay?!” you asked nervously. 

Finally, he cracked a smile and nodded as he swallowed. “It’s really good.” 

“Really?”

“Mm,” he hummed, “try it yourself.” 

Jinyoung broke off a small piece with his fingers, reaching across to feed it to you. You took his wrist in your hands, letting him place the bread between your lips. 

You couldn’t help it. Instead of letting him pull away after you chewed, you held his hand right where it was and wrapped your lips around his index finger, taking it into the wet warmth of your mouth. 

Watching Jinyoung’s eyes, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked at his digit as it rested on your tongue. There was a hitch in his breath just before he slid his finger deeper inside of your mouth, only for a moment. Then he removed it with a pop. 

“Yum,” you said, licking your lips. 

Jinyoung only let you take one breath before he was in front of you, lifting you to stand so that he could collide his lips with yours. You whimpered at the rough pressure but within a moment, you were clawing at the buttons on his dress shirt, desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips. 

His hands roamed your body, sliding along your back until he was grabbing at the soft curves of your hips to bring you against him. You worked at the buttons of his shirt, yanking the fabric apart until you could push the garment off of his shoulders. 

As you parted from Jinyoung for a gasp of air, he wasted no time, diving in to kiss and suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You groaned, fingernails dragging down the front of his chest. 

“Jinyoung.” Your entire body was igniting under his touch, a fact that came as no surprise to you. It had been so long now, you weren’t above begging for him to finally give you the physical attention that you needed. “Please, please.” 

Jinyoung pulled back from your neck, staring down at you as he held your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Please what, baby?” 

“I need you,” you whispered, gazing up at him. “I can’t wait anymore.” 

The way he smirked down at you sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Need was becoming an understatement. Your hands traveled across his chest and up along his neck until your fingers could push through his hair, gripping onto the strands to pull him down for another kiss. 

You didn’t need words. Jinyoung got the message, reaching down to lift your legs around his waist, turning to carry you back towards the bedroom. He stopped at the nearest wall, pressing your hips into the surface with his own. 

The length of him pressed into your thigh, showing you that he was already hard and ready for you—you wondered how long he’d been thinking about picking you up and stealing you away to the bedroom. 

You moaned into the kiss as Jinyoung began to grind his hips into yours, the thin lacy underwear you’d worn was almost like you were wearing nothing at all, making the contact all the more torturous. 

Then Jinyoung was carrying you the rest of the way to his bedroom, kicking the door open and not bothering to close it behind him. He set you down, breaking the kiss in the process. 

His hands immediately worked to slide the zipper of your tight dress down, letting the fabric fall away to leave you in the barely-there undergarments. 

“Fuck.” 

Your cheeks reddened at his reaction, but you regained control within a second. “Sit on the bed,” you told him, eyes traveling down his bare upper body to the bulge in his pants. 

Jinyoung took a few steps backwards until his knees hit the bed, then he lowered to sit upon the edge. Leaning back on his palms, he stared up at you with so much lust, it felt like he was the one with the upper hand. 

“Gonna make you feel good,” you said, closing the distance and kneeling in front of him. 

Jinyoung reached out, brushing his fingertips along your cheek. “You always do, baby.” 

You licked your lips as you undid his belt, then his pants. You tugged at the waistband until Jinyoung got the hint, lifting his hips so that you could remove his pants. Once he was left in just his boxer briefs, you scooted even closer. 

All the times he’d laid you down and driven you crazy with his mouth, you wanted to repay the favor. He deserved it. It wasn’t like you never went down on him, but it was normally only for a few minutes before he was dragging you back up his body to slip inside of you. Besides, it had been so long now, you’d missed the feeling of his cock in your mouth. 

“Jinyoung,” you whispered as you stared up at him, hands traveling from his knees to his thighs. Strong, corded with muscle he worked so hard for during those early morning gym sessions. 

“Yeah, angel?” he replied, tongue wetting his lower lip. 

“You love me, right?” you asked him with a deceivingly innocent smile, lifting up onto your knees to press a kiss to his lips. 

Jinyoung nodded, plush lips soft against yours. “More than anything.”

“Good,” you breathed, resting back on your heels. “But I want you to fuck my mouth like you hate me, okay?” 

Jinyoung nearly choked on air, eyes widening down at you before he composed himself. He nodded, corner of his lips raising into a smirk. 

“Let your hair down. I’m going to need something to hold onto.”

You obeyed, undoing the bun you’d tied at the top of your head to let your hair fall to your shoulders. Your fingers tucked into the waistband of his underwear, sliding it down until his cock was freed from the fabric. 

He was hard already, a sight that made you squeeze your thighs together. There were many things you’d missed in these last months, but Jinyoung hard and naked was at the top of the list. 

You decided to start slow. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, ducking your head down to take the tip into your mouth. Eyes never leaving Jinyoung’s. 

Slowly, torturously so, you lowered your head until you’d taken about half of his length, feeling the tip of him bump against the back of your throat. 

Jinyoung kept his cool, as always, eyes boring into yours as you worked at him. It took a couple of minutes for you to get used to the feeling, the movement, the rhythm that you knew he liked. But his chest started to rise and fall just a little bit faster, and you knew his hands were itching to grab onto your hair. 

On the next stroke of your mouth, Jinyoung’s hips bucked up, enough to make you gag. Then again, again, and again. The room filled with the sound of Jinyoung’s groans and sharp intakes of air, mixed with the obscene noise each time his cock met the resistance at the back of your throat.

So much for wanting this to be romantic. 

You felt saliva drip out of the corner of your mouth to your chin but made no effort to wipe it away. He loved you like this—sloppy and desperate. Your clit was throbbing and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

Then Jinyoung was standing, hand on the back of your head to keep his cock in your mouth. He twisted his fingers in your hair, holding tight as he guided your mouth to take him deeper. 

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “More? You want more?” 

You nodded, blinking away the tears that formed at the corners of your eyes. His cock hit the back of your throat again but you relaxed, as much as you could, to let him slip past your gag reflex. 

“Jesus, your fucking mouth.” 

Jinyoung held you there for a moment, even as you coughed around him and your hands gripped his thighs because you needed something to hold onto. He began thrusting into your mouth, hardly giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Such a good girl, taking me in so deep, getting all wet and messy for me…”

You moaned around him, despite the physical discomfort you felt from the way he was using your mouth. You loved it just as much as he did, no matter how tight your chest got or how sore your jaw felt. 

Finally, he yanked at your hair, pulling you off of him. Within a second, he was bending down to slot his lips against yours and helping you stand in front of him. His hands traveled down your body, squeezing and groping at your flesh. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, eyes taking in your frame. You felt goosebumps all over your body from the fire in his gaze, a look you never got used to. “Undress for me, baby.”

It was an internal battle not to blush as your boyfriend stared at you, brown eyes following the trail of your hands down your own body, your fingertips forging a path to the waistband of your panties. You slid them down your legs and stepped out of them, holding his eyes as you unhooked your bra and let the lace fall to the floor. 

Jinyoung took a step closer, resuming your passionate kiss. You could never get enough of his lips, the way they fit perfectly with yours. It was funny to think how polite he’d been the first time you’d kissed; now, he wasted no time sucking at your tongue and nipping at your lower lip. 

His thumbs wiped at your cheeks and chin tenderly, cleaning up the mess you’d made. Walking you back to the bed, Jinyoung only parted from you enough to motion for you to lay back on the bed. 

You did as he asked, crawling over the mattress until you laid with your head at the pillows. Jinyoung was above you within seconds, mouth attaching to your neck and hips pinning you to the bed. 

“You’re- god, you’re so hard. Please,” you begged, sliding your hands up his back. “I need you inside.” 

“Not yet,” he whispered, pulling away to gaze down at you. His hand traveled from your neck down between your breasts, a light touch that set you on fire. He sat back onto his knees, one hand nudging your legs apart. 

Jinyoung stared hungrily at the sight of your glistening core spread out for him. There was no doubt you were wet enough for him to slip in easily, but it came as no surprise that he wanted to feel it for himself. 

“So wet just from sucking my cock, aren’t you baby?” One finger slid down your center, ghosting over your clit, the one place you needed him most. 

You whined, hips bucking up towards his touch. As he swirled two fingers in the arousal that had gathered at your entrance, a moan fell from your lips, earning you a cocky grin. 

When his touch left you all together, you furrowed your eyebrows, ready to complain. Until Jinyoung was pressing his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. 

Only a moment passed before you relaxed, flattening your tongue to wrap your lips around his fingers. His eyes darkened even more, watching the way you circled your tongue around his fingers, eager to taste your own sweetness. 

Finally, when he was sure his fingers were clean and covered with your saliva, he removed them from your mouth. He didn’t waste any time, pushing both digits into your entrance. 

“Oh-” you sighed, eyes falling shut. 

“Feels good?” he asked, adjusting himself so he could lay on his side next to you. He began a gentle pace inside of you, with his thumb rubbing figure eights into your clit. 

“Mm-hmmm,” you hummed. 

Jinyoung knew everything about your body by now. He was perceptive like that. He arched his fingers in just the right way to hit that spot inside of you, the one that sent shockwaves through your whole body. 

You whimpered. “Jinyoung…” you breathed, feeling around until you could grip onto his forearm. 

He didn’t stop or let up. If anything, his pace became more intense, unrelenting as he drove into you. His lips were under your ear, kissing the sensitive skin and whispering words of praise.

“So sweet, fuck, you feel amazing. Gotta open you up for me, love. You’re so tight,” he told you, adding a third finger as if to prove his point. 

“Ah,” you gasped, back arched slightly off of the bed for a moment, until you grew used to the width of his three fingers. 

“You wanna come like this?” Jinyoung asked, lips now pressed to your cheek. The only sound in the room was the wet, slick noise of his fingers thrusting in and out of you and your breathless praises of his name. 

Shaking your head, you squeezed his arm. “N-no,” you breathed, “I want to come with you inside.” 

“Good girl,” he praised, angling to kiss your lips, his fingers slipping out of you to leave you empty. Another mewl of complaint fell from your lips at the lack of contact. 

Jinyoung sat up to push his boxer briefs down and kicked them off, before settling back on top of you, forehead pressed into yours. He was all around you now, nothing left to separate your bodies. 

“Missed this,” you whispered, tilting your chin up until you could brush your lips against his. You parted your legs, bent at the knee to rest alongside his hips. 

A silent question in his eyes as he lined himself up with your entrance. You nodded, pressing your fingers into his back. Both of you sighed as he slid inside, filling you up just the way you needed. 

Jinyoung began a slow pace, hips rocking deliciously into yours. He buried his face into your neck and groaned, movements controlled to a point that you knew it was taking a great deal of effort not to pound into you. 

Your hands were all over him, nails grazing down his back until you were pressing into his ass, pulling him deeper inside of your heat. Desperation filled you as he thrusted into you, never feeling like you could get him close enough. 

“Jinyoung,” you moaned, nails digging into his skin. “Kiss me.”

He pulled his face from your neck and gave you what you wanted, kissing you slow and deep. He swallowed your moans and brought a hand to the side of your face, pushing your hair out of your face. 

Jinyoung whispered your name against your lips, over and over. Broken sentences fell from your own lips, finding it hard to think straight while he was fucking you this deep, a bruising intensity that made it hard to breathe. 

“Oh,” you sighed, your hands sliding back up his body to nestle into his hair. “Jinyoung, love y- oh, fuck. I can’t- God. Please.” 

Jinyoung nipped at your lip, pulling back enough to duck his head down, taking one nipple into his mouth. You gasped at the sensation of his tongue rolling around the bud, knowing it was enough to send you over the edge if he continued. 

Dropping to hover over you on one elbow, his free hand reached for your leg to hook around his waist, angling you just right for him. His lips continued their work on your breast, releasing your nipple from his mouth to suck a hickey into the skin just above. Well, that would keep you from wearing low cut tops for a week or so. 

You fisted his hair and arched your back, encouraging him to continue. Never one to give you what you want so easily, Jinyoung pulled away as soon as he was sure he’d marked you properly. After kissing the quickly forming bruise, he was gazing down at you again.

You groaned when he raised up enough to wrap his arm around your lifted knee, bringing it to drape over his shoulder. It was a stretch in your leg that hurt, but it was good, the pleasure of his length hitting your g-spot more than enough to overpower the pain. 

Jinyoung built up his pace as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, hips fucking you almost mercilessly now. He was close, you could feel it in the way he was losing control, eyes wild as he stared down at you. 

“I’m-” you started, dropping your hands from his hair to grip the sheets underneath of you. “I’m almost there. I need…” you began, but Jinyoung finished for you when the hand gripping your thigh dipped down between your bodies. 

“Come on baby,” he encouraged, pad of his thumb massaging your clit now. “Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me see you come for me. Let me feel you squeeze around me.”

“Ah… I…” you trailed off, eyes practically rolling back as you felt the waves of pleasure start to crest, so close to your peak. “Jinyoung.” 

It only took a few more thrusts until you were tumbling over the edge. You covered your mouth instinctively, though your hand was only there for a moment before Jinyoung was grabbing it to pin above your head. He wanted you loud. 

He got what he wanted. You cried out, back of your head digging into the pillow as your whole body trembled, core pulsing around him with each wave of bliss. He didn’t stop, knowing you needed him to fuck you through it. 

Your body was still twitching with the aftershocks when Jinyoung came. He buried his head into your neck, releasing inside of you with a deep, low groan against your skin. You gasped at the sensation of his cum filling you up, hot pulses that seemed never-ending. 

“Love you,” he whispered as his body began to relax and he came down from his intense climax. 

You turned your head until your lips found his, kissing him with all of the energy you could possibly muster up. It wasn’t much, though. He’d tired you out. 

“I love you too,” you replied against his lips. When you pulled back for air, you looked up into his eyes and couldn’t help the smitten smile that formed. “God. I love you so much.” 

Jinyoung pressed another kiss to your lips, chaste this time, then once more against your forehead. You shivered as he withdrew from you, suddenly feeling cold as soon as his body left yours. 

“I’ll be right back,” he told you even as you whined, grabby hands reaching for him. “Two minutes. Just give me two minutes,” he laughed. 

While Jinyoung went out to grab a towel to clean you up, you rolled over and got yourself comfortable under the covers. If he wasn’t planning on cuddling, you were going to be sorely disappointed. 

All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms for, well, the rest of eternity if possible. Jobs and responsibilities be damned. 

Jinyoung returned shortly with a damp, warm towel over his shoulder and a bottle of water in his hand. He set the glass on the nightstand, crawling underneath the covers. 

You couldn’t help distracting him as he cleaned you up, kissing his shoulder, his chest, his throat, whatever expanse of skin you could get your lips on. He complained, pretending like it bothered him but you knew it was quite the opposite. 

When you felt like you were sufficiently less sticky, you took the washcloth out of his hands and tossed it to the floor behind him. You silenced his protest with a kiss, wrapping your body around his like a monkey. 

“Gah,” he said against your lips, “So needy.” 

“Mm,” you agreed, dragging your lips across his cheek to his jaw. “Yes, I am. And I’m not ashamed.” 

Jinyoung laughed as you assaulted him with kisses, your hair tickling his chin when you nuzzled into his neck. 

Finally he relented and wrapped his arms around you, letting your limbs get tangled up and your bodies to press together without any barrier. You honestly couldn’t imagine a better feeling than being completely surrounded by Jinyoung, enough to feel his heart beat pulse against your skin. 

You settled into comfortable silence as he held you, hands stroking patterns up and down your back that sent goosebumps all over. No, there was nothing better than this, you decided. This was your own personal heaven. 

“Y/N,” he whispered after a few more minutes, just as your breathing slowed and you were almost lulled to sleep. “How about a shower? As much as I love this…” 

“Yeah. We’re a little sticky,” you agreed with a laugh, finally peeling your body away from his. 

Jinyoung got off the bed first, reaching his hand out to help you stand. 

“Ooh,” you gasped as your knees wobbled, nearly giving out once your feet hit the floor. Jinyoung caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist securely. 

“Whoa there,” he said with a laugh, kissing the side of your face. “Okay, so maybe a bath instead?” 

You nodded in agreement, blushing until he picked you up, a tiny yelp of surprise falling from your lips. 

“Show off,” you teased, slipping your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom. 

“You love me, though,” he countered, patting your bare ass playfully. 

Tucking your head into his neck, you nodded after a moment, smiling so wide that it hurt your cheeks. In that moment, you knew that you’d made the right choice. You were happy, finally, just truly happy. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

~~~~~

Two Years Later

It was a beautiful venue. More than enough space to contain the one hundred guests on the invite list. 

The ceremony was held in the back garden, sweet smelling flowers surrounding the rows of chairs that sat in front of the arch for the bride and groom. 

There was hardly a dry eye in sight during the vows, even BamBam was spotted wiping his cheek with his sleeve. Though he’d never admit it. 

After everyone convened in the dance hall for the reception, you were quick to remove your shoes, a fancy pair of stilettos you’d bought yourself for your birthday this year. You leaned your head on your husband’s shoulder, watching the newlyweds’ first dance. 

“My feet hurt,” you whined in a whisper, wiggling your toes. 

Jinyoung chuckled, slipping his arm around your shoulders. He rested his head against yours. “I told you to wear the flats, didn’t I?”

“Shut up,” you countered, turning your head to nip at his ear. “The heels were cuter. They’re sparkly.” 

“Ah, you make a good point,” he whispered, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good,” you replied. “A little tired.”

Jinyoung squeezed your shoulder gently, sliding his fingers along your skin. “The books say-“

“I know. It’s normal for the first trimester.”

Your husband smiled into your hair. “Sorry. I’ve just been learning a lot, you know? I want to help as much as I can.” 

And he had. After finding out you were pregnant two weeks ago, Jinyoung had truly stepped up his game. Buying all of the natural remedies for morning sickness, rubbing your feet after every shift at the store, letting you sleep in on the weekends while he cleaned up the apartment and did the grocery shopping. 

No one knew yet, since it was still rather early in the timeline and you both wanted to be sure before you spread the word. It felt like your own little secret—it was exciting. When you weren’t miserable, at least. 

“I’m just grateful I’m not puking right now,” you told him, sliding your hand along his arm until you could intertwine your fingers. “I don’t think the bride and groom would appreciate that.”

Jinyoung snorted. “Jaebeom would lose his mind. I swear, I’ve never seen him as frazzled as he was this morning. He was wearing out the carpet, pacing back and forth.” 

You laughed softly, watching as Jaebeom spun his bride around, nearly stepping on her dress. She smacked his shoulder playfully, no doubt reminding him just how expensive her dress had been. 

“Can’t believe we’re here,” you said, staring down at your hands before pulling back to lock eyes with Jinyoung. “If only I could go back and tell my thirteen year old self where we’d end up…” 

“Ha. My thirteen year old self would never believe me.” 

Squeezing his hand, you smiled as you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad we’re here.” 

It hadn’t always been an easy journey these last two years. After the honeymoon phase wore off, you’d gone through rough patches just like any other couple. It turned out, you were both wildly insecure deep down, which was never a good combination. You were needy and Jinyoung was jealous.

You’d had minor fights and not so minor fights, ones that had Jinyoung sleeping on the couch for a week, and one particularly terrible night you’d stayed with Sana. In fact, the man dancing with his wife in front of you had been the cause of that fight. Even more surprising that you were here now. 

But you kept your promise to each other, always. Even when it was hard, even when you cried and thought maybe this wouldn’t work out after all—you still chose each other. Every day. Things weren’t perfect, but they were pretty damn close. 

“Me too,” Jinyoung replied. 

As you squeezed your husband’s hand and placed it against your stomach, you silently thanked yourself for each and every decision you’d made that had brought you to this place. 

Something inside of you, though, told you the best was yet to come. 

#thepactfic #writing #got7 #park jinyoung #jinyoung #got7 fanfic #jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung smut #got7 smut #got7 imagine #jinyoung imagine #jinyoung fluff #got7 fluff

[plethora-of-imagines]

Nesting (Part 2)

AN: This is a sequel to @13atoms fic [Nesting], it’s also based on ideas from @iwouldfuckthemaster‘s horny anons for cheetah!Master.

Word Count: 2291

Warnings: smut/lemon, implied breeding desires

Description: The virus is still affecting the Master the next day.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings

You woke up alone in the nest of blankets and pillows the Master had made in his horny desperation. Shifting you let out a groan. You felt sore from the stretch the Master’s cock had provided. Wait. You shifted again, then squirmed as much as you could in between the bookcases. When you still couldn’t move you accepted your fate. The Master had swaddled you in a blanket like a child. You couldn’t move enough to leave the nest and figure out where he had gone.

Making the best of it you nuzzled into the comfort of the nest. At least all of the blankets and pillows that the Master kept in his bedroom made the floor comfortable. It was almost like you were in a small bed on the floor. You had always teased him a bit for collecting as many blankets and pillows on his bed as a young girl had stuffed animals but you had never been more grateful.

The sound of the door opening got you to use your core strength to lift yourself up while still cocooned. Grimacing at the ache is caused. The Master walked through the door, still completely naked. He waisted no time in heading directly to the nest. With the way his cock was standing at attention you had a feeling you knew what he was planning to do.

A yank on the correct part of the blanket as he lifted you up freed you from your imprisonment. Well at least briefly. You only got a few moments to enjoy being released before you were quickly turned over and shoved face-first into the blanket nest. You twisted your head so that it was your cheek that was pressed into all of the blankets. His weight resting on top of you to keep you from squirming away as his lips found your neck.

Nips and bites were made to the sore and bruised marks from yesterday that were already covering your neck. You scrunched your eyes closed trying to ignore the slight discomfort it brought. A particularly harsh bite made you yelp in pain.

"Ow! Master, I'm not your chew toy!"

Kisses were pressed to the site as an apology.

"I've moved us far away from the planet. Somewhere few can reach us and challenge my claim to you."

"Claim to me?"

"As I said yesterday, you're ovulating. All those hormones and pheromones telling anyone nearby that you are ready to mate," he pressed you further into the floor. "But you're mine. All mine! I refuse to let anyone else get close enough to threaten my claim on you."

You could feel the growls that filled every space in his words, his proclamation that you were his.

Nose pressed against your skin he took a deep inhale. A pleased purr left his throat at your scent. He nuzzled into you the whole time he spoke.

"You've always smelled so good, but now you smell like the two of us and sex. It's perfect."

Your legs were spread open and hips lifted up. A small pillow placed underneath you to keep you lifted up so that he had better access to your vagina. His cock slid between your folds back and forth until his cock could move with ease.

You whimpered as he slid into you. It ached to have him stretching you again after how rough he had been last night. It was a pleasant ache, only because you somewhat enjoyed the pain. Soothing noises and purrs filled the air the whole time he entered you to help you relax.

He waited for you to take a few deep breaths before he started to fiercely pound into you, once again chasing his release. Your breath hitched as he found an angle that let him hit your g-spot and cervix, hard. Each thrust he made had you grinding into the pillow through no choice of your own. Just the sheer force of his movements. The clit stimulation helping to make the rough fucking he was giving you from behind pleasant for you. Your little moans filled the air along with his grunts and growls.

His hand snaked into your hair, tightly gripping it at the base of your skull. Yanking you back by your hair. Legs twitching with all of the stimulation.

"Whose are you?" His tone was strict, there was a correct answer that you'd better provide him with.

"Yours! I'm yours, Master!"

Your yell would have been heard by anyone else in the TARDIS, had there been anyone around to hear.

The pleased growl that he responded with made your whole body vibrate and tremble.

"Mine," it was the most possessive you had ever heard him.

With another sharp bite to your neck, he came inside of you. It was the fastest he had ever cum, normally he chased your climax first. You hadn't cum yourself this time but you still felt good. His teeth released their grip on your neck. Kisses peppered all over your neck and upper back to soothe you as you shook under him. 

You didn't even try to move as he pulled out. Maneuvering you like a rag doll he wrapped you back up in the blankets. Once again swaddled by them so you couldn't really move around, never mind try to leave the nest. He flipped you onto your back and kissed you deeply.

He pulled away and gazed lovingly at your lips. Kissing you again. This time when he pulled away he started to reluctantly leave.

"Master?" Your voice sounded vulnerable and needy.

You didn't want him to leave. You wanted cuddles. He quickly came back to your bound form. Dozens of kisses were pressed all over your face. A breathless giggle left your bruised lips.

"Sleep. I'll be back with food and water soon."

You still missed him when he left but the warmth and secure comfort of the nest lulled you to sleep. You were exhausted, and you had barely moved at all during this round of sex.

You woke to being lifted up and settled down in his embrace. He fretted over your positioning as you stirred. You nuzzled lazily into his bare chest. A cup was lifted to your lips. Coaxing you into taking several small sips of water.

Opening your eyes as he set down the cup you could smell the breakfast he had made you. Squirming to free your arms as he moved to restraint you. He gave a small little growl as he tightly held you still.

When you stopped struggling he loosened his grip. One arm remained around you as the other brought a bite of French toast to your lips. You took the bite and started chewing, hoping that he would let you speak before feeding you another bite. You swallowed as quickly as you could.

"I can feed myself, Master."

You curiously looked up at him. What was the reason for him taking it upon himself to feed you? He gave a small grimace at your probing statement. He must not want to admit to the answer.

"The virus has made me want to provide for you even more than before," he sighed. "Normally just making you breakfast is all I need to feel that I am properly providing for you, but now I feel the need to prove that I am the best possible choice for you as a mate. Which seems to involve feeding you."

You smiled,  "You know I'll always choose you, Master."

Another kiss was pressed to the crown of your head.

"Indulge my instincts this time, pet. I promise I will try not to be as overbearing if this continues in the future."

You settled fully into his arms, letting him feed you. Every few bites you took he seemed compelled to give you a soft kiss as a reward.

After you were done with the food he had made he returned to holding you tightly against him. This time almost unnoticeable purrs passed through his body. You let yourself relax and enjoy how calm everything was.

Calm, until you started to feel him hardening again through the blanket. You shivered at the thought of another round. Taking your shiver as an invitation the Master removed you once again from the cocoon he had swaddled you in. Hovering above you he looked down at you with lust.

He spent several minutes just working on getting you turned on. His fingers circling around your clit, slowly arousing you. When you started to buck up against his hand he pulled away. Once again sliding his cock into you. This time he went slow, letting you feel every inch as it entered you. You wanted nothing more than for him to just push quickly the rest of the way in, but he refused to let you move.

“Stay down,” he snarled at your efforts to lift yourself up and push him further into you.

The pace he set was slow this time. Going almost all the way out before he slid back in inch by inch. Your hands bunched up the blankets underneath you. You would never have thought that you would want the Master to harshly fuck you for the third time in such a short period of time. Normally you would have wanted him to go slow and sweet for the sake of your aching body. But he was deliberately going so slow that it would take you forever to cum.

His hands started to busy themselves with your clit. You sighed in relief as his attention to your clit brought you closer. It was much less achingly slow than his thrusts were. You could feel him starting to twitch inside of you.

"My little mate," he leaned near to your ear to purr to you.

"Little? Master I'm not smaller than you," you laughed.

"Precious -little- mate," each word was followed by a playful growl.

"Saying I'm little won't make you magically taller, Master," you purred back.

The coherent look in his eyes as he pulled away from your ear practically yelled mischief. A sharp thrust had you crying out. You were so deliciously sore.

"My tiny, little mate," he teased. "So stretched around her Master's cock, being thoroughly filled and claimed."

Before you could protest again that you were not tiny he picked up the pace. Strangled noised left you with each harsh thrust. His fingers keeping you from being in pain by overriding your senses with pleasure. His hands stilled the moment he started to cum.

The Master lifted your lower body up off the floor as he came. Holding you up as he pressed his cock as deeply into you as he could. He felt so deep inside of you that it hurt. You whined and shook, your body ready to fall the moment he released you. Your stomach was softly kissed as he held you up for several minutes, letting his cum be kept deep inside you by his cock. Gently you were lowered back down to the floor and the Master pulled out.

You could feel your clit contacting, feeling empty without him inside you. Shifting your weight around you tried to stimulate yourself enough to forget how empty you felt. 

"Does my little mate feel empty without her Master's cock?"

You whined at him.

"I'm afraid we need to let that pretty little pussy of yours rest for a while. Don't worry I'll make you feel good while we wait."

His hands- no longer needed to hold you up- started to focus on your clit again. He held you still as he made you moan with every stroke of his fingers. You could feel your core tightening, you were so close.

"Who are you?"

"Master, please!"

You were right on the edge. A few more strokes to your clit would send you over the edge. And the Master knew it. He slowed down to a painfully, achingly slow pace. Just enough to keep you near the edge but never give you enough to go over.

“Your mate! All yours!”

You needed him to make you cum!

"Who are you?" He teased.

He knew that he could make you say it. He wouldn't let you cum until you did. You wanted to cum too much to fight him on this.

"Master's tiny, little mate. Please, Master!" You were begging him. "Please let your mate cum!"

His fingers picked up their pace throwing you over the edge. They continued to draw out your orgasm until you whined and squirmed away. Falling to your side, the Master pulled you in close. Kissing the bruises on your neck from all of his biting he had done that he could reach.

"Get some rest," his voice sounded sated and tired. "I think after filling you with my cum a few more times I'll be ready to let you leave the nest."

You groaned.

"Oh don't groan like that, we both know you're loving this."

You were pulled even closer to him. He was right but that didn't mean you wouldn't complain about it a small bit.

"By the time you're ready to let me leave the nest, I'll be too sore to leave. I think if I tried to leave now I'd have to crawl!"

You could feel his smile pressed against your shoulder. He was clearly pleased with himself for a job well done.

"Good, that means that I’ve been through enough in claiming you."

You playfully pouted but nuzzled into the Master’s embrace. If this -nesting- didn’t happen again naturally maybe you would have to convince the TARDIS to go back to that planet again sometime. You enjoyed it enough to want this to eventually happen again.

#cheetah!master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #the master x reader

[pressedinthepages]

Brontide

noun. the low rumble of distant thunder.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 3633

Rating: E  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245866

a/n: so once again, this ran away with me. this wasn’t a prompt, just an idea from my brain.

Warnings: filthy smut, oral sex, penetrative sex, female reader

A storm is raging, Jaskier and Reader confess their feelings for one another and have an exciting night

The sudden crack of thunder shoots you back to reality. It’s late, and you’re huddled up in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. Geralt has long since retired to bed, but both you and Jaskier are still lingering among the empty tables and abandoned tankards. You know that Geralt trusts the bard to take care of himself, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave him after one too many incidents involving a scorned spouse and a very sharp blade. So, you’ve resigned yourself to keeping guard from a dark corner with a little window, listening to the most ancient song of rain nourishing the earth. 

    You’ve been alone for at least an hour, the barkeep shoving the last dawdling drunk out of the doors and bolting the doors behind him. He gave you both a kind smile and retreated to his own dwelling above the tavern, leaving you alone with the bard.

    Jaskier has been strumming quietly across the room, apparently working on a new composition. Every now and then you’ll hear him mutter a curse under his breath and scribble on his parchment, but otherwise he’s not said a word since the last patron left. You’re thankful for this, for even though the bard’s voice is one that rivals that of a most holy angel, you sometimes long to just listen to him play his lute. The sounds are made ever sweeter by the music of the rain and the all-encompassing scent accompanying it, something earthy and old, older than time itself. You rest your head against the windowsill, drifting into daydreams about roaring waves, wood creaking under long, calloused fingers, wet rivulets of rain dripping down collars, and blue eyes that snatch your breath without care of you needing it back.

    Alas, you were not allowed long to lose yourself in this dream, the thunder cracking and rumbling across the sky, echoing through the little tavern and sending your mind darting back to your body in an electric jolt. Jaskier notices you start, and moves to gather his journal, tucking it and his lute into his case.. Slinging it across his back in a well-rehearsed move, he moves towards your table where your heart is still beating a bit quicker than normal. 

    “You know, you don’t have to stay down here with me,” the bard says with a small smile. “I can take care of myself.”

    “Well, while Geralt may let you roam into any royal pantry you please, I’d like to make sure you keep your head attached to your shoulders,” you quip back, earning a small chuckle in return. You tuck these little moments away, when you both can allow yourselves the luxury of laughter and peace instead of the relentless march of death and misery and heroics that Geralt follows. You’d never admit it, but you’ve found that the only thing that keeps you remotely sane these days is the lively man in front of you, surprising you at every turn. 

    What always surprises you most is how freely he gives his affections. Every kind person that he meets gets his light touches, his honeyed words, and his smile that could make even the most crotchety Witcher’s lips turn up at the edges. You’ve gotten all of this, but you’re so hungry for more. You’ve had a taste of his allure, and you’re addicted. He is your weakness, and you are terrified of him ever finding out. He could have just about any person on the Continent, why would he ever give you more than what he already gives so easily. 

    Jaskier holds out a hand, which you accept, rising to your feet. Your foot catches on the edge of the table though, and you tumble forward. Jaskier gracefully catches your fall, his hands steady around your waist and your hands latching onto his doublet and you never want to let him go. You’re close enough to be sharing the same breath, and Jaskier whispers your name with a reverence usually only employed for prayers to the gods.

    “Are you alright?” His voice has shifted, rumbling through you like the thunder, untamed and powerful. You bring your eyes to his, intent on answering that you’re absolutely fine, thank you very much. But when your gazes lock, it is like all of the world is holding its breath, with only the rain pattering on the windows to signal that the continuation of time. Jaskier’s hands around you tighten, and you settle into them, regaining your footing but not stepping away. Your hands slowly move up his shoulders, catching on the little threads and seams. When your fingers ghost onto his exposed collar, you feel rather than hear his breath hitch and he gently pulls your body tighter to his. You’re both moving as if pulled by a siren song, one that you’ve never heard or sang but know the words to nonetheless. Jaskier rests his forehead against yours, tenderly brushing his nose with yours. Your eyes flutter closed, not believing what they’re seeing as though your dream from earlier never actually ended. 

    “May I kiss you?” you hear him whisper, and you can almost feel his lips move against yours as he says it. You smile to yourself, moving ever so slightly to tilt your head up to meet him.

    “I would be quite disappointed if you didn’t,” you murmur, and before you can take another breath his lips have captured yours for just a moment, still hesitant and careful. He pulls back, worried that he’s pushed too far, but your lips chase and meet his once more. It’s as if all of the stars in the sky have aligned as you melt into his embrace. Your fingers thread into his hair, earning a sound born of pure sin deep in the bard’s chest. You suckle on his lip, licking into his mouth as he grants you further access. He tastes of sage and citrus, painting pure sunshine in the torrential downpour on the other side of the doors. A groan is pulled from your chest, a question and a promise in the sound. 

    You pull back from each other, still holding fast and sharing the same space. One of Jaskier’s hands cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as you catch your breath.

“Jaskier,” his name spilling from your mouth like pebbles along the bottom of a rushing river, “stay with me tonight.”

His mouth turns up into a smile, one filled with more hope and pleasure than you’ve ever had the good fortune of witnessing. He gently grasps your hands, leading you backwards to the little room you’re taking refuge from the storm in.

You tumble across the threshold, lips never parting, Jaskier’s foot kicking the door closed as he pushes you further into the room. You feel the bed at the back of your legs, and you push your hands under his open doublet, sliding it off of his shoulders. The garment hits the floor, and with his hands freed, Jaskier grasps the sides of your face, pulling back only enough to get air. You move your hands to his, grateful for any piece of him you can grasp. 

“I am afraid I am a fool, love,” he says, gently lacing his fingers through your hair, releasing it from its simple tie at the back of your head. Your hair flutters down like letting out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and you peer at Jaskier hoping that he’ll elaborate without you prompting. Ever predictable, he continues, his whispers warming your cheeks with every word. Less predictable, however, are the words he says.

“I feel as though I’ve loved you since the moment you entered my life,” he murmurs. “You filled a hole in my life that I didn’t know was empty, and I am terrified of finding it hollow once more.”

You feel your eyes start to glisten, holding Jaskier impossibly tight. You gather every bit of courage that you carry, and say, barely louder than a whisper, “Then I too am a fool, for I have been trying to win your heart not knowing that it was already mine.”

You bring your mouth back to his, rekindling the heat with your confession. Your hands travel back to his chest, the fabric of his chemise soft and worn with time. You pull the hem of the shirt from where it is tucked in and Jaskier lifts his arms, breaking your kiss only for the time it takes for the shirt to join the doublet on the ground. His arms wrap around your waist, lips meeting yours once more, firm and persistent. Your nails scratch lightly through the hair on his chest as his fingers move to the laces at the front of your blouse. You notice he’s quite good at multi-tasking, unlacing your shirt while also kicking off his boots, making you a little jealous since it feels like you wouldn’t be able to form two coherent thoughts while in his arms.

Jaskier’s hands push your blouse down your arms, his mouth moving to any newly exposed skin, kissing and suckling every place he can reach. His hands, calloused and rough from years of music and travel, leave goosebumps in their wake as they travel to your back, intent on unlacing your corset. Your hands travel down, down his chest to his waist, finding him warm and wanting. You palm him through his light trousers, and you feel his fingers lose their place, lost to his own pleasure. He regains himself quickly though and practically tears the damned thing off of you, discarding it with the rest of your clothing. 

His hands find purchase on your hips and he pushes you backwards, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed. Jaskier moves to his knees, pulling your boots off and chucking them dramatically over his shoulder. You chuckle lightly, pushing back a stray piece of hair from his forehead, cradling his face in your palm. He sighs and leans into your touch, content with this moment of tenderness amidst the desire. 

“This is how I feel every time you grace me with your smile or your laugh, sweeter than any song I could ever dream of writing, drawn to my knees to worship you without a second thought,” Jaskier utters, running his hands up your thighs. Your eyes prickle at the honesty, the overwhelming joy of caring and being cared for in return. Your hands find his and you stand, leaving him kneeling before you. You bring his hands to the laces on your trousers, with an unspoken request. Jaskier sits up, leaving hot kisses along your stomach while he deftly unties the laces. He hooks his fingers into the waist of the pants and pulls them, along with your smallclothes, to the floor, where you carefully step out of them. He moves to stand, hands sliding up your legs and under your chemise. You’re not sure you’ve ever been touched quite like this before, as if he is feeling skin for the first and last time. Your skin is kissed by the cool air in the room as it is exposed, Jaskier standing to his full height and lifting the undershirt over your head. It soon joins everything else on the floor, and you are finally blissfully bare before him. 

He hums appreciatively before taking your hands in his and takes a few steps back, resting his weight against the wall behind him. He plants a lingering kiss to your fingertips before lowering them to his trousers. Your hands tremble, not something born of anxiety, but of impatience. We should really wear fewer layers you think to yourself as you untangle the knot that secures the band of his pants. Your hands slide along his hips, and you move them downward, bringing the trousers and underclothes with you. You wind up kneeling with one knee on the floor, and you help Jaskier step out of the clothes. You lift your gaze, and are met with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen. His cock is standing proud, flushed and straining with arousal. You flick your eyes back to his, silently asking permission. He lets out a trembling breath and nods, never breaking your gaze. You settle between his legs, gently running your nails up his legs, scratching the hairs and feeling the muscles that twitch beneath your touch. 

You let out a hum and wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the passion and power and heat. Jaskier’s head is thrown back against the wall with a thunk, gasping out a string of disjointed syllables. His name falls from your lips, and you lean forward, trailing the flat of your tongue from your hand up his length, circling the tip before pulling him into your mouth. He still tastes of sage and citrus, but there’s something else, something distinctly Jaskier, and it’s intoxicating. You moan around him, pulling him in further and his knees buckle, his fingers threading through your hair and settling at the crown of your head. You move slowly, sliding your lips up and down, giving little twists of your wrist around the base of him. His breath is short and ragged, a gale of wind carrying leaves and flowers and promises. Your free hand glides up to his chest and back down his leg and back up again, this time roving to his backside and giving a little squeeze. His cock twitches in your mouth and you taste the salt of his arousal, just barely pearling at his tip. You suck in your cheeks and release him, the pop echoing in the little room. Your hand still works itself along the length of his cock, twisting at the end, then suddenly Jaskier stutters out your name. You release him, sitting back on your heels and looking up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

    He is so beautiful like this, chest heaving and flushed, hair pointing every direction, putty beneath your fingers. He’s fucked out on the feeling of you, and you can’t help the little swell of pride that washed through you. Jaskier holds out a hand, just as he did earlier in the evening, and you rest your hand in his. He pulls you up lightly, kissing you until you see stars, his arousal still pressed between your bodies. “Fuck,” he exhales, pulling back to regain some sort of composure. After a heartbeat, his eyes open, glinting with more than a little mischief. He leans down so that his mouth is at your ear, and he whispers, “go lay on the bed, love.”

    You pull out of his grip, lingering at his hands, gently pulling him with you towards the bed. You lay back, sinking down into the pillows’ soft embrace. Jaskier climbs after you, settling himself so he is straddling over you. He settles back onto his heels, looming over you. He reminds you of old tales of the gods walking among humans, and in this moment, you can believe them all. He reaches to you, his hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss. His other hand moves to your breast, kneading the soft flesh until you arch further into him with a gasp. The hand behind your head pulls you to the side, exposing your neck for his attention. He leaves little kisses along your jaw as he moves, finding a spot just under your ear that makes you whine with the barest touch. He deepens the kiss there, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin. Both of his hands are on your breasts now, and it is all you can do to run your hands along whatever skin of his you can find. Jaskier pushes you back so that you are laying once more, and he takes each of the raised peaks of your breasts in his mouth before moving to settle between your thighs. 

    “May I?” He asks, and you gulp, nodding feverishly. You’re sure that even if you had tried to answer with words, they wouldn’t have made any sense with how mindless in arousal you are. He pushes your knees up and apart, laying on his stomach so that he is level with your sex. Jaskier’s hands run up your legs, meeting at the apex of your thighs, and he spreads his thumbs to meet at your center. He parts you, fully invested in his inquiry into your pleasure. His tongue runs along the length of your cunt, suckling at the bundle of nerves at the top. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, every muscle seizes, everything outside of this little room ceases to exist. Your hands fly to his hair, hips rocking like a ship in a storm against his mouth, your head falling back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Jaskier drinks you like a man who has never known water, or ale, or apple juice, and now never wants to know. He swirls his tongue around your clit, humming at the taste of your pleasure. Words are tumbling from your mouth like the rain against the windows, constant and indistinguishable noises of gratitude, prayer, and pleas for more, more.

    Jaskier shifts so that he has one arm draped across your hips, holding you down, and with his other hand he thrusts two fingers inside of you, intent on learning you as well as he’s learned his instruments, for he’s sure that you would make the most beautiful music. As he withdraws them only to thrust them back in and again and again, you lift your head to look down at him only to find his piercing blue eyes already on you. Your hands tighten in the priceless silk of his hair, causing him to suckle, thrust, and moan against you all at the same time, and the relentless storm is suddenly inside of the room. Every color you’ve ever seen flashes behind your eyes, there is a dull roar of thunder in your ears, and every wall you’ve ever built in yourself cracks and shatters under his watchful eye. In that moment, there is everything, and nothing. 

    Jaskier brings you back to yourself, his attentions never wavering. He coaxes you back down and kisses the inside of your thigh as he climbs to hover over you once more. You pull him down, tasting yourself on his mouth, dragging a gravelly moan from your chest at the feel of his cock, still warm and weighty and wanting against your stomach. You hook your legs up and around his hips, trying to pull him ever closer to you. His forehead rests against yours as he looks down, lining himself at your entrance. Jaskier brings his eyes back to you as he pushes forward, slowly sheathing himself in one smooth motion. He stills, letting you adjust to him. You feel so wonderfully full, and you gently clench yourself around him. His head falls to your shoulder, his lips against your neck. 

“Fuck,” he grits, his voice marbles on cobblestone, “do that again.”

You squeeze once more, and Jaskier only growls, low and long. He pushes himself up to rest on his hands before he moves his hips, pulling almost fully out of you. You whine at the loss of touch, only for the sound to puncture itself as he drives so impossibly deep within you. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, grasping for some semblance of reality in this world of bliss. He sets a steady pace, but it is too soon not nearly enough. One of your hands falls to knead your breast, looking for any friction to bring you further. With a deep, guttural sound, Jaskier loops his arm under your waist and shifts his weight so that he pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap. 

He fucks up into you, hard, spearing up into you, finding the spot within you that makes you feel like you could devastate planets from existence. The sound that spills from you is a mix between a gasp and a prayer, trying so desperately to hold onto something anything in this moment. You feel Jaskier everywhere, every angle inside of you, every touch, every kiss, every huff of breath along your skin. Outside, lightning strikes to ground and your own lightning flies up your spine, a strangled cry falling from your lips as your storm washes away the rest of the world. Your cunt clenches Jaskier like a vice, and his teeth sink into your neck as his pleasure overtakes him. You’re oversensitive, but you gently rock against him, coaxing every last moment of euphoria from him. 

As he comes back to himself, you stroke your hand along his face and pull him into a kiss, still passionate but now sated. Jaskier pulls himself out of you and you feel his spend trail down your thigh. He lays you back down onto the bed and stands, moving to the little dresser to retrieve a small damp cloth. When he returns, he leans in for another kiss, gently moving the cloth along your body to get you clean. He throws the cloth over his shoulder with the same ridiculous bravado as earlier when he finishes and climbs back into the bed, pulling you to lay against his side with your head against his chest. You feel his thumb brush along your arm, and as you rest a hand on his chest, you find comfort in the sound of his heart, strong and steady, lulling you to sleep. 

*Geralt loves the sound of rain, but Gods does he wish it was a little bit louder so he didn’t have to hear everything from the next room over.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier #smut #jaskier smut #mention of geralt #my fic #spicyyyy

[stones-x-bones]

Dreamkeepers (Part 1)|| Morgan, Nell and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems, @nelllraiser, @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex wakes up. She wonders if, perhaps, dreaming was better. CONTENT: Heavy References to Domestic Abuse, References to Self Harm, Panic Attack

Bex didn’t remember what she’d been doing last, but before she knew it, she was gasping for breath and sitting up in bed, clutching at her chest as she let out a yell. She’d been falling, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she been running from the darkness again? Her throat felt raw. God, she was so thirsty. She felt so weak. What was going on? What was happening? Her eyes looked around wildly, turning her body as much as possible with what energy she had, and found herself in a room. Her mind tried to recall where she’d been, what she’d been told. Someone had told her she was safe somewhere. Whose house was she in? Morgan. Morgan’s house. A guest bedroom. She’d been asleep for weeks. Weeks. Anxiety flooded her chest and she felt suddenly sick. She threw the blankets off and tried to scramble from the bed but her legs felt like jello and she collapsed just off the side with a loud thud. “Pro-professor!” she called out, her voice a croak. Tried to clear her throat, clinging to the bed. “M-Morgan!” she tried again. She needed to get up, she needed to go home. Her parents were going to be so angry.

Morgan heard Bex’s voice from down the hall and turned, feet slapping the hardwood as she sprinted over. This wasn’t the first time she’d thought Bex had woken up, but--no, that was definitely her voice. And something falling. “Bex!” She knocked into the doorframe as she ran in, arms already outstretched. “Oh, you did it! Stars above, you did it, you’re back!” She scooped the girl up, sitting her up on the bed with ease. “You did so well, honey. Here--” She reached over for the pitcher and glass on the end table and poured out some ice water. “You probably need to hydrate. Maybe take some deep breaths.” She knew that she should probably be more concerned about the after-effects of a magical health crisis, but she couldn’t stop smiling at Bex. It hadn’t been right, having the house so quiet while she was in it. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t her. “How’re you feeling?” She asked, sitting next to her. “Are you hungry already? Can you walk? Is this too many questions?” She grinned sheepishly and brushed back her hair. “Maybe just have some more water and tell me what you need when you’re ready.”

“D-did--” Bex started, blinking. Morgan was lifting her back onto the bed but all she wanted to do was get out there, it felt suffocating. If she didn’t get home, if she didn’t call her parents, if she didn’t let them know-- everything was going to be so bad. It was all already so bad. “It-- wasn’t me. I d-didn’t do anything,” she finished, swallowing hard. Morgan handed her a glass of water and she took it gratefully, drinking maybe faster than she should have been. But it felt nice, and cool, and she was able to stop shaking so much for just a moment. “I didn’t do anything,” she repeated quietly, holding the glass back out as her hands shook. “S-sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what’s--” She swallowed thickly, freezing in her spot when Morgan started asking questions. Flinching involuntarily when a hand reached out to brush hair from her face. “I n-need to go home,” she finally said, “I need to go.” 

Morgan flinched back. “I’m sorry. I’ll--get the hang of that better. I’ve just been so worried, I--reacted.” She smiled apologetically. “But, Bex, you’re not in any shape to run out the door, I don’t think. Didn’t you think a shower and some food was a good idea first? Or maybe a bath, if it’s hard standing?” She leaned in, scrutinizing the girl’s expression, the tension all over her, the trembling in her hands. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize. Just slow yourself down, okay? You’ve just come back from a huge ordeal. You need to take things slowly. Don’t borrow problems from the future. Just be here with me, huh?”

“No, it’s-- it’s okay. I just--” Bex stuttered, “muscle memory.” That probably wasn’t the answer she should have given, or that Morgan would have wanted, but her mind was still spinning and forming coherent thoughts was still rough. What Morgan was saying made sense, though, and she could barely stand. How long had it been since she’d last used her real legs? Being an ethereal projection of herself in some strange, unreal dreamscape really made one appreciate solid ground. “I-- I really should be getting back. It’s been-- I don’t know how long it’s been but I-I’ve never gone this long without telling them where I am and I’m worried they’re--” she stopped herself just short of saying the word. Upset, mad, angry. Any of them would do, but a deep fear gripped its claw around Bex’s heart and she stopped. “Worried. They must be so worried.” She tried to stand up again but Jello legs failed her again and she sat back on the bed. “M-maybe just a shower?”

“Bex--” Morgan sighed. “It’s been a couple weeks, and I won’t say they aren’t concerned, but if it’s already been that long, what’s a couple hours more?” With Bex’s insistence that it was okay, she slowly put her hand over the girl’s. “And I think...whatever happened to you over there, honey, I hope you give yourself some time to just be happy to be back, reunited with your body, able to text your friends and see the people who care about you again. You should get to have that. I can call Nell and Mina over, if you want. I was thinking spaghetti with mushroom and rice meatballs for dinner. It’s pasta night anyway.” She sighed again. However much she threw Bex’s way, she never seemed to land quite where she wanted to. “You’ve had a lot taken from you. It would be a shame if you took more from yourself. But, shower first. Then it’s your call.” She braced herself, smiling bright as she prepared for the worst. The shower, at least, would have to take some time. Maybe by the end, she’d have a better idea of how to get Bex to stay. “Can I help you over to the bathroom?”

It sounded like a dream, really. A nice dinner, with all the people she wanted to see most. Nell, Mina, Morgan-- even Deirdre. They could all sit down and just be happy that everyone was together and Bex could reach out and feel everyone and everything and know they were real and know that she was real. But that’s why Bex knew it was too good to be true, because it all sounded so nice. Bex didn’t get nice things. Bex didn’t deserve nice things. She looked down to Morgan’s hand over hers and noted how cold it always felt. Still the same. Something real. She took in a deep breath. “Shower first,” she finally agreed, “I-- I can do that.” An irrational fear gripped her at the suggestion, but she shook the thought away. Walking her to the bathroom wouldn’t expose her to Morgan. “Um, yes? I-- I don’t know if I can walk very well right now. My legs feel-- well...like I haven’t used them in w-weeks.” The thought still made her stomach clench but she smiled through it as best she could, awkward and forced. “God has it really been…” she didn’t wanna look at her phone, or the calendar. Her hand subconsciously tightened around Morgan’s. “How am I alive?”

Morgan laughed dryly. “Must’ve been magic,” she said. “Come on. Put your weight on me. I’m a lot tougher than I look.” She worked her arms around the girl and walked her, slowly and haltingly, to the bathroom. “Will you holler or something, if you feel like you need help? I don’t think you need a concussion on the bathroom tile on top of your miracle recovery.” She got Bex as far as the sink, where she could brace herself easily, and grabbed a fresh set of towels out of the linen cabinet. “I’ll find some clean clothes for you to change into and leave them outside the door. I’ll just be getting started on dinner downstairs.” She met her eyes, searching haplessly for a clue. “Is that okay? Is there anything else you need?”

“Magic isn’t--” Bex started, but found she just didn’t have the fight to say it. And that, perhaps, she didn’t believe that anymore, either. Maybe it was real. Maybe it had been magic that had trapped her, hurt her, taken her away. She just let out a sigh and let Morgan help her to the bathroom, legs beginning to feel normal again when they finally made it there. “No! No, I don’t--” she said quickly without thinking, “I don’t need help. I’ll be fine.” Besides, if she did fall, she was sure they’d hear. She sank onto the edge of the tub and nodded, waiting as Morgan handed her a fresh towel. “N-no, this is fine. Really, this is more than...this is enough.” She gave another small smile, staying seated until Morgan shut the door. She peeled the clothes from her body and folded them up, setting them neatly aside. The marks on her thighs alone were enough to cause shame, but she felt a deep layer of it coating her as she crawled into the shower and sat on the bathtub floor. She just needed a minute. Just a minute to herself to try and process what had happened, where she’d been. Just a minute. Or twenty. 

The water never turned cold, but she finally reached up and turned it off. When she opened the door to peak out, there was a small pile of clothes waiting for her and she grabbed them quickly before drying off and sliding them on. She had to stay sitting for a minute, taking in deep breaths. Her phone buzzed again on the counter but she didn’t look at it as she slid it into her pocket and headed downstairs on still shaky legs. “M-Morgan?” she called out again, searching for the kitchen.

Morgan tried her best, but she couldn’t come up with anything more subtle than, stay here one more night, and then the one after. And then stay anywhere you want, as long as it’s not back with your parents. So she stayed by the stove, stirring the pasta in the boiling water, not even minding how the steam frizzed her mess of fringe. “I’m here!” She called. “Kind of finishing early, if you’re feeling hungry after all.” That was a start. She checked her skillet and then padded into the nearest entryway to flag down the girl. 

When she saw her, she couldn’t help but laugh, beaming. “You look like a whole new girl,” she said. “I think glamazon athleisure really suits you. If it’s not too much trouble, can you pop in here and test the mushrooms? I uh…lost most of my sense of taste recently, and my usual tasters aren’t here right now.” She beckoned her over. “And uh--” What she should have said was, if you want me to drive you home after, I can, no problem. It was the sensible, common sense thing to say. But the words stuck in her throat and instead she said, “--maybe have a seat, do some stretches?”

Bex followed the sound of Morgan’s voice until she found her standing in one of the doorways. For someone who lived in a house even larger than this one, she found herself getting lost more easily. She looked down at the clothes she’d put on. “Oh, um-- yeah,” she chewed her lip, “my mom would hate this.” Athliesure wear is just sweats for people who want to be rich, she’d said once. Bex swallowed. She watched Morgan scurry around the kitchen over to the stove and wave her over, but she stayed put in the doorway, hands wringing together. “I need to go home, Professor,” she said through a nervous warble. She tried to hold onto her composure, but it was fading fast. “I-- I’m very grateful f-for everything you’ve done for me, but I really need to--” her voice cracked again and she bit down on her cheek. She hated the idea of disappointing Morgan, she even wanted to stay, but-- the things she wanted and the things she needed to do didn’t often align. She’d grown accustomed to that. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to put you out anymore than I already have. I can-- I can call someone.” 

Nell and Cutler had lingered briefly outside the catacombs with her healing his hands to ensure that he didn’t bleed out, as well as taking the time for a few deeper conversations that she was all too eager to leave behind. They hadn’t been forced, but the less time she had to think about what had been revealed in the catacombs, the better. It felt like her feet had already decided where to lead her as she trudged towards Morgan’s, her bike still where she’d left it at home before the mysterious call had brought her to the underground caverns. She wanted- no needed to see Bex. To watch as her eyes found the light they’d lacked in her dreams, bright with life instead of the glow of a dreamscape. There was no time for announcing herself, her patience non-existent as she let herself in the front door, calling out for her friend. “Morgan! Morgan, are you here? Is she awake? Is she okay?” Nevermind the dirt that still caked her clothes and face, the blood that had dried against her shirt. At least she’d had the sense to wipe the tear tracks away before entering the home. “Bex?! Bex are you there?”

It was like something out of a dream. One second Morgan’s heart was plummeting through the ether, her ideas shot, her resolve all but broken, and then the next Nell was here. “Yes! Nell we’re--shit--” She turned off all the appliances and ran, stumbling through the kitchen and out to the foyer. “We’re here!” She knocked into the witch as she came to a stop and drew her fast into her arms. “She’s fine, she woke up just fine. Come see. Maybe help me talk her into staying for dinner?” She pulled away to guide Nell to the great room and finally got a look at her, bloody, muddy, and covered in sweat. “And uh, give us the highlights of whatever fun story is behind all--” She gestured vaguely, this.

“Bex!” She called. “Go on,” she urged Nell quietly. “I bet she’s missed you.”

One moment, Bex was gathering the courage to tell Morgan that she needed to go home, and the next, a familiar voice was breaking through ever barrier she had inside of her. “Nell?” She wasn’t sure it was real-- because, really, how could she know if anything was real at this point?-- but she wanted it to be, god did she want it to be. Morgan was already racing out of the kitchen to go and greet the other girl and maybe that was enough to make it feel real, that Morgan heard it, too. Maybe Bex wasn’t dreaming. Maybe she wasn’t still stuck in that horrible place. Because Nell had said she’d come back for her. She’d get her out of there. And she’d believed her, even as she’d disappeared from her grasp. She’d wanted to believe her so bad.

Morgan’s voice broke her from her thoughts. She was still frozen in the kitchen, her mouth agape. She turned around slowly and made her way to the doorway, still fearful that she’d walk through it and neither of them would be there, and she’d be alone again. But when she gazed through it, hand tight on the doorframe. “Nell..?” she called out, her voice quiet. “You...you came back.” Eyes were tearing up again, she didn’t even notice the blood and dirt on Nell’s clothes. “Are you here? For real? I’m not--?” She looked at Morgan. “This is real, right?”

As soon as Morgan confirmed Bex’s conscious state the beginning of hope blossomed in her chest, a brightness amongst the dark the trials of the catacombs had left Nell with. “You’re sure?” Nell pressed, desperately following Morgan along the way to Bex. “Sure- yeah, dinner.” The witch was only half listening, a one-track mind making it hard to think of little else than Bex at the moment. The notes of Bex’s voice were like honey in tea, sweet and soothing and mixing perfectly until it made a warm and perfect blend, cozy like home. “Bex!” Nell’s frantic yell was none too quiet as she wasted no time in throwing her arms towards the girl, trying to comandeer her into a hug despite the grime covering every inch of her. “Holy shit Bex- you’re awake. It worked? It worked.” The relief in her voice was almost painful, the tension in her stomach releasing all at once in a way that left her feeling deflated. “It’s real- it is. It’s real, Bex.” Her own eyes began to water despite herself, the rawness of her emotional state making it hard to deny the welling of her sparse tears. “Of course I came back. I’ll always come back. I told you I’d find a way to wake you up, didn’t I?”

Nell’s voice felt like a wave of relief. Bex even forgot, for a moment, about the angry messages still unheard on her phone. The older girl reached out for her, and Bex reached, too, meeting her hand halfway. She squeezed and it was solid and then without waiting, Bex fell into Nell’s arms and wrapped her arms tightly around her, burying her face into her shoulder. “I d-don’t know what you did, but it worked,” she nearly sobbed. She thought she’d been done with tears, but it seemed her stupid eyes had another idea. She nodded against her. “You told me, I’m sorry, I should’ve believed you. I’m sorry. I thought you-- I couldn’t-- you left without me and I thought you weren’t coming back, but you did, you’re here, you came back.” But who could blame her, really, when people didn’t often come back for her in life. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave. I don’t know how it happened.”

Even though the catacombs had left her feeling beaten beyond recognition, Bex’s presence seemed to give Nell a second wind of strength. Where her knees had been wobbly before, they now stood strong as they helped support Bex’s weight, refusing to give in and let the younger witch fall. “It worked,” Nell sighed, barely believing it herself as she savored the warmth that was rising off of Bex, the proof that this was real. “Ssshh, you don’t have to apologize. I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t but- I think the power that was keeping you there was just more than we could overcome combined.” Especially when Bex barely knew what she was doing in the first place. “The fact that you even managed to get me out of there was amazing. I just wish you could have come with me.” Squeezing Bex tighter, Nell hoped she wasn’t overstaying her welcome of a hug. Somewhere in Nell’s mind she remembered Morgan’s request of dinner. “Have you eaten yet? You should eat. I thought I smelled something on the way in.”

The longer Bex held onto Nell, the longer it took for reality to set back in. She wanted to stay here even more now that Nell was here, now that Nell had kept her promise, now that she wasn’t alone-- but she knew that couldn’t happen. None of it could. Her phone buzzing in her pocket reminded her of that. Stiffly, she pulled away from Nell, wiping her own tears away with the palm of her hand, looking down at Nell. “What’s all over you?” she asked quietly, brushing some dirt off her shoulder, “you really need a shower.” She cast a short glance over to Morgan, the words she’d said before Nell arrived still hanging in the air. “I, um--” she started slowly, clearing her throat, “I-I haven’t, but I-- I really should be getting home. My--” the words quivered on her tongue, “--my parents are worried.”

Morgan didn’t have it in her to hide how desperately she wanted Bex to stay. In her kitchen, in Nell’s arms, in Deirdre’s clothes, she looked so much a part of them, like the relief when a scab finally closes over an open wound, something missing finally fixed. She came over slowly to Bex and raised a hand to her cheek even slower to wipe her tears. 

“You can stay, Bex,” she said softly. “We can all have dinner together, you and me and Nell and Mina and Deirdre--” Her smile fluttered with hope as she said their names, with the fullness of what they could have. “There’s nothing wrong with staying for just a little bit, huh?” Her fingers twitched, and her eyes focused on her gesture intently, determined to be gentle and to not have to look into the girl’s eyes in case she was already showing too much. “Please,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “At least consider it. We would be so happy to have you.”

Nell grimaced as Bex took notice of her sorry state, the reminder of what had happened beneath the ground jarring her out of the warm haze she’d found while wrapped up in Bex. “It’s just dirt.” And a bit of blood. Probably the salt of some of her tears as well. “The solution was in the catacombs,” she answered as carefully as she could, glancing towards Morgan with a look that assured the older woman that she would get the full story later on. Nell nodded along with Morgan’s requests, her eyes doing little to hide the blatant desire she had to make the zombie’s words a reality. “It’d be so nice, Bex. So nice.” Even though there was little else Nell wanted to do other than lie in bed for the next three days, spending time with Bex trumped that in an instant. She looked at Bex, and she saw something she’d finally done right in the sea of wrongs she’d committed over the last year, a little buoy of pride that she could cling to in spite of all the harm she’d managed to cause. That was something she wanted to hang onto for just a few moments long in addition to consistently reassuring herself that Bex was here, alive and well. “Seriously just a little bit wouldn’t be bad, right? I’ll get cleaned up really quickly, and you can just eat a little bit before you go.” 

Bex wondered if, perhaps, she was still somehow asleep, and that this was just another twist of what was supposed to be a dream, turning into a nightmare. Any second now, the darkness would claw its way up the walls behind Morgan and Nell’s heads and bare down on them to consume Bex in one gulp. And then she’d wake up and have to do it all over again. But...this wasn’t a dream, and she knew it wasn’t, because the dread she felt about what was to inevitably come made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to stay here and eat the spaghetti Morgan had already started cooking, and she wanted to sit at a table next to Nell instead of all the way across a dining room table that was larger than some people’s beds, and she wanted to stay in a house that was full of warmth and life instead of one full of shadows and fear. But she didn’t have a choice, because thinking she could have any of that, well, that was the real dream, wasn’t it? Her life had been laid out before her like a map, and while she’d veered off the path a few times before, she no longer had that option. She couldn’t mess up anymore.

Bex did not move when Morgan came over. Looked down into her eyes as she spoke, but found it almost impossible to hold her gaze. Their words were like pleas, and Bex couldn’t look at either of them anymore. She found a very interesting spot on the ground, instead, and pretended like Nell’s grip on her wasn’t the nicest thing she’d felt in ages. Struggled to hold back the tears in her eyes, but didn’t move to wipe them away-- if she didn’t acknowledge them, they weren’t real. That was certainly a metaphor for her life, wasn’t it? She bit the inside of her cheek again, trying to hold her composure. “They’re just worried,” was all that came out. Not a single word of reassurance could be found in her head, or on her tongue. “I need to let them know I’m okay.”

Though it was only seconds, it felt like a good long while before Morgan could drop her hand from Bex’s face and nod in agreement with what she was saying. “Bex, please…” Don’t go. Not one more time, don’t go back there. She swallowed thickly. “At least know, in case there’s a part of you wondering, you’re nothing but wanted here. And you don’t have to leave this house if you don’t want to. Especially if you are afraid for your safety. Because it shouldn’t be like that. The place you call home should be the place you feel safest.” She sniffled and breathed deeply, clearing out the lump that had formed in her throat. “But I won’t keep you here against your will. And if what you really want is to go back to your parents then…” Her voice hitched again. She looked sidelong at Nell, begging for another off-ramp, some idea to stop this awfulness in its tracks. If there was one thing Nell was good for, it was amazing, crazy ideas.  She didn’t want to be complicit in someone else’s hurt again. But if she refused, or pressured her somehow, how much better would that make her? “If you’re sure, I’ll drive you. I’ll make sure you get there okay…”

Nell knew that there was more going on with Bex’s parents than met the eye, but the worst she’d suspected of them thus far was the usual controlling parent shenanigans. Of course that in itself could be traumatizing, leading to a lifetime of doubt and damage, but the way Morgan was speaking made Nell’s jaw tighten, eyes sharpening in the slightest as she wondered whether there might be something more. Why wouldn’t Bex feel safe in her home? “What if you went in and out?” Nell asked, still grasping at straws. She could tell that Morgan was looking to her for some last minute scheme, but the witch felt all schemed out for the night after using the bulk of her energy to break Kevin’s spell. I’m sorry, she wanted to say- to apologize for letting Morgan down. For letting Bex down, too. “You can go talk to them, and then come back out to the car and we can come back for dinner.” It was the best she could do while the echoes of Montgomery were beginning to crash against the sides of her skull.

Bex looked between the two and felt her composure falling. She wanted to stay, she did, she really did-- but that just wasn’t possible. Another night meant another thing they would use against her, the sooner she went back, the better. Really, her leaving was all for the better. Nell and Morgan wouldn’t have to take care of her anymore, and they could get back to their own lives, and Bex could deal with whatever wrath her parents decided was necessary for this. “I need to go home,” she croaked, voice stiff, biting the inside of her cheek, “I need to show them I’m okay.” She lifted her head enough to look at Nell, but not meet her eyes. “I need to stay there, or it’ll just--” Get worse. The words were left unsaid, but they were obvious enough. “Please,” she said, quieter now, smaller, “I just want to go home.” As if this place, asleep or not, hadn’t felt more like home. 

Morgan nodded and stepped back, settling her hands on Nell’s shoulders. She didn’t need her sensory nerves to fire on full blast to feel her disappointment and exhaustion, and suddenly Morgan felt a little heavier and a little more guilty for reaching out for a solution she should come up with for herself. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into Nell’s hair, very quietly, so only she would hear and Bex wouldn’t blame herself any further.

“You can come back whenever you want, Bex,” she rasped, lifting her head and smiling as best she could. “If you find at some point that...maybe staying somewhere else would be good for you, even for a little bit...you need to understand that you can come here. This isn’t some performative gesture I’m making out of habit, or to be polite. You have this choice, always. Because there is no time where you will be unwanted. There is no circumstance in which I will turn you away. Okay?” She could only look at Bex for a second before everything hurt all over again. “I’ll just uh...get the keys and we can go. Excuse me.”

Nell shrugged uselessly as Morgan set her hands upon the witch’s shoulders, as if to say it is what it is. Her apology wasn’t necessary in Nell’s eyes, and if she was being honest she wasn’t even entirely sure what it was that Morgan was atoning for. After everything tonight, Nell was back to feeling powerless, discomfort creeping back into her soul as she could only stand by and watch as Bex made her choice. She so desperately wanted to protect Bex, but it could only be done if Bex accepted the hands that were being offered to her. For now it seemed that Nell and Morgan would be made to watch as Bex carried on with making the choices that hurt her, the ones that chipped away at her heart while the two older women did their best to piece it back together every time they saw the girl. “You know it’s the same at my house too.” Nell’s voice was hoarse, the roughness of it returning after spending so much time yelling in the catacombs. “Anytime you want. Anything you need. I’m there. Any fight you need fought…” She let the words trail off with a reassuring nod, trusting that Bex remembered the promise Nell had made her. She’d fight the fights that Bex could not until she was ready. It was bullshit- ridiculous that Bex had fought so hard for her life, to earn the right of waking unto the world again after Kevin’s magic had kept her sunken in, and it still wasn’t her life to claim.

Maybe Morgan was right, but Bex couldn’t afford to contemplate that idea. If she really started believing that she had second options, she’d only get hurt. That’s how it always ended. Her parents always found a way to cut off any avenues. She left the words hanging in the air.

One thing she hadn’t known was how comforting Morgan’s hand had been until it was no longer there. She wasn’t strong enough to face the disappointment in their eyes, their voices-- the way Nell’s cracked with hoarseness from a battle Bex had asked her to fight for her; the way Morgan’s grew quiet in knowing. Bex didn’t feel brave enough to talk without the steady hand of someone stronger helping her. Her lip quivered. She wanted to believe Morgan and Nell so badly, and it really wasn’t even that she didn’t believe them-- it was just that she knew better. She’d been burned before, what made this time so different? How could Morgan help her any better than her first tutor or the lady down the street or her homeroom professor? How could Nell be there for her better than any of her old friends, who saw the bruises and asked all the wrong questions? She had no reason to believe this would be any different, and yet-- “I believe you,” she answered quietly, “I understand.” She stood silent for a moment. “I’ll be careful.” 

“You shouldn’t have to be. You should be loved better than that,” Morgan said. It was no winning argument, no last ditch gambit. It was only true, and all the more awful for it. 

The world outside felt hazy with a wrongness that went beyond death. Morgan fumbled the keys so badly she dropped them as soon as she stepped out the door and again when she was trying to get inside the car. After Nell and Bex piled in, she had to grip the steering wheel extra tight to remind herself it was really there and she really would need to adjust periodically. Maybe there was something else to say, a spell to cast with comfort, a totem against the fear and heartbreak a house like that must grow like weeds. Maybe there was something more she could have done, a better way to stall, a more tempting offer to stay, maybe. But Morgan didn’t have those answers any more than she had a pulse. 

#chatzy #wickedswriting #dreamkeepers #part 1 #domestic abuse mention tw #self harm mention tw #chatzy: nell #chatzy: morgan #nell #morgan

[padfootagain]

Hold Me Till It’s Over (I)

Part 1: Where Are You?

 Okay, this got completely out of hand, so I had to split this fic into two parts, or it would have been way too long.

I have no idea where all this is coming from, sorry… it just… happened…

WARNINGS!! For depiction of war and violence, and for angst. The first part is very angsty, it'll get better at the end, but for now, it's angst time!!!

I hope you like this fic! I'll post the next part in a few hours!

Gif not mine (I can’t find it back where I saved it, sorry)

Word Count: 3106

Where are you?

It’s dark, and the night is filled with silhouettes moving around him, shadow against shadow. The only light is given by the distant stars above and the flashes of the blasters firing all around him. There are flames burning in the distance as well, bright and tall and terrible, as he crosses the ruins your town has become. His blue blade sheds a soft glow before him, but it's barely enough for him to see his feet. The shrieks of the shots of blasters and the soft buzz of the lightsaber in his hand get shushed by the detonations of the exploding droids before him and the shouts of the men around him. Clones and volunteers amongst the people of this planet who are willing to fight to be free. You are one of them. And no matter where he looks, behind him or around him or before him, you are nowhere to be seen. He curses under his breath as he deflects another blast. He told you to stay close to him…

He reaches the shelter of a broken wall, and takes a few seconds to catch his breath. His forehead glimmers softly with sweat under the blue hues of his lightsaber, his hair a mess falls before his eyes, but he doesn’t push the locks away. Cody falls by his side, his back against the wall.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan inquires, but the clone by his side nods.

"Yes, sir. Just catching my breath."

"Have you seen Y/L/N and her men?"

“Her men are still with us, sir. I haven’t seen her in a while though. Last I saw her, she was on her way to set up the charges to allow General Skywalker and his troops to join us.”

"I told her not to do that," Obi-Wan groans in frustration.

"Well, it worked, nonetheless, sir," Cody reminds him, nodding towards the shape of Anakin, Ahsoka and Rex closing on them.

Indeed, it takes only a few seconds for the three fighters to reach them. As Anakin takes cover by Obi-Wan’s side, he notices the worry on the Jedi Master’s face in the blink of an eye.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, shouting to cover the sound of the battle raging around them.

"Have you seen Y/L/N?" Obi-Wan asks back.

"She blew up the wall, then joined us. Haven’t seen her in a while though, no."

Obi-Wan’s heart is beating faster again, but not because of how tired he is, because of how scared he feels now.

Where by all the stars can you possibly be?

"They’re retreating!"

He hears Cody’s shout covering the sound of his own twirling thoughts. He forces his mind to focus on the matter at hand. He hates himself for being distracted by you this way. He’s a Jedi. He is leading these men around him, they rely on him. And yet he can’t push his fear that something might have happened to you away.

He brings his attention back to the moment nonetheless, and peers above the wall in ruin. Indeed, the Separatists’ army seems to move back across the town. The centre of the city is nothing but ruins by now. The tall buildings have crumbled, the streets are but holes carved in red dust, the windows are shattered and the glass shines on the ground. There’s fire in a tower on the right and sparks everywhere, and a few yards away, the Separatists troops run through the debris. Puffs of smoke pass to and fro through the ruins, making it hard to breathe, coloured by tiny embers and grey ashes swept up by the wind.

He studies the movement of the droids retreating and…

And then, at last, he sees you.

You're there, across the street. In the dark, he can't quite see all your details, but the second he catches your silhouette, a shadow against the flames that burn behind you, he has no doubt.

How did you manage to venture so far ahead of his own troops, he has no idea. And yet, there you are, in the middle of the street, trying to bring a wounded soldier to shelter.

What by the stars are you doing?

"Y/N!" He shouts across the distance, but he knows that the 100 yards or so separating the two of you are too much in this chaos for his words to reach you. It doesn’t matter, he can’t keep the cry inside, he’s too scared for that. "GET OUT OF THERE!"

You seem to have been spotted, there are explosions and sparks around you. You don’t move though. You pull the soldier out of the debris and try to pull him to the side of the street. The fires behind you and on your right colour your frame with gold and orange, embers and ashes fly around you, grey and burning dust surrounding you. Smoke clouds envelop you, making your throat painful and your form blurry, a silhouette caught in a whirlwind of grey smoke and red sparks.

Obi-Wan stands again to jump above the wall and go help you, but a shot hits the wall, the rocks exploding to his face. A debris cuts his cheek open, and he huffs in pain. Before he can take a step forward, more shots block his way, and he falls back to take cover.

"Y/N!"

You don’t hear him, yet somehow, you know he called for you. You know he’s here. You can’t explain it. You just know. You can feel his blue eyes set on you, and you turn to meet his gaze, finding it with ease despite the chaos your world has become. He’s there alright, half-hidden behind a broken wall. You notice there’s a chair and a table still standing between you, in the middle of debris of what was once a living room. They’re covered by dust and pebbles but they seem so out of place nonetheless, one tidy thing lost in chaos. Funny thing, how your mind focuses on details now…

But you focus on Obi-Wan again, while still pulling the wounded clone. You can hear him breathe through his helmet. You can’t leave him here… So you pull him up and drag him across the broken houses, the air burning your lungs, and every inch of your body exhausted and painful, but you ignore all the signs. You won't leave without him.

But something changes on Obi-Wan’s features, and worry becomes terror. You can’t hear him, but you recognize the way his lips form your name.

A B2 droid has turned back and is aiming at you. But Obi-Wan has barely enough time to shout your name that the flash of light is fired already.

It seems that he sees it all happen in slow-motion. The bolt of red light flying towards you, the blast hitting your back taking your breath away, the pain on your features as you let go of the soldier… Your eyes find his again as you fall to your knees.

And all coherent thoughts have abandoned his mind to a blind terror that makes his whole frame shake and tears up his lungs, unless it’s his shout, maybe, that steals all the air that belonged in his chest.

"NOOOO!"

Anakin tries to stop him as Obi-Wan jumps pass the wall, but he's not quick enough. His former Master has already started to run, faster than he has ever run before, it seems, in the middle of the blaster shots flying towards both the droids and the Republic's clones. He deflects the next shot right back at the droid. He can hear Anakin and the troopers following him, but he doesn't pay much attention to them. He's halfway through, reaching that standing table, when you hit the ground.

The droids seem to have turned away for good this time, although shots keep on flying down the long street. Obi-Wan blocks every spark with the same perfect precision he always does, but this time, he doesn't focus on his reflexes at all. Instead, his eyes don't leave your frame.

He drops to his knees by your side, at last. You're bleeding. So much red across your torso, it seems to cover his entire world…

"Obi-Wan…"

Your voice is but a whisper, but he hears you all the same, somehow, despite all the shouts and all the explosions, and all the fighting raging on, he can still hear your voice above it all.

You extend your hand towards him, and he hangs his lightsaber back to his belt and holds your hand in the matter of a second.

"I'm here," he speaks in a voice that struggles to be reassuring, but is shaking too much to hide how scared he is. "It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

You turn towards the soldier lying beside you.

"He's still alive. You've got to help him."

He exhales deeply. It's not a sigh, it's not a gap, it's just a long, painful exhale, and it takes him a few seconds to be able to fill up his lungs with air again, the smell of ashes, fire, oil and melted metal harsh in his tighten throat.

You're one of a kind. Even hurt, you're more worried about a stranger more than your own life…

"The rest of our men are on their way, they'll take care of him. I am going to take care of you."

You give him a weak smile, your eyelids getting heavier and heavier and you can't keep them quite open anymore. Your wound is so painful, crossing your entire frame from your back to space right under your ribs…

"Always the gentleman," you joke.

"Always the reckless one," he fires back.

"I couldn’t leave him."

"I know. I know. That's typical of you, really. Nothing unexpected. You can't help but rescue everybody."

Your smile widens, but then you start coughing. Loud, rough against your throat, and you can feel there's more to it than the dust in the air.

Obi-Wan gently pulls you up so he can hold you in his arms, cradling you, and he presses his gloved hand against your side in attempt to slow down the bleeding. You wince and let out a shout under the pain that rushes under his palm, but the Jedi doesn't relieve the pressure. Each breath brings so much pain…

You take in his features, his hair falling before his eyes, his beard stained with ashes, his cheeks dirtied by dust and a cut across his right cheekbone. He's still so handsome, even through the chaos.

You smile again as the cough subsides. You're so glad he's here. Somehow, he makes it all easy. You're not afraid. You know you should be, and you were before he was with you. Your wound is serious, you don't need to be a medic to know that. You're probably dying. But you're not scared. Obi-Wan is with you, nothing bad can happen. Maybe you'll die, it's okay. You think about the garden you used to play in as a child. Drenched in sunlight and the scent of grass and flowers. Maybe you can go there again, once all this is over. Maybe your fight was enough to make its destruction worthwhile.

You feel your eyelids closing on their own accord, but you don't mind. Obi-Wan would be the last thing you would see of this world, and that was fine by you.

"Y/N! Stay with me, don't close your eyes! Please…"

His voice breaks, and you force your eyes to open. You can't see him in pain…

Behind him, Anakin stops. The troopers have taken control of the street, but Anakin lingers on, watching Obi-Wan holding you in his arms, and then he knows. He's been suspecting for a while, but now that he sees him like this, holding onto you, he knows. He understands. His expression saddens, and he's about to turn around to leave the two of you alone when Obi-Wan speaks to him, his voice firmer now.

"Anakin, make sure this side of the town is secured. Do not engage the enemy's forces beyond the opera, we don't have the firepower to hold such an open position."

The Jedi Knight nods, quiet.

"I will. I'll call for the medics to be dropped now too to take care of the wounded in the area we've secured."

"Thank you. And… Anakin?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

He would have usually replied with a snarky remark, but not this time. This time, he feels like a little boy staring at a grieving Jedi, barely a Knight, still wearing his Padawan braid, as his Master is gone. And he doesn't feel like joking, instead, he feels cold.

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan turns a little towards him at the title Anakin uses, but his former Padawan is already gone, joining Ahsoka and the troopers instead.

"You should go with him," you breath, your voice hoarse and shaky and coming out with a struggle you're not sure to sustain for much longer.

But he shakes his head.

"The battle is over for today. Anakin will take care of the rest. I'll stay here, with you. You heard him, didn't you? He's going to call for the medics, you will be alright."

You're ready to believe him. You trust him so completely, he almost convinces you this time around too. Almost…

You gather most of the strengths you have left to raise your hand to his cheek, his beard tickling your fingers. It's only then that you realize that your hand is covered with blood.

He leans into your touch, tired, terrified, fragile. He who is so strong, he has no shame in showing you how close he is to breaking. Maybe it will hold you back. He closes his eyes as he turns to press his lips to your palm.

There are prayers for the Jedi. Words to be thought and felt and poured into the Force. There are wishes for every living form. Dreams to be hoped and longed for and shared only with the night. He's never been so keen on that particular side of a Jedi's life, but now he pours all of his thoughts and all of his soul into a begging prayer. And it's almost dawn, but he begs and begs every star in the sky and gives up all his hopes and all of his heart into one wish.

Not you. Anyone else. Him. Him, a thousand times, him. But not you. May he die in your stead. As long as you live…

"Obi… I…"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, and you smile up at him. You're tired, so tired, you know you won't be able to stop your eyelids from falling for much longer. You're running out of time. If you're at peace with it all, there is one last thing that you wish to say before resting.

"You know… I… really… wish," you struggle to let the words out, partly because you're so tired and it's becoming so hard and painful to breathe, partly because you've been holding the words back for so long now. "I wish we had… more time. And I wish… I wish it was allowed… what I have to say, I wish it wasn't… forbidden. But I… I really do love you."

Tears threaten to escape his clouded blue eyes, but he won't let them. He knows you see them glimmering in his eyes, and as he speaks, he knows you can hear them in his voice too. But he won't let them fall, he knows that if he does, he will crumble whole.

"We'll have plenty more time."

But you shake your head.

"You've never been very good at lying."

"You will be fine, Y/N."

"I love you."

"You will be fine."

He gives you an order, almost. Maybe he's trying to convince you, but he's probably trying to convince himself. Because he cannot imagine what his life would become if you didn't survive.

Upon his cheek, your fingertips travel through his beard, a tender caress to finish to carve all details of his features in your memory.

It's harder and harder to breathe. Every intake of breath is a vivid pain that lingers more and more. You can see the smoke covering the sky behind him, and the glimmers of embers carried through the sky by the wind. You notice then, that the sky is brightening. It will soon be dawn.

But it hurts, oh it hurts so much, and it's so hard to breathe, and you're so tired… you wish the dawn would come faster, you're not sure you can wait for it to come.

"It's funny," you smile, "I always feel… so safe in your arms. So warm. So calm. Like nothing can happen to me."

He tries so hard not to cry, he can't allow himself to let it out or he won't be able to stop again.

"Obi… Can you hold me till it's over?"

He tries so hard, but fails. A tear rolls down his cheek, cleaning a path on his dirty skin. It's followed by a second, and a third…

He wants to contradict you. He wants to deny it all and tell you that you will be alright. But he can't. He doesn't have the strength. But he keeps on praying and wishing.

Not you. Him, a thousand times him. But not you.

He nods.

"I'm right here, and I'll stay with you… my love."

He's got blood all over his hand, but he doesn't care. He cups your face all the same. And you look at him with so much hope. He tells you that you're right with just a gaze.

Of course, he loves you. He's loved you since this afternoon during training. You kicked his ass, there was no other way to put it. And you were fierce and brave and so unbelievably kind. And he loves you like he has never loved anyone before. He loves you so much it hurts.

And now, after reaching for the flame, he is getting burnt. It doesn't mean he regrets falling for you. It has been the gentlest of falls.

"I won't leave you alone. I'm going to stay with you," he forces a smile despite his tears.

You mean to thank him, but all you can manage is a grateful smile, before you blink, and your eyelids finally fall. Your hand slips from his cheek to slump between his shoulder and his neck. And Obi-Wan's whole frame is shaken by a sob.

The transport carrying the medics arrives, but you've already surrendered.

**********************************************

Taglist : @ponycake27​ @horsesreign​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @jbluevelvet​ @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​ @snek-shit​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @i-padfootblack-things​  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi​@jigsawlover10​ @emyyjemyy​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters​

 @wangmangagavroche​  @yana-versio​ @goldenor-5

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagines #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #obi-wan fanfiction #obi-wan imagine #sw #sw imagine #sw fanfic #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #imagine

[cupcakemolotov]

Universal Language

It has been a rough couple of weeks, and I know some people have been needing some fluff, so here we go. No monsters just yet, but I am working on it! And I will probably change this title, but I cannot brain.

The flat was dark as Caroline stood in the kitchen, lip tucked tightly between her teeth. A quick glance out of a window told her what she already knew. The rain that had hit as they’d staggered into Klaus’ super fancy building was still going strongly outside, leaving the city hazy and cold. Tugging the edge of her borrowed shirt a little firmer over her knuckles, she debated her options. 

She was really starting to regret leaving the bed, but she really needed a few minutes to herself to sort some of her mental floundering. She hadn’t been sure if she could keep her hands to herself if she’d stayed cuddled up to Klaus, and if he had woken up and looked at her like he had last night, she was going to end up distracted real fast. Pressing her fingers to her burning cheeks, she took a centering breath and pushed aside the hotter memories from last night. 

Though they were really, really good. 

She’d flown into London three days ago to wrangle some press for Enzo, her rockstar best friend determined to keep her life interesting. Three tours, two high profile relationships before he’d gotten around to realizing Bonnie was perfect for him, and a lifetime of coordinating his band practices and wrangling shows until he had hit it big time had made her very good at her job. But even she had her limits. But since he’d just brought home his first Grammy and also recently celebrated his first wedding anniversary, she’d give him some slack. Not much, but a little. And when he’d invited her to a small party he was throwing to celebrate both events, she’d shown up. 

And so had Klaus. 

The Mikaelson’s were old tour friends. They’d been the first group to really take a chance on Enzo as an opening act, and he and Kol had hit it off. They’d stayed in touch for bar crawls and club hoping, and other activities Caroline was pretty certain would give any PR worth their salt early wrinkles. She and Elijah had become professional acquaintances very quickly, and she’d always liked that he’d taken her seriously, even fresh faced and the ink on her degree still wet. Where Elijah understood the inner workings of the press far better than anyone she had ever bet, Caroline brought a social media game that was rock solid. 

These days, Elijah even wrote the note on her holiday cards himself. 

But Klaus. There had always been something about the lead singer and guitarist that left awareness skating down the back of her spine like a touch. He’d made a move early on, with wicked dimples and curlings lips, and hadn’t so much as blinked when she'd turned him down. She wouldn’t lie to herself and say that she hadn’t sometimes regretted that decision those long hours on the road watching him perform, but she had goals and Enzo had dreams. She hadn’t been willing to let even a hint of distraction slow them down. Even if the distraction tended to remove his shirt part way through a performance, and was built.

But last night he’d shown up at that hole in the wall pub, and she’d found herself wondering. All the things she had ignored as she built her career, all the possibilities that she’d let go because her ten year plan had so little wiggle room for any of them. This morning she had a lot less to wonder about and so much more to ponder. The way he’d looked at her when she’d asked him to take her to his home, how good it’d felt and how ridiculously easy he had read her cues. She’d have loved to get her hands on a pad or pen so she could put her thoughts in order, a list right now would really be helpful, but she didn’t want to risk waking Klaus by rummaging through his things.

Well, rummaging anymore than she already had.

Her dress had been crumpled at the foot of the bed, but she hadn’t really wanted to put it back on. Sneaking into Klaus’ closet to find something warm to pull on when she couldn’t locate a robe had been an exercise in ninja-stealth she was surprised had worked. He had made it clear last night that she was welcome to stay, and the idea of leaving had been momentarily tempting, but she was no longer in her early twenties and she’d known Klaus for over a decade.

If she couldn’t stick around with breakfast with him post-sex, she was probably never going to manage it with anyone. Plus, it was raining. There was no way she was walk of shaming it back to her hotel in the rain.

Caroline bounced on her toes for a moment to warm up and tried to decide what her most pressing issue was. What she needed right then was a cup of coffee. However, being friends with Enzo had taught her that finding a normal, American coffee pot in this city would be near impossible. Huffing at the thought, she snuck another glance at the darkened bedroom. 

Klaus probably wouldn’t sleep much longer, he was an annoyingly early riser most of the time, and she really needed to be firing on all cylinders when he made an appearance. Shaking her head, she spun on her heel and determinedly, quietly, started snooping through his cabinets. He had spent enough time with her to know that she was a snooper. He’d even lent a helping hand once or twice when she was getting even with Enzo and Kol, so it would hardly be a surprise if he caught her. And she really wanted to know what a rockstar who wasn’t Enzo kept in his kitchen. 

What she found was a surprising amount of high end pots and pans, a few gadgets she didn’t recognize straight off the bat, an impressive collection of wooden spoons, and most importantly, a small french press. It was the exact same one that Enzo kept for her, and she punched the air in silent victory. She’d already spotted his electric kettle, so it wouldn't take long to put together a cup. Rising up on her toes, she was about to open another cabinet, surely if he had a french press he had coffee, when a sleep rough voice interrupted her. 

“Two cabinets over, love. Top shelf.”

She slammed down on her heels, hand pressed against her chest and turned to toss a glare. “Geez, scare me to death.”

Caroline had to catch her tongue between her teeth, hard, as the sight of him. He’d clearly just rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, and they were slung low on his hips. His hair stood up in all directions, and she was pretty sure the bruise just beneath on his collarbones was a lingering reminder of her teeth. His smile was slow, dimples cutting deep as he wandered closer. 

“I was wondering where that shirt went.” Klaus’ smile deepened, gaze tracking down her body, the rest of of the clothing she had borrowed. “Comfortable?”

She shrugged, ignoring the way she could feel her cheeks heat. “It's cold.”

“You could have stayed in bed,” he pointed out as he obligingly stopped by the controls for the air, turning the heat up. “It was plenty warm.”

She really, really could have but there was no point in inflating his ego more than it needed to be. “And listen to you snore?”

He poked at a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs as he moved by her to reach for the coffee grounds and Caroline jerked away from him with a glare, but accepted the bag as Klaus started the kettle. It was weirdly domestic and easy, and she had no idea what to say to any of it. Thankfully Klaus didn’t seem to be suffering from the same internal struggle and opened the fridge, hand running through his hair. 

“I wasn’t expecting company, but I have eggs if you’re hungry. I’m not sure we can trust the bacon.” His eyes flickered to her, brow arching. “Delivery is also an option.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “No one wants soggy pancakes, Klaus. I’ll take the eggs, maybe toast if your bread isn’t molding. Also, I can’t believe you cook.”

“Self-preservation,” he said easily. “After a tour, the last thing I wanted was more takeaway. It's not always good, mind you, but at least I don’t have to deal with people.”

She thought about that as he moved around, seemingly completely at ease with her. Klaus didn’t let people in his personal space, was very private when he wasn’t on tour, and she was standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes after she’d spent the night in his bed. Brows tucked together, she mechanically set about making her coffee, turning over everything that had and hadn’t been said in the last twelve hours. The stay, he’d murmured against the nape of her neck after they’d showered and staggered back into bed.  

She kept her voice carefully casual. “We both know how much you love people.”

He shot her a look, but his lips twitched. “Should you really be taking a jab at the person making you breakfast?’

“You like it,” she dismissed, finally pouring herself a mug of coffee. She took the first sip with a little sigh of relief and leaned against the counter. “Need help with anything?”

“I like a great many things about you, Caroline,” Klaus murmured as he reached for the half of a loaf on his counter. “The bread should be okay. I pulled it out of the freezer yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She repeated as she checked the bread before moving closer to the toaster, dodging his earlier comment. “Kol mentioned you guys had been traveling, but he wasn’t exactly coherent when he was giving me details. I think Enzo had goaded him into something like eight shots at that point. I’m not entirely sure how he was standing.”

Klaus made a low noise of amusement as he cracked eggs into the frying pan. “How do you want your eggs, love?”

“I’m not that picky,” she assured him. “Well, about eggs. As long as it's not soft boiled, I’ll eat it, though it’d have been better if there was cheese.”

“I’ll make a note for my assistant,” he said casually. “I’m sure she can find something to meet your standards.”

Caroline glanced at him to find him watching her, eyes intent. “Planning on me sticking around?”

“I did ask you to stay,” he pointed out, gaze leaving her face only long enough to flip the contents of the pan. “That hasn’t changed just because its morning. You’ve never been shy about telling me where we stand, Caroline, and I hope that remains the same as well.”

She flushed, momentarily ignoring the toast popping up. “I didn’t have time for a distraction back then.”

“I remember,” Klaus said lightly. “I believe your exact words were ‘you’re pretty, but not worth Enzo’s career.’”

Caroline scowled when his gaze dragged along her pink face. “You took it well.”

He tipped his head and opened a cabinet, pulling out a plate and sliding the fried eggs onto it. “It helped my bruised ego when you shut everyone else down with even less consideration for their feelings.”

“Some of them were decidedly less charming than you,” she pointed out as she finally reached for the toast, dropping it onto the plate he offered her before going back to cooking his breakfast.

“So you think I’m charming and pretty,” he murmured. “That’s two points in my favor, but not enough that you’d have let last night happen ten years ago.”

“No,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Eat,” he said as she continued to watch him. “You might not be picky, cheese non-withstanding, but cold eggs are terrible.”

Laughing a little, she hosted herself onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and wolfed down her food. Last night had been quite the workout, and she was definitely hungry. Klaus didn’t rush through his food, but he was quick, and by the time she was pouring the last of the coffee into her mug, he was loading the dishwasher. He shut it with his hip, quickly washing his hands, before he turned and faced her. 

“Now,” he said, stepping close to where she was sitting and reaching up to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Before we settle in for the rest of the weekend, there are a few things you should know.”

“Arrogant,” she muttered, even as she gave in to the need and pressed her palm against the heat of his side. 

Klaus looked entirely unbothered by her comment. “The traveling that Kol mentioned? We’ve been scoping out real estate in New York City.”

“We,” she repeated carefully, heart thumping into her throat. 

“We. Marcel has been pitching that as a band we start spending more of our time stateside in between tours and recording, and we’ve agreed to it on a trial basis.” His hand came up and he brushed his thumb across the angle of her cheekbone. “I have heard from Enzo and Kol that you might be considering a similar split lifestyle.”

Licking her lips, she nodded and felt a jolt of something warm that he had been asking about her. “It's one of the reasons for this visit.”

His smile was slow and pleased, and his gaze dipped to trace the curves of her mouth. “I’d like to take you dinner.”

Caroline blinked. “Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. Assuming of course, that I’m still pretty and that Enzo’s career is no longer more important,” he teased lightly, but his eyes were serious. “I plan on being quite the distraction, Caroline.”

She pushed to her feet and tried very hard not to give in and feel up the expanse of bare skin on display. “You’re still really pretty, and I’d love to go to dinner.”

His hand slid to the small of her back and he pulled her closer. “But not tonight.”

“No?”

He shook his head, fingers tugging lightly on the edge of her borrowed shirt. “I have plans for the weekend. And they do not involve us leaving the apartment.”

“Does these plans involve a spare toothbrush?” Caroline asked. “I can probably survive the dreaded takeaway, but there will be no kissing if I don’t get a toothbrush.”

“I imagine I have a spare or two floating around,” Klaus murmured. “I can probably even be talked into making a quick run to your hotel to pick up a few things if you really want them, though clothes are optional and you are welcome to mind. As for food, if you want something more than cheese, you should speak up soon.”

Laughing, she finally gave in and looped her arms around his shoulders. “So magnanimous.”

“For you?” He smiled against her temple for a moment before he stepped back and caught her hand with his, bringing it to the heat of his mouth. Laughing, she untangled herself, and he pulled her with him towards the bedroom. “I’m sure I can find it in me. Let’s find that toothbrush, love, and you can make whatever lists you want, and then you’re mine for the rest of the day.”

Caroline’s smile widened behind him, teeth digging into her lip to stop a giddy laugh. A man with a plan who didn’t mind that she was going to make lists, who was very shortly going to be living much closer to her than she had ever thought possible. Klaus was going to make it very difficult to not fall in love with him, and that thought wasn’t nearly as scary as she’d thought it would be.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabble #fluff #morning after #mostly sfw #did i mention fluff #because there is fluff #and its AH

[cloudshapedpatch]

Misguided Royalty

Chapter Three: Impulse Control Has Left The Palace

First / Previous / Next (coming soon!)

💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚

Marinette Cheng was a bright girl, but she could be quite impulsive. When she set her heart on something, she pleaded and schemed until she got it. 

And at this very moment, sitting at the dinner table with her mother and the Emperor, she decided she wanted to go see the town down the hill. 

She had seen it from afar; if she leaned over the edge of her balcony she could see a few scattered homes. The best way to see it was from one of the tall castle towers that she was never allowed in, or from the garden. Since the garden was no longer safe (curse Chat Noir and his nosy tendencies) she could not see it. 

"Mother, have any citizens seen a likeness of me?" The words blurted out before she could filter them. A hand slapped over her mouth after them.

"That is an odd question. I cannot say that you have ever gotten a portrait painted of you. Would you like one?" 

"Well, perhaps not—"

"A fantastic idea, Sabine!" The Emperor boomed with a laugh, "But we should wait until she becomes Empress. We will need one then, and there is no point in having two."

"I suppose you are right. A fine decision." Her mother said, then continued to eat silently.

The princess was glad the attention was no longer focused on her. It gave her a little more time to think. If she truly wanted to go through with this awful idea, she was going to need all the logic she could get. 

Unfortunately, logic was far gone. The princess had a letter sent to Damocles with something along the lines of 'take a day off, Empress Sabine's orders', and told her mother she would be spending the day with Damocles in her room. The stage was set, an escape route planned, guards bribed and hummingbird fed, and she was ready for adventure. 

Tikki slept above her head and awoke her before dawn the next morning. As quiet as a mouse, she slipped into commoner's clothing she had borrowed from a maid and secured a satchel with some silver and copper coins (and maybe some gold, who knew what she would need it for?) at her hip. Picking up Tikki (and requesting she not make a sound), she made her way down the servant's halls and through hidden doors until she reached the garden. 

Then, along the creek she crept, past the cherry blossoms, and slowly, into the stable. 

There were many horses she could take. She had her own pure white horse, but that would have given away her riches to the public. Manchu would have to wait for another day. 

At least the princess has some sense. I don't think this is a good idea at all.

Marinette spoke soothing words to a brown horse with one black leg and a large black patch on his neck, his name was Fengfeng. This particular horse had a thick shaggy mane and was quite gentle. Marinette had never ridden him before, but she hoped that his calm demeanor would allow for a smooth ride. 

Much to her delight, Fengfeng allowed the princess to brush him and lay on the blanket and saddle. She's never stopped quietly reassuring him even as they were coming out of the stable and rushing down the road. 

She was free! She could ride down the paved street until the next bend, where it faded off into a packed dirt path. Only a few more yards, and then—

"Your Highness! Where are you going?"

Shit. 

A guard Marinette had never seen before stood at the large gate. He was alone, and Marinette thought wryly it was because she had promised the other one some cookies to be absent for the morning. The horse came to a stop a few steps away from the man. 

"I... I was just going for a ride! It's lovely this time of year."

"You are not supposed to be outside. It is too dangerous!"

This guy was definitely new. Was today his first day? Surely she'd have seen him before now.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

This question confused the guard, and a sly idea came to the princess. "Yes, Your Highness."

The princess slouched against the horse's neck and gave her sweetest smile. "What's your name?"

"...Bruel, Ivan, Your Highness."

"Oh, please, call me Marinette."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Your Highness."

She straightened up as tall as she could, the smile never leaving. "Well, Sir Bruel, you have a lot to learn. What do you want, pastries? Some clothes? Do you want money?"

"N-no! I cannot be swayed. You must go inside."

Marinette was getting desperate. The sun had started to rise and if she didn't leave soon, she would be caught and never allowed to leave her room again. She jumped down off the horse and hugged the gaurd. "Oh, please sir! You don't understand. Ever since I came to this country four months ago I have not left the palace at all! I want to see the village yonder, I want to see what it's like! I need to, sir, if I'm going to be a proper ruler. Please!"

A long sigh was heard form above her, and she knew she had won. 

"Alright, princess. But I will accompany you."

She jumped away from him. "Absolutely not! If you come with me, then everyone will know who I am! I can handle myself."

Before the guard could say anything more, some voices were heard from the garden, along with the clop of horse hooves on rock.

Marinette panicked and pleaded once more with her eyes. 

A look of determination crossed Sir Bruel's eyes. Hastily, he lifted her onto the horse. "Go, before I change my mind."

"Thank you, sir. I won't forget your kindness!"

He slapped the horses rump and she sped off down the road, the air rushing past her flushed face. She had never ridden a horse so fast in her life, and it was exhilarating. When she finally looked back, the palace gates were blocked from her view by trees. And before her, the village came ever closer. She relished in the feeling of freedom coursing through her veins.

It took a little longer than Marinette expected, but finally she could hear the bustling noise of the town. Just down a hill, and then she would be there! How exciting! 

She opted to walk down the hill with the horse in tow to avoid any extra attention. 

At least she is thinking critically now. I mean, who does she think she is? This is incredibly dangerous. What if someone recognizes her? What if— oh no, wait. You'll want to see this. 

She had led the horse to a well near the road to drink. Poor Fengfeng nearly galloped the whole way down, but something tells me he was eager to get out of the stable. While Marinette held onto his lead, she took the time to look around. 

People were milling about everywhere, no one seemed to stand still. Most of the commotion came from her left, where many booths were set up along the backside of houses. A farmer's market! She thought excitedly, and she was suddenly glad she had brought some money. 

Once Fengfeng was done drinking, she tied him to a post where other horses and mules were grazing, and made her way towards the booth nearest her. 

This one sold spices. She had no interest in buying any, but she took the time to smell them.

"Hello, young lady! Would you like some herbs? We just harvested some fresh basil this morning." The old woman behind the table said.

"Oh, no thank you, tàitai. I'm just looking."

"Are you sure? I can give you a pouch for 15 ban liang."

"15? That's a lot for a pouch of basil."

"Where have you been, under a rock? I must feed my children; I charge 15. If you don't like it, you can buy some basil from Hua over there," the woman pointed to the booth across the road, where another old woman was also selling spices. "But she charges 17, so you get better from me."

"Are you talking about me? I can hear you!" The other woman shouted to them.

"Yes! You charge too much!"

"No, you charge too little!"

"No one will buy basil for 17!"

The princess quietly slipped away from the two yelling ladies. The palace cook got basil for 5 ban liang a pouch, so why were these women charging so much? 

She walked down the narrow aisle looking at the various tables laid out with meats, bracelets, hats, and sometimes live animals. Her attention was brought to a man, who looked no older than 40, selling fabrics. 

"Good morning, xiānshēng. You have lovely fabrics."

"Thank you, young miss. Are you looking for something specific?"

"Not really, just whatever looks good."

"Well, how about this nice blue linen. It matches your pretty eyes." The man held up a folded length of light blue fabric. 

She bowed her head slightly as she took the fabric from the man's hands. It was rough over her fingers, and could see it was woven rather loosely, and the wool was coarse. She handed it back to him with a smile and asked about any silks.

"You can't except me to have silks. Ha! I haven't seen a silk merchant in years."

"But don't they come on the Great Wall?"

"Not here. The nice fabrics get taken up by the Emperor. I have the nicest linens around here, I guarantee."

"That's awful! The Emperor can't do that! It's not fair!"

Everyone in the direct vicinity stopped talking to stare at her. 

The man angrily whispered, "You must not speak of the Emperor that way; you will be executed!"

The princess looked in horror at the fear and pity in everyone's eyes, staring at her as if she had grown another head.

Suddenly she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She was too afraid to look at who it was. 

"I am so sorry for my friend here, xiānshēng." The stranger said, with a voice as smooth as honey. He leaned in to speak quietly to the man behind the table, but still he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, "She isn't quite right in the head, she needs to learn to hold her tongue."

The man nodded solemnly.

"Come, your mother is worried for you." The voice said. Marinette looked up at him and choked on her words. 

Before her stood the most handsome boy she had ever seen. His hair was golden like the sun, his eyes so deep and vibrantly green. He looked to be about her age, but he was almost a whole head taller than her, and quite muscular. 

No coherent words came from her mouth. She nodded dumbly and let him take her away from prying eyes. 

Who was he? Why had he come to her rescue when he didn't know her at all? How was he so attractive?

"That was not smart, speaking of the Emperor that way. He lives only up the hill, you know."

She sighed and exerted her eyes. "But it's true, isn't it?"

The boy shook his head, but the disguised princess could see a smile on his pretty face.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

His hand was still on her shoulder. It sent searing fire through her body. 

"Well, it was the right thing to do."

He suddenly pushed her sideways into a small alley between two buildings. Quiet sounds of ladies washing clothes came from an open window above them. 

A small, wry smile graced his face, but Marinette felt a little uneasy. They were alone now, and she didn't like being trapped by a stranger. 

"What's your name, girl? I think I deserve to know."

Panic seized her. Her name was not Chinese, she knew, and if she told him, he would grow suspicious.

"Bao."

"And your first name?"

"...Genji."

"Well, Genji, it's a pleasure to meet you." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, causing a fiery blush to abrupt onto her cheeks. Quickly, she pulled her hand away and turned away from him.

"Do I get to know your name?"

He chuckled a little bit, and despite her better judgment, Marinette's heart fluttered at the sound. "My name is Adrien. But you don't get to hear my family name."

"Why not? Are you hiding something?"

"Not at all. I just don't give my name to strangers."

She huffed in annoyance. How arrogant! "Well, if that is all, I must be getting home. I have a lot to do, you know."

"I'm sure you do. Let me walk you home, to ensure you arrive safely."

"That won't be needed, I live just down the road."

"Then it's not any problem for me."

"I must get my horse first."

"I can help you mount."

"I can mount myself."

"A lady shouldn't have to."

Frustration bubbled in her chest. Why couldn't he see that she wanted to be left alone? And his smug smile made it worse. 

I don't know, I kinda like him. He's just as sassy as the princess.

Nonetheless, they argued a bit more before finally she agreed to let him walk her to her horse and get her situated. He kept his hand on her shoulder and guided her though the crowd. Though Marinette wished she could shake him off, she was glad he was there with her, as if he was shielding her from the judgmental glares. 

Once she located Fengfeng (and deflected chatter with Adrien about the horse), she got ready to mount, only for him to grab her by the waist and place her on the horse's back. 

She ignored the blush creeping up her neck. "You had no right to touch me in that way."

"You didn't have a problem with it earlier."

She rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Adrien."

"Will I see you again?"

"It's not likely."

"Anything is possible."

She laughed out of nervousness, wondering if he was going to follow her. But his smile was soft and sweet as he bid her adieu. 

She waved and returned the pleasantry before nudging the horse to start.

Wait. He had bid her adieu. How did he know French?

Startled, she looked back at him, only to see him standing exactly where he was before with the same smug smile on his face. 

Paranoia settled in her bones the entire trip home. 

And her unease only deepened when she arrived at the palace gates and saw her mother and the Emperor waiting for her.

#@mikoriin #i love this au so much #misguided royalty #chapter 3 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #adrien #adrienette #ml #mlb #secret lovers au #chat noir is an assassin #a bounty hunter and a princess #star crossed lovers #ancient china au #chat noir #princess #empress #my own writing

[docfuture]

Princess, part 11

      [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is mostly done so I’m going to try to get it out later in August.]

Previous: Part 10

     Five days after Speedtest.  Three days after the isotope exchanger had worked enough for Flicker to restart her body chemistry.  Then a scramble of pain, healing, and memory triage before, finally, sleep.  She'd awakened, mentally fogged, to start a messy program of biological recovery and physical therapy, complicated by the need to spend more time in the isotope exchanger to reduce her not-immediately-lethal-but-still-a-problem radioactivity.  For her minds, a fuzzy time of finding and patching connections, habits, and memories that were temporarily broken, misplaced, distorted, or newly intrusive.  For respite, ghosting to Antarctica, gliding in the low sun over ice and cold air, never near anything living.  Sleep remained fitful.       Evening.  The last really needed isotope exchanger session done.  Body and mind were now holding together, even if neither were yet anywhere Flicker was particularly happy with.       Talking to Doc in his lab.  He frowned at a brain scan, some graphs, and a schematic of a cybernetic inductor.       "I checked in on your medibots, because you mentioned your start routine this morning was still rough.  Looks like your mind work was okay despite that, though?"       "Caffeine helped," said Flicker.       "And you can drink it again, and eat.  Progress.  I'm concerned at this scan though.  It still shows signs of cybernetic interface withdrawal.  I don't know how long that will last, given everything else.  How bad is the ennui and poor appetite?"       "Caffeine helped.  A little."       "Hm.  Not much we can do other than wait.  I had the Database forward the medibot scans and other information to Dr. Reinhart's partition."       "Thanks.  But I have a question."       "Yes?"       "You agreed to all of Dr. Reinhart's terms, including Database access, even though she's got a really questionable background, and doesn't want to meet or talk to you.  Her last message mentioned it wasn't an encouraging sign, because it meant I needed help pretty bad."       "Well, you do.  Frankly, I'd be more worried if she was cheerily optimistic.  And the Database picked her as the best choice.  Fortunately Jumping Spider knew a bit about her, and was willing to do that interview.  So I'm satisfied for now."       "I guess I don't get how you're okay with the uncertainty about a mind control expert."       "I did verify that she wasn't gaming the Database threat index.  The correlations are suggestive of a mission-oriented vigilante targeting actively harmful individuals with power that have little or no likelihood of being stopped or removed by other means.  Plus a few covert operations agents trying to kill her.  The threat index understates her effect, because she operates in realms where data is sparse and of poor quality.  As for the alleged mind control, it may just be a combination of psychological manipulation and some kind of hidden influence.  But there is no question she uses her reputation as an effective tool."       Doc waved a hand.  "And I have a reputation for being paranoid about mind control, which isn't going to make her more eager to meet me, is it?  Our security protocols may not be compatible, and I can think of several other potential good reasons for her to stay away.  But ultimately it doesn't matter.  She doesn't want to talk, so that's that.  She owes me nothing.  I wouldn't mind discussing mind control defense with her, and I don't like uncertainty any more than you do.  But I've had a couple more decades to get used to it.  I know I can't solve all the world's problems myself.  Priorities."       A crooked smile.  "Now, none of this means that you should accept everything she says uncritically, or that you should strive to emulate her, morally or otherwise.  And I'm sure she'll drop some unpleasant surprises on you.  But she agreed to help, and she certainly understands the stakes.  Are you having trouble with social boundaries again?"       "When did this become about me?"       Doc just looked at her.       "Okay, yeah."       "Boundaries are a difficult problem for you.  So I hope your work with Dr. Reinhart is productive, and that you eventually have an opportunity to discuss them with her."       *****       The next morning had certainly started off productive.  And difficult.  Flicker had been very much looking forward to finally recovering enough to talk--physically talk, with real air, vocal cords, sound, and hearing--to Dr. Stella Reinhart.       Flicker faced Dr. Reinhart in her office.  Stella.  She said to call her Stella.  She was in her late twenties, about 170 centimeters tall, with dark hair and green eyes, and wore jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and a work shirt.  She looked dangerous because she was dangerous, and had the sort of intent, purposeful expression Flicker had learned to watch for when evaluating an emergency site at high speed--if someone like that was running, it was a very good idea to find out why.       The office was bland, more often used by the assistant who handled paperwork for Stella's consulting business.  But there were comfortable chairs.  Stella sat in one, not behind the desk, after saying a few words about subconscious framing and symbolic barriers.  A cable ran from her laptop to the now thoroughly guarded office net connection and from there to the Database.  DASI was on duty, capital S for Security duty, with subtle and wide-ranging countermeasures.  Excessive?  DASI didn't think so, nor did Stella.  One less thing for Flicker to worry about, which helped.       The office was in a half empty building in a not particularly prosperous location, but it did have sliding doors opening onto a patio.  Dr. Reinhart had left them open to accommodate Flicker's claustrophobia.  Flicker had set up a portable force screen to keep out weather and complete the veil of security.       Flicker's speed mind idled, handling just alerts and safety.  She was talking with her physical body and brain only, entirely at human speed, about something stressful, with no help from speed mind.  Holding back was hard.  More so in the aftermath of Speedtest--her old problems with self-interrupting and awkward blurting had returned.  She chased thoughts and sentences faster than her mouth could complete them, as clumsily as when she was thirteen.       Embarrassment intruded as she veered and rambled, but Stella had suggested this starting test, after initial introductions.  Every verbal issue, every bit of awkwardness that she normally compensated for, everything she smoothed over, eliminated, or hid with speed, visor and Database--all that was data, that told Stella how the human half of Flicker's mind worked.  And Stella could use that as a baseline to probe how the high speed half of Flicker's mind worked, and how she coordinated.  So she endured.       Flicker stumbled to a stopping point.  She'd managed a partial, excessively wordy, and not entirely coherent description of her problems and goals.  She had digressed from and mangled her text summary, but talking out loud, in her own words, from her own mind, without notes, had been the point.       She took a calming breath and tried to untense.  This was the only part where talking was essential.  I can switch to text now if I really have to.       Stella smiled and thanked her, then turned to type at her computer.  Her exact words escaped as Flicker's speed mind started a flurry of mental replays and second-guessing, but the Database flashed 'Break time' on her visor.  Relief.  Out through the doors, speeding past land and human complication to the Pacific.       Slow coasting, well under 0.01c, while the two parts of her mind reintegrated.  A wordless reckoning that normally went one way--slow mind to fast on waking up, and back before sleep.  Tides flowing predictably over the sands of short term memory.  Now the flow went both ways, boats loading and unloading as both minds took turns at 'Let me put that in a better place...'       Still less stressful than the talking had been.  Even deciding when to breathe had been awkward--speed mind had smoothed that for so long she'd almost forgotten.       Fifteen minutes of waves and sunlight and motion.  Coasting along crests and troughs.  Manta rays breaching, sudden unexpected joy, a reminder that the world held marvels still happening.  It helped.  When she got the message to return, she was much calmer.       Back at the office, a quick smile from Stella.  "I have good data, and some preliminary assessments.  I'm afraid we're unlikely to complete your priority list any time soon.  One thing is clear; mind isolation during treatment is not a viable option.  Your 'speed mind' is essential to your functioning and current identity, even at normal speed.  So we'll work towards better coordination.  But I have some serious concerns."       A glance at her screen.  "I should emphasize my disclaimer:  This is a compassionate personal intervention in the absence of a qualified specialist.  I am not a clinician, my research methods would give an IRB heart attacks, et cetera.  And I have some reservations about the process by which I was selected.  I sent the full text to your Database earlier.  Did you read it?"       "Yes," said Flicker.  "I understand why you might need it for legal protection.  Also if you're, like, a serial killer who eats souls, I have Officially Been Warned."       "That works.  I still go to conferences, and I create enough controversy on my own.  It would be inconvenient to be widely banned from international travel.  But I imagine you still have some questions."       Flicker shrugged.  "I'm curious about a few things.  But if you weren't already doing weird superhero-adjacent and spyworld stuff,  I don't think you'd have the experience to help without researching me for a year first.  Anyway, go ahead."       Speed mind shifted and reversed, back in her normal mental dance, speeding up and slowing down to aid stability and coherence.  The desire to clarify and add to her awkward presentation to reduce social embarrassment was strong.  But it was time to listen.       "For your difficulty speaking," said Stella, "I agree with your Database AI that most of your returned problems should fade with social practice.  You appear to have optimized your verbal coordination in order to present as a neurotypical human, so any change would cause temporary issues."       "Because squishy brain is autistic.  And yeah I did.  It's a real pain to get strangers to listen if you don't talk 'normal human'."       "Your distress is understandable.  You do have traits in common with individuals with Asperger's and ADHD, but given your unique mind, it's probably best to view them as suggestive analogies--you have similar problems with similar coping mechanisms.  'Non-neurotypical' is as far as I'd go, and much of the cause may be consequences of the connection to your speed mind.  Other issues are clearer."       Stella leaned back in her chair.  "Such as PTSD.  You have layered coping mechanisms, but your Database stress history indicates that you tend to overwork or otherwise push yourself back to a ragged edge whenever you manage to achieve progress in reducing its effects."       Stella clasped her hands in front of her face.  "I doubt that dealing with the underlying issues will be an easy or quick task, but this is something you need to mitigate.  I'll try to help you set realistic expectations when I understand more.  One particular note.  I can't speak to Doc's own mental health.  But the elements of his work and life habits available for study indicate someone rather unhealthy for a PTSD sufferer to emulate.  And whatever he might say, you took early cues from what he did."       Stella frowned.  "Your memory problems...  I'm going to defer judgement on some of them until you've had more time to recover from your recent incident.  And there are a number of other potentially serious long-term conditions that I now consider less likely, but can't yet rule out.  But I am concerned that your Database AI already warned you about everything I've brought up so far, and some other issues that are more recent.  I'd recommend revisiting your heuristics."       Flicker spread her hands.  "I didn't ignore the Database.  I just couldn't do anything useful.  I patched what I could and kept going."       "That invites trouble when a new problem disturbs your patches."       "Well, yeah.  I get angry at things I can't fix.  So I put them out of my mind to stay sane."  Flicker looked away.  "At least out of my conscious, human mind.  Part of me remembers.  And stays angry."       She looked back and tried to smile.  "I sometimes joke that I haven't lost my mind; I keep backups.  Doc always retorted with how arduous it could be to try to restore from one.  And that a mental backup doesn't bring things back the same, because the world has moved on.  He was right.  I had to try to restore a few things I misplaced during Speedtest and it was a pain.  It stirs everything up, and I kept running across crap I'd stashed away because I couldn't deal, and I still couldn't deal because it was hitting all at once during a restore."       The smile probably looked more like a fixed grimace.  "So don't tell me about trouble and patches right now.  I know."       "Good," said Stella.  "I will be going over things that seem obvious.  People make tradeoffs, and mistakes, and I'd rather annoy you than miss any.  But I also understand that this session has been stressful for you, and you aren't fully recovered.  I can give you some initial recommendations and we can be done for the day, if you would like."       Flicker took a deep breath, then let it out.  "I'd like to keep going, now that I have my minds working together again.  It's just... I should have reworked my priority list after you told me how you wanted to start, and put my anger issues higher on it.  And there's this book I read, called Practical Power Dynamics..."       An alert flashed on Flicker's visor and she sped up.  The Database needed her override approval to resolve a convoluted permissions problem, which she granted.  Stella's base permission level was only equivalent to a trusted outside academic researcher, so approval requests were going to be common for a while.  Flicker slowed back down again to listen.       "Where did you get the edition you read?" asked Stella.  "It doesn't look like it was from the Database."       "No.  There was a version, but the Database didn't let me read that one.  There were a bunch of hazards and warnings.  The version I read is there now, I scanned it then locked it down.  Doc doesn't know about it.  I got it from Journeyman.  He said he traded a bibliomancer to reconstruct an original text copy.  Then let me read it, because he was worried and thought it might help me."       Stella put a hand to her forehead and studied her computer display.  "I see.  What that alleged bibliomancer did should not be possible.  But never mind that now.  Was your visor recording when you discussed it, and if so, would you be willing to share a transcript?"       "Sure."  Another bit of access granted.       Stella spoke slowly while scanning her screen.  "I'd like to ask a favor of you.  Please do not reread Practical Power Dynamics, or try to use any of the techniques, before I've had a chance to make some annotations for you.  And assume it's more dangerous to you than the author intended.  You read what appears to be an early draft that was never distributed."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I wrote it."       "Oh, that's great!  I had a lot of questions, but I couldn't--I mean it was still dangerous.  But you can tell me what to watch out for.  I loved the humor, the way you made pieces fit that everyone just seems to assume or ignore.  And the parts about anger were..." Flicker trailed off.  "You don't look happy.  What's wrong?"       "Well, at least you weren't completely blind to the danger," said Stella.  "I started writing what became Practical Power Dynamics when I was about your age, at a time when I was not managing anger well.  I would not write that way today.  I need to see what I can do to defuse some hazards to you.  I wrote it as a vector for social engineering, and I didn't devote enough attention to second-order side effects in atypical individuals.  Even after I toned it down."       Flicker thought about that at speed for a while.  It made sense that Stella was worried.  Doc spent a lot of time worrying about extending methods to new domains, and the false sense of security you could feel because you were doing familiar things you'd done many times before.  The methods might only be safe because most of the unexpected failure modes had already been found--but a new domain could bring new ways to make horrible mistakes.  You just couldn't be sure.  That had been one of the main points of Speedtest.  There were a lot of things going on in Practical Power Dynamics, and Flicker's mind was a new domain for many of them.       "It didn't feel like it caused damage," she said.  "I didn't try any of the active techniques because I was warned about traps, but the insights helped."       "I can certainly understand why you liked it.  I wrote it to resonate, but that doesn't mean it helped."  Stella smiled wryly.  "The text you read has the potential to magnify a number of problems.  And even the distributed version was never intended for someone like you--I did not consider the psychological impact of absorbing the whole thing in under a minute.  Not to pry into restricted details, but have you by any chance experienced an episode of unjustified arrogance or megalomania recently?"       A sudden chill.       "...I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero..."       "...maybe."  No, be clear. This is safety information.  "Yes."       "The book definitely didn't help with that."       "My partner thought it would help with something.  He wouldn't just..."       Stella frowned.  "It might have seemed appropriate as a form of disaster aversion.  A 'break glass in case of emergency' psychological reset to forestall something worse.  But not as a long term solution, and he'd know that."       Flicker closed her eyes.  "It wasn't and he did.  He's gone.  We aren't patrolling together anymore."       Flicker had been managing to compartmentalize up to that point.  Journeyman hadn't returned to Doc's HQ while she'd been recovering, or sent any message other than a brief note wishing her well.  She'd set aside awareness of that, and their last conversation, pretending he was just temporarily away again.       But their load-bearing social fiction had collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble.       Speed up.  Shift focus in speed mind.  Ignore her human emulation, it was working all too well.  Try a different perspective.       Consider the positive.  She'd learned too much during her time with him for reflexive avoidance of memory to be appropriate.  She had her own strength, her own self, her own plans, where he was but memory and data.  That could be a placeholder, a way to consider him as Flicker adjusted.  It was definitely less disruptive than an emotional shutdown.       Now slow down and return.  Emotion and context flooded back, but she had a reference point.       Her visor was beeping at her.  She opened her eyes, and saw the alerts--the reason for the beeping.       Warning: Situational awareness lost, Alert: Emotional crisis reaction signs, Alert: Potential dissociation trigger, Alert: Database permission upgrade request for Dr. Stella Reinhart--crisis context information.       She virtual typed to grant the permission.  Then straightened, her face under control.  This was her problem, not his.       The book dedication had been perfectly clear.  For Doc Future.  It's a trap.  She'd read it anyway.       So had Journeyman, but at least he hadn't ignored three blocks, eleven warnings, and 47 advisories, like she had.       Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Stella was glaring intently at her laptop display and speedreading--a page for each tap.       Flicker took the opportunity to do breathing exercises and calm herself.       "What a mess," muttered Stella, as she continued to read.  "Flicker?"       "Yes?"       Tap.  Tap.  "I'm sorry, clinical detachment and academic objectivity aren't going to be sufficient for everything.  How do you feel about 'Angry woman on your side'?"       "That sounds nice, actually."       Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  "Good to know.  Also, do not ever underestimate your Database security AI.  She was on the phone with me for all but five seconds of the time between when you started to read Practical Power Dynamics and when she interrupted your fight with Journeyman to announce my tentative willingness to help.  And she called Jumping Spider to secure an emergency override in there, too.  I have a theory about that, but it's probably not something she's allowed to admit.  I'll see if I can sort through it.  Along with everything else.  This is going to take a while.  But..."       She paused in her paging.  "I'm curious about the last few months before you became partners with Journeyman.  The Database records are somewhat opaque.  You were patrolling sporadically, and it's clear you weren't very happy, but I'm wondering to what extent that was due to PTSD."       "I don't think about those months very much anymore," said Flicker.  "Doc tried a couple of things to try to get me to cheer up, like asking if I wanted to partner with Jetgirl.  I said no.  I mean, she's a good friend, and we have an arrangement where she can call me for support when she needs it, but she usually doesn't, so it would have been more like being a sidekick.  And I didn't want that.  Journeyman actually needed my help, so I could accept his as an equal."       She looked down.  "I wasn't feeling very connected during that time--not continuously, anyway.  I remember specific events, but I'd have to check the Database for a lot of the dates and chronology.  Everything after the Japan quake.  That was just before I turned fifteen, and... I didn't do too well."       Stella raised an eyebrow.  "The Database evaluates your actions as saving more lives than anyone else.  And it's not close."       "Well, but you should really account for speed.  I mean, if you scored a flower-picking contest just by numbers, I could win with speed, but that doesn't mean I'm good at it.  And... I don't like to talk about the quake.  There were some media bits trying to turn me into a hero of the response and... No.  Just no.  Not respectful.  They're still rebuilding and recovering and it's not my story to tell.  I usually keep it compartmentalized.  Mostly what I remember is to be wary of arrogance."       "Mm.  Would you be willing to tell me your viewpoint?  Your personal experience is most definitely yours to share."       "I suppose."  Flicker took a deep breath and looked back up.  "It wasn't bad for me personally.  I didn't get hurt.  It was just...  There'd been some warnings, but it was confusing because of foreshocks, so no one could really tell how bad it was going to be.  I got the alert from Breakpoint before the main quake hit--his Danger Sense went off and he wasn't even in Japan, so I knew it was going to be bad.  I didn't know where the epicenter was going to be exactly, so I just went off the Database's best estimate, and went up and down the coast writing giant kanji for 'Earthquake' in the air so people would know.  My plasma flash and shockwave boom actually helped there, because it got people to look out windows and see.       "Then the quake hit, and went on and on, and the estimates kept going up: it's 8.4; no, it's 8.6; no, it's 8.7; no, it's 8.8; no, it's fucking 9; it eventually turned out to be 9.1.  And then my Database com started dropping signal because my visor couldn't synchronize my position for tight beams any more.  I was used to really accurate position data, and everything had moved.  Everything was still moving.  Ground level wasn't ground level, and everything had literally gone sideways.  GPS was messed up, and the Database kept trying to correct for shit and it wasn't enough.  There was one error that caused trouble for a while that was from the Earth not rotating on the same axis any more.       "So, I'm running around with intermittent comms, stopping external debris and ripping the roofs off of buildings that were collapsing on people, then making the choices for intermediate floors for the big ones--do I rip it out?  Will that hurt the people who might ride it down more than having it fall will hurt the people below?  And can I get the debris out of the way fast enough without blinding and deafening everyone?  What kind of building is it?  I knew very little Japanese, and my visor translator was shit without Database support.  The hospitals were solid enough that I let them take their chances, because there just wasn't much I could usefully do, but a few of the nursing homes and big apartments with lots of old people were pretty bad.  I'd pulled collapsing buildings apart before, and it was like that, except... two thousand buildings at once.  And seeing all those scared people.       "And finally Doc got a message through, telling me I needed to punch a hole through to the ionosphere with rocks, because the Volunteer was on suborbital coming in as fast as he ever had and needed me to get the air out of way so he didn't kill anyone with his shockwave on arrival.  So I went up to a place called Fukushima and made a pathway for him, so he could keep a bunch of nuclear reactors from melting down, then went back to ripping apart buildings.  Until I got another message from Doc telling me I needed to let them go and start taking the edge off the tsunami."       Flicker looked out the doors.       "I thought, fuck that, I'll stop the tsunami.  It's just a wave, right?  Moving water, way offshore, no humans near, I could use all my speed and power.  Energy and momentum.  None greater than mine."       She shook her head.  "It wasn't just a wave.  A whole huge section of seabed had been stuck bent over like a big flat sheet of wood, then released.  One end went up like seven meters.  All the water above it went up too, and the surface was now above sea level.  And all that water had to go somewhere.       "It wasn't just a wave.  Water flows downhill.  Doc knew.       "I started with the lateral plasma sweeps and the shockwave hammer loops and the entrainment runs while I had the Database figure out just how much damage I'd do if I vaporized enough of the excess water to stop the tsunami.  Database took a long time."       She looked back at Stella.  "I could vaporize enough to stop it.  But--best case--it would kill five million people with a shockwave of plasma and superheated steam.  More likely fifty.  And fuck up the weather over the whole Northern hemisphere for months.  The floods from the rain alone would... anyway.  Stopping it was way worse.  So I just had to take the edge off as best I could.       "It was enough to let the Volunteer stabilize the reactors.  And I thought it would be enough for almost all the people, I really did.  And then the Database had enough data finally to tell me it wasn't."       "Why not?" asked Stella.       "The other end of the board.  A big stretch of the coast of Honshu dropped when the seabed rose.  What had been sea level--was now a meter below sea level.  And the ground above it, and the people on that ground, were now a meter lower.  So what looked safe--wasn't."       "I went back one last time to write more Kanji.  'Run.'  But not everyone could run.  And not everybody who could would leave behind the ones who couldn't."       "I did as much as I could," she said.  "Maybe too much, some places--reflections and a change in the shape of the seabed meant I likely made things worse in one spot.  But 'only' about two thousand people died in the tsunami.  Plus maybe fifty or so I killed trying to stop it.  Most of them in boats in really bad places, but they might have lived, except my shockwaves meant they didn't.  I couldn't... it was just 'Sorry, it's not your day, ever again'.       "Even after it started hitting I kept running around, clearing debris, trying to give people a little more time.  And then, finally, it was over, ebbing back, and Hideki and the Japanese superheroes were arriving, and Golden Valkyrie's Choosers, and all the emergency responders.  And all the ordinary people who helped.  If anyone was heroes it was them.       "I went on autopilot for a while, just followed Database instructions after my com was back, not trying to process, because I couldn't.  There was a weird voice yelling on my com whenever I saw bodies for a bit until I figured out it was me and stopped.  And... Well, I don't really remember much after that.  You can read about it in the Database if you want."       She waved a hand.  "You know what?  You want a hero?  K'Krowl the Younger.  Kaiju from the Deep Kingdoms.  Big lizard.  Lived up near the Aleutians.  He was headed south along the coast, on his way to attack Tokyo, when the quake hit.  He was underwater, I didn't know he was there.  And there was this boat.  Just... in the wrong place.  K'Krowl felt the quake and knew what it meant.  He headed inshore and surfaced, and just before the biggest wave hit he picked up the boat.  And held it in his arms.  Except I was coming down on a lateral plasma run, chopping away at the wave.  I'd seen the boat, and they were just... I mean, they weren't gonna live.  I had a massive entrained stream of plasma, steam, and seawater behind me.       "K'Krowl crouched over, and tucked that boat under his chin, and took the wave on his chest and my plasma on his back--I burned him bad, his upper back was just cooked.  But he kept his footing, and protected the people on the boat.  From the tsunami, and from me.  And when it was all over, he put the boat down at the shore, and waved to them, and went back into the water.  He decided he didn't want to attack Tokyo that day after all, and went home to heal.  Hardly anyone saw him except me and the people on the boat.  And with everything going on, no one else knew until the people he saved contacted the Deep Kingdoms embassy, and they ended up with a ceremony, and gave him a medal, and if anyone ever finally resolves the Tokyo Compromise, and turns the attacks into, like, ceremonial visits or something, it'll probably be him."       Flicker shook her head.  "K'Krowl the Younger.  That's a hero.  Not me.  I didn't get hurt, and mostly ran around a lot.  Nothing bad happened to me.  Not bad bad.  Just memories."       *****       Eventually, Flicker realized she'd been staring at the 'Low Situational Awareness' advisory on her visor for a long time, and came back to the present.  There was a text from Stella:  Let me know if and when you're ready to speak aloud.       Flicker focused on the room again.  Stella was frowning thoughtfully, tapping at her computer.       "I'm ready," said Flicker.  "Did you have questions?"       Stella looked up.  "I was a little curious where you got those death numbers.  They don't match the Database, and that's very unusual for you.  The death toll from the tsunami appears to be closer to 1,500, and you can only get close to 2,000 if you also include everyone in the area who was killed by the quake, went missing, or died for any other reason for the next week.  Or use one early, inaccurate media estimate."       She tapped her chin with a finger, still frowning.  "And I don't see any clear evidence to indicate that you were responsible for any excess deaths while mitigating the tsunami.  There were people you didn't save, but that's not remotely the same.  The only way I can get to your estimate of 50 is to take everyone dead or missing who started on a boat in the tsunami region, and everyone missing in the region who started on shore, but who had a boat that also went missing, and assume they were all alive before your intervention, all dead afterwards, and all would have survived if you'd done nothing."       She locked eyes with Flicker.  "There was exactly one boat that definitely had live people on it, was in your path, and could have been destroyed by you while they still had a possibility of surviving.  That was the boat K'Krowl picked up."       "Does it really matter?" said Flicker.       "Yes.  You're guilt-maximizing, and you need to stop.  It's not healthy.  Don't want to be a hero for this?  Fine.  But you helped."       Stella waved a hand.  "I'm not a hero.  I've done far worse things than you.  But I still try to help.  You really didn't want to talk about this and you want to stop, so we'll stop.  Perhaps sometime we can come back and get you a little better perspective.  But not now.  You're in worse shape than I thought."       "Well, I was technically dead for two days last week, so I suppose--"       "Not short term.  Long term.  You're better at compartmentalization, coping, and masking than I expected.  That means you've been better at hiding worse problems.  But it just means more work, for a longer time.  One thing I strongly recommend--no patrols for a while.  No going 'on duty'.  You can intervene in events classified by the Database as 'major disaster' or higher, or a serious threat to someone you know personally.  Otherwise find something else to do.  You need to recover, and not just from being dead."       "But--"       Softly:  "No.  Patrols."       Stella sighed.  "Are you familiar with boiling liquid expanding vapor explosions?"       Flicker blinked at the change of subject, then got the analogy.  "Yeah.  Can't always stop them so sometimes I just rip the tank to control the direction and shape of the explosion.  But I'm not close to blowing up.  I know how to reduce the pressure."       "I understand.  But we need to do some work the slow way--reduce the temperature first.  There are other things that might increase the pressure."       "You want more of a safety margin?"       "Yes.  I am reasonably good at giving advice, but bad at providing comfort," said Stella dryly.  "I'm not neurotypical either, and certain choices and events in my personal development shape my approach.  I have no desire for it to increase your difficulties."       "You seem pretty functional to me.  And--"       Stella shook her head.  "If I weren't able to convincingly project normalcy, I'd already be dead.  But I do have a talent for constructive distractions.  So, why don't we leave off diagnostics and recommendations for a little while and have something to eat instead--I took the precaution of preordering takeout.  Perhaps we can discuss a few things you might find interesting and less stressful."       "I'm not..."  Think, don't just react.  "Okay, that does sound good."       They ate, and talked, and it helped a little.  It was a start.

Next:  Part 12

#FallofDocFuture #FallMisc