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quintinh43 · 4 days

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3 Times Quinn Almost Proposed + 1 Time He Actually Did

The best decision Quinn ever made was you. From the second he stumbled into that Cafe with his parents, to moving in with you, to admitting he loved you and everything else in between. It was a no-brainer that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. And there was no doubt in his mind that you felt the same way.

"I can't believe you're proposing," Jack said, tapping his fingers against the center console of Quinn's car. He never could sit still, and sometimes it grated on Quinn's nerves.

"Why? Do you think it's too early?" Quinn asks anxiously, running his tongue against his lips.

Luke pitches forward from the back seat to share his input, "You've been dating for like what? Five?" He asks, doing some quick math on his fingers.

Quinn nods, "Since March,"

"Ya know, we still haven't forgiven you for not telling us immediately," Jack huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If it's any consolation, you are the first people I wanted to tell," Quinn says placatingly.

"Quinner, go easy on our uneducated brother, he doesn't know what the word consolation means," Luke says seriously.

Quinn snorts a laugh as Jack turns around to swat Luke on the head. "I have a bigger vocabulary than you dumbass!"

Before the two of them can escalate into a full-blown bickering match, Quinn interrupts, "Back to my problem, guys! Do you think it's too early to propose?" His fingers tap nervously on the steering wheel as he navigates to the jewellery store.

"There's no proper timeline when it comes to proposing Quinny, it comes down to when you are ready and you feel like it's the right time in your relationship," Jack says.

"I mean, you already knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Y/n, so this is just taking the next step towards that, isn't it?" Luke adds, adjusting his Devils Hockey cap over his curls.

"When did you two become so wise?" Quinn grumbles as he pulls into the parking lot.

"We've always been wise beyond our years," Luke says puffing his chest out. Jack flicks his cap off his head, rolling his eyes.

"Sure Lukey," Quinn snorts, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright boys, let's get this done." Jack claps, practically jumping out of the car.

It wasn't hard at all. Quinn chose a shop where he could completely customize the ring, and with access to your Pinterest board and all the rings that you already own, he knew almost exactly how he wanted it to look. The only thing he was nervous about was whether or not you would like it.

"Don't overthink it too much Quinn, you know her better than you know yourself," Jack squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

"You could propose with a ring pop, and she would treasure it for the rest of her life," Luke adds, with a roll of his eyes.

The three of them are in and out of the shop within an hour, and Quinn is smiling his ass off all the way home.

A week later, Quinn picks up the ring. It's even better than he imagined it would be in real life. As his car pulls into the driveway of the lakehouse, he sees you out front with his mom, helping her tend to her garden.

You kneel in the dirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a canucks cap on your head. Smiling and laughing with Ellen as you both pull weeds from the ground. Quinn's heart beats out of his chest with happiness, and he's struck with the urge to kneel in the dirt next to you and present the ring to you right then.

When you notice that he arrived, you grin widely, giving him a wave. There's dirt smudged across your nose and under your nails, and Quinn thinks the ring would be a lovely accessory to your mud-stained hands.

The outline of the ring box feels warm in his pocket as he approaches you and his mom, "Hi babe," he greets, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, and it takes everything in his bones not to get down on one knee and pull out the ring right now.

"Hi Mom," he says with a quiet smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Her eyes twinkle knowingly.

"Jack and Luke are napping upstairs, and the two of us are going to start lunch as soon as we're done this."

Quinn nods, "Lemme change and I'll come help you two," he runs up the stairs, tucks the ring box safely at the top of his closet and changes into shorts and a t-shirt to help you and his mom in the garden.

Quinn never expected to be the guy who obsessively walked around with his engagement ring in his pocket after he bought it. But here he was, on the boat, with the ring sitting in the glove compartment. Which you had complete access to.

Jack had called him an idiot, stating that a number of things could've happened, from you finding the ring accidentally, or it falling into the water. Or maybe even a shark eating it. Luke was quick to call Jack an idiot, saying that there were no sharks in Lake Erie. Jack rolled his eyes and flicked Luke in the forehead saying it was to emphasize how stupid Quinn was being by bringing the ring with him onto the boat.

Quinn is currently in the driver's seat, you're on the wakeboard, and the rest of the boys are littered around the boat, whooping and cheering as you throw the rope and tip backwards into the water with a salute.

Trevor whistles low with admiration, "Wow, Mrs. Huggy is a professional,"

"She's not Mrs. Huggy yet, but she will be soon," Quinn mutters under his breath just as you climb the ladder back onto the boat.

It takes a minute for the words to register, but as soon as they do Trevor's jaw is on the floor. He stares back and forth between you and Quinn.

Jack, Quinn, and Luke wear various degrees of alarm on their faces, hoping and praying that you didn't hear anything.

"Damn, guys, was I that bad?" You laugh nervously, and you take in the looks on their faces. You unzip your life jacket and squeeze as much water out of your hair as you can.

"He-" Trevor starts pointing at Quinn, but before any words can actually leave his mouth, Jack is tipping Trevor over the edge of the boat and into the water.

You burst into laughter, and the boys seemingly return to normal as a soaking-wet Trevor climbs back into the boat, muttering obscenities under his breath. "Alright, who's next?"

"Me," Quinn says, desperate to get away from Trevor's pointed smirk, "You're driving," he says, pushing you gently into the driver seat where he was previously seated.

"Are you sure you want me to drive?" You ask skeptically, brow raised.

"O'course babe, there's no one I'd trust more." Quinn punctuated his sentence with a kiss on your cheek. Jack makes an offended noise, that sounds like a dying bird of some kind and you laugh at him.

Quinn rolls his eyes at him as he zips his life jacket and gets into the water for his turn on the wakeboard. He gives you a thumbs up, and parrots the movement, before slowly accelerating. You stand at the wheel of the boat, half twisted towards the back, so you can keep an eye on Quinn.

Quinn stands easily, and you smile accelerating a bit more. You turn in patterns that aren't too sharp but still make nice big waves for Quinn to ride. He's grinning like a madman. You maneuver the boat in a manner that gives him a wave to jump off of if he wants to.

He takes the opportunity, sailing through the air and managing a half spin before he hits the water. You drive around him in a slow circle as he resurfaces.

"That was fucking amazing! Where did you learn to drive a boat like that?" Trevor asks admiringly.

You shrug, cheeks heating under the praise, "My dad taught me," you say, crawling to the back of the boat and offering Quinn a hand as he climbs the ladder, "Been driving watercraft since I was like, twelve or something," you grin, squeaking as Quinn shakes his wet hair out in your direction, "You should see what I can do on a jet ski."

Jack whistles heartily, "We might have to take you up on that one of these days,"

"Sure, Jack, if you think you can handle getting your ass beat by a girl," you smirk. Jack scoffs offendedly, and Luke cackles from where he lies at the front of the boat.

Quinn is smiling so hard, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "I think we have to upgrade you to Captain for the summer, that was the best boat driving out of all of us," Quinn praises, pressing his lips to your hair.

"Seriously!" Jack says excitedly, scrambling for a life jacket, "That looked so fucking fun, no one can ever make waves like that! I'm next." He says jumping in the water before anyone can protest.

"Don't let this one get away Quinner," Luke says, tipping his hat in your direction, "Or I'll take her from you," he throws an over-exaggerated wink in your direction, you giggle and Quinn rolls his eyes. As if the shithead wasn't with him when he bought the ring.

Quinn eyes the glove compartment, where the ring is stored, and thoroughly debates how proposing right now would play out. A sharp whistle from Jack pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes his spot at the back of the boat as Jack spotter.

You resume your place in the driver's seat, and for the rest of the evening, that's where you stay.

Quinn almost has a heart attack when he sees you reach for the glove compartment, but Luke manages to fake trip into you just in time so that Jack can sneakily snag the box and relocate it to one of the other boat compartments.

The house is completely full, with a bunch of the boy's friends who are visiting. Everyone is camped out around the fire pit, nursing beers and laughing loudly. You are curled up in Quinn's lap, head pillowed on his chest while you listen to all of the boys talk about their fondest memories.

You play with the strings of Quinn's hoodie, while he absent-mindedly traces patterns on your arm. His chest rumbles with laughter and his arm tightens around you, as Jack tells a story from when they played together for Team USA. An overwhelming wave of gratitude washes over you. You're grateful for everything in life, and most of all Quinn.

"You're quiet tonight," His lips are pressed against the side of your head, and the comforting baritone of his voice soothes your soul, "doing ok?"

You nod, bringing your fingers up to trace his jaw, "just thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts?" He speaks low, his words only for your ears, the crackling of the fire, and hearty laughter fade into the background and at this moment it's as if you and Quinn are the only two people who exist.

He was a way of doing that. Making everything else disappear and making you feel like you're the only girl in the world. "I'm so grateful for everything," you answer quietly, "especially for you. Getting to experience life with you, being able to support you, having you there to support me- and just everything that you do and have done for me. You know?"

Quinn's heart swells so wide he thinks it might burst out of his chest. Before he really knows what he's doing, he's slipping out of the chair and kneeling in front of you. You huff because you were enjoying being curled into him.

His hands are on your thighs, and your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones. Neither of you has noticed that the laughter has died out, and everyone is watching the two of you. Their faces are a mixture of disgust and confusion.

Jack and Luke look downright horrified, sharing a look and exchanging silent words with their eyes.

"Will you m-" Before Quinn can complete his question, Luke is scrambling out of the lawn chair that he and Duker are curled up in and tackling Quinn to the floor.

"BEE!" Jack screeches, adding to the dramatics as he stands on his chair and points in the direction of where Quinn and Luke lay in the grass, "THERE'S A FUCKING BEE!"

There was no bee.

At Jack's distressed yelling, half of the boys are out of their chairs, running around and swatting at the heads of the non-existent bee.

You hold your stomach, laughing at the general chaos. It shouldn't be as funny as it is, but the sight of almost twenty grown men screaming about a bee is pretty hilarious.

"You are welcome you fucking numbskull," Luke hisses in Quinn's ear, as he helps him back up. Quinn gives him a sheepish smile of thanks. Were it not for his brother's antics, he would've regretted that being how he proposed for the rest of his life.

Once the general chaos dies down and everyone is back in their chairs calmly, you speak up with a smirk on your face, "You guys do know Bees are not nocturnal right?"

Quinn looks pointedly at Jack like he's an idiot. As if Quinn has the right to call him an idiot when he almost proposed to the love of his life in front of twenty hockey boys around a campfire on a Tuesday night.

"How do you know that?" Jack asks, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout.

"Yeah," Trevor scoffs, "Seems untrue,"

You snort, taking a sip of your beer, "I'm an elementary school teacher, dumbass, the science unit about bugs is practically ingrained in my brain. Bees are definitely not nocturnal."

"Nope, there definitely was a bee," Luke chimes, "I literally saved Quinn's life."

"Yeah, I saw it too," Dylan adds with a nod.

"It was basically the size of Quinn's head," Cole adds, "really Y/n/n I don't know how you didn't see it," Cole says matter-of-factly.

"I can't believe you guys are trying to gaslight me about bees right now," you snort, nuzzling further into Quinn's warmth.

"I heard it buzzing in my ear, babe," Quinn says seriously.

You roll your eyes at him and tuck your head under his chin and he wraps his arms around you securely, pressing a kiss to your hair, while you argue with the guys about Bees for the next half-an-hour.

+ 1

Quinn slips out of the bedroom to let you finish changing, he pads down the stairs to where his family waits in the kitchen. Jack presents him the ring box, that he had decided to keep with him after the boat incident. Quinn tucks it into his pocket with a deep breath.

"You ready Quinner?" Luke asks, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.

"Yeah," Quinn nods, breathing deeply.

"She's gonna say yes," Jack reassures, giving Quinn a pat on the back.

"I hope so," Quinn says nervously.

His dad chuckles, "Don't worry kid, you're doing great compared to how nervous I was when I was proposing to your mother,"

Ellen laughs fondly, "It's true, he was so nervous he forgot to pull out the ring, and then when he finally did, he dropped it."

Jim rolls his eyes, but the smile stays. Quinn laughs at that, then all his anxieties are bubbling to the surface and spilling past his lips before he can stop them.

"What if she doesn't like the ring? What if she says no, and she thinks it is too soon? What if I fall on my face? What if I lose the ring? What if-"

Jack squishes his cheeks together to keep him from talking. He tips his forehead against Quinn's staring deep into his eyes. "Breathe with me, Quinn,"

Jack takes exaggerated breaths, and Quinn follows his lead. Jim and Ellen quietly slip out of the room, leaving the brothers to themselves.

Once Quinn's breathing returns to normal, Jack lets him go. "She loves you with her whole heart, Quinn. You have nothing to worry about," Luke says, bonking his head against Quinn’s affectionately.

"Thanks, guys," he murmurs, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Everything goes smoothly in Quinn's opinion. Even when he practically forgot his whole speech. But if he had to do it again, he wouldn't change a thing.

Yeah so this ended up being like 2.9k words....

Anyways enjoy friends!

So it's basically a fic but lazy.

Part of This Universe

#quinn hughes #qh43 #hughes brothers #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #quinn hughes oneshot #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x you #nhl blurb #nhl imagines #nhl players #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #loving you is as easy as abc 123

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lunargrapejuice · 1 month

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falling asleep on his shoulder

sephiroth (pre nibelheim) x reader with no pronouns used

fluff + mutual pinning

i love him so much y’all🫠

“alright genesis, you’re up next.”

a yawn follows your words as the man himself stands from his chair on the other side of the room and heads for the door, saying something that doesn’t quite meet your ears. you can barely keep your eyes open and it seems your exhaustion has started to spread to your other faculties. you try to shake off the sleepiness that is practically engraved in your bones at this point and refocus on the large, too bright, screen in front of you.

the outdoor landscape of rocky hills and tumble weeds fades back into training room one, the metal walls replacing the blue sky from the simulation as angeal puts his sword on his back and a few moments later, genesis enters the room with a cocky smile.

you turn the page of your notebook and scribble down his name on the next sheet of paper so you can keep track of their evaluations and jot down notes, a task you’ve been given for all soldier classes and has kept you beyond busy, without much sleep or time for your normal duties. it didn’t help that you weren’t quite used to being with the second and third class soldiers either, they were a far more rowdy group than first class and well.. none of them were the soldier you wanted to be with the most.

the same soldier sitting by your side and radiating heat that was not helping your tired situation. but you didn’t move away from sephiroth either. not when you had been missing him more than you could admit outloud and certainly not after he had sat right next to you out of all the places in the observation room of his own accord. a sickly hopeful part of you wondering if perhaps he had missed you too.

at first you weren’t sure you’d be able to make it through these evaluations when sephiroth's broad frame sat by your side and captured all of your attention, your heart beating so loudly you swore it was echoing in the room and mortifyingly would not die down before the others got here. but he had always affected you in many ways and even when your heart had finally quieted, it continued to flutter and skip beats with every word he speaks, every waft of his scent through the close space between you.

you jump in surprise when his long, skilled fingers are suddenly covering up the page of your notebook, your pen stopped between the leather of sephiroths middle and index fingers, your hand aching to drop your things all together and lace your hand in his. a request you firmly and regretfully deny.

“are you feeling alright?” he asks, his tone with a lace of worry that makes you think he had asked already and you hadn’t heard him.

“oh- yeah!” you turn to smile up at him with energy you don’t really have but it falls into something sheepish when his brows knit, mako eyes studying you and his beautiful lips turn downwards slightly in an expression you know means he doesn't believe you. letting out a tired laugh you admit defeat, “all of you soldiers are such a handful, that’s all. but maybe i should be used to it by now thanks to you three.”

he chuckles at your teasing and you can feel the heat it blooms within your chest quickly spreading to your cheeks and ears. though some part of it isn’t actually teasing, working so closely with these three you know just how much they are too but they’re a handful you don’t mind.

tearing your gaze from his, you hope he doesn’t notice your flustered state while you shift in your seat to get ready for an impatient genesis to start, determined to remain awake and finally finish these evaluations.

“after this you should get some rest.”

“i’ll be okay,” you answer sweetly, not wanting him to worry. “i’m really not that tired,” you don’t know who you’re trying to convince with those words, yourself or him, but it really didn’t matter how true it was, not when you had so much work to do. leaning forward you press the intercom button. “whenever you’re ready genesis.”

in the corner of your eye you watch sephiroth fold his arms and cross his legs, facing the screen now turning into another scenic desert with half destroyed buildings. you try not to let him distract you as you settle back into your seat, taking in a deep breath that has your eyes begging to close when hints of leather and geranium fill your nose and a sense of comfort washes over you.

quickly sephiroth notices your word betraying you like he knew they would. only minutes into genesis’ battling fiends and the movements of your pen grow slower, a bit messier in its strokes. he hadn’t been paying any attention to the screen, he hadn’t been even when it was angeals showing off his skills, and though it felt very obvious to him that he was staring, something he found himself doing quite often with you, you hadn’t seemed to notice.

as the minutes pass by, your pen eventually stops entirely, causing sephiroth to shake his head with a small grin, remembering your claims of not being tired that was obviously a lie. before he can make any movements or decisions on if he should wake you, he feels the weight of your head against his shoulder and for several moments he’s frozen in place, his body stiff, the air stuck in his lungs as he can only stare at you and feel thankful he had yet to adorn his armor over his long black coat.

you look so delicate and lovely in this state with your cheek squished against him, a peaceful expression on your face that he wishes he could keep on you forever. one he hoped to see on you more often, and maybe even because of him.

there’s a lump in his throat, for more reasons than he knows where to start. you’re like nothing else he’s seen in this world; warm like a ray of sunshine after a long rainy battle but as captivating and beautiful as the moon and as unattainable as the stars. deserving of more than he knows how to give and yet you look so.. content and without worry resting on him in a way that makes his chest swell.

when his body movements return to him, he swallows that lump down and takes a shallow breath, forcing himself to try to relax because despite how foreign this was to him, he didn’t want it to stop. his shoulders drop slightly and he feels you shift, freezing in his place, not even breathing when his eyes widen but never tear from you as he watches you stir, never fully waking and once again finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder.

sephiroth takes the notebook and pen from you with his opposite hand so it doesn't fall and wake you, keeping his eyes on your features both to be sure you aren’t disturbed by his movements and because he simply can’t look away. he is so enamored with you and only recently had he realized the truth of the feelings and emotions bubbling inside of him, ones he could no longer deny and feels himself crumbling to each passing day without seeing you as much as he’s used to.

he recalls genesis saying something about distance making the heart grow fonder but it had left sephiroth aching in a way that he had never had before. it wasn’t like the slice of a blade through his flesh or a bruise that purpled against pale skin or needles poking into him but it throbbed just as consistently deep within his chest.

your presence was like a soothing balm to the uncomfortableness that had built up within him over the days without seeing you but your touch was the fuel that ignites his longing like the stars themselves are burning within his chest. he can feel their heat radiating throughout his every nerve, urging him to give in just a bit.

the clashing of genesis’ sword is nothing more than muted background noise to your steady breaths in his ears and mystic green eyes never leave your features but ever diligent in the tasks of protecting your sleeping self, he’s aware of the space around you.

like you’re something beyond precious, and to him you certainly are, his gloved fingers caress your face with all the gentleness he can muster, brushing hair from your temple to behind your ear, his thumb swiping across your cheek in a slow back and forth motion.

he equally hates and is thankful for his glove that separates your skin from his and forces himself to pull away when he feels his heart begging for more, the normally tight hold on his control slipping an inch and threatening to take a mile if it meant there would be more of you.

the comfortable pressure of you against his arm and the weight of your head on his shoulder had to be enough. at least for now. instead he focuses on the tasks of watching over you like it was one of his most important missions.

you can’t help but snuggle into the comfortable position you find yourself in, nuzzling in closer to the warmth of it but through your sleepy haze you can hear the loud clash of a sword followed by a victorious laugh that reminds you of where you are, what you’re supposed to be doing right now, who you’re beside.

with enough force that you nearly stumble from the bench all together, you sit up and your still bleary eyes are met with vibrant emerald shimmering with flecks of mako and a waterfall of silver hair.

“s-sephiroth!” your eyes focus but it does nothing to help settle you and even though you’re absolutely mortified that you fell asleep on his shoulder, you can’t take your eyes away from the soft expression on his face.

“sleep well?” his voice matches his soft expression and it stops your heart completely.

“i- i’m so sorry,” you can barely get the words out. you honestly aren’t even sure if you’ve said them when he only chuckles quietly and stands from his place next to you, your chest tightening in protest at the distance now between you.

it’s comfortably quiet as he puts his armor on over his shoulders, the clinking of metal that usually accompanies him the only sound in the room and you watch with bated breath as his already broad frame gets larger and he towers over you, still wearing that gentle smile that awakens the butterflies in your stomach and breaks them into a wild flurry.

“ready for me?” he asks and you can’t control the way your heartbeat stutters and your hand clench into fists simultaneously, begging you for him.

comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 x reader

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withleeknow · 4 months

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wishful thinking. (03)

chapter three: puzzle pieces

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; unprotected sex (this is fiction, not real life. don’t do it kids), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), fingering, cum eating, praise kink if you squint???, could’ve been edited a bit more but oh well i tried lol word count: 3.2k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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If loving you’s a crime Cuff me up, I’ll do my time for you, girl When I make you mine (when I make you mine) Didn’t come all this way just to waste your time

Over Some Wine - RINI ft. Maeta

It wouldn’t have taken that long to walk to your apartment. And normally, you would welcome the brisk night stroll with friends, basking in the chilly but pleasant air as you wander the empty streets, with nothing but the glow of everlasting youth for warmth every time the wind breezes by.

Though tonight you had opted to hail a taxi back to yours after leaving the club. You’re not an impatient person and neither is Minho, but whenever you’re around him, waiting always seems to be the hardest thing to do.

The entire time you were in the car, his hand was on your leg, the touch seemingly innocent at first, until his fingers started trailing higher and higher, until his hand was gripping your inner thigh. His knuckles brushed against your core at one point, and you had to summon every last bit of control not to jump his bones right then and there.

Once you're finally within the comfort of your own home, Minho's got you hoisted up with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips instantly chasing yours while his hands settle on your ass, squeezing you as he carries you to your bedroom. He knows the layout of your apartment well enough that he doesn't have to break away from the kiss for more than a second to navigate the place and reach his desired destination.

It's only when he has lowered you on the bed that he stops kissing you, latching onto your neck while his clothed erection grinds against you. You choke on a breath as Minho sucks on a sweet spot, his favorite place to mark you. You love it, even though you always end up complaining to him that you have to cover it up when you go outside.

His hands knead you roughly, one still on your ass, the other having moved to your chest. You tug on his shirt, desperate and impatient, and he complies almost immediately. He finishes his work on your neck with a particular hard suck, his tongue soothing the skin before he pulls away from you just far enough to get rid of the shirt.

Minho dives in to kiss you again but you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly before your lips could meet. “Take off your pants,” you demand restlessly.

“What?” he simpers, though his hands are already reaching to undo his belt. “You don’t wanna kiss some more?”

“You can kiss me while you fuck me.”

It’s easy to tell that your words affect him, judging from the way his eyes glaze over with lust and the retort that he swallows back down. While he kicks off his jeans and boxers, you work on stripping yourself bare for him. You’re both naked in record time, and then he’s gravitating toward you once again.

It’s routine at this point; Minho likes to make you come at least once or twice before he fucks you. He’s about to descend your body before you’re stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not gonna let me have a taste?” he pouts.

“Later,” you tell him. “I just need you now.”

He bites his lip like he’s contemplating it, then slots his body between your open legs, his bare cock positioned on your inner thigh. “You sure? Don’t want me to prep you first?” he asks.

“No.” Your hands slide up his neck, pulling him closer until he’s resting his forehead against yours. “Can’t wait. Want you so bad...”

You’re practically whimpering, positively dripping with need as you tell him this. It makes Minho lose his mind a little bit, makes his breath hitch. He kisses you again as his fingers slip through your folds, pleased to find that you’re already beyond wet.

The sounds that you make, muffled by his lips, go straight to his cock; the length throbs, hardens impossibly more.

He dips his fingers into your entrance regardless, burying them to the hilt, scissoring you open. You buck against his hand instantly, your pliant cunt soaking his digits as you whine - or try to, anyway. It’s good, the way he’s fucking his fingers into you, but you need more.

“Min, just fuck me...” You break the kiss to look at him with darkened eyes, full of desire. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Then he’s pulling out, making a quick show of sucking his fingers clean, humming contentedly at your taste. The sudden emptiness that he leaves you with almost hurts, but it dissipates when he aligns himself with you, rubbing his tip against your clit a few times before he’s finally pushing in.

There’s a stretch but it’s not unpleasant. It’s delicious, how he fills you up so perfectly like he was made just for you.

That thought crosses your mind again.

My puzzle piece. My perfect fit.

You let out a drawn moan as Minho bottoms out. You can’t think straight, not when he’s this close to you, not when you can feel all of him. Not when it’s practically suffocating you, just how intimate the moment is.

You know it’s not exactly what you signed up for, or at least you still try to remind yourself that. And yet...

You two don’t use condoms anymore; you haven’t in a while. It’s a little reckless and stupid, you know that. Maybe if someone else had come to you and told you that they were forgoing protection with their close-friend-turned-friend-with-benefits, you would scold the shit out of them. But this is your situation, and people don’t tend to be very wise when it comes to their own dilemmas, do they?

Minho always pulls out, and you never forget to take your birth control. Of course, there’s always some concern, but it isn’t really on the forefront of your mind right now. There hasn’t been any scares so far.

“Okay?” he asks, brushing his lips against your cheek as he holds your waist.

You nod fervently. “More than okay. Please move.”

He chuckles at your impatience, giving your sides a tender squeeze before rearing his hips back. The drag of his cock along your walls makes you sigh, and when he plunges back into you, you almost shudder from how fucking good it feels.

“Minho...” His name falls from your lips hoarsely, brokenly. The pace he sets is fast, makes you see stars from the get-go. He would’ve preferred to play with you a bit more to ease the stretch for you, but he knows you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t think you could handle it.

You pull him closer with your arms around his neck until your chest is pressed tightly against his. He kisses you again, slowly, sweetly, while he thrusts into you hard and fast.

You know he likes it when you’re loud for him, because of him. He’s told you that much himself. But more often than not, Minho would kiss you a lot during sex, swallowing the moans trying to escape from you.

Maybe he’s just looking out for your poor neighbors.

Or maybe he just likes kissing you that much.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, breaking away momentarily to let you breathe. His cock nudges your g-spot on every stroke and it feels like heaven. “You’re doing so good, baby. Always take me so well.”

You don’t know if it’s the pet name that makes your heart skip a beat or if it’s just the praise in general, but either way, it fills you with an indescribable warmth.

You clench around him, your thighs instinctively hugging his waist tighter and that’s how he knows you’re almost there. “Gonna come for me?” he asks, his hips never easing up on their brutal pace because goddamn Lee Minho and his fucking stamina. One of his hands sneaks down to meet your clit, drumming it like he’s playing the freaking guitar and it makes you want to scream.

“So close,” you cry out. He’s brought you to that edge already, and all you have to do now is... fall. “Min, I’m...”

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And so you do. You fall. You let yourself tip over the edge and into the sea of pleasure that awaits you. It’s stars exploding behind your eyelids, wonderfully devastating. It’s rapturous euphoria, the way Minho holds you through it all, how he peppers kisses along your jawline, how he never ceases his movements, making your high last as long as possible.

He holds out until he’s seen your orgasm through. When your bliss subsides, his hips stutter, turning more erratic.

“I’m close,” he rasps out.

You hold his face and mimic his actions just a couple minutes ago, kissing his cheek, the bridge of his nose and the cute mole on the side, then finally his lips. “Where do you want it?”

“Your mouth,” he asks gently. “Please.”

When Minho pulls out, you move toward him, settling on your hands and knees until your face is level with his bare cock. He lets out a breathless moan as you take him into your awaiting mouth, humming contentedly when you taste yourself on him. He has both hands on you, one tangled in your hair, the other stroking your cheek affectionately, all the while his hips thrust into your mouth slowly until he hits the back of your throat, only to pull back and do it again repeatedly.

You peer up at him through your lashes, and Minho just thinks you’re so fucking pretty like this, looking at him with innocent eyes, yet you’re doing downright obscene things with him, letting him do the filthiest things to you.

You place your hand on top of his own, the one that’s on your face, caressing your cheekbone. “Baby,” he whimpers brokenly as you hollow out your cheeks to try and suck him off better. His heavy length throbs on your tongue, pulsating with the need to come. He’s aware that he sounds beyond needy and desperate, but you’re just so warm and wet and a fucking goddess that it makes him short-circuit, wiping his mind clean until all he knows is you.

Nothing else, no one else but you.

It takes him only a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s calling out your name in a drawn-out moan, spilling his hot cum down your throat, coating your tastebuds with him. You bop your head along his length for a minute longer, until you’re certain that he has nothing left to give you. When you’re done, your tongue wanders from the base to the tip, lightly sucking and licking the head like a kitten, before you open your mouth to show him that you’ve been a good girl.

Minho is dazed as he stares at you, his lips parted as he tries to even out his breathing. You smile triumphantly as you watch him try to get his bearings, but after a moment, he’s still quiet. You’re about to poke his side to get him to come down from the clouds, but he’s suddenly pulling you up by your arms and kissing you hard. You let out a surprised gasp, muffled against his mouth, before you relax against him, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

He moans when he tastes himself on your tongue, and the vibration caused by the sound makes you press your thighs together.

One of his hands gropes your bare ass before his fingers find your core again, rubbing your slit, gathering the moisture there.

“Did sucking me off make you wet again?” Minho pulls back slightly to ask, a smirk evident on his lips. You don’t say anything; you just look at him with bashful eyes. “Want me to make you come again?”

At this, you nudge his nose with yours. “Will you?” you ask coyly. “Just a quick one.”

He kisses you once more before he gently pushes you backward, motioning for you to lie on the bed as he settles with his head between your legs.

He sucks a faint mark into one of your inner thighs. “Anything for you,” he says.

His lips latch onto your awaiting clit, sucking it into his mouth gently and instantly making you sigh in pure bliss. Your fingers thread themselves in his hair, tugging on it when two of his fingers dip into your entrance without warning. The digits enter you easily, aided by your excess wetness, fucking you fast, determined to make you come again.

You feel like you’re floating.

There’s something about today. Some lines, blurred.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself nearing the edge again. You’re still a bit sensitive from your previous orgasm after all. “Ah, shit… There…” you keen out, your greedy hands trying to push him further against your cunt, which he happily obliges.

When you come in his mouth, your thighs shaking around his head, Minho laps it all up, taking his sweet time to lick you clean. You feel him moan against your core, and it isn’t until you start wincing from the overstimulation that he releases you.

A smug grin blooms on his lips as he crawls up the bed, lying down next to you. You take a couple of minutes to catch your breath, thoroughly enjoying the warmth that settles deep in your belly and the satisfying sensation between your legs. You cover your body with the duvet before you roll onto your side to face him.

Pillow talk isn’t your forte.

You just watch him as he watches you carefully, neither of you saying anything as the electricity in the air settles. You wait to see if he would speak, but after a moment, your eyelids start getting heavy. Exhaustion catches up with your body quicky.

“Tired?” Minho asks.

“Mhmm.”

He waits for another beat, reaches a hand out to stroke your hair softly before he gets up and goes to the bathroom. The aftercare is routine, and you cannot express how much you appreciate him for it. He returns with a damp cloth, then peels the duvet from your bottom half to clean you up. He does all of it quietly, and the silence makes you even drowsier.

When Minho is done, he pats your leg and covers you up again. He goes back to observing you and your sleepy face for another minute. You keep your eyes open as you try to maintain eye contact but it’s hard; you feel like you could pass out any second now.

Nevertheless, even in your exhausted state, you still sense the light somberness that befalls the confines of your walls. Usually, this is the part where he leaves, and you can tell that he doesn’t like the realization that he has to go now.

You see it in his face and it makes you a little sad because you know he wants to stay.

Then, it strikes you that you don’t really want him to leave either. At least not tonight.

“It’s late. You can stay the night,” you say quietly, “if you want.”

The same excuse that you used to kick him out the last time, now you’re using to get him to stay.

Minho seems surprised. “Are you okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Oh.”

You catch the tip of his ears turning red. It’s endearing, for some reason.

He puts on his boxers from where they were abandoned on the floor earlier, but opts to remain shirtless. His movements are a bit graceless, like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

This is a first for the both of you. The first time he’s ever stayed over.

“Do you want me to grab you a shirt?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Yes, please.”

Minho wanders over to your wardrobe and rummages through your t-shirt drawer. He picks one out from the bunch, holding it up for you to see. It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with you, but when it does, you realize that it’s not your shirt at all. It’s Minho’s, one that he left here some time ago and you were just never reminded to give it back.

“Oh,” you say. “You can wear it if you want. It’s yours anyway.”

“I think I’d rather see you wear it.”

You don’t argue because you’re tired and it’s just a shirt. You throw it on when he hands it to you along with a clean pair of underwear.

“What?” you ask when he just hovers over your bed and stares at you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to the shirt covering your body, his lips curling upward before he tells you, “Nothing.”

After turning off the lights, Minho climbs into bed with you. You’re lying on your back and you suspect that he’s in a similar position, though you don’t turn to look at him to make sure. It’s awkward, and you don’t really know what to do about it.

A couple minutes later, he brushes his fingers against yours. “Can I?”

You don’t know what he’s asking, but you agree nonetheless. “Okay.”

There’s some shuffling from his direction, like he’s rolled over onto one side to face you in the dark. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, until your back is flushed against his bare chest. The godforsaken thing that you call a heart starts beating wildly for a reason unbeknownst to you. It’s difficult to breathe properly when he’s holding you like this.

Like you’ve never been held before.

You think Minho feels the stiffness of your body in his arms because he starts rubbing odd patterns on your skin, up and down your sides, trying to soothe you.

It helps a bit, but then again it’s probably the sleepiness seeping in more and more too.

“Hey,” you start. “About what Hyunjin said at the party tonight.”

Minho pauses the movements of his fingers a second. “What did he say?”

“The thing he said about the girl…”

He laughs his cute laugh then, his chest vibrating with the sound. “You know the girl is you, right?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, patting your stomach with affection. “What about what Hyunjin said?”

You take a breath. “I don’t know. What if everyone finds out?”

“They won’t,” Minho reassures you. “They’re not the brightest bunch.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious,” he protests, then his voice gets smaller, full of hesitation as he asks, “Even if they do find out, would it really be that bad?”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you tell him, “but I don’t know, it’s…”

Then you trail off, not really knowing what to say. It’s what? Embarrassing? Scary? What?

“Come on.” Minho presses a kiss into your hair after a moment of dead silence. Maybe he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep, or maybe he’s trying to keep you from overthinking everything. The gentle kiss would’ve made you weak in the knees if you aren’t already lying down. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”

Your mind takes you back to what he said just now. You can’t help but think how that sentence would sound better if only he’d switched out one word for another.

My girl…

You know my girl is you, right?

It makes your heart skip a beat, then you’re snuggling further into the warmth of his embrace, where he welcomes you with no reservation.

You drift off to the sound of his breathing, dreaming about you and him.

410 notes · View notes

bloatedandalone04 · 7 months

Text

Screaming Whispers

➪the one where anakin is a musician and you’re his muse.

Warnings: rockstar anakin, modern au, smut, fluff, swearing to the max, pda, unprotected sex, hair pulling, praise kink, small corruption kink, size sink, his bands name is 'screaming whispers' which translates to 'sw' for short...like sw for star wars??? and i didn’t even plan that, it just happened, jealousy (brief), possessive anakin, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft dom anakin, choking kink

Word Count: 6.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The lights were blinding and his ears were ringing, but Anakin wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

He couldn’t see much past the flashlights on the phones and the stage lights that flickered in time with the drums his bandmate, Vinny, was currently pounding on. Live shows were always so much better than being stuck in a recording studio all day, because at least out on stage Anakin could let out all his pent up frustration and no one would bat an eye.

Actually, the way he got so into his performance and really gave it his all had his fans absolutely losing their minds as they, too, fell under the control of the music and the lights and the lyrics.

Anakin had only been in his band, Screaming Whispers, for just over a year now, but that was apparently enough time to get his and his friends’ names out there. One low budget album later and everyone knew about them, and really, Anakin had you to thank.

You are his high school sweetheart, and have been his biggest supporter since the day he told you he wanted to do something with music and maybe try to make it his career.

After writing countless drafts of songs that were all about you and his relationship with you, Anakin asked a couple of his friends who played instruments to rent out a recording studio to record one of the drafts he had actually finished.

Anakin was the lead singer and guitarist, while his friend, Vinny, played the drums, and his other friend, Theo, played bass.

It came out sounding decent and Anakin ended up editing it himself before uploading it to his burner account on Youtube, choosing some random photo he had taken of your hand holding his as the thumbnail.

Within a few days, the video only had about thirty views, and he knew most of them were from you.

When he had first let you listen to the song with a nervous expression gracing his features, he was worried when you didn’t say anything during the whole two minutes and forty six seconds it played for.

It ended and you turned to him, an unreadable look on your face before you were throwing yourself at him. He had never seen you so needy and desperate for him (unless he counted the very first time you and he slept together), and you spent the rest of the night loving on him because he had written you a song.

Your boyfriend of over three years at that point had actually made a whole song about you. How could you not tear his clothes off right then and there?

A few more weeks had passed when Anakin randomly decided to see how the video was doing. He was bored and you were at class, and he had grown tired of walking around your shared apartment on campus by himself.

When he clicked on the video, he was sure he had accidentally clicked the wrong one when he saw that it had gone from thirty views to ninety eight thousand views. It had over forty thousand likes and just under a thousand comments, all of which were praising him and the guys for how good the song is.

You once again jumped his bones a few hours later when he showed you it, muttering something about how you knew people would like the song once it got more exposure.

A month later, it had nearly a million views and Anakin was left to assume that the song had gone viral on a different platform that resulted in people searching the song up on Youtube. He didn’t go on TikTok or Instagram as he had no desire to, but was informed by Theo that the song actually did become super popular on TikTok and that was how so many people had found the video on his Youtube.

Since it had gotten way more attention than he had ever expected it to, Anakin quickly changed the channel name from ‘Manakin 246’ to ‘Screaming Whispers’. It was the first thing he thought of and both Vinny and Theo agreed to call themselves that if they were to ever record another song together.

Well, just a few days after that, the trio was contacted by a record label and a week later, they were signed onto Dynamic Studios as an official band.

It all happened so fast. Anakin was encouraged to finish and edit his previous drafts, and that was how he found himself recording a whole album with most of the songs being about you. Vinny and Theo helped out a lot with the songs, but insisted Anakin be credited as the lead songwriter, since the whole thing was his idea.

The album was called ‘Taking Back October’, and it had been streamed over three million times over various music sites. That, of course, resulted in a tour being booked, and that was where he is now.

A full year after uploading that song and three months of being on tour, Anakin could safely say he was meant to do this.

But the best part of it all? He had you watching him from your spot backstage, the biggest smile on your lips whenever he looked over at you from his place on the center of the stage.

From where you stood, he looked to be having the time of his life. He looked so in his element, so confident and comfortable, and not to mention unbelievably attractive.

You found yourself biting your lip as you hid away from the crowd. Part of you wondered how he did it, how he was so at home in front of thousands of strangers, but you supposed some people were just meant for the spotlight, and Anakin is definitely one of those people.

You definitely were not, as just the mere thought of stepping out onto the stage would send you into a full blown panic attack. And Anakin knew that, so despite him wanting to show you off to the world and to his fans - he couldn’t believe he actually has fans - he knew better than to shove you into the limelight like that.

For now, you were comfortable backstage, two lanyards around your neck that told everyone you were a guest on the tour, and that you were allowed backstage.

As you watched your boyfriend play and sing his heart out to his song Homecoming Queen, one of the stage crew members came waltzing up to you, a kind yet flirtatious smile on his lips. “Hi,” he said over the loud live music.

“Hi,” you called back, never taking your eyes off Anakin.

The guy looked down at your tour and backstage passes, a smirk growing on his lips. “You a friend of the bands?”

That made you glance over at him, and you were immediately uncomfortable at the way he was looking at you. “Something like that,” you answer, and it was true - Vinny and Theo had also gone to high school with you, but they were closer to Anakin, obviously - but the crew member didn’t seem too convinced. “I’m dating the lead singer, this song is actually about me.” You try again and watch as his eyes grow wide before he’s looking on stage and at your boyfriend.

He meets Anakin’s blue orbs, and right away you could see a hint of possessiveness in them, similar to the look he’d give other guys when they looked at you for a little too long back in high school.

The crew guy just backs away and leaves you alone, making you grin over at your boyfriend. Anakin just smirks before he is back to singing the chorus, all while never falling out of tune with the rest of the band.

Even though you were buzzing with excitement for what’s in store for you once he’s off the stage and you’d have him all to yourself, you couldn’t deny how attractive he looks on stage.

The show had been going on for just over an hour, and they would be wrapping up soon. Anakin’s skin was coated in a light layer of sweat, and the leather jacket he had been wearing when he had first walked out on stage had long since been discarded. His muscles flexed under the flashing lights as he effortlessly played his electric guitar and sang his heart out.

You were sure his throat was raw, but he didn’t stop, and the fans were loving it. You also couldn’t take your eyes off the way the muscles in his neck strained as he reached the higher notes of the song, and you had to press your thighs together to feel some sort of relief for the pressure that had been steadily building up.

After another ten minutes or so, the band wrapped up the performance and left the stage, leaving the fans still screaming in the stands. After Anakina picked up his jacket he tossed near the drum kit, he handed his guitar to the same stage crew member who had been talking to you, before he wrapped his free arm around your waist.

Your hands were barely touching either side of his face before he was kissing you deeply, the hand that held his jacket moving to grip your waist. Anakin pulled you closer to him, his adrenaline making his body ache for yours in hopes to find some sort of relief for the energy that surged through him.

“You were amazing out there,” you praised against his mouth, wanting nothing more than to poke your tongue out and run it up the side of his damp neck. “Like always.”

“Thank you, pretty girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours before dipping his head down to kiss your neck. His hands bunched up the thin fabric of your loose sundress, the flowery print making his want for you skyrocket. “You look hot.”

You laugh, glancing down at the simple dress that seemed to turn him on as if it was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “You look hot,” you say back and brush his slightly wet hair away from his forehead. You had to crane your neck a bit to be able to gaze up into his blue eyes, due to the sheer size difference between the two of you. The physical evidence of just how different you two are, even down to your height, had you pressing your thighs together again.

He wore dark clothes, most of which are adorned with chains, and his left arm was showing off a steadily growing sleeve of tattoos of random things - a lightsaber, a couple quotes, more than a few vulgar images, and most importantly, an outline of a heart with the initial of your first name inside it on his bicep. His wardrobe consisted of jeans, muscle tees, leather and jean jackets, and vintage - though sometimes graphic - shirts. He wore black boots or converse to tie off every outfit, completed with a couple of wristbands, rings and his signature necklace chain with your initials on the small charm.

You wore light colors, dresses and skirts that allowed you to show off the soft skin of your legs. Your body was bare of tattoos, with the exception of an ‘A’ on the side of your left wrist. Gold and silver jewelry were always on your wrist or around your neck, and you often wore flats or sneakers that went well with the rest of your look.

It was a big difference between the two of you, one that had been there since you were both seventeen, and it was what drew you into one another to begin with.

He looked intimidating, scary, even, but you found out that he had the sweetest heart, and he had given it to you.

“I am hot,” he grinned down at you, and the double meaning had you shaking your head as he stepped away from you and placed his jacket over your shoulders. He looked you up and down, biting down harshly on his bottom lip as his hands found their home on your waist again. The black leather contrasted against your light dress in such a sinful way, Anakin almost let out a groan at the sight. “Fuck, I can’t wait to take you back to the hotel after this.”

The band was playing two shows in D.C., so their manager went out of her way to book them a hotel for the night. It saved them from sleeping on the tour bus, which was surprisingly difficult to do, and Anakin could usually fall asleep anywhere.

He once fell asleep sitting down with his back pressed up against a washing machine in the laundry room at your apartment while he was waiting for the load to dry. He probably would’ve been sleeping for at least another half hour, had another resident not woken him up because he was sleeping against the only available washing machine.

But, for some reason, Anakin found that sleeping on a tour bus was next to impossible, even though he was given the only double bed because he had you with him.

So, in an attempt to get himself tired, he would spend a good hour with you in bed once he and the band got back on the bus after a show.

He could only imagine how happy Theo and Vinny are at the fact that they won’t have to listen to the two of you going at it for at least one of the two hundred and fifty nights they spent on tour.

“Yeah? You excited to spend a night with me in an actual room instead of a bus?” You teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when his wrapped around your waist and pulled your body right up against his.

“I’m so fucking excited,” he answered, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as the stage crew walked around the two of you to begin packing up the equipment. He leaned down so his lips were brushing against your ear as he whispered, “We can be as loud as we want. I can’t wait to make you scream.”

You refrain from moaning in a public place, ignoring how dumb that sounded when you thought about how loud you got on a tour bus that had only a single, thin door that separated yours and Anakin’s room from the other guys.

This man made you crazy in all the best possible ways. “Well,” you say back, tugging him impossibly closer by the hem of his white tee shirt. “What are you waiting for? An encore?”

Anakin groaned quietly, cursing under his breath when he felt your hand slide up the heated skin of his torso. “Fuck no,” he muttered, taking your hand in his and guiding you towards the exit door that would lead the two of you out to the parking lot. “I think if everyone in that audience could see just how good you look right now, they wouldn’t blame me for not going back out there and taking you to bed.”

You smirked a bit as he pulled you onto the bus with him and towards your room to indulge in a makeout session before he would give you the real thing once you got to the hotel.

A short ten minute drive later, and Anakin was painfully aware of just how hard he’s gotten since your quick encounter backstage, followed by your intense making out that took place on the bus.

Once his manager had given him the key to his room, Anakin pulled you along with him as he made his way to the elevator, pushing the button for the twelfth floor when he was in it.

He leaned back against the wall as the numbers above the doors increased with every passing second. His lips were on yours in messy and noisy kisses, his hands sliding down to lift the bottom of your dress up as if you weren’t still in a public place, and were probably being recorded because every elevator seemed to have cameras nowadays.

Once it stopped at the twelfth floor, Anakin easily picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, his hand placed firmly on your back to prevent your dress from slipping up and exposing you to anyone who might enter the hall while he carried you to the room.

He inserted the keycard for room 1209 with his free hand, before tossing it onto the table in the entryway. Anakin’s hands grip your waist after he sets you down and he turns your body away from him, his fingers sliding up your back and pushing your hair to the side. He unclasps the gold necklace he had bought you a few nights ago from a cute store you and he stumbled upon while you were out sightseeing.

Anakin gently sets the chain down onto the table as well and places a few kisses to the back of your neck before he guides you forward and towards the king sized bed. “Look at that, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Since you had discarded his jacket back on the bus, his lips had free rein over the skin of your shoulders and neck as he sucked a few light marks onto it. “It’s bigger than our bed we have at home.”

Home. It seemed like so long ago, when in reality, Screaming Whispers had only been on tour for three months now. Anakin planned on using the money he would get from the tour and the shows to officially move in with you, in your own house, not a student apartment that was on the campus of his old college.

You were still a student there, but had opted to get all your assignments done before the tour so you could save yourself from having to give up the school year.

Humming, you lean back against his body. “We still need to get our bags from the bus,”

Anakin sucked on the skin of your jaw as his hands pulled at the thin fabric of your dress. “I’ll get our stuff later,” he promised, sliding his hands up the front of your body, making chills take over you as he gripped your chest. “You look so fucking pretty, baby.”

You hum again, closing your eyes when you feel one of his hands inch lower and lower until it disappears underneath your dress. “Just for you, Ani,” you whispered as he softly rubbed your clit through the thin lace of your panties.

He kissed your shoulder in appreciation as his hand slipped past the lace, his ring-clad middle finger dipping into your heat. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he nearly moaned, his free arm wrapping around your middle when he felt your body slump back against his. “So wet for me.”

“Ani,” you gasped quietly, moaning when he began to pump his finger in and out of you. The lace restricted him from going super hard, but he much rather preferred to work you up to that, anyway. “Fuck, it’s all for you. You looked so hot tonight.”

“You look hot, too, pretty girl,” he mumbled and removed his hand from your panties as he spun your body around so your chest was pressed to his. “I saw the way that crew guy was looking at you.”

You moaned quietly when his knee separated your legs, his thigh rubbing against your core through his jeans. “I said I was with you,” you weakly say, gripping his biceps tightly when his hands found your waist and began sliding your body up and down his thigh. “Said I’m yours.”

“You are mine,” he rasped, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before he gently shoved you away. The backs of your knees hit the end of the bed and you fall back onto it, your dress slipping up past your thighs and revealing the pastel pink lace that covered your core. “You’ve been mine since we were seventeen.”

You bite down harshly on your lip when he pulls the lace down your legs and drops it to the floor. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled when he ran his tongue up your folds, eagerly collecting your wetness.

Anakin glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing at the way you were refraining from being too loud. “No, Y/n,” he says sternly, bringing a hand up to slide his index and middle fingers into you. “We have this whole room to ourselves. I want you to be as loud as you can fucking get.”

Almost instantly a loud moan escapes you when he sucks on your clit, your back arching slightly when he began to fuck his fingers into you. Those skilled fingers, the same ones that had so effortlessly played the guitar in front of thousands of people just a half hour before. “Fuck, Ani. Fuck,” you whined.

Anakin smirked against you, curling his fingers once they are knuckle deep within you. The calloused tips brush against your walls and make you squeeze your eyes shut, finding it hard to believe that a year before all this, the skin of his fingers was smooth and gentle as he only played guitar in his free time before he made a career out of it.

Over a year of playing it non-stop had hardened his fingers and was a blessing in disguise, as they had never felt better when they were buried deep within you.

“God, it feels so good,” you whimpered as he traced the letters of his name with his tongue onto your clit. “So fucking good, Ani.”

He hummed, sending vibrations up your core and making your mind go into a frenzy. “Louder, baby,” he softly demanded, moving back up your body and hovering over you while his hand picks up the pace a bit. “I want this whole floor to complain about us tomorrow.”

You were so turned on, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about the sounds your core was making as his fingers plunged into it repeatedly. Not that Anakin ever let you feel embarrassed about it, seeing as he prided himself on how wet he makes you every time he goes out on stage.

“I know you want it, too,” he continues as he stared down at your fucked out expression. “Admit it.”

“I want it,” you managed to say as his thumb began rubbing circles on your clit in time with his fingers. The coolness from his ring contrasted against your searing heat, making the knot in your abdomen steadily form.

Anakin smirked down at you, leaning in to run his tongue along the skin under your ear. “Want what?”

“God,” you groaned as he pumped his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace. “I want everyone on this floor to know who makes me feel so good, Anakin. I want them all to complain about how loud we are.”

Anakin was satisfied with your answer, “That’s my girl,” and he leaned down to begin sucking various marks onto the skin of your neck, the sounds you were emitting going straight to his dick that throbbed against his jeans. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of hearing all the sweet sounds you made just for him, and had been making for him since you were in high school.

“Anakin,” you moaned, lifting your hips in time with the movement of his hand. “Please, please, don’t stop.” Your lips brushed against his as you begged him to keep fucking you with his skilled fingers.

He hummed, kissing you deeply. “You gonna come for me?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he felt the way you clenched around his fingers every time your walls sucked him back in.

“Yes,” you nearly whispered, a crease forming in your brow as the coil in your stomach was a mere few seconds away from snapping. “Please.”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he requested, his voice deep and sultry next to your ear. “I want it all over my hand.”

You were unable to deny him his wish as you came hard, your thighs shaking slightly and your mouth opening to let out a long and loud moan. Your head dipped back into the middle of the bed, your fingers twisting tightly in the soft comforter as he slowed down the thrusts of his hand until you were whimpering quietly.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, kissing you once before removing his fingers from inside you. He brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks the digits clean as he moves back down your body. Anakin licked a single strip up your slick core before standing up, smirking at the way your whole body shook at the action.

You weakly propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him pull his belt from his jean loops. He drops it to the floor, the sound of the buckle hitting the hardwood making your head swim with thoughts of what’s in store for you next.

“Take that pretty dress off, baby,” he said under his breath, reaching behind him to pull off the white tee and leaving it to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You quickly lifted yourself up so you were kneeling on the bed, your hands fumbling to tug off your dress. Anakin gives you a soft smirk at how obedient you always are for him as you tossed the dress off the side of the bed, kicking his jeans down his legs and leaving him in his tight boxer briefs.

You gave him a look that nearly had him falling to the floor as he moved forward and kneeled on the bed in front of you, making you crane your neck to be able to stare up at him. Your hands reach up and tug on the hair on the back of his neck, pulling his head down so his mouth could meet yours.

Moaning quietly against his lips, you arch your back when you feel his hands slide up to unclasp your matching pink bra. He pulled it from your body, leaving you completely bare to his lust filled eyes. He let out a low growl as his hands slid back down to your hips. “Lay back, pretty girl,”

You oblige quickly, laying further up on the bed and resting against the soft pillows. “Please, Anakin,” you whined as he rubbed his still covered dick against your heat. “Fuck me.”

Anakin groaned as he shoved his boxers down, gripping your thighs and tugging them up until they were draped over his. “I’ll fuck you, baby,” he promised, running his tip over your wetness and coating himself in it. “I’ll fuck you so good, make sure everyone knows who made you come.”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped just as he thrusted himself into you without warning, making you reach out to grip his forearms. Still on his knees, Anakin began fucking into you at a brutal pace, pouring all his leftover energy from the show into the way his hips hit yours. “God, yes.”

Anakin gripped your waist tightly, his eyes drifting from the way your breasts bounced with each thrust to your face as it twisted up in pleasure. “Say my name,” he demanded, burying himself to the brim and pausing there.

Your body tensed up, your stomach muscles flexing as he kept your hips pressed to his. “Anakin,”

“Louder,” he ordered, repeating the action.

“Anakin!” You shouted, and it was followed by a string of moans as he resumed rocking his body against your own. “God, Anakin, you’re so deep. So deep in me.”

He grunted at your filthy words, the faint sound of the headboard hitting the wall making the whole scene look like it was straight out of a porno. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he praised, reaching one hand up to pinch at your sensitive nipples. He felt you clench around him as he worked on hardening your peaks, his pace faltering just slightly at the tightness of your walls. “Always take me so well.”

“I love you, Anakin,” you whimpered, arching your back and pushing your chest up against his hand.

He groaned at your sweet words, placing his hands flat against the comforter on either side of your head from where he knelt above you. “I love you so much,” he said back, speeding up his pace. “I’ve loved you for four years now, baby.”

“Nearly five,” you reminded him with a cry of pleasure. “We’ve been together for almost five years, Ani.”

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, leaning further down to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, a big contrast to the way his lower body was currently destroying yours. “How could I ever forget about the day you became mine?”

“Best day of my life,” you mumbled when he leaned back again, digging his knees into the bed as he all but railed into you. “Fuck, you feel so good, Anakin.”

“You’re so tight,” he responded, making your stomach twist with a need to please him forever. You were vaguely aware of the loud smacking of the headboard now, and the way the picture that hung above the bed was tapping with each thrust of his hips. It only fueled your desire for him as your hands gripped the comforter once again.

Your previous orgasm rendered you a bit more sensitive than normal, so you weren’t all that surprised to feel that knot begin to tighten once more. “Fuck, you’re going to make me come again,”

“Yeah? You’re going to come all over me again?” He mocked slightly, only making your head swim with dizziness at how dirty the whole event is. “I want it. Come all over me, pretty girl, nice and messy.”

Your eyes rolled back just a bit when he reached one hand up to press his fingers against the base of your neck. A strangled moan escaped you as you clenched helplessly around him.

You didn’t think you would ever get used to how he was in bed, versus how he was out of it. He was sweet, kind and caring with you outside the bedroom, but inside it he was rough, loud and determined to get you off in any way he possibly could. The difference was almost too much to handle.

A few more deep thrusts later and your core was flooding around him, noisily sucking him in deeper and alerting him of your second orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he praised, watching as his dick became even more coated in your wetness. It spurred him to speed up the pace so he could reach his own release. “Good fucking girl.”

“Anakin,” you struggled to say as your body shook with overstimulation. “Ani, come, baby, please.”

It wasn’t the first time he had you begging him to come in you, but it still had his head going fuzzy for a second or two, as well as made him twitch inside you. “You want it?” He asked through a clenched jaw, his neck muscles straining as he tried to hold off for a little bit longer.

“Yes,” you answered, powerless against his sharp thrusts as you took each one. “I want it so bad.”

“Fuck, princess,” he muttered, his pace slowing down as his own release flooded through him. With a couple slow thrusts into your greedy core, he fucked his seed deep within you.

He falls onto the bed next to you a few seconds later, his chest heaving and a light layer of sweat adorning his skin, mirroring the way he looked on stage an hour or so prior to this.

Anakin was a lot more drained now than he was before, and he knew that if he were to stay in bed for much longer he would probably pass out with you wrapped in his arms.

He lifted himself up and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, murmuring an “I’ll be right back,” against it before he dressed himself in his shirt and jeans, grabbing the keycard on his way out to retrieve both yours and his bags from the bus.

The next day, after spending most of the morning wrapped up in the sheets together, you and Anakin finally decided to get up.

Kind of.

He was currently propped against the headboard, eating a piece of toast with you on his lap. His acoustic guitar he brought with him was placed in your lap as you softly ran your fingers against the strings, leaning back against his bare chest. You were nowhere near as talented as he is with the instrument, and you knew it would sound awful if you were to try and play it without his guidance.

“Mm,” he hummed when you plucked one of the strings at his request, tossing the crust of the toast onto the plate that was next to him on the bed. He would usually be more careful so there wouldn’t be any crumbs in the sheets, but he was checking out of the hotel before tonight’s show, so he decided to leave it to the cleaning staff as he knew they would be washing the sheets anyway. “That’s the B string, baby, not the D string.”

“And I’m supposed to know that…how?” You asked as he wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Well, I’ve only been playing guitar for the entire length of our relationship,” he teased as he placed his right hand over yours. He guided your thumb to one of the middle strings and gently brushed it against it. Of course, it sounded a lot better because he was the one who controlled how much pressure and the pace of your thumb against the string. “That’s the D string.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes at the cockiness in his voice as you strummed along the string again, this time sounding a bit better than before.

“There you go,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as a reward. “That was good.”

You turn your head to give him a small glare. “You’ve never been a good liar,” you mutter. “Especially when it comes to lying to me, it’s why you could never get away with cheating.”

Anakin scoffed, “I would never,”

You shake your head with a dumb grin on your lips as he guides your fingers to strum the tune he had been going over in his head for the past few days. You let him take full control over the way he moved your fingers, noting the soft humming of an unfamiliar song leaving the back of his throat. “New song, Ani?”

He shrugged from his spot behind you, leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, your tank top doing very little to cover your skin from him. “Maybe,” he answers as he begins to kiss up your neck, not even needing to look down at the strings to be able to play them perfectly.

It made you a bit lightheaded, how hot and talented he truly is. “What’s it going to be about?” You ask, eyes glued to the way he effortlessly helped you play the guitar while also holding a conversation with you. His talent always surprised you, despite knowing early on how skilled he is with the instrument.

“You, obviously,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. “What else would I write a song about?”

“You’re too much,” you say and he laughs quietly, agreeing with you as he goes back to mumbling potential lyrics in your ear.

A few hours go by and it’s nearing the time for Anakin and the band to head onto stage. He smoothes out his graphic tee and smirks at the way you cowered behind the large speaker, eyeing him with your lip caught between your teeth.

“God, Ani, you look good,”

“Me?” He asked and reached his hand out to you, pulling you into his arms once you took it. He played with the end of your pink and white skirt, eye fucking you a mere few minutes before he had to go perform in front of thousands of people. “I bet Vin and Theo are so jealous that it was me who got to take you to bed last night, in an actual room.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders, gazing up at him. “I bet all your fans are jealous that it’s going to be me who gets you all to herself after the show,”

Anakin hummed lowly, pressing a kiss to the skin under your ear. “I’d be jealous, too, if the hottest girl took me home,” he rasped. “Or in our case, took me back to that stupid bus.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Since you had applied a cute pink lip to go with your skirt, a stain was left on his skin when you pulled away. “Oh, sorry,” you say and lift your hand up, but pause when his fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t you dare try to wipe that off,” he ordered with a smirk. “I think it completes my look.”

And it really did. A black snapback was placed backwards on his head, a vintage shirt covered his chest and exposed his sleeve of tattoos, dark jeans with a few chains connected to the belt loops hugged his legs, and black boots gave him the daunting appearance of someone who was born to be on stage.

The pink lipstick mark only added to the whole thing.

“Okay,” you swallow harshly, stepping away once Vinny handed him his guitar. “Have a good show.”

“I love you,” he called out as he placed the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”

When he made his grand entrance, the crowd seemed even louder than normal, and you could only hope at least some of them were able to see your mark on his cheek as you hid behind the speaker and watched your boyfriend get lost in his element.

Series based off this fic

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker #anakin star wars #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin fanfiction #star wars #anakin skywalker headcanons #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagines #hayden christensen #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen icons #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen imagine #screaming whispers #screaming whispers au

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actual-changeling · 7 months

Text

He asks him exactly once.

Some months after the world almost ended, Crowley still smells smoke and tastes fire whenever he first enters the bookshop, and so every single time he stays into the evening, he gets drunk. It's not the ideal way of dealing with it, but it works, and, really, it's not going to last forever.

(Right?)

Either way, it's past midnight and he's absolutely shitfaced. Aziraphale pulled out the good whiskey around eleven, and while he is still nursing his second glass, Crowley has lost count of how many times he has topped off his. Looking back, it is hard to tell why that evening, why that question at that time - not that it matters much.

The room is spinning, he is less than artfully sprawled across the sofa and only held in place by a stern look Aziraphale had leveled at the cushions at some point; they wouldn't dare to let him slide off.

"Stars, angel," he says, responding to... something, surely.

"The whole bloody sky 's full of 'em, but you only see such a tiny teeny sparkling sparkle."

Pushing himself a bit more upright so he can face Aziraphale in his armchair, the liquid sloshing dangerously, Crowley impatiently waits for a response, flopping onto his back when he doesn't receive one within seconds.

"Y'know, 's all so pointless, innit?"

Even with his gaze tracing colourful swirling lines on the ceiling, he knows exactly what kind of frown falls onto Aziraphale's face, half worried and half thoughtful. Distantly, emptying his glass and miraculously not choking, he wonders what his concerned little pout would taste like.

"Maybe we're simply not supposed to know the point, my dear, the-"

"The Almighty 's not here, angel, She doesn't care 'bout my stars."

His interruption ends on a sigh, a puffy exhale laced with the first sparks of millennia old angry frustration, and his mind is jumping between centuries and memories alike, leaving him uncomfortably dizzy.

"D'you think," Crowley begins, his voice oddly steady, "She's still- does She care 'bout me?"

If he were fractionally less drunk, he would have sobered up before the words slipped past his lips, but he isn't, and he doesn't. Regret comes all the same, immediately and forcefully enough to punch the air out of his lungs. Home, he needs to go home, needs to take the question back, needs to run before the pity undoubtedly radiating from Aziraphale hits him. His limbs are dipped in honey, unresponsive to his commands, and he screws his eyes shut just long enough to get rid of the worst of the vertigo.

He does not know the answer nor which answer he wants to hear, and yet he has whispered the question to the stars countless times, receiving nothing but cold silence.

(I still love you, he wants to tell her, sometimes, hoping that maybe-

You made me and I still talk to you and you're my Mother, you're the heat burning in my the stars, you're watching us, me and him, and you have yet to punish us him)

With considerable effort, he pulls himself upright with one hand gripping the backrest, dropping his empty glass onto the floor and swinging his legs down next to it. His vision is a blurry haze, his mind too heavy to fully comprehend the panic raging behind it, and a familiar rush of blood in his ears is drowning out Aziraphale muttering in concern.

"Sorry, 'm leaving. See you t'morrow, angel."

"Crowley-"

Making it to the Bentley with nothing but a twisted miracle, he shakes off Aziraphale's fluttering hands, and falls into the driver's seat; she knows where to go, whether he's actually driving her or not. Loneliness seeps into his bones while the engine cools, and he forbids himself from thinking about the response Aziraphale might have given him if he had stayed.

The stars above London are distant and quiet like they always are, and not for the first time, Crowley accepts the silence as the answer it is.

(He asks the sky again three weeks later, he never did know when to stop with the questions.)

(Deep down, he thinks knows hopes if he just keeps asking, eventually She will answer; he hates Her almost as much as he misses Her.)

(Almost)

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #i have come to the realization that uhm i might be projecting my mommy issues onto crowley #which is good i need to process that shit but at the same time i dont wanna acknowledge it at all #anyway more crowley angst

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tickletastic · 7 months

Text

Somersweet

Fandom: DC/Young Justice

Ship: Birdflash <333

Summary: A glimpse into Wally and Dick's teenage years; the first time Wally realizes why, even as a billionaire, Bruce refuses to give his son candy. Day sixteen of Miya and Mia’s Tickletober: sweets!

Wally has never really used his height against Dick. He’s always been taller, but he is also older, and speed was always more of his thing anyways. He was fine with Dick flipping through the air, cartwheeling down the halls of the Young Justice headquarters.

When Dick had suggested they go to Wayne Manor and steal some of the Halloween candy that Bruce had started stockpiling for the trick-or-treaters, Wally thought it was a great idea. Free candy and he gets to chill in a mansion? It was a done deal for him.

It was all fun and games when he thought he and Dick would just steal some candy and watch a movie, before he realized that Dick rarely, if ever, eats candy. It seems like the Dark Knight goes all out for Halloween, but rarely lets his own kid have any sweets. Wally can see why.

Dick is practically bouncing off the walls, running around in circles in the screening room, begging Wally to let him put his costume on so he can fight crime, saying he feels it’s time to “break bones and take names.”

Wally, despite really wanting to see what happens, tells Dick no, he is absolutely not leaving the room in the state he’s in. Dick pouts, and he does puppy dog eyes, and he begs, but Wally stands his ground. He finds it incredibly difficult, of course, he’s had a crush on his best friend for like three entire years, but his worry for Dick’s safety outweighs the cuteness of his puppy dog eyes.

Dick instead takes to jumping across the room’s chairs and couches, doing somersaults and cartwheels, doing triple backflips and handsprings. Wally, with his ability to practically watch seconds tick by in front of him, is having difficulty keeping up with how quick Dick is moving around the room.

“Walls, I am totally whelmed right now,” Dick says in the middle of a front flip off the couch, “like, absolutely, completely whelmed.”

Wally laughs, speeding over to stand next to Dick, “even if that were a word, I don’t think that's how you’d use it.”

“No, no,” Dick says, shaking his head while running towards another couch, “it totally would be. I made it up so I get to choose how it’s used.

“That’s totally not how language works, dude,” Wally says before finally deciding it might be time to reel Dick in. His flips and tricks are cool, but Wally is seriously worried that the sugar rush is going to cause him to trip over himself, which would be bad news for both of them.

Wally runs and grabs a blanket, wrapping it around Dick and bringing him over to one of the couches, all within the blink of an eye. Dick attempts to wrestle out of the blanket, but Wally continues to tangle him up in it. Eventually Dick manages to get completely covered, his body disappearing under the Superman themed throw blanket.

“Wally, let me out!” Dick laughs, muffled by the fabric.

“No can do, bird brain, not until you’ve got a little less pep in your step.”

Dick continues to struggle, arms flailing and poking out as he tries to reach for Wally to push him away. Wally, of course, has the benefit of sight, and decides to start grabbing Dick back. The two of them engage in this awkward, partially blind wrestling match for a minute or two before Wally grabs Dick and Dick recoils with a squawk, squirming under the blanket.

Wally does it again, and this time it produces a giggle, Dick’s hands coming up to produce a barrier, though he still can’t see Wally’s next move.

Wally makes a grab for Dick and manages to wrangle him into a hug, the human burrito now trapped in his arms, and he makes quick work of skittering his fingers wherever he can reach, getting a wheeze and high-pitched giggles from his best friend.

“Wahahally nohoho!” Dick squeals, unable to struggle due to both the blanket and Wally’s arms trapping him.

“Aww, does that tickle?” Wally asks when he starts rubbing his head into the crevice of Dick’s neck and shoulder, “Is someone’s neck ticklish? What about your ribs? Does this tickle?”

Dick shrieks, going limp against Wally and trying to figure out any possible way of escape. He hears when Wally decides to count his ribs, and he desperately tries to get out of the redhead’s grasp.

“Dickie, you gotta hold still,” Wally teases, “counting them from under the blanket is hard enough, if I lose count I’ll have to start over!”

Of course, Wally loses count about five times, each time starting a new round of tickling on Dick’s upper ribs, which gets him crying out through hysterics.

“Aww, where does it tickle?” Wally asks when he’s ‘forced’ to restart again, “Does it tickle here?”

He goes back in to get Dick’s top rib, and Dick shrieks, begging for Wally to stop, promising that he’ll finally calm down.

When Wally feels as though Dick has been positively tickled silly, he finally stops, releasing his grasp on Dick, allowing him to fully reveal himself from under the blanket.

Dick comes out with his hair a mess, curls falling in his eyes. His face is red and he has a huge smile plastered on his face, tears trickling from the corner of his eyes. He looks happy, and Wally thinks that he wants this to be the last thing he ever sees, Dick smiling at him, joy written across his face.

Dick pants, throwing a fake glare Wally’s way, “you’re-”

Dick is interrupted when Wally leans in for a kiss, soft and timid, and it takes him a second before he even realizes, before he’s kissing back.

When they pull away they’re both smiling, sharing identical, smitten looks. The fondness in Wally’s eyes, Dick realizes now, had always been there, he had just never taken notice.

“Dude, I’m-”

“You’re whelmed, aren’t you?” Dick asks with a little smirk on his face.

Wally just rolls his eyes, going in for another kiss.

#wally west #dick grayson #birdflash #dickwally #dc #tickletober #tickletober 2023 #miya&mia's tickletober #ticklish!dick #ler!wally #this was meant to be queued but tumblr hates me so i guess have this posted early!

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reve-writes · 2 years

Text

—or you could have died. | spy x family loid forger x spy!reader.

twilight wasn't pleased at your recklessness during a mission.

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END THIS WAY.

The task was easy, painfully simple and it almost irked you at how easily you screwed everything over for both you and Twilight.

You had separated twenty minutes or so ago. He had gone off securing an exit and transport, while you were supposed to grab an incriminating document against the campaigning politician whose house you were in. Downstairs, the party was on full throttle. Men and women dressed in the finest suits and softest silks were waltzing across the marbled floor under the twinkling chandeliers.

No one was supposed to be here, the corridor on the fourth floor. It seemed that you had mixed up the guard shift schedules or the information you'd received three days prior was faked.

Either or, you were clumsy and stupid. You landed yourself in this predicament — a split lip, bruising right eye and a horrible pounding spreading from your temple throughout the insides of your skull. Your hands were bound behind your back, a flimsy rope, you could have broken out of it within thirty seconds, but then what?

There were three men around you. Both of whom were holding a firearm and all of whom most certainly had hidden knives sheathed all over underneath those expensive black suits. If you managed to break free and incapacitate one, you would have died before thinking of dealing with the other two.

They dragged you down the hall without regard. You scrambled, trying to catch up and avoid scraping your knees across the floor.

They threw you roughly into an office, and one of them left. You were most likely going to die tonight, or worse, tortured for information.

He didn't return until the clock struck midnight. Twilight had probably started the car by now. You both promised to meet five minutes ago and he had flatly told you that he would leave if you didn't come to the meeting point on time.

You had smirked at him, gloating, “I recall beating you by three seconds on a certain lock picking test back in the Academy.”

He had hummed disinterestedly and left without another word.

You shook your head. If you had a chance to escape, it was now, before the guard returned with enforcement. Your nimble hands worked the rope as the guards chatted idly behind you. It didn't take long for you to wriggle your wrists free of your bonds and you swung your leg as hard as you can to one's groin and jammed your elbow on the other's face, right at the bones underneath his eye.

Your mistake was trying to wriggle the gun out of Groin's hand. You should have cut your losses and jumped out of the window. Perhaps you miscalculated your strength or maybe he had worn special, hard-shelled underwear, but he barely recoiled and harshly tugged the gun back towards him. You fell off balance, kissing the fur rug on the marble.

Your head landed next to his shoes and he didn't think twice before kicking you. Hard. Your body jolted and you groaned. Unrelenting, despite the headache, you tried standing up and he landed another blow to your guts.

You retched, the delicious dinner from earlier came out, landing on the rug. Under Eye had recovered from his daze, his right cheek was forming a bruise. He called you a less-than-appropriate word and pulled on your hair.

Maybe this was a good way to go out, you thought. Groin slapped you, but you barely felt it. Your heart thumped in your ears. You were alive, for now, but your body felt numb. This is not a good way to go out at all, you complained. There should be more explosives and style.

You chuckled dryly. This angered Under Eye and he pressed the barrel of the gun on your head.

Everything happened far too quickly afterwards. The door busted open, startling the three of you. Groin and Under Eye jumped instinctively and then two bodies fell before you. A hand circled under your arm, around your torso and you were hauled away. The marble underneath you changed to pesky stairs, before you were shoved inside a fast car. Your saviour pulled the seatbelt over your body and fastened it. Before you knew it, the car drove off with bullets bouncing off its exterior.

“Are you dead?” The voice was familiar, flat and untelling. You sighed with relief, chuckling.

He was driving needlessly fast. None of the guards had tailed after you, at least, and movement sickness was hitting you hard. You opened your mouth, about to tell him to slow down, but he interjected.

“This is funny to you?” There was an edge in his voice. He was tense. Fighting the headache, you turned to look at him and found his brows furrowed and lips pursed into an uncharacteristic frown. You were almost scared to speak.

“I'm not dead, Twilight. Calm down,” you rolled your eyes. You pulled a folded up paper from your shoe. “Mission accomplished.”

“Calm down?” He shot back. “You had a gun to your head.”

Truthfully, he was also surprised at his outburst. He couldn't quite place why, but when he had kicked the door open and found you with a gun pressed to your head, one click away from certain death, it set off alarms in his head. His body acted on its own, truly, and now the panic had set in and turned into an inexplicable annoyance and fury.

“I had it under control.”

“Clearly, you didn't,” he scoffed. “You could have died.”

You groaned, “I didn't. Drop the theatrics and spare me your mockery, Twilight. I'm fine.”

He turned and braked, unprompted. You found yourself in an alley, facing a dead end. Without the constant humming of the car, you could hear his rapid breaths, like a provocated bull about to charge anything that looked its way.

Your voice was shamefully small when you called out, “Twilight?”

It seemed that one word was enough to set him off.

“What were you thinking?” His voice wasn't loud. He wasn't yelling, but you still felt like you were a child being scolded. “I knew I shouldn't have left you to do the most important part of this whole mission alone. I knew I should've told you to wait in the goddamn car.”

This vexed you. “You didn't think I could do it?”

“You clearly cannot,” his voice was ice.

You threw the stupid document at his stupid face. “I did it, didn't I?”

“You didn't,” he said, tightening his grip around the steering wheel. “If I hadn't arrived in time, your brains would be scattered on the floor.”

“You don't know that,” you argued. I don't need your help.

“You had a gun to your head!” The blond man threw his hands in the air exasperatedly.

“A harmless threat. They would have interrogated me first,” you were assuming, at this point, but you were annoyed at him lecturing you when you should be driving as fast as you could to the headquarters before word got out. “I would withhold information until I cook up a plan to escape. I was fine. I had everything under control.”

“Or you'd be dead,” he folded his arms on the steering wheel, burying his head on them, sighing.

You didn't miss the slightest tremble in his voice when he said that. The echoes of those words hung between the two of you. The air was thick with the implications from the sentence: And I would lose you.

“I'm sorry,” you said softly, your hand grabbing his arm, forcing him to turn to look at you. His blond hair was disheveled and his pupils were dilated from the adrenaline. “I'm sorry I wasn't more careful.”

His jaw — which was previously clenched so hard, you worried that he'd knock his own teeth out — went slack and his shoulders slouched. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Your hand cupped his cheek, and the other brushed the strands of his sunkissed hair. You were reminded of your mission three months ago, when the two of you shared a moment after a particularly exhilarating heist and you swore he was about to kiss you back then, but he didn't. You never talked about it after and he had returned to the Twilight he always was. Quiet, cold and so composed that it was hard to believe he was real, or that he had emotions.

“You're okay,” he breathed out. You nodded, leaning into his touch as he brought his hands to cradle your face. His thumb swiped at the bloody cut on your bottom lip and you winced slightly.

“That hurts, stupid,” you protested, but you were smiling.

Twilight was sure he had drunk something during the dinner earlier, some liquid courage that pushed him to do the things he had only dreamt of doing to you.

“I should kiss it better, then,” he said, and pressed his lips against yours.

You didn't quite have time to process it. Blush crept up your neck, spreading across your cheeks and your eyelashes fluttered close. His lips were soft and you concluded that you liked kissing him and you wanted to continue kissing him.

As if reading your mind, he pulled back slightly, and you leaned forward, eyes half-closed. He chuckled, pressing a brief kiss on your lips, before pulling a way completely.

“Mission,” he cleared his throat. You weren't the only one flushed red, as you took note of the red tips of his ears and light blush across his cheeks. “Let's get back to the headquarters first.”

You sounded your agreement, grinning. You didn't think you took your eyes off of him as he drove you back, and he had kept a hand on your thigh, his thumb moving in mindless, soft strokes.

[ ]

#loid forger x reader

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fleckssadgirl · 4 months

Text

𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓱

Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None :)

A lil' fluffy, please enjoy.

𓆑𓆑𓆑

There weren't enough words in the dictionary to describe how tired you felt. Even exhaustion, one of which you used frequently, was not adequate to the sensation of your lids falling like heavy gates. The attempt at studying was futile at this point, and you knew it.

Slamming your textbook shut, you huffed in frustration. Well, at least tried to, it sort of ended up more like a soft wheeze. With the amount of hours you had spent working for the past four weeks, and the added homework from your Ancient History class, it was enough to send anybody to an early grave.

You let sleep wash over you, and within seconds, your mouth fell open and all the muscles in your body relaxed.

Whether or not you were ready for the test on Roman emperors, you weren't bothered enough to read through Hadrianus' memory card for a third time.

𓋹

The feeling of cold drool on your chin was the first sensation you awoke to. The second, was a dull pain in your neck which you massaged wincing at the uncomfortable position in which you had slept.

Blinking rapidly, you cleared the fog out of your eyes.

You checked the clock.

7:30

Jesus, you slept for three hours?!

You quickly scrambled for your notebooks and pens strewn across the library floor. Without looking, you stood up and knocked your elbow into a bookshelf.

"Son of a..." you whispered in pain, clutching your elbow.

"Are you ok?"

Your eyes finally glanced upward and were met with a face.

You glared at the bookcase, and turned back to the man of whom had addressed you.

"I'm fine. I just overslept." you mumbled slightly.

He was looking at you, very intently as if to see your secrets hidden beneath your own eyes. You swore you had never felt so vulnerable from just a stare.

"Oh." he seemed to be out of anything else to say, as he glanced down, a small colour of pink hinting his cheeks.

You felt bad, seemingly embarrassing the man. You hadn't meant it to sound brusque, you were just tired and now sore from both your neck and elbow.

"Sorry."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What for?"

"I hadn't, I didn't... well, you know. It's nice." Now your face was starting to warm up.

He looked at you with slight confusion written on his face.

"What I mean to say is, thanks y'know. For asking."

"Oh." He glanced down, the pink shade in his apples going slightly brighter.

Wow, this guy didn't say much, did he? He was clearly very shy, and even more evidently not sure how to respond to positive feedback. This saddened you slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Uhm, Fleck. I mean, Arthur. Fleck is my last name, Arthur's my...first...name."

"Arthur. Arthur." You hummed appreciatively "I like that. I think it fits you."

You didn't think it was even possible for his cheeks to get redder, but they certainly did.

"What's yours? Your name, I mean."

"Y/N. L/N. Not that you care what my last name is, but y'know you shared yours, might as well share mine." You wanted to slap yourself internally, as you chuckled awkwardly at your own joke.

He however, suddenly smiled a genuine smile.

And, Dear Lord, it was the most precious smile you had ever seen in your life. You weren't sure exactly how a person could look so sweet, but you certainly weren't going to complain.

"I think Y/N fits you too. It sounds like an angel's name."

If any other man had fed you that line, you would have rolled your eyes and gagged. But, coming from Arthur, it sounded like he really wondered if you were indeed an angel.

You had almost forgotten about the dull pain in your elbow, and your fatal sleep deprivation.

It all suddenly came back where there was a large slam of books being dropped onto a table.

"Jimmy! Stop dropping books on the table, you're making a ruckus!"

The six year old, seemed to not care for the consequences of his actions, because three more books rocketed down and crashed on the wood table.

You had nearly jumped out of your bones, at the sound of the hardcover copy of Oliver Twist meet its fate.

You and Arthur glanced at each other and a small giggle erupted from both of your lips.

"Let's go before he starts dropping War and Peace." you grinned, and pulled Arthur Fleck by the arm to the entrance's glass doors.

𓋹

"That kid's gonna be banned from the library for life!"

He belly laughed, and nodded in agreement.

"Poor Jimmy."

When you could finally find breath again, you found Arthur's gaze.

It was upon further inspection of his irises, you realised they were a colour you had never seen before.

"C-can I call you?" You couldn't believe the words that had slipped from your mouth.

He smiled some more.

"Yeah, I would really like that."

"Maybe we could have lunch? I know a place that makes the best chocolate cr-"

"-sounds perfect." he said, before you could finish.

"O-ok." You were blushing.

Again.

But, you really didn't mind at all.

𓆑𓆑𓆑

Ok, wow I haven't written in so long, feels good to get back into it!

Hopefully you enjoy.

<3 Lyddie.

#arthur fleck #joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #joker 2019 x reader #arthur fleck fluff #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix

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dreamersbcll · 10 months

Note

Could you write a fic where Sam and Tara seem finally happy, they’ve just finished up their meal at a pizza place that is just a lil bit too cheap to not raise an eyebrow and are now walking home to their apartment before they get bombarded by conspiracy theorists. They go to hassle Sam aggressively shoving her and interrogating her before Tara charges at the theorist, knocking them over and pummelling their face with punches. This protection doesn’t come free,though as the theorists grab Tara and beat her up while same is unable to help. Sam’s guilt would drive her crazy after this

“Loomis”-

————————————————-

“You know, for someplace that only had two stars on Yelp, that hit!”

Sam threw her head back and laughed, pulling her sister in for a side hug. The pair had just finished eating at Guido’s Pizzeria, a family restaurant down the block from their new place. Tara had begged to try it, even though the Yelp reviews were dismal. So they did.

Kissing the side of Tara's head, Sam sighed. “You know, it wasn’t half-bad. The tomato sauce was a little sweet for my taste, but I’d try it again,”.

Tara hummed. “The garlic bread was good. I love garlic bread,”.

“I know you do, my love. I know you do,”.

Sam was so busy fussing with Tara's jacket that she didn’t notice the crowd of men approaching them.

That was her first mistake.

“Oh boys, look what we have here. The killer of Woodsboro!” crowed the ringleader, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Sam moved Tara behind her, eyeing the men forming a circle around her. The two sisters both had tasers and knives on them, but six full-grown men were surrounding them. They would have to be smart about this.

“I think you’ve heard wrong. I’m no such thing,” she carefully said, watching as one of the men started cracking his knuckles.

The ringleader laughed again, a cold, calculated laugh. Tara gripped her wrist harder, her hands shaking. Sam stood straighter, one hand in her coat pocket, grasping the knife hiding there.

He quickly got up in Sam’s face, grinning wider at how both sisters flinched. “No, I think I’m right. You’re the bitch who murdered all those people. And enjoyed it. You’re bold to walk around this city, Sam, the murderer,”.

She bristled, eyes darkening. “I’m not my father. But if you ask nicely, I’m sure I can do a good impersonation of his work. Now back up before I make you,” she growled.

Grinning, he got nose-to-nose with Sam. “I’d like to see you try, Loomis,.”

Her second mistake was not punching him first.

Instead, chaos erupted. Within a blink of an eye, Tara jumped on the guy, screaming that she was not like her father, and pummeled him with a barrage of punches. The other guys, along with Sam, were frozen in shock, watching the man get beat up by a five-foot girl.

Her third mistake was not reacting first.

As she reached down to pull Tara off the guy, the other boys regained their confidence quicker. Two guys yanked Sam up, forcing her to her knees, her arms behind her back. The other three easily plucked Tara off their ringleader, holding her up in the air by her armpits.

The ringleader got up, wiping blood off his nose. He pointed at Sam, and she smiled at the damage Tara had done, despite the fear running through her.

“I’m surprised you let your sister hit first. Maybe you’re not your father's daughter,”.

Tara squirmed in their grip, trying to get free. The ringleader smiled a cold, bone-chilling smile. Before he spoke, Sam connected the dots on what would go down.

“But somebody has to pay for the deaths in Woodsboro. And your sister will be our penance,”.

With that, he advanced on Tara, despite Sam’s pleas and Tara's squirming. Reaching into Tara's jacket pocket, he pulled out the pocketknife.

He waved the knife in Tara's face, smirking at her eyes widened with fear. “Aw. You were gonna use this on me, weren’t you? I wish you did. It would’ve made what would happen next more fun,”.

And with that, he punched Tara in the gut, and Sam let out a scream she never knew she could make.

She doesn’t remember much after that. For every two punches they threw at Tara, one was thrown at Sam. Eventually, she lost track, and Tara stopped crying out.

They gave up after a while, throwing down Sam and letting Tara's limp body hit the ground.

Fighting the urge to black out, Sam reached out for her baby sister. Tara was covered in blood, bruising blossoming over her closed eyes. She wasn’t moving, yet Sam could tell she was still faintly breathing.

The whole image of her sister tore Sam apart. It was yet again another bloodbath she could’ve stopped.

But what made Sam’s breath catch in her throat were the words that were scratched onto her sister’s arm.

Sam Loomis

—-

Sam doesn’t remember getting to the hospital. It was all so sudden.

Flashing lights, questions, and people strapping her down into a gurney.

“I need to see my sister. I need to be by her,” she gasped, wincing as the paramedic stuck a needle in her arm.

The paramedic gently pushed her down again, silencing her. “She’s in the other vehicle. I need you to lay down, Ms. Loomis,”.

She jerked back up, crying out at the pain in her ribs. “It’s not fucking Loomis. I’m Sam, Sam Carpenter!” she spat out.

“Okay, I’m sorry, Ms. Carpenter. My mistake. It was just written on your sister’s arm, that’s all,”.

Laying back, Sam felt woozy. The medication was hitting. Was that a sedative? She hasn’t been sedated in so long. Where was Tara? She should be here.

“Loomis,” she mumbled, drifting off into a drugged sleep for the rest of the ride.

——

“Listen, if you don’t let me see my fucking sister right now, I’ll add more bodies to my list. I swear to god!”

The nurse pushed Sam back down into the bed. “I told you, I’m not afraid to restrain you. Your sister is in the ICU recovering from surgery. No guests right now. Now sit!” she said crossly.

Sam threw her hands back in exasperation. “I’m already stuck in this fucking bed. I want to see her, please!”

She wasn’t above begging anymore. She was stuck in a hospital with her ribs wrapped in gauze and stitches above her eye- and heavily medicated. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere else besides her sister’s side.

“No, Sam. I’m sorry. Maybe later,” the nurse sympathetically said, closing the door softly behind her.

Groaning, Sam laid her head back against the bed. She fucked up. She fucked up tremendously. Once again, due to her lack of awareness, she had gotten the sisters into a perilous situation.

And once again, Tara was hospitalized.

It was as if Sam was incapable of being a protector. She is incapable of taking care of someone that depended on her.

Sam knew deep down that those men were right. She was a killer. She took after her father. She knew all that, and she knew it well.

But she always took pride in how much she loved Tara. How Sam could anticipate her needs, calm her fears, and make Tara feel loved. She knew she could provide that stable love and home Tara craved and deserved.

Yet again, Sam repeatedly proves to the world that she’s a complete and total fuck-up. Unable to take care of the one person who truly matters. She was a failure in all accounts of the world.

She kept her eyes closed and breathed slowly. Deep down, she knew that if she looked into her reflection, she would see Billy.

And he would smile back at her, thanking her for following in his footsteps.

Sam Loomis.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #this one was specific but fun #ao3 author #my writing tag #sorry! an attempt to be happy was made!#AU: i’ve got blood on my hands

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kimdokja-real · 9 months

Text

Kim Dokja is not small and slender

The new texture of Unbroken Faith was unfamiliar to me. "Kuaack!" The demon screamed painfully as the ends of his horns were cut off. The second strike flew towards Tentacio before he could move. It wasn't just that the earl's story wasn't effective on me. My movements themselves were different from ordinary incarnations. The demon gritted his teeth. "A constellation? No way… this is impossible!" I wondered if I should borrow Messiah's Path again but I didn't need to use the 'quotation' against Bug Slaughter. There was a limit to the number of 'quotations' and I also needed to check my abilities without a story. First, I needed to adjust my stats. Let's see. [Physique Lv. 62 -> Physique Lv. 90] [Strength Lv. 60 -> Strength Lv. 90] [Agility Lv. 60 -> Agility Lv. 90] [Magic Power Lv. 62 -> Magic Power Lv. 90] [All stats have increased significantly. [A total of 116,400 coins have been consumed.] It was huge spending but it was worth it. [Your body is moving towards the limits of a human.] [A formidable energy has filled your body!] [All stats have reached the scenario limit!] My heart beat faster as if I had received a caffeine transfusion. The adrenaline level in my body increased sharply and my body became as light as a feather. My stats had an average level of 90. There was probably no one among the incarnations who had my stats. This was the only thing I could do as a constellation. "Then let's go." I relentlessly swung my sword

"I will invest three million coins into my strength, physique, agility and magic power."

[Your total stats have grown abnormally!]

[The coins you invested have allowed you to cross the stats limit of the scenario.]

[A fuller probability will release some of the stat constraints for this scenario.]

[The growth of the stats value compared to the invested coins will be randomly adjusted.]

A tremendous amount of sparks jumped from my body. It felt like my muscles were tearing and growing bigger. There was the feeling of my bone density changing and a terrible pain came over me.

"Cough…"

I had put it off until now due to the poor cost to value ratio but there was no other way.

[Your mind can't cope with your evolving incarnation body.]

[The exclusive skill 'Fourth Wall' is activated!]

[Your incarnation body is evolving to a new level!]

Since the early scenarios, the 'overall stats' didn't have a big influence on combat. It was because stories, stigmas and skills had much more influence.

In addition, since the number of coins per level after level 100 was exponentially larger, it was more advantageous to buy a skill using the same amount of coins. Now the situation was different.

[All your stats have exceeded 200!]

[Your incarnation body can handle a bigger 'status'.]

I needed a strong body, not a powerful skill.

[Your agility has reduced the air resistance.]

[Magic power is opening up the blocked bloodstream.]

A huge amount of coins was transforming my incarnation body.

[Your strength is causing an explosive change!]

Thankfully, I couldn't see Cheok Jungyeong next to me. The moment my transfer was complete, the acrid odour of blood stung my nose. I was greeted by the grisly sight of dead corpses belonging to Constellations and Incarnations strewn about on a vast plain.

This sight was more than enough to dampen one's spirit, but I was relieved to see it, actually. It was far more advantageous to start this scenario later than the others, as that would lower the odds of running into powerful Constellations that had entered here beforehand.

['Probability of the 2nd generation' is active within the relevant area.]

[A portion of your skills have been unlocked.]

[A portion of your overall Stats have been restored.]

Along with the crackling noise, I felt my shoulders grow just a bit wider, while my height grew, too. I had been feeling really constricted for some time, but now, it felt like I could breathe a bit easier.

[A new Hidden Scenario has arrived!]

#kim dokja #he enhanced his body physically #he enhanced his body physically to go save his 'woman' kim dokja is such a man #since yoo joonghyuk was in his female form then #he could be as muscular as yoo joonghyuk #also he grew taller wiki says 184cm same height as yoo joonghyuk #just wanted to put this out there #since it seems many people forget this #also just for my ref #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv spoilers #dokhyuk #joongdok #dokjoong #i get the size difference in dokjoong and joongdok #but canon says it's different

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cloudninetonine · 1 year

Note

What about Player who doesn’t know about blood drinking fae Hyrule and finds him in a bad spot?

—

The past few days hadn’t been great to say the least. Sky had broken his wrist after a powerful moblin strike, Time was feeling guilty over being partially involved in said wrist break, Legend was having stess induced migraines, and Four was lashing out randomly (what you assumed was his colors’ distress).

To top it all off, Hyrule was ill, very ill.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed, with everyone keeping close for the past few weeks in fear of their more vulnerable state with two team members down and out, it was easier to pick out details on those who more than often wandered off.

Hyrule had gotten sicker than a dog within days, growing pale as breathing became a slog. You stayed beside the groaning hero, gently brushing the sweat out of his scruffy bangs on hot days.

It all came to a head during the middle of your third week stuck in the same ditch. You forced Time to sleep, as he was exhausting himself after taking watch for the past three days. Now you sat and watched the surrounding area, a small groove cut out of the land in the middle of a snowy spruce forest.

For a moment you let yourself get lost in the stars, letting the cold, bleak twilight air brush through your curls.

Wild would probably yell at you for taking the watch. He had unfortunately bothered to listen to your ramblings of your life and he and Hyrule had decided that no, you were not fit for watch. Really it was just an excuse to make you as comfortable as possible, the doofuses.

Though you thought maybe they were right, as you realized that you hadn’t actually been paying attention to the camp. You shook yourself, doing a quick scan of the small ditch.

Something felt… off.

You looked it over and over until you realized the issue.

Hyrule was gone.

You jumped to your feet, leaping up from the rock you had sat yourself on. You desperately whipped your head about, as if it would somehow aid you in finding your lost hero.

You slapped both sides of your head, urging yourself to think. It was snowy, white cloud covered the forest floor, meaning tracks. You moved up to the bed roll, discovering barefoot prints that led up and out of the ditch.

Without a second thought you rushed forward, scrabbling up the side, grabbing onto dead tree roots to haul yourself up, the lifeline breaking off behind you.

You took off, trudging your way through thick snow. You cried out to the winds, receiving nothing but a taunting zephyr back. It didn’t take long for you to be gasping for breath, eyes shaking in their sockets as the trail began to get fresher and fresher.

Eventually you were at the very edge of the small spruce wood, panting for breath. There was a partially frozen over river, only a small six or so feet long. In front of it was what you were looking for.

Hyrule, crouched down and over something as gargles came from where he positioned himself, it sounded as if he was guzzling something down.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Rulie?” You whispered out, a cautious curiosity in your voice. “Are you… okay?”

All motion stopped from the traveler, he stayed crouched over for a long moment, almost long enough for you to feel the need to call out again. Before you could Hyrule suddenly stood to his full height, letting himself drop what he had been holding.

You let out an involuntary gag as a mutilated fish fell to the snowy floor with haunted, white eyes, the exposed bone’s surface licked clean of blood. Hyrule’s neck suddenly snapped around as his gaze locked onto yours. A shiver traveled down your spine as the edges of his silhouette were painted ominously by the bright light of the full moon directly behind him, the rest of his visage blackened out by darkness.

He turned and slowly stumbled in your direction, head hanging limply. You moved backwards, periodically looking behind yourself as to not run into a tree.

“He-hey! It’s me! It’s me, (Name), yeah?” Your instincts screamed at you to run, but you were certain that the man who had been on the run all of his life was faster then you, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to play predator and prey.

You were surprised by the uplift of his head, which resulting in a very sudden burst of speed as you were knocked onto your back, neck whimpering as the cold snow drove away whatever warmth you had.

His face was pressed directly against the crook of your neck. His breathing was shallow, yet louder than the chirping of the crickets with him so close to your ear.

“I- I can’t…” he wheezed, each inhale long and drawn while each exhale was quick and impatient. “I- I don’t want to hurt you.” Something wet was left against your neck as he whispered against your skin, the cold dampness dripping off his lips.

“I-“ you tried to compose yourself. You didn’t know what Hyrule was talking about, but he was clearly in distress, and he needed… something from you.

“You- you aren’t going to hurt me, Rules.” You brought a hand to his tangled, messy mop of hair. “I trust you with all my heart and soul. There isn’t a world where I don’t trust you, where I don’t help you with… whatever is going on.”

“…Truly…?” He rasped, squeezing you just a little tighter.

Gingerly, you pushed the hero to rest on his knees as you sat up, finally spotting a dark, crimson liquid slowing drying on his chapped, frosted lips.

You understood now, you weren’t an expert on the fae but you had read your fair share of lore on them.

“Yes, truly.” You pulled your gifted arm guard off and brandished your arm. “You holding yourself back while starving says enough.”

Slitted pupils grew to the size of dinner plates, a look of utter astonishment and reverence on his face. Without another word his quivering hands took hold of your arm, you looked away just as you felt a sharp pinch.

—

UAGABAH He loves them so fucking much that even while starving- because he can’t sneak off and feed- he forced himself above the waters to keep them safe. However, he simply cannot resist an offer, maybe if he were lucid but right now he’s too hungry to care.

Also when he was on top of them and breathing he was just trying to smell them, get a load of their scent and that blood he wants SO BAD but he knows he shouldn’t have. Honestly making it worse for himself but he doesn’t particularly care.

NAH BECAUSE I LOVED EVERY LAST SECOND OF THIS

Our favourite vamp fairy, in all honesty, especially because he holds back- would they only experience a few moments of pain? Yes, but any pain he inflicts, even the tiniest bit fucks with his morals for the one he loves so he's not gonna do it.

He just loves them so much and it just makes me JNDNWNXNKSD

#cloud answers #bloodybloob #BB

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chupenguin · 8 months

Text

Chuuya Nakahara is back

(since I don't know when or if it'll be complete one day at all the figure skatar Chuuya fic, have the prologue that is the only part i finished for real)

Spring is arriving late this year, there is no sing of the cold wind of the previous months going away anytime soon and, inside the venue, cold sink to his bones, making him shiver. For someone born during spring, having his birthday approaching with bad weather always has looked like a bad omen.

He sits there, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting over them. Calm and collected, eyes fixed in the ice, sharp as ever.

There's a flash, the click of a camera next to his face, but he ignores it. He blinks a few times, so the whiteness disappears, and his vision focus again.

Chuuya sits there, wrapped in his black leather jacket, with his brother by his side.

They sit in the front row center at the Sud de France Arena. In the sidelines, coaches take jackets from the skaters and offer water bottles sprinkled with last advice. Young girls in pink dresses wait for their time to take the ice, once flowers fill the surface of the rink, they'll take it, dreaming of one day where they would be the stars.

The last of the five group of skaters take the ice. Murakami first, followed by Kitakata and Ibuse. Contesti and Gauthier, the only Europeans in the last group, wave as they glide across the ice. Jin-Seo, from Korea, closes the group. Even if the skaters from the last group made almost clean programs, this is the moment of truth.

This last group will determine the winner.

Chuuya and his brother watch, in a venue filled to the rim for the first time in years, as the skaters start their warmup. In thirty minutes, a new world champion is going to be crowned.

(more under the cut)

Verlaine's hair looks almost white under the lights, maybe it is, the last three years have been nothing but cruel to him.

"They're watching," he says. French rolls easy on his tongue. Even after two decades, there's no trace of Japanese in his accent when he speaks. "Vultures."

"They always do."

The click of the camera doesn't distract him from the ice, from the six skaters using every second of the warmup. The Italian kid, because he’s not even a man jet, is jumping out of his axe. He doesn't fall, he doesn't stumble, but it feels so wrong in Chuuya's eyes.

His hands tighten against the fabric of his pants, his legs crave to get down there, to teach all these kids how it's done. If the Korean skaters wins here, he’ll tie his lifetime record of three world titles in a row.

The cold air burns his nose when he takes a deep breath, and it feels like home. The razor shape pain of jealousy fills his lungs and Chuuya eyes narrow when the first kid takes his starting position.

The gold medal is within this six. But he only cares about the one who is been trying less than a point apart from his record four times already. The man who can make two of his records in this sport disappear like it’s nothing.

“They’re trying to catch you angry. They want to see you rooting against him,” Verlaine is more collected that Chuuya thought he could be in this situation. “What did I always tell you?”

“Don’t let it show in your face,” since he was a kid, Chuuya always wore emotions in his sleeve, in his face. And that wasn’t good once you stepped out of the rink. He was asked to be royal once he was seated in the Kiss & Cry or in the green room, especially in the green room.

In the ice, representing Italy, Marco Contesti, the announcer says.

Contesi is 6th after the short. He needs 123,2 need to take the lead. Good skater, nice jumps, but he gets nervous the moment he makes a mistake.

"Want to share anything with the classroom?"

When Verlaine speaks, his lips barely move. He doesn’t tear his eyes apart from the ice, not letting anyone know what is happening in their seats. In a few hours, they will appear in magazines and blogs, under the news about the just crowned champion.

“He always messes his second jump in the free if he had a clean short.”

The quad loop is his worst jump, the one Contesi fails two of each three times. Having a clean loop in the short, means that right now, the jump is the only thing in his head, and that overthinking is going to be his demise.

Skaters are, after all, creature of habits. Once something is engraved in you, dropping it is almost impossible.

Chuuya squares his shoulders before a jump, and he always turn to fall on his left hip.

Verlaine used to prerotate all his flips, even if it was so subtle that only Chuuya and himself knew.

“Maybe Kitakata can stop him, he has a good free. If he skates clean, he’ll already be 3 points over Jin-Seo with the segment score only.”

"Kitakata has a cursed song and a stiff presentation, everyone knows it. Nothing good comes of skating to La, La, Land soundtrack.”

It started as a joke, between both fans and skaters, but each year it proves to be real. Chuuya only saw two skaters finish a clean skate with that music.

And in top of that, he is from Kagawa, of course the federation hasn’t even blinked in his direction to help him improve the messiest parts of his programs. Why would they do it, when they can focus in their new brilliant Tokyo stars?

“He's bending his knee to much he'll-”

The takeoff is clean, but not high enough, so he falls.

In the second jump, Verlaine almost smiles.

“You haven’t lost it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The kid leaves the ice, waving and bowing to the judging panel. To the public. The smile on his face is fake and forced, the one you offer after a mediocre presentation.

“Every skater has a weak spot, a flaw” Verlaine says. “And you’ve always been fantastic at seeing them.”

“Right,” it’s in his veins, in is blood. It's in every single cell of his body. He has spent more years in the ice than out of it. Observing program after program across the world, both in person and trough a screen. He as attended to camps and seminars. He has imparted them. If a part of his body is more trained than his legs, is his eyes.

“So, what’s Jin-Seo?”

There's an answer in the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say it out loud.

“I can feel you staring Paul,” even if he hasn’t stopped looking at the rink. “Jin-Seo relies too much on quads,” not like that’s a big flaw. Chuuya used to do that too. If you have a jump, why not use it?

“But he does them so often that his triples are unpolished.”

“Lots of power, but he's slow, he needs too many crossovers to jump. He’s fast on his spins and in the air, but for the preparation, he’s not quite quick as Contesi or Tetcho.”

“Or you,” his brother says. “There’s nobody on the circuit right now who is as fast as you were. Not just with your feet, but with your head, too.”

Because he was one in a million.

Because he had been training two hours a day when he was just six.

Because he was born to step in that podium, one time and other and other.

“I’d have to face a bunch of kids with powerful quads and ten years younger, though,” he tells Verlaine. “Maintain the speed and my jumps.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“Not at my age,” Verlaine scoff at that. At twenty-eight, Chuuya is past the age of skating. In this sport, most people retire young and broken, and Chuuya is just one of those things. “I don’t have the jumps I used to have.”

Another skater takes and leaves the ice, boring program, the millionth guy in a plain purple shirt, skating to Prince.

“That’s truth,” Verlaine reaches for his bottle, taking a sip. “And you’re out of shape, you’ll need to go back to your previous regimen.”

He’s not that out of shape.

He still trains, he still goes out for his morning run. But he doesn’t spend five hours in the rink each day, burning until his legs can’t take it anymore.

“If I did it...” he says, the answer he had a few minutes ago burns in his tongue.

Jin-Seo takes the ice. Four minutes and it’ll be over. He'll tie his record.

Or two of them.

A migraine starts to grow as he visualizes it. He's stuck in this chair, watching as a kid takes everything he ever earned from his hands.

He wants to scream. He could be his weak spot.

His flaw.

Facing him, the face of facing a living legend would be their demise.

“Who’s going to coach me? You?”

Because, if Chuuya at least steps in the rink each day for job, this is Verlaine’s first time facing the ice in three years.

“That’s on you Chuuya,” because he wouldn’t blame his brother if he wanted to take this road alone after everything that happened.

“Fuck,” Jin-Seo's only messy jump, the triple axel, is flawless. Around them everyone leans forward. Everyone waits for a perfect program, for a record to be smashed.

Chuuya looks at the screen, this looks bad for him.

The boxes are green, the TES keep getting higher.

His stomach sinks, he feels sick.

So Chuuya squares his shoulders and, without looking at him, Verlaine gets his answer.

“Are you sure?”

No.

Absolutely not.

“I’m not at my best.”

“Neither I am.”

Does people even remember him? Do reporters even care about him from something apart from gossip?

“You’ll coach a ghost.”

“I’ll coach the best figure skater the world has known,” Verlaine’s hand rest in his leg.

Even after all those years, affection doesn’t come easy to them.

In the ice, after one last jump, all Jin-Seo's boxes are green.

“You’ll really do it?”

“It can ruin everything,” he whispers. “Prove that I run away, that I was scared... I’ll lose my name and my legacy.”

“This is not everything Chuuya,” his hand squeezes his leg, and Chuuya feels tears prickling his eyes. Oh, he knows. God, he knows that world doesn’t end once he takes off his skates, he learned it the hard way.

He feels so cruel, because for a moment, the thought of telling him that he’s wrong crosses his mind.

“You’ll have to work me to the bone.”

“It would an honor,” he jokes. Like he had ever done anything but working his brother to the bone, squeeze all the talent he had out of him. “To coach you again, it’ll make me so happy.”

Jin-Seo sits in the Kiss & Cry.

His coach, an old Korean figure skater, puts a jacket over his shoulders.

The glint on his eyes tells Chuuya everything.

The way he punched the ice is enough.

“I guess I’m coming out of retirement,” he says, and Verlaine’s hand squeezes his leg a little tighter when the numbers show in the screen.

Jin-Seo jumps, hands in the air, he just crowned himself world champion for the third time.

“Let’s see how long that last.”

Nakahara surprises the world one last time

Nakahara Chuuya (23) takes the gold in Saitama, his third world title in a row stabilizes a new record since the federation statutes changes. But the record is not what everyone is talking about. After a challenging event, where he struggled to take the lead, Nakahara announced his retirement from competition skating without any previous statements about it. For now, he has not announced any press conference, and all his social media has been deactivated. Both fans and teammates ask what the reason behind this is. An injury? The pressure of the new generation of skaters? For now, we don’t have any answer, but will the ice prince become a coward prince? We'll see it.

Amanda Campbell, Golden Rink. March 2019, issue 345.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #soukoku #skk #bsd chuuya #paul verlaine #bsd verlaine #figure skating #figure skating au #bsd fanfic #chu writes

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oracleact · 2 years

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pause what you’re doing for a second, I have an idea: zombie boyfriend and seamstress girlfriend. maybe late 1800s/early 1900s time period for this pairing.

the seamstress enjoys midnight strolls in her small village as the daytime is always busy. she’s busiest with her hands then and wants to stretch her legs when the customers are gone. one of the larger spaces on the outskirts of the village is a graveyard - it unnerves many of the residents but she happily strolls through the memories of those once lived in calm darkness.

one night she heard a groan and thought someone was hurt. a gravedigger? did they fall in by accident? oh gosh, have they broken bones? where is that sound coming from?!

she turned around frantically trying to pinpoint the voice in pain, yet was faced with no living human like she expected. half of a man’s body peaked out from the pile of soil beside a headstone. he hadn’t noticed the seamstress, or maybe he wasn’t able to by the way he was presenting, so he hauled himself up and out in no time...soon he stopped however, just before he could stand straight. his legs gave out completely and he fell to the ground once more, appearing deflated, defeated and awfully confused.

“pardon me...sir? are you alright?” both of the beings jumped when their attention was brought solely to one another, their eyes blown wide and taking in every detail within the line of sight.

“please don’t hurt me!” the phrase echoed as they said it in unison, acting as a declaration of peace and a promise of no blood. although it was heartbreaking to hear that call flow throughout the night sky, it still brought warmth to the cold air - they matched here. they matched in safety.

eventually they moved closer together on the grass, exchanging details of the past and the present, with this poor boy finding out that he has been dead for the past three years or so. an estimate can only be given due to the headstone that sits behind him lacks a date of death. it’s just his fragmented memory that draws them both to a conclusion.

“decay is evident on you, I have no idea how you are existing in the flesh right now, but allow me to take care of you somehow. I’m a seamstress with a shop in town, just over the hill; you said you didn’t feel any pain, right? I can patch you up! to the best of my ability of course. I’ve never worked with uh...flesh...before.”

a strange relationship was built from there. from hiding the boy and working on his rips and tears, to fixing him up enough for him to wonder the streets of the changed village. he always came back to her though, for repairs on whatever damage was done beyond the doors of her little shop, and for a space to call home. he would always come back to his dearest love with her assortment of wondrous fabrics and (sometimes surgically required) needles.

even if or when his body decides to finally perish, he’ll find her some way. he’ll travel to her with love so raw it could kickstart his heart if need be.

#oracleact chats #monster lover #monster x human #male monster #zombie oc #zombie boy #monster boyfriend #monster partner #monster romance

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spuddlespud · 1 year

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Crystallised

Yet another prompt fill for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warnings for death and necromancy I guess

It's another snapshot of Dragonbreath and Skelefellas (Skully's a necromancer, Saph is their dragon rider girlfriend, and Andy the skelefella is their long suffering friend/creation who kind of looks like a spider made out of human bones)

The cane crackled ominously, its wood quickly warming up under Skully's touch. The sheer power of it was delicious. This is one spell they'd been waiting to try out for a long time.

Their little dungeon-lab had been carefully set up with antique armchairs and breakable nicknacks moved carefully out of the way. The circular shape of the room and the table complimented each other. The human skull sat on the middle of the table just completed the feel of symmetry. But Skully was much more interested in the contraption, the absolute monster of a device, than any aesthetic satisfaction at this moment in time. Saph had asked them the purpose of all the complicated nuts and bolts and copper wires, but her eyes had kind of glazed over when Skully had launched into a detailed description. In short it was...hopefully...a fully functioning tool that would help them to achieve full skeletal crystallisation. They'd painstakingly built it, Andy the Skelefella double checking that every single piece of the glorious monstrosity was fitted perfectly. One last time, Skully checked that the copper rod was touching the skull in just the right place. Whether it worked or not, this was truly going to be something. Andy was uncharacteristically and unsettlingly silent beside them, watching the blue crackles of electricity swirl up and down Skully's cane. They were so used to Andy's boney pseudo spider legs impatiently tapping loudly on the wooden floor as they worked that his stunned silence set a tension running through their own bones. They'd decided not to tell Andy about the last three necromancers who had attempted this and in a completely unrelated turn of events had found themselves and their workrooms burned to ash. Their deep breaths broke into the silence as they focused purely on the energy coursing along, pulling at the twisting ropes, gently at first and then more firmly. The magic was coming easier than they expected. Within moments it had formed the perfect ball to launch straight at the receptacle in the contraption. They both had the briefest of seconds to watch the energy move through the contraption before a blinding blue light broke through the room. It was accompanied by a loud bang and an explosive amount of smoke which couldn't have come from anywhere but the contraption. How disappointing. Skully waved the smoke away from their face, not ready to give up hope despite the rather chaotic scene. Andy hadn't moved and was just staring at the table, at the space where the smoke was starting to clear. At the skull. The bright, blue crystalline skull! Tentatively, Skully reached out a hand, fingers following the unmistakable sharp texture of crystals up and down the skull where bone had once rested. It worked. The spell had worked. They were going to be famous. They were going to be rich! Wait until she tells Saph. "Ouch," said the skull. "Did nobody tell you it was rude to touch people without permission." Andy jumped back in surprise as Skully yelled loudly"It's alive," brandishing the cane in the air. Andy tore his pseudo-eyes away from their newest roommate to give Skully a disdainful glare. "That isn't any funnier than the last 56 times you said that, you know." Skully sighed dramatically, thumping the cane on the floor. "Oh Andellica, you just don't understand genius. It's funnier because it's not just an ordinary run of the mill skull, this is a bonefied crystalline skull. This is a miracle."

#spud writes #dragonbreath and skelefellas #crystallised #why is it so hard to spell #i'm not happy with the grammer and flow of it but i guess that's the point of time limits

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miss-writes-a-lot · 2 years

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@ozqrowweek Day 2 - Corruption

(Back with more angst with Corruption. This takes place in an Ozpin is alive but for some reason Oscar is still there during the episode 'Witch' with a few adjustments and...'additions', I should say.)

Pairing(s): Oz/Qrow

Prompt: corruption

Warning(s): Angst, violence, implied torture, injury, bad writing, Salem

___________

“...Oz…Oz…OZ!”

Ozpin’s eyes shoot open. Qrow is standing in front of him, heavy bags under his eyes and salt and pepper hair a mess. Oscar and, surprisingly, Emerald Sustrai, are undoing his restraints while Hazel watches from the side, constantly checking the entrance to the torture room.

“Q…Qrow?” He croaks.

“Oz– oh shit– Gods, Oz, what did she do to you?”

“What…what are you doing here?”

Qrow’s brows furrowed. “What – what do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I’m here to save you!”

“We’re here to save you,” Oscar corrects him, “And it would help if you weren’t so loud, y’know?”

Qrow rolls his eyes. He keeps a steady hand on Ozpin’s face. His vision is a distorted mess of colors and wiggling shapes. His arms are numb from having them tied in the same position for nearly an entire day. Qrow undoes his restraints and he falls head first into his chest.

“Easy, Easy, Oz.”

“You…you shouldn’t be here…” He croaks.

“Yeah, well we are.”

“E-even after…everything?”

Qrow stops, lending him his shoulder for support. “Yeah…yeah. And don’t ask why. You already know the answer. Just…stop talking until you get your strength back, ‘kay?”

He nods.

“The coast is clear, but I doubt it will be for long,” Hazel says.

“Thank you, Hazel…”

Hazel frowns. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for the boy.”

“R-right…”

“We have to get going now. Hazel and I will show you the way out, but you need to stay close so my illusion can hold properly. It’ll already be a bitch to do thanks to Mr. Magic Man and his insane aura giving away our location.” Emerald explains, not too pleased with the situation.

“I don’t think he’ll be much of an issue with how he is right now,” Oscar says, earning a glare from Qrow, “What? I’m being honest here!”

“Let’s. Go.”

“Alright, Tick Tock. Let’s get moving.”

Qrow slings Ozpin’s arm over his shoulders as the group jogs out of the torture room and into the crimson hallway. Emerald activates her illusion as they try to race for the exit. Ozpin vaguely feels the presence of three unique auras coming from the adjacent hallway. It thankfully isn’t Salem but the whale houses many of Salem’s dedicated followers still roamed the inner walls.

“Someone’s coming…”

“Salem?”

“No, it’s–”

A head of fiery blonde hair comes into view. Then the gold of Jaune Arc’s shield, and then the sheath of Lie Ren’s dagger. The trio stops in front of Emerald. Yang glares at her. “You!”

Emerald puts her hands up. “W-wait, don’t shoot! I’m not gonna hurt you!”

“Yeah, as if I’d believe that!” Her eyes glow a harsh red as she loads Ember Celica with bullets and prepares for an assault.

Ozpin slips out of Qrow’s grasp and falls forward, “Wait!”

He falls out of Emerald’s illusion and onto the flower. Yang is taken aback. “Ozpin?”

Emerald’s illusion falls, revealing the party behind the former foe. Oscar dives to pick up Ozpin and Qrow steps around them. “Heya, kids.”

Their mouths fall open in surprise. “Qrow?! What are you doing here?”

“Saving Oz and Oscar. What are you doing here?”

“The…same thing you are?” Jaune replies.

A heavy sigh escapes Qrow as he shakes his head. “I swear, I can't leave these kids alone for a second.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine, but we need to get out of here before Salem finds us!"

The hairs on the back of Ozpin's neck stand at attention as a horrible feeling slice through his stomach.

She's coming.

He jumps up, musters up all the magic within his bones, and casts a protective bubble around the group just as a blast of dark magic strikes. The attack shatters the bubble the second it hits, knocking everyone across the floor. They all scramble to get up but hands emerge from the ground and pull them back down.

Ozpin can't bring himself to look up as he feels Salem's overwhelming aura approaches them.

She tsks, "Even after all these years, you're still causing me such trouble."

She's towering over him now. She reaches down and brings his head up with her cold, pale hand. He shuts his eyes. He can feel her eyes burning his eyelids.

“What’s the matter, Ozma? Can’t look at me, can you? Think you’re still so high and mighty that you can’t even look at your own wife?”

“You’re not my wife and I am not Ozma,” He says.

She cuts his cheek with her nail. He winces. “You really think playing these games will help you, Ozma? Do you find enjoyment in causing those you love such pain?”

That gets him to open his eyes. Her face is mere centimeters from his. Her dark eyes are fiery with a millennium's worth of hatred and rage. He looks around and sees his companions struggling on the floor, fighting against the Grimm's hands. Qrow has one around his face. His hand has a fierce grip on Harbinger but he can’t raise his arm and he can’t fire it without injuring the others.

“Please…stop. This has nothing to with them!”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to come back,” She pulls him close until their foreheads touch, “Why do you keep coming back?”

“Why do you?!”

Ozpin’s heart sinks to his stomach as Salem slowly turns to face Yang. “What was that, girl?”

Yang glares daggers at her, “Why do you get to come back?! All of this endless death because something bad happened to you once upon a time? Nobody gets a fairy-tale ending. Everything I've lost, every person I've lost is because of you!”

“And who is it I’ve taken from you, girl?”

Her eyes well with tears, “Summer Rose. My mother.”

The room goes dead quiet. Salem tilts her head to the side, a small but satisfied smile curling on her lips. “Hm…her again.”

Ozpin’s ears ring. He sucks in a deep breath before he charges his hands and swings his fist into her cheek. She flies across the room and crashes into the wall. The hands release his captured friends as he hits the ground.

“OZ!” Qrow yells. He runs to his lover but another hand appears out of the darkness and pulls him and Jaune back.

“NO!”

Salem, her spine bent backward, emerges from the falling debris with both of them in hand. Their bodies contort in agony as the color from their bodies drains until they are as stark white as Salem’s. The veins etch onto their skin soon after as the whites of their eyes pool with black.

Qrow’s hand stretches out to them, tears running down his face. “G…go…”

Ozpin’s heart shatters as Salem lets them fall limp onto the floor. They are still for a few seconds before they rise robotically. Pale, scarred skin, dark emotionless eyes, blank expressions. Salem slips a hand on each of their shoulders, a smirk full of malice curling on her lips.

“They’re mine now, Ozpin.”

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