#canon shudders at the amount of au's i have and i laugh

[candlecoo]

you are the au guardian, guardian of the aus

canon quivers before you!!

#candle answers #ask the candle #artist #digital art #artist on tumblr #bnha au #my art #art #canon shudders at the amount of au's i have and i laugh #i am just getting started

[inkweaver22-blr]

Welcome to chapter nine! This one was meant to just be another filler with one of my own AU’s, but Tang just had to be introspective and have a moment of character growth. Hope you enjoy!

EDIT: This chapter has been edited to include some new info dropped on the same day I originally posted this! More info in the End Notes!

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Nine: Rocks and Roles

Tang knows how to act. That doesn't mean he likes to play every part.

----------

Tang liked to think of himself as a decent actor, at least back in the original timeline. He had been part of the theater class in high school and telling stories required a bit of a dramatic flair if you wanted to keep your audience entertained. Convincing Pigsy he was a popular food critic hadn’t been too hard back then.

The many cycles he had been through had certainly helped polish his skill into a genuine talent. That one time where he and everyone else had been professional actors playing the roles of themselves from the original timeline as part of a show had especially allowed him to hone himself to a greater degree than before.

Being stuck jumping through time had practically made it a necessity.

It wasn’t that Tang enjoyed what was essentially lying to his family. It was more for their protection. He had almost broken the “No Interference” rule a few times when he hadn’t properly reacted to events that, while shocking or upsetting to his family, were simply part of his routine by now. He couldn’t allow the repetitive nature of the cycles to make him slip up and potentially cause more harm by being confronted by his lack of surprise or fear.

So he acted. He gasped at all the right moments or screamed in fear when in danger. Every laugh, every sigh of exasperation, every freak out over something related to Wukong was perfectly performed so as to not to raise suspicion. So long as the proper reaction occurred in response to the correct effect, everything went smoothly.

It wasn’t too hard or taxing as he never needed to fake his enjoyment of being around his family. Luckily for him, he also didn’t have to act exactly as he had been in the original timeline, or he may have gone insane from the monotony of it.

The cycles where his background was entirely rewritten were blessings in disguise, really. They were new. Fresh experiences for Tang to have and not have to work as hard to realistically react to.

He treated them like a method acting exercise. The new memories as part of Tang’s new backstory was the motivation for the ‘character’ he was playing. He didn’t have to fully adhere to them, but they certainly helped him play the role provided to him for the cycle.

He still disliked playing the villain however.

It happened a few times before already. The most notable had been when Zhu Bajie was in the role of Sun Wukong as MK’s mentor.

Tang shuddered at the memory of that timeline.

Saying that version of him had been unhinged was severely downplaying the many atrocities he had performed on both himself and others. Committing suicide to erase his name from the books of the dead, killing demons to absorb their lifeforce, and cutting open his own chest to manually insert the gem holding that lifeforce into himself for power were simply the tamer actions he had committed.

He supposed that heartbreak, jealousy, and internalized insecurities could drive even the most benign people to madness so long as they properly justified their actions to themselves.

It had been the first time in quite a while that Tang seriously considered intentionally breaking the interference rule and just running off to live in solitude for the entire cycle. Getting “redeemed” had been one of the most difficult things he had tried to pull off.

Tang dodged a swipe from the Monkey King’s staff as he was brought back into the present.

He was the villain once again this cycle. Luckily though, he was much less of a threat to his family this time around.

He was replacing Red Son as the demon child of Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.

Tang, Son of the Earth.

He wasn’t the only one who was switched around. Pigsy, who went by Bajie, was a human who had become Wukong’s successor. MK was a boar demon who ran the noodle shop. Red Son was a scientist and engineer who frequented the restaurant.

It was almost an opposite reflection of the cycle he had just been musing about.

“You’ll have to do better than that, noodle boy,” Tang taunted as he swung his arms to pull chunks of stone from the ground, his hands and the Earth he controlled both glowing with a golden-yellow light.

He supposed that it made sense for him to have some sort of elemental power if he was this timeline’s Red Son. Earth fit as he had certainly mellowed out over the course of the cycles, becoming more focused and self assured. His original self would have most certainly been associated with air with how flighty he had been.

Tang made sure to keep his full concentration as he attacked Bajie. Earth may be the element of the sturdy, but it had the potential to be much more volatile than fire. It was easy to let loose and cause a catastrophic earthquake. It took precision to control smaller pieces of rock without causing too much collateral damage.

Bajie batted away the earthen projectiles with ease and rushed into an opening Tang had intentionally left. He had to do his best to not rely on the fighting skills he had from previous cycles and use only what his memories knew when playing a villain. Otherwise he’d easily beat the fledgling hero and that certainly would be treated as interfering.

Tang winced as the staff connected with his ribs and sent him flying. He coughed as he pulled himself up, holding his injured side as he glared at the now smirking Bajie.

“How’s that for better!”

“This isn’t over,” Tang cried out dramatically. He activated his powers, this time summoning a whirlwind of sand to teleport away.

Another scene as the villain successfully played out.

----------

Tang sat in his workshop, calculating the specific size of a rune circle he would need.

It seemed that similarly to how Red Son was a genius that incorporated magic into science, this version of Tang was one who incorporated science into magic. Not a big distinction, but important in how the process worked. It still took an impressive amount of knowledge on both subjects to work them together in the end.

Setting his pen down to take a break, Tang looked around as he stretched. He caught his reflection in a nearby piece of metal machinery he had been fiddling with and examined himself once again.

He didn’t look too different from his human self, his face remaining the same. His hair was now a dark brown with yellow highlights and his glasses were much smaller. The biggest difference were the bull horns sticking out of the side of his head.

He didn’t mind them too much, but having to give up any pull over shirt for button downs was a hassle.

Looking at his horns lead the demon scholar to think about his parents in this timeline.

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan.

Tang frowned as he recalled the less than comforting welcome he had received after returning from his defeat. The disapproving dismissal from his father and scathing taunts from his mother had been demoralizing. It would have hurt more if he hadn't had the years of time jumping behind him.

If this was how Red Son was commonly treated, it was no wonder he worked hard in everything he did just to gain a scrap of approval and praise.

And yet he knew they loved each other. The moments he noticed didn’t happen often, but he could tell that his parents held some affection for him, and he obviously cared for them. He just didn’t understand why they acted so cruelly to one another.

Was it a demon thing? Were they afraid that by showing their love they were showing weakness?

That was certainly possible, but Tang disagreed with the sentiment. He had been through enough cycles to see that love made one stronger. It wasn’t the weakness their enemies thought it was.

Tang was already planning on becoming redeemed in this cycle. It hurt to think his parents would disown him, but what if that didn’t have to happen?

He thought about that one specific cycle and how he had become so twisted. All of it could have been avoided had his past self simply let go of his long held beliefs and went with Bajie.

Now he just had to make two powerful demons do just that.

Tang was an amazing actor.

He also had many years of watching the people around him and knew most of them almost better than they knew themselves.

His current parents were no exception.

He could see the potential for a loving and healthy family, buried just beneath the surface.

It would take some work, but he was sure he could unearth it and polish that potential until it shined.

With renewed energy, Tang pulled out a blank scroll and began planning.

He had a family to save.

----------

Welcome to what I’m calling the Noodle Swap AU! It is named that way because the only change is that the pairs that make up the two most popular noodle ships (SpicyNoodles and FreeNoodles) swap places!

Shout out to @winterpower98 for their amazing Actor AU and Dad Swap AU mentioned in this chapter! Go check them out!

Yes, yes, I know I’ve basically made Tang here Terra from Teen Titans. Most people would give him Air as an element, but 1) we already have an Air user in Princess Iron Fan and 2) Tang has changed quite a bit since the start of this Time Hopping experience, as he states himself in the chapter.

I do genuinely believe there’s a loving family hidden somewhere underneath all the cruelty the DBK crew throw at each other. It’s already been hinted that Red Son will get a redemption arc in the show, but I want one for his parents too.

That’s all for now! See you in the next chapter!

:IMPORTANT EDIT!!!!:

There's been a few paragraphs changed and added to include the new canon lore for Tang in the Dad Swap AU! Go check out @kitkat1003's absolutely ASTOUNDING work, When the Tide Pulls Away and the Earth Sharpens to Steel! It is INCREDIBLE and if it was finished, you'd absolutely know there would be an entire chapter dedicated to it here.

#Ink Writes #Scattered Cicadas #Monkie Kid #Tang #Tang Monkie KId #Pigsy #Zhu Bajie #Red Son #MK #Demon Bull King #Princess Iron Fan #Sun Wukong #winterpower98 #kitkat1003 #When the Tide Pulls Away and the Earth Sharpens to Steel #Dad Swap AU #Actor AU #Noodle Swap AU #LEGO Monkie Kid

[this-solaris-life]

We Found Love

♥ Co-Written with @ruensroad ♥ Status: Completed ♥ Rating: T ♥ Pairing: ZhanCheng (Lan Wangji x Jiang Cheng) ♥ AU: Canon Divergence; No One Dies; Arranged Marriage; Mentions of XianNing & Nielan; Happy Ending; ♥ Where to Read: AO3 | Only chapter one will be posted on Tumblr. ♥ Author’s Note: If you don’t like this paring then do not read it. Absolutely do not send either us disgusting hate messages here or on AO3 about you not liking this paring. Just move on and live your best life. Otherwise! Enjoy ♥ -------

Lotus Pier - Jiang Cheng: Age 7

Tongues were wagging throughout all of Lotus Pier it seemed like. No matter where Wei Wuxian went, purple clad disciples and servants gossiped plainly in full view, loud enough he didn’t even have to eavesdrop! It wasn’t even that good of news!

His shidi had been matched with some alpha in Gusu and Madam Yu had apparently scored the match of the century. Whatever that meant. Not that it mattered, anyway.

It was awful news! Terrible! Jiang Cheng’s betrothed was too far away to punch!

To make it worse, Madam Yu had now turned her attention on Wei Wuxian himself. Never a good thing. A matchmaker had come to see him just that morning, pinched his ear lobes and arms, checked his teeth and eyes and core. He was a gifted alpha himself, and the matchmaker had seemed pleased. He shivered in the memory of her hands on his hips as though he was an omega like his shidi . His hips! He was only eight!

Embarrassed and indignant, Wei Wuxian had run away to hide until lunch, when a growling stomach had him crawling out for food. With a handful of pilfered dumplings, he ran off again before Madam Yu could get him in her sights, making a break for the docks behind his and Jiang Cheng’s shared rooms. It had a pagoda over the water and he grinned to see Jiang Cheng sitting on the edge with his feet in. He always came here when he needed to think.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian hurried to his shidi’s side and plopped gracelessly down beside him, a grin brightening his expression. He shoved a dumpling in Jiang Cheng’s face. “Lookit!”

Jiang Cheng had been content to be out here on the pier by himself. He’d been singing and wiggling his toes in the water where the fish were coming up to gently nip. His solitude was invaded too soon and he had a good warning before Wei Wuxian was upon him. His shixiong wasn’t one for stealth and was louder than a laughing monkey. His mama’s words, not Jiang Cheng’s.

Jiang Cheng had braced himself to be thrown in the water but not for the dumpling to the face. He was still quick enough for him to catch it before it landed on the white robes his mother had told him to practice wearing. Jiang Cheng didn’t get it but what his mama said was law. He wasn’t going to go against that.

“You're lucky that I like these carrot dumplings!” Jiang Cheng fussed, sharply elbowing Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian pouted, but just lightly shoved him back and stuffed his mouth with dumpling. For a blissful few moments, there was just his obnoxious chewing, then his dark eyes zeroed in on the white robes. “...I thought you were gonna live here?” he said, mildly alarmed and immediately in protective older brother mode, picking at Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. “Why are you wearing Gusu robes? Your alpha picky or something? I’ll punch him in the nose! Then his fancy white robes won’t be so fancy!”

“No, no! It’s mama! She had Biyu-gu make them for me. She said I have to practice.” Jiang Cheng hummed, taking another dumpling from his brother. He leaned in smelling his brother’s warm cinnamon smell for when he was protective. Jiang Cheng didn’t need protection. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “I’m not going anywhere and my alpha gave me butterflies.” he said proudly because they’d been soft grass butterflies that’d been made by Lan Wangji. His faint smell of a bunny and sandalwood had still been on them. “She’ll have you practice too when she finds you one!” He shoved him back.

Wei Wuxian shuddered at the memory. “That creepy old matchmaker looked at my hips,” he said, pouting. “I’m not an omega! Why did she have to grab my hips?” He squirmed, nose scrunched. The old beta’s smell had been oddly strong with perfume. He still felt a bit sick from it, even in memory, like the very thoughts of the woman stunk too. “I hope she finds someone nice… I want someone nice.”

He offered another dumpling and bit into his own, looking out wistfully over the water. Maybe it was silly, but he wanted a simple mated life. He wanted someone to fawn over, and maybe farm with? Someone who liked to eat good food and play! That was the dream. “I wonder who it’ll be,” he hummed and nudged Jiang Cheng’s foot with his own. “Do you like your alpha?” he asked. “Madam Yu said it was… the match of the century? Whatever that means. If you don’t like him, I’ll punch him,” he reminded his baby brother, nose in the air. “And butterflies? How many did you get?”

“Two and I don’t know. He’s been nice to me.” Jiang Cheng answered, wondering how Lan Wangji had felt getting his toy of a husky. It’d been one of the rare gifts his father had given him and despite it only being a toy his shixiong was still scared of it. So he’d sent his most precious toy that he’d been sleeping with to his alpha. Hopefully, Lan Wangji took care of it like he would the butterflies. “And no punching! Remember what mama did last time you did that?” He shivered at how shrill her voice had gotten.

“But you’re my shidi!” Wei Wuxian countered and scooted against him to get his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. “I don’t mind getting hit or yelled at! You are most important,” he said happily and rubbed his cheek to the other’s, giggling. “Besides, shijie made it all better with her soup!” He gasped just thinking about it. “Do you think she’d make some for us?”

“If not then all we need to do is ask. We know how she loves us best.” Jiang Cheng responded, leaning into Wei Wuxian’s hold. He couldn’t help but feel content. Times like this were the best. “And she’s just making sure you can have young with your mate. You’ll probably have your own sect!” He teased.

“Nuh-uh! I’m your shixiong! Neither of us are going anywhere!” Wei Wuxian clung to him all the more stubbornly. “My mate can come here and we can plant lotus together.” He seemed extra excited about that. “And maybe rice and peppers! Then shijie can always make us yummy food!”

“You really wanna be here? What if where your mate lives is wonderful?” Jiang Cheng asked, laughing at how his shixiong’s scent spiked up. “Besides, you know that shijie is going to go live with that peacock? Mama already said and she seemed so happy when they visited.”

“Then I will cook,” Wei Wuxian pouted again, his lip wobbly at the thought of her being gone. It didn’t last long, however, when a thought occurred to him. “Say, Jiang Cheng! Maybe you can cook too! What do they eat in Gusu?” he asked, thinking of how Jiang Yanli practiced daily to cook for her peacock omega prince. “Maybe your alpha would like to try our food? He’d love your soup!”

“Maybe? His letter mentioned onion and mushroom soup?” Jiang Cheng answered, sounding unsure. It’d been a little line after he’d written about a page and half in regards to his favorite dishes. He’d even sent his alpha his sister's lotus soup recipe.

“Well, let’s go talk to shijie,” Wei Wuxian offered, stuffing the last dumpling into his cheek like a chipmunk and hopping up. He helped Jiang Cheng to his feet. “Remember what she said?” he asked thickly around his chewing. “Food is the path to the heart! Come on!”

He took off running, only pausing once to make sure Jiang Cheng was behind him, and giggled, taking his hand to lead him the rest of the way.

Cloud of Recesses- Lan Wangji: Age 8

In Gusu, the spring sun was a welcome warmth with the breeze that seemed to still carry winter’s chill. Lan Wangji held his betrothed’s little husky to his chest all the tighter with one arm and wrapped his cloak more firmly with the other, cradling the beloved toy into the safety of his chest. It smelt fragrant of green grass, sunshine, and young wheat. He supposed that was what Lotus Pier smelt like, as well as lotus pods and water, and as the head of the plush brushed under his chin, it stirred up the soft, sweet smell, tickling his nose.

Wordlessly, he shuffled through his uncle’s garden, where Lan Qiren grew herbs. He’d read Jiang Cheng’s letter so many times he’d memorized it, as well as the list of foods he didn’t know or recognize. Thankfully, one of their cooks was from Meishan and understood the neighboring Yunmeng’s cuisine, though the list of spices she’d given Lan Wangji to find were very hard to discover. He’d already checked the kitchen gardens, after all, even though the cook had warned him he’d have to go to Caiyi to even find half the list.

Stubbornly, he kept looking. Lan Wangji gently toed at a small green spot and knelt down to brush away some dead leaves around the little marker Lan Qiren had put in. Sage, it read, a good find. But it wasn’t pepper, or chili, or paprika, the first three and most important spices on the list. Thankfully, his uncle had ginger, not too far down the line, and he took care to wipe the marker free of old leaves and early sprouting weeds too. Anything to help his uncle, even in a tiny amount.

He heard footsteps behind him, light and familiar, but didn’t stop, given he’d found a new sprout trying to peek out under a blanket of mulch. He carefully uncovered it and tilted his head, wondering what a ginger plant actually looked like.

“Be careful Wangji or you’ll pull it out before it’s time.” Lan Xichen’s voice said from behind him. A tender smile on his face as he watched his brother hover around the growing ginger sprout. He’d been on his way to visit his shufu when he’d been stopped by Yu Lee. She told him that his brother had been looking for spices.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji greeted him, standing and turning to face him. He carefully fussed the toy he held close, brushing it off, even though no part of it had touched the ground. Once he was satisfied, he looked down at the ginger again, thoughtful. The name for ginger was phonetically the same as Jiang Cheng’s surname. He wondered if Jiang Cheng was spicy too? Even though he smelt sweet?

Turning back to Lan Xichen, he stepped close to show him his list of spices. “Cook says I need to go to Caiyi for these,” he said softly. “Even shufu does not have the first three in his garden.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen blinked, taking the list to see what was missing. He could smell the small tinge of unhappiness from his brother at not having found what he needed. Lan Xichen hummed, knowing that they would have to go to Caiyi even before he crouched down to be at his brother’s eye level. “Yu Lee wasn’t wrong Wangji. We will have to visit Caiyi. I think shufu is going there at the end of the week. Perhaps, I can ask if we can go?”

Lan Wangji perked up at that. “Please,” he said, not used to asking for things, but this was for his future mate. It was important. Jiang Cheng had been kind enough to send him a list of foods he liked. The least he could do was learn how to make them. After all, Jiang Cheng was to be a sect leader one day. Lan Wangji’s job was to help him as best he could. He wanted to cook for him, care for him, make the load lighter. That’s what a good mate did! So he would.

Still, it was a bit disappointing that he had to wait. But waiting was its own reward. It gave him time to prepare for all the little bottles he had to store the spices. They needed a box to keep them cool and dry, safe from moisture and weather. That meant...

“Xiongzhang,’ he said, gently tugging on Lan Xichen’s sleeve, “i want to build a spice chest.”

“Would you like me to help you Wangji?” Lan Xichen beamed. His adorable little brother rarely asked for things. His eyes flicked down to the well loved stuffed husky under his brother’s arms. Lan Wangji hadn’t let it go since he’d unwrapped the box it came in.

Lan Wangji nodded, grateful. He didn’t know how to make one, but hopefully his brother did, and if not, he would know who to ask.

“Would you like to start now? I think that Master Peng has some scraps we can use?” Lan Xichen asked, standing up straight.

Another nod, then a hand wrapped around his own. Lan Wangji let himself be led off, holding the little husky close. “Prepare for spices,” he reasoned to his big brother. “Have the bottles already.”

“Of course, one should be prepared for our mates.” Lan Xichen chuckled, though he was serious. Those words had made him wonder what his own mate would be like. His shufu had spoken to many in hopes of finding a match for him. The first had been Jin Zixuan but then Madam Jin and Madam Yu had secured his mating with Jiang Yanli. The next had been Wen Xu from Wen Ruohan. But then Wen Xu’s elder brother died and Wen Xu became the heir and found a mate. His shufu hadn’t pressed for When Chao and he was glad? During the last time he was in the Nightless City the omega hadn’t liked him. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside as Lan Wangji lightly squeezed his hand. “Then we must visit the apothecary when in Caiyi unless you want to have special bottles.”

“Got them from Cook,” Lan Wangji said, proud of that. She’d been kind enough to hand him her old bottles when the new allowance had hit, allowing her to buy all new bigger bottles to use for her kitchen. Lan Wangji had thought to fill them with colored sands and rocks, as well as beads and shells, but now with a mate to consider, he wanted them to remain true to their use. They were spice bottles, so spice bottles they would stay.

“I will be prepared for Jiang Cheng,” he promised his brother with all the seriousness he could muster at eight years of age. “Does xiongzhang wish to prepare for a mate too? I will help.”

Lan Xichen blinked at how Jiang Wanyin had gone to Jiang Cheng so quickly. Then his smile thinned as to the question of his own mate. He shook his head. “You will be a good mate for Jiang Wanyin. He is lucky and no, I do not have a mate to prepare for Wangji. I am here to help my didi prepare for his. So, if there’s anything you need help with then just ask me.”

Lan Wangji knew that already, so just nodded seriously and held his brother’s hand more firmly. “ Xiongzhang will make someone very lucky too,” he said solemnly, earnest and confident. His brother was the best person in the world, after all. He deserved the world. “Maybe I can help shufu find someone for xiongzhang?” he wondered, looking to Lan Xichen for approval of the idea. Lan Wangji hadn’t appreciated the last person Lan Qiren had tried to match his brother with. Wen Chao was a brat and a spoiled one. He'd wanted to push his smug face off the mountain.

“I would like that very much.” Lan Xichen smiled cheerfully at him. He knew that his brother meant well. He just hoped that there was someone out for him. “You know me the best and will give Shufu the best advice.”

Lan Wangji preened a little, not that it showed on his face. Still, his eyes were a tad shinier, almost glowing, and his scent warmed in pleasure. He held the husky under his nose to remind his brain what Jiang Cheng smelt like and a tiny smile lit his face. “I will, xiongzhang,” he promised, and promises were forever. “Only the best for you.”

#Don't Like Don't Read! #Lan Wangji #Jiang Cheng #ZhanCheng #Wei Wuxian #Wen Ning #Lan Xichen #mentions of Xianning #mentions of Nielan #arranged marriage from childhood to adults #almost no one dies #slow burn romance #happy ending

[azure7539arts]

Beacon

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Blaze + Reverse a common trope

Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, possession, idiots

Summary: One day, perhaps people will forget that a Flame Alchemist has ever existed, but the same can never be said of his subordinates. And today is not that day anyway.

Or: 00Q but Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood AU

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble… And here we are. Again. If you find this intro familiar, thanks for reading Sword! If you have no idea what Sword is and just know my penchant for biting off more than I can chew, please refer to my previous post. Thanks!

Also, look, @solarmorrigan​, pyrokinesis! And @opalescentgold​, because you know the fandom and may appreciate some references. Damn, I have been dying for a FMA AU for. so. long. And now I’ve managed to somehow realize it into fruition. Jeez. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!

-

Q couldn’t stand. The rush of adrenaline and sheer agony were urging his heart into overdrive, as if in beating a punishing pace right then, it would somehow make up for the gaping hole wedged in his side.

He bit back a sharp cry, alchemy flaring as bright as the pulsing pain invading his system. In what was either an eternity or no time at all, the wound was cauterized in a fit of smoke and sizzling burnt flesh, effectively staunching the intolerable amount of blood loss in a matter of seconds. His head spun.

(For as long as he’d lived, Q had wished for a lot of things. Right then, though, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself in the confines of his mind—)

Footsteps were approaching. Q scrambled to get to his feet with whatever remaining strength he had left and snapped his fingers again. Vicious ropes of flames sprang forth like spiteful cobras, eliciting an intense wall of fire that stood guard between him and his would-be captor.

One steel arm shot out from among the blaze and seized him by the throat.

Q choked.

The rest of that body stepped through quickly enough, like an emerging monster materializing from the depths of hellfire.

“Ultimate shield, remember?”

Q clawed uselessly at the still squeezing hand around his throat. “L–Lieutenant—” he wheezed, bitter reluctance warring with his struggling will to survive. “Bond—”

“Hm?” The steel receded, and Bond looked back at him now, head tilting to the side. “What, the old owner of this body?” He tutted, visibly frustrated despite the good humor gleaming in those too sharp eyes. “I told you: He’s gone—he’s become one with the stone. I’m the one in charge now, and the name is Greed.”

He grinned, and Q’s guts twisted at the sight, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. (He could still hear the sound of Bond’s screams piercing all the way down the long corridors. The way his body had writhed and bucked in violent pain as it died and regenerated again and again, rejecting the philosopher’s stone that had been wrongfully injected into it. The way he had suddenly gone lax while Q had done his best to burn through the literal living wall of obstacles out of existence to get to him.)

He gathered all his strength to curl up his legs and kick Bond in the stomach.

No, not Bond. (But that was still his face.)

Not anymore. (Still his eyes, his voice, the low gravel of his laughter, chest-deep and oh so warm.)

Just Greed.

(What if he was still in there?)

The momentum of that kick thrusted Q out of the vice-like grip as he landed onto the ground with a dull thud. A twang of stabbing pain in his side knocked the air out of his lungs, distracting him from the stings of having steel claws dug long strips into either side of his throat.

(The thing was that: if he really was still in there…)

“Damn it,” Bond—Greed—hissed, staggering back before steadying himself with an annoyed huff of breath.

Like this, Q recognized that whoever was in front of him then, despite appearing and sounding exactly like him, didn’t have the firm stance that Bond had always maintained, edged into his bones from all the arduous training he’d put himself through.

The red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand seared into Q’s vision like a brand, as though sealing a death sentence.

(... If he really was still in there, Bond wouldn’t have willingly punched a hole straight through Q.)

Once the thought sank in, Q’s stomach plummeted.

“Could you stop being such a nuisance?” Greed clicked his tongue.

When he tried to reach out again, molten fire engulfed the room at another snap of the fingers.

And in the roaring flames, Q screamed.

-

He wakes with a startled gasp, cold sweat breaking all over.

It takes a moment, but the familiar ceiling of his office finally shifts into focus once more, and Q lets out a shuddered sigh. The documents he was looking at lie strewn across the littered desk surface right where he left them, and at this very moment, the phone rings, shattering the disquiet that has settled over his foggy mind.

He doesn’t notice the long overcoat that’s, apparently, been laid over his person while he slept until he reaches over to make a grab for the handset. It slides down from over his shoulders and pools in the middle of his lap with a rustling of fabric.

Q purses his lips and picks up, free hand settling over his now healed side to ease the aching phantom pain.

“Yes.”

“Brigadier General, sir,” the operator greets. “Major General Moneypenny is on the line for you.”

“Put her through.”

The line clicks after a final ‘yes, sir,’ and instantly, Eve’s voice filters through from the other side. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still there despite the atrocious hours.” It isn’t a question, and he smiles.

“Hypocrite,” he replies without heat, thumb smoothing along the raised ridges of those scars that he can still feel even through the thick layers of his uniform. “How has Briggs been welcoming you back?”

“Oh, you know, the usual warmth and sunshine,” she says, a joking lilt to her tone, and Q winces just from imagining the howling gales of a normal Briggs snowstorm that must be sweeping through the barracks even as they speak. “Now, enough of your diversion scheme. How are things on your side?”

Q thinks he’s too tired to do much of anything else and chooses the easy way out. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Eve hums, entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t point out that his answer isn’t all that she asked. She knows him too well by now to press. “Sometimes, though, I do wonder if you should’ve just retired and gone to Rush Valley to do whatever it is that you automail enthusiasts do.”

The sentiment sends a soft snort through his nose. Not that he doesn’t wish to be a simple automail mechanic from time to time, especially when the price paid doesn’t seem equivalent to subsequent results, but in life, simple wants and actual needs are two different things.

They’ve all learnt this the hard way.

Even so, Q appreciates Eve looking out for him. Thousands of miles away, she’s still one of the few people who truly know and understand him. One of the few whom he trusts with his life. “Oh, definitely—once I find someone suitable to man the post for me, that is,” he muses, only half-serious. “No promises otherwise.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Sir.”

“Come in,” he calls and straightens up, popping the crick in his neck. “Gotta go now. Send my regards to Captain Tanner, would you? God knows the length that man’s gone to to keep up with you.”

Eve laughs, and he smiles, too, just as Bond walks in and closes the door behind him.

(There’s no Ouroboros tattoo on his hand, Q notes and subconsciously relaxes.)

(He shouldn’t feel bad for it—but he does anyway. Just the same as Bond, who didn’t mean to lose control long enough for Greed to hurt Q the way he did.

Emotions are fickle things.)

Eve has gone quiet for a long second as well, probably considering her words. In a way, Q feels he already knows what they are going to be, and grim satisfaction paints his tongue when what she says next is precisely just that, “How’s First Lieutenant Bond?”

How are things between you two, goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless.

Bond is patiently waiting for him—hands tucked behind his back, perfect military posture, too proper and formal to bear—and Q squeezes the coat that remains in his lap.

(He misses the casual dynamics, easy tandem they used to have. One not laden with guilt and second-guessing.

It’s just one more hurdle for them to work through, he supposes.

Together.)

“We’re… getting there,” he replies, mildly surprised by his own honesty. “Talk to you later. Goodbye, Major General.”

He hangs up, and Bond has gotten closer, despite maintaining a minimum distance of three steps.

Q crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits, eyes expectant.

Eventually, Bond can’t but break the silence. “Was that Major General Moneypenny, sir?”

Q suppresses a sigh and nods. “Yes. Just one of her usual check-ins.” He pauses. “She did ask about you, about us, and how we were doing. And I said we were getting there—you heard.”

When Bond doesn’t reply, Q narrows his eyes, shrewd. “So, are we, Lieutenant? Getting there?” Most likely, he’s coming off much harsher than he originally planned, but Q doesn’t give a damn about that. Not right now. “You said you were following me to the top. Is this how you intend on doing it? By pretending to be a good little model soldier while keeping me at arm’s length?”

At this, Bond seems to further straighten, if that’s still physically possible. There’s steel in his eyes, but not the lost, abandoned kind given into avarice like that of Greed.

It’s all just sheer solid nerve and hardened integrity. It’s all Bond and so much more.

“I will do whatever it takes to protect and help you reach your goal—”

“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect me for damn if you’re always three steps away from me! That only means we’re no longer the team you seem to think we are.” Q’s mouth twists into a snarl. “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Bond?”

Bond turns his head away, staring out into the endless expanse of the night through the large panel of Q’s windows. Bond has never liked them, these ‘uselessly big windows that Central Command seems to prefer for their offices.’ Makes his job harder than it already is, he said.

Q tears himself away from the sudden memory.

“My only mission is to protect you,” Bond grinds out, hands that have fallen to his sides clenching into fists.

“And you have not failed.” Q’s voice has somewhat softened as he stands and clears his throat. “What happened, back then. It just means that we need to update our measures of counterattacks.”

They stare at each other now, mutual challenge shining in their eyes like a beacon to safety in the middle of a raging storm.

(“Q. I’m sorry.” Bond said, desperation ripping his voice raw and vulnerable. Q had never heard him like this. “I–I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“James, there’s nothing to forgive.”)

“We can discuss that tomorrow, then.” Bond bends down to pick up Q’s coat from the floor and gives it a few perfunctory pats before handing it back over, a tentative smirk on his lips. “Are you ready to go home for the night, sir?”

Q scoffs and takes it, not hiding his own smile. “Just about.”

It’s a long road ahead, but they’re getting there all right.

-

-

Bonus art:

#00q #teambondvillains #007 fest #007 fest 2020 #my art #my writing #my drawing

[insanelycooljk]

IF UR STILL DOIN THESE can i ask about your roleswap au? oR the evan is a compulsive liar one, whichever! @bandtrees

send me the title of one of my deh wips and I’ll share an excerpt/tell you a bit about it  

(you can read my reply about the “maybe evan really IS a compulsive liar” one here)

Oh boy the roleswap au... honestly this is an idea I’ve had for a really long time that I kind of forgot about, but then Kayla’s jared dies! au inspired me to revisit it. In a suprise to absolutely no one lmao, there’s a whole lot of angst. Like, I’d kind of forgotten what the plot was, and when I went back and read over my notes for it the other day I made MYSELF cry. So uhhh, yeah, this one’s gonna hurt

The concept is very simple, and I’m sure has been done before, but basically Evan and Connor (and Jared and Zoe to an extent) swap roles. So Evan dies, and Connor writes a therapy letter which gets mistaken for Evan’s suicide note. On that, obviously trigger warning for suicide.

Alright so this wip still needs a lot of work because I’m still trying to narrow it down to a single cohesive plot and figure out how to keep it in character (for instance I just can’t see Connor forming the equivalent of The Connor Project and dragging out the lie to that extent) But, here’s what I’ve got at the moment!

The first day of school is almost identical to canon, so I won’t get into that, but Evan still had his attempt over the summer and hence has his broken arm. I mean yeah, maybe Evan’s dialogue is a little different because he’s struggling more with his depression, but I don’t see his second attempt as necessarily being planned. It’s more of an impromptu “finish what I started” decision he makes after having an awful first day back at school

The only real change from canon at this point is the letter. It’s a therapy assignment for Connor rather than Evan.

The scene where Evan prints his letter and Connor signs his cast is essentially the same as canon too, except obviously Connor is the one writing the letter. Evan is just in the library to print out some homework or something for school.

After they talk/Connor signs his cast, Evan goes over to the printer to grab his own thing, and sees the page underneath has “Dear Connor Murphy” written at the top. Evan assumes it’s Connor’s, so in an attempt to be nice, grabs it as well.

Aaaaand here’s where the angst really starts. Originally I was going to do a whole kleinphy thing by fully switching Zoe and Jared. But then I had an excellent (aka horrible) idea.

So Connor’s finished letter still follows the same format of Evan’s as [today was NOT an amazing day] [talking about Zoe/Jared] [sad shit].

Except here’s the thing. The morning was essentially the same as canon, which means Jared still made the awful school shooter joke. So sure, Connor mentions Jared in his letter, but he’s got nothing nice to say. As he’s venting about how today wasn’t an amazing day, he writes a few lines about how Jared is a fucking asshole and he can’t believe he ever thought that they could actually be friends.

... Yeah. I’m sure you can already guess how that is going to turn out :(

But the angst doesn’t stop there. Evan clearly isn’t going to see Jared’s name in Connor’s letter and freak out because he thinks Connor has a crush on him. That just... makes zero sense lmao. But you know what Evan might think when he sees Jared’s name? Especially after Jared was a dick to Evan at the start of the day?

That they’re making fun of him.

“D-did Jared put you up to this?”

“… What?”

“He… you’re making fun of me. Both of you.”

Connor can see Evan’s spiralling into some sort of panic attack, knows he probably shouldn’t push but he’s got no clue what the fuck Evan is talking about.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That’s why you came to apologise and-, and why you signed my cast, you two are making fun of me.”

“What? I wasn’t-“

Evan’s not even listening, he just keeps talking like he can’t hear Connor at all.

“I can’t believe I thought you were being nice to me.” He chokes out a bitter laugh that sounds more like sob. “But no, it’s just one of Jared’s stupid jokes.”

Connor’s speechless. Has no clue what to say because this just makes no fucking sense at all.

Evan’s full-on hyperventilating now, taking these huge shuddering breaths. Connor’s kind of worried Evan might pass out on him if he doesn’t do something

“Evan hey, just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, finally making eye contact. “I-I have to, have to go.”

And then Evan runs out of the room because he’s definitely having a panic attack and he needs to get away.

Connor is just kind of standing there staring at the door, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Feels like shit because he was actually enjoying talking to Evan, but no somehow he managed to ruin it. 

It takes Connor a minute before he realises Evan still has his letter. He calls out after Evan but he’s long gone.

Then we switch to Heidi’s POV. She gets a phone call while at work from Evan’s therapist’s office saying he never showed up to his appointment after school.

Heidi never forgives herself for this after the fact, but her first reaction is to feel kind of annoyed. She knew Evan didn’t want to go to his session today when she booked it, but she was just trying to do the right thing because she knows Evan always struggles starting back at school. Plus therapy costs money, they don’t exactly give you a refund/cancellation fee for not showing up, and they just can’t afford to be paying for therapy sessions Evan isn’t even attending right now.

She is a little concerned though. It’s not the first time Evan’s skipped an appointment, but he usually only does it if he’s had a particularly bad panic attack that day. But she isn’t worried enough to leave work early, which kills her later. Heidi wonders if she had of gone straight home if she could’ve been there quick enough.

I don’t want to go into this in too much detail, but I’m thinking Evan ODs. The tree thing didn’t work out last time so he figures he better try something else. He feels bad that this definitely couldn’t be interpretted as an accident like his fall was, but he just... doesn’t care anymore.

And god, Heidi finds him when she gets home from work, and somehow her being a nurse makes it so much worse because she knows it’s too late. Of course she still tries everything she can, and she kind of dissociates into work mode so she can put some of her panic aside, but she knows.

But... I don’t really want to write that because it’s too sad even for me lol. So the scene will probably just end with Heidi coming home and getting a bad feeling when she calls out to Evan and he doesn’t reply. It’s not the most out of character thing, because Heidi’s assuming he must have had a really bad panic attack since he ditched therapy, so he’s probably exhausted and having a sleep. But when she goes to Evan’s room to check on him her heart stops.

The next couple of days Connor mirrors Evan in canon. He’s getting antsy that Evan stole his letter and now hasn’t been at school.

I haven’t quite worked out what Zoe’s role will be yet, so I’m not sure if she’ll act as Connor’s sole confidant (like Jared is for Evan) or not. It’d make sense since Jared is kind of taking Zoe’s place, but I just don’t think it will work given the current state of her and Connor’s relationship. Either way, whether he told Zoe or not, Connor is getting really paranoid about Evan/the letter.

It’s been 3 days now since Evan took his letter and he’s still not at school.

Jared’s been away too, but he’s back today and is acting really fucking weird. He’s wearing like... a plain hoodie or something which is very unlike Jared, and he just looks really exhausted and has none of his usual arrogance. Plus he keeps staring at Connor and giving him these weird looks.

Connor’s so stressed about this stupid letter that he’s contemplating asking Jared where the hell Evan is, but he’s seriously freaking Connor out right now.

Before Connor has a chance to make up his mind about whether he should try to talk to Jared, he gets called to the principal’s office. And so the lie begins lmao.

But god... the amount of extra angst of NOT going the kleinphy route and instead having Connor write bad things about Jared in the letter is just... pure evil genius if I do say so myself

Like, imagine Jared’s parents going to see Heidi and do whatever they can to be there for her and make sure she’s ok, and Jared kind of numbly getting ready to go with them, only for his parents to explain that Heidi doesn’t exactly want to see him right now because of what Evan wrote in his note... ouch.

And god that just makes Jared sick to his stomach because what the hell did Evan say about him? And once he gets to actually read the “note” himself he really is sick.

And since his family is obviously very close with Heidi it really puts a strain on Jared’s relationship with his parents too, because they’re clearly extremely disappointed in him for doing whatever it was that made Evan write THAT

Just the whole Kleinman/Hansen dynamic would be so complicated. (but it will be fun to write!)

And oh boy... remember the amount of horrific hate Zoe recieved when Alana posted Evan’s letter online? Connor’s letter outright says something along of the lines of Jared is a fucking asshole/why did I ever think we could possibly be friends/etc. I haven’t worked out the exact wording yet because getting the letter right is just... so critical to the fic lol, but yeah if it gets posted online? yikes.

So anyway, that’s the roleswap au. I’m still working out the more specific plot details of this one, but I think it’s got some alright potential. There’s going to be a lot of tension between Jared and Connor as Jared struggles to decide whether or not he believes Connor, and as Connor finds it increasingly difficult to lie to Jared. Hmm you know on second thought maybe a kleinphy subplot doesn’t sound so bad 🤔 but just more of a slowburn angle which doesn’t start until after Evan dies... much to think about hahaha

I like to think Jared works out the truth on his own eventually, which leads to a gfy-esque fight. And whilst Zoe might take on Jared’s role in a way, Alana will be pretty much the same as she is in canon. Because for her it was always more about the message of the project than the actual person.

#tw suicide #deh reverse au #the jared connor tension is just so JXIJSIXHSKX #I WISH I had a decent excerpt to share #bc like I know EXACTLY how I want it to be I just... haven’t written it yet lmao #I’ve got a nice alana and jared scene I really like #and a connor and jared scene where they kind of have an uneasy truce for a moment #but idk if that scene will stay in the fic #but other than that I’ve barely written anything for this because its still very much a work in progress #in terms of figuring out the plot #zoe writes #deh #connor murphy #evan hansen #jared kleinman #heidi hansen #deh wips prompt #answered

[qwertythepopstarian08]

JSAB Steampunk AU Fanfic- That’s Not Your Brother

A gift fic for @just-steams-and-shapes .

Both of the muns of that blog pretty much shattered my heart with angst, so I decided to return the favor. 

Also, Happy Fresh Friday!

((Once again, I must say that Feeling Blue is on temporary hiatus. I know how I want the story to end, and I WILL FINISH EVENTUALLY, but at the moment, I have no motivation to continue the story... sorry for the wait.))

Description: Belle comes home to find a Deceora in place of her brother. However, it doesn’t want to hurt her, and it seems oddly familiar...

Warnings for SLIGHT BODY HORROR and canon-typical violence.

Luce’s arm hurt.

It’d been aching all day, from his elbow to his wrist, ever since that accursed Deceora sunk its fangs into him the night before. It’d managed to get in through the window, out for blood and indiscriminately raiding houses. Judging by the amount of carnage done to the foliage outside, it’d run amok for awhile, although no other shapes had been harmed, at least not as much as him.

It’d managed to tear into his arm with its fangs before he managed to subdue it. A few swipes and a devastating bite to the wrist left him reeling, and even now, hours later and running on painkillers, he was feeling the effects.

He’d tried bandaging it, but eventually, the adhesives had just caused more irritation, and the wound needed to breathe, lest it get infected. So the most damaged areas were in full view, looking like shattered glass sticking out of his arm, an obvious allure for a nosy older sister.

He hissed under his breath as Belle prodded at his forearm, looking up to see her sticking her tongue out. She had her lucky wrench in hand, and her outfit was stained with motor oil. She’d dragged herself away from her work to mess with him. How sweet.

“That’s gonna leave a gnarly scar, bro.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face, her purple eyes narrowing. “Next time, just call me for help… facin’ a Deceora’s no walk in the park…”

Luce recoiled, drawing his arm back as his sister reached to poke at it again. His horns lowered, the heart rate monitor in place of his eye starting to quicken in pace, showing his annoyance.

“I shattered it, didn’t I?” He reached for a pen, hoping that he could at least distract himself by drawing up some blueprints; he was thinking of weapons, feeling quite destructive at the moment. “Having an arm cannon comes in handy…” He scowled when he heard Belle chuckle, adding as an afterthought, “No pun intended.”

Belle shot back, “Whatever you say, dork.”

All she got in response was a flustered grumble. Luce’s voice sounded a bit shriller than usual, but Belle amounted that to his irritation, not to mention the pain he was in.

The purple cyclops rolled her eye, one of her cybernetic arms reaching up to brush her hair out of her face again. It was quite messy, and a plain ponytail wasn’t cutting it anymore… she didn’t care much about fashion, but as an inventor who worked around gears and moving parts, she couldn’t afford to risk getting her hair caught.

“Y’know what… I think I’ll go out to town… buy some hair products.” She ran a hand through the purple locks, huffing. “Something’s gotta tame the beast.”

She stood, folding her main pair of arms. Luce didn’t look up at her, his heart monitor slowing to a steady, calm beat as he fell back into focus with his work. A twinge of annoyance hit Belle’s core, but it was quickly encompassed as she watched her brother sketch, a small part of herself marvelling at his intuitive ability.

He was only twelve, nearing thirteen in the coming months. It was a wonder that a kid his age knew how to competently work some of the machinery he lived around, let alone create blueprints for it.

He had to learn quickly, though… without parents to properly teach him, the two of them had picked up quite a few skills just to survive...

Shaking her head to rid herself of the thought, Belle started towards the door, momentarily pausing to run through her list of errands. She glanced over her shoulder, looking over Luce, who was too absorbed in his sketching to pay her much mind.

For once, her schedule was clear, aside from her personal quest. She’d be home soon, and she doubted Luce could get himself into any trouble like this… the likelihood of a second Deceora attack was slim, anyway.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Luce,” she called. She added with a chuckle, “Don’t get yourself shattered.”

He waved halfheartedly, one of his horns flicking up in acknowledgement. He really seemed to be absorbed in his work. Rolling her eye once more, Belle departed, trusting that her brother would be safe…

~~~

~~~

As the minutes passed, Luce found it progressively harder to focus. The once minor stinging in his arm had developed into shooting, burning pain, which pulsed with his heartbeat, as if his veins were pumping acid instead of blood.

He forced himself to ignore it, at least for a while. He was being productive this way, having churned out five whole blueprints in the hour. They were a bit messy, given the pain in his arm, but he was proud of himself, having finally found a way to effectively distract himself.

However, as the time ticked past, the minutes rolling into hours… the pain had become pure agony, and he finally tore his eyes away from the paper to glance at his arm.

He was willing to bet that it’d started bleeding again, given how high his blood pressure was. His nerves were shot, and as his gaze darted from the blueprints to his forearm, he jolted in shock, catching a flash of greenish blue among the pink flesh.

“What… in Paradise?” He turned his arm around slowly, trying to see if the blighted color was a trick of the light. However, instead of going away, the hue only seemed to spread, forming in rough patches around the wounds. “What.”

Luce’s eyes glistened with a confused light, his horns drooping slightly as he stood, dropping his pencil.

“Where’s the mirror?” He paced almost aimlessly, beginning to feel a deep, paranoid fear. “Where’s the Treeangle-blighted mirror?!”

The lagoon tint had begun to infect more of his arm, spreading like a rash up to his shoulder. It burned, and Luce found himself scratching at the afflicted areas, becoming increasingly irritated as his mind buzzed with frantic thoughts.

His claws felt sharper than normal. He was unsteady on his feet… These seemingly minor realizations drilled themselves into his head, and he was unsure when he started to hyperventilate, his balance becoming skewed.

Luce staggered around the house, his mind reeling, each step sending a shockwave of pain through his form. He was terrified to look, but he had to see what was happening to him. He nearly tripped, locating a sizable mirror as he limped into the bathroom, looking himself over in the reflective glass.

His eyes widened, his heart rate nearly flatlining as he forced himself to stifle a shriek.

“Shards…” He hissed under his breath. His eye was flickering between a sickly lagoon and a frenetic pink. Luce choked, laughing nervously, “This is bad… this is real bad…”

He wanted to scream, but he was afraid of his own voice, unsure where his imagination ended and the real change began.

Luce backed away, trying to steady his breathing. He smiled, although an anxious ache made itself known in his core as he realized… how sharp his teeth looked.

“A’right… You’re fine,” he assured himself. “We’re good… everything’s okay…”

He winced, hearing a loud, resounding crack sound from within himself, nearly forcing him to his knees. His legs really, really hurt…  It was clear that he wouldn’t be standing upright for long…

Growling, he shook his head, returning his gaze to his reflection. In just a few minutes… he looked less like a shape and more like… a Deceora…

“You’re okay,” he repeated, snarling. His horns flicked backwards, a growl spilling from his maw as he shook his head, finding it progressively harder to focus. His heart rate quickened, the monitor over his bad eye starting to beep loudly as his core lurched. He ground out his mantra, forcing himself to stay awake, “Nothing. Is. Wrong.”

A sudden, acidic agony roared from the young shape’s core, and he heard himself shriek, his eyes going wide as he instinctively clutched at his chest. His cybernetic hand flew up to cover his mouth, and he shuddered, terrified.

He coughed violently, flinching as lagoon corruption came away on his hand. There was no denying it. That Deceora had cursed him as soon as it sunk its fangs into his arm. Belle was right; he never should have tried to handle things himself… he was just a little kid.

“E-e-everything…. Everything is… is f-fine…” He hugged himself, trying not to focus on what was happening. His voice was a whisper. Anything above a quiet rasp, and he’d be able to hear the growl in his tone. He wanted to tear the corruption out, but it’d already reached his core… all he could do was hope he could fight it off. “It’s…. O-o-o-okay… i-it’s okay…”

It was getting harder to speak… oh honey butter biscuits, his face was a Tree-forsaken muzzle.

“You… you’rrreeee….” He trailed off with a whimpering croon, shaking his head. “Hhh.. you’rreee… o-okayyy… Yo….Rrrr...o-kayyyyyy…”

Tears rolled down his face, and Luce gave one last, defeated scream, hoping dearly that someone, anyone would hear him. For all he knew, he’d lose his mind and hurt someone… if no one came to shatter him now…

But with his current luck… what were the odds of that?

~~~

~~~

Three hours later, the door creaked open. Belle peered inside, looking around in hopes of seeing her little brother waiting for her, as he normally did. A small part of her expected to see him still sitting at that desk, scribbling away at blueprints. Maybe he actually tried to build something for once and set the house on fire.

As she pictured the possible outcomes, she couldn’t help but grin, wondering what amusing predicament her baby brother could’ve gotten himself mixed up in today.

However, when she entered the house, she was greeted with complete, eerie silence. The lights were all out… the curtains were closed. Her smile dropped as soon as she saw the darkness, her greeting dying on her tongue as her eye darted around, trying to find a reason for the seemingly abandoned state of the house.

She hoped that Luce was merely asleep on the couch or something, that he’d decided to be responsible for once and turn out the lights when he left the room. The chances of that were slim to none, and Belle’s anxiety whispered in the back of her mind, sending her into an instant panic.

“Luce?” she called cautiously. She heard her own voice echo through the building, and when there was no answer, she found herself worrying even more. She walked towards the kitchen, concern riddling her features. “Luce? Where are ya, you little demon child?”

Not even his nickname stirred a response. Belle growled to herself, picking up her lucky wrench. If Luce was just tricking her, she’d clock him in the horns for it… and if he wasn’t, she had a feeling she’d have to fight someone.

He’d just been injured, and it was obvious that he was still in pain. If any rogue or feral shapes had broken in, he wouldn’t stand a chance... Belle started off towards the workshop, hissing under her breath.

“This better not be a prank…” As she inched towards the entrance, she heard a sudden crash, her eye lighting up in tentative hope. “I’m warning you…”

She weighed the odds. On one hand, that sound could’ve been Luce trying to hide, what with the little trouble-maker he was. She had poked fun at him earlier, and he was known for getting petty revenge. It wasn’t much of a stretch to say that he was planning to scare her, just to send her flying into a tizzy over nothing. He wasn’t evil by a longshot, despite Belle’s constant prodding, but he lived up to his nickname as the “demon child.”

Belle felt her smile threaten to return, but she shook her head.

Nonetheless, the other possibility send fear rushing through her, quickly eclipsing all humor. It was rare to see a Deceora this far away from the Corrosive Valley or the Badlands… the odds of it coming with a pack were slim, but it was still possible.

Shattering the first creature would just summon the pack, if they were in the area. And in his current state… Luce would’ve been instantly incapacitated… shattered. Belle steeled herself for what she might see, be it shards or her brother. She’d dealt with loss before, and while she never wanted to lose another loved one, she prepared herself for the worst.

“A’right… I’m givin’ ya five seconds to show yourself…” she yelled.

She heard the scrabbling of claws against tile, and she twitched, trying to restrain herself from charging. It was a Deceora alright.

“One… two… aw, blight it… FIVE!”

Belle let out a battle cry, rushing through the entrance in an attempt to startle the monster. Her eye was blurred from the tears that she’d been holding back, but she kept swinging, suddenly glad to have extra arms. If that thing tried to come at her from behind, she’d knock it silly.

She heard a gutteral shriek ring out as one of her fists met scales, and she reeled, her eye snapping open. The Deceora was quite small for its kind, looking pathetic compared to the monster that had attacked the night before. Perhaps the first creature had been its mother. Chances were, this small, unassuming monster had wandered to their home, searching for its fallen parent. It was too young to fight properly, but a single good swipe from those wicked claws could knock out any shape, even if the intent wasn’t to kill.

In any other occasion, Belle might’ve spared it, knowing what it was like to lose a parent, but now that it entered her home, now that it had possibly killed her brother, all mercy flew out the window.

She narrowed her eye, rage filling her heart. It was hard to focus on the thing, her gaze darting around in search of any sign of her brother. The Deceoras were merciless hunters. It was likely that, if he was in shards, they’d either been devoured or trambled, leaving no traces behind.

Even if this one was unwilling to fight, its instincts would have driven it to feed as soon as the blood was spilled. Luce was as good as dead.

“I know ya can’t understand me…” Belle snarled. She lowered her wrench towards the monster’s snout, her tone venomous. “So I’m giving you five seconds to clear out before I shatter you. Limb. By. Limb.”

It suddenly squeaked and reeled back, nearly tripping over its own legs. It was definitely young and probably hadn’t ventured into civilization before, unable to properly maneuver on a smooth, tiled surface.

It stumbled, the spikes around its head drooping as it stared up at her, almost sad. Belle knew better than to falter, her voice ringing out as a threatening yell as she grew more frantic.

“I don’t care that you’re a baby, I’ll shatter you like you did to my brother!”

At that, the Deceora seemed to understand, if only through the aggression in Belle’s tone. It backed away, drawing in on itself, a small, rumbling whimper echoing from its core. Belle had never seen a Deceora whimper, even when injured. They were natural killers, and they never showed weakness. However, this creature didn’t seem like it wanted to fight at all...even to defend itself… It was truly at her mercy.

She grinned, despite herself. A malicious, vindictive urge welled up in her heart, and she advanced, a wicked sneer spreading across her face. She raised the wrench again. While she was sure she had other, quicker means to dispose of this thing, she wanted to cause it just as much pain as it’d caused her brother. Slowly.

“You probably won’t even fight back, eh?” She chuckled as the monster suddenly squeaked, frantic. “Good. That makes it easier for me.”

She swung. Metal met bone as the wrench made contact with the Deceora’s plated back. It was sent flying, shards bursting from the impact as it hit a wall. It scrambled to stand, a constant, pitiful whimper pouring from its jaws. It refused to run, however, staring up at Belle with those melancholy, distressed eyes.

Belle approached it again, laughing almost madly.

“Not so tough now, huh?” She reveled in the fear that blossomed in the monster’s gaze as she held her makeshift weapon high, preparing to strike. “That’s what you get for SHATTERING MY BROTHER!”

This time, the wrench came down upon the monster’s back, near the base of its neck. It crumpled, a hissing screech ripping from its throat as it covered its head, panicking. Dusty shards sprayed from the bludgeon wound, and parts of its shell were dented and cracked.

Still, it refused to attack… it almost seemed to be pleading her to stop.

“Hhhh….” Its breaths were ragged with pain. It tried to make itself seem small, terrified. “Nnnooooo. Noooo… mrrrrrr….”

Belle relented. She could let it go with a warning, but it’d likely just return when it was old enough to fight. She raised her hand again, scowling.

The helpless Deceora cowered, shaking its head as if in disbelief. Startlingly, tears flowed from its eyes, and as it looked up at Belle, she thought she saw a flicker of pink in its foggy, soulless gaze.

She faltered, glancing at its arms. One of its forelegs was cracked rather severely, from the elbow to the wrist. Belle was sure she hadn’t hit it there. She’d only gotten two good swings, and both had cracked against its shell. That wound was strikingly familiar, looking quite recent...

Shaking her head, she prepared to land a final blow, tiring of toying with the monster. If it kept screaming, it’d alert the rest of the pack… and she’d learn just how threatening a group of protective monsters could be.

“Enough playin’ around…” She squeezed her eye shut. Something felt very wrong. “T-time to die…”

However, as she readied herself, she heard a frantic, hissing squeak that made her stop in her tracks.

The Deceora suddenly shrieked, shaking its head in a frenetic attempt to stop her. Its stubby tail was tucked between its legs in its fear, and its entire form was quivering.

“Nooo… mrrr….. No morrreee!”

Belle backed away, watching it. That was the most sentient display of fear she’d ever seen from a feral. She expected it to go down fighting, but in seconds, any fight that it may have put up dissolved into pathetic whimpers.

Its flailing, panicked state reminded her of a child’s tantrum, and the more it screamed, the less guttural its cries sounded.

“Mowww!” it cried. It let out a sharp exhale, shuddering. “Hhhhh…. hhhhuuurrrrt.”

“What?” she deadpanned. She glared down at the creature, waiting for some sort of response. It probably couldn’t comprehend speech, but she supposed that this particular Deceora had more than a few surprises up its sleeve, and perhaps sentience was one of them.

Its teary eyes glimmered with tentative hope as its attacker faltered. Squealing, it sat up on its haunches, wincing a few times as its cracked shell protested. It looked up at Belle, its eyes continuing to flicker with that too-familiar pink hue, which was slowly encompassing the lagoon shade.

It squeaked, trying to form words, “... E-Eeellllee….” It shook its head, trying again. Its maw clicked and rattled with the effort, the gaps between its fangs producing an odd, whistling sound. Its lack of intelligibility frustrated it, and it hissed, “Eeellee…….it meeee...”

Belle tilted her head, backing away. She cautiously placed her wrench down, folding her arms. Something about the sound the thing was making was unsettling, and she felt a paranoid, upsetting fear beginning to settle in her core. It was almost… dare she say...familiar.

“What… what are you trying to say?” she questioned softly. The gruff, threatening tone had dropped from her voice completely. She was filled with a curious, almost fearful collection of thoughts, her mind buzzing. “Are you trying to speak to me?”

The Deceora whimpered, pointing at her with a shaky claw. Belle instinctively flinched, grabbing for her wrench. The thing just cowered, squealing. It drew back, shuddering as it attempted to speak again.

“E-e-elle…” It perked up as it pronounced something coherent, hesitantly pointing at the purple shape. “Elle… Elle!”

Belle’s eye went wide, and she faltered. “Me?”

The Deceora nodded wildly, trotting towards her. Before she could react, it slumped its entire weight against her leg, wrapping its lanky arms around her in a haphazard embrace. Belle nearly kicked it in reflexive action, only stopping herself when she heard the affectionate purr that rumbled from the thing’s core.

This wasn’t an attack… it was a hug. This creature trusted her, even after she attacked it. Not only was it unwilling to harm her; it was fully willing to risk its life to show her… something...

“M… meeee… Luuucccceee…” Its words were slurred, laced with hisses. “Luucceee...Elle… brr-rrooww… brrrrooootheeer….” It trailed off with a mournful croon, its spikes curving downwards.

Belle looked down at it in trepidation. Its eyes had started to glow a solid pink, its voice slowly losing the gravelly tone.

“Are you… are you trying to say… my name?”

It nodded, then tried again. “Luce… me…” It covered its face, wiping away its tears. “Ssscared…. Hurrrrtsss…”

Those few words made Belle choke on her breath. Without further warning, she reached down and picked up the strange Deceora, placing it… him… on the work table.

Voice breaking, she addressed it. “What… what are you?” She forced herself not to cry, her mind coming to a terrifying conclusion. “Why can you understand me?”

He pawed at some blueprints, trying to make the connection between Belle’s brother and himself. As he looked over the papers, his eyes welled up with tears again, and a whimper spilled from his maw. He looked up at the purple shape, holding a blueprint in his jaws as he frantically pointed at himself. Belle shook her head, her mind reeling as she tried to process everything.

Somehow, this was her brother. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt tears welling up again, her expression set in a tight frown. She’d heard tales of shapes mutating into Deceora-like beasts, but in all cases, they lost their minds and became part of the pack. Luce was still conscious, still trying to speak to her, to convince her not to harm him. He didn’t even lash out… and yet, she nearly killed him in a fit of vengeful rage.

As she failed to respond, the Deceora grew frantic, tears falling from his eyes. His jaws clattered as he gave a rattling hiss, pawing at where his name had been scrawled upon the blueprints, until his claws tore through.

“It… me! Yrrr… brro...brroothheerrr…” He whimpered, eyes shining. “Luuuccee…”

Belle snapped out of her trance, backing away a bit as she looked over the beast. He was unrecognizable, save for the pink hue in his gaze. While his form was monstrous, his body language was frustratingly familiar, obviously that of a sentient child… not a predatory beast. He was so frantic, trying to communicate his identity, but the words scrambled, leaving only a guttural hiss, which only aggravated and distressed him further.

No matter how much Belle tried to convince herself otherwise, there was no denying it; the Deceora sitting before her was her brother.

“No. You don’t need to convince me anymore… I know it’s you, Luce.” Her voice shook as she looked him over, feeling quite guilty for attacking him. He hadn’t even put up a fight to defend himself. He was willing to die instead of harm his sister. “How… how did this happen?”

The creature whined, its horns drooping. It held up its injured arm, showing off the bite marks that lined its flesh. The wounds looked fresh, and if Belle looked close, there was still pink blood among the green ooze that dripped from the cracks.

“I… don’t… know…it jussst… hh-hurts...”

Belle shook her head, growling. “That’s not an answer, Luce! Why are you... Why is my baby brother a Deceora?!”

Luce squeaked, then looked down at his arm. The corruption seemed to be centered around the wound. There was no doubt in his mind that the bite had changed him… somehow.

“A-afterrrr...Yoouu… leave. A-arm h-hurt. Change… into this.” He seemed to be getting used to his new mouth, although his words were still labored. He looked down, ashamed of himself. “M-m-monster…”

Tears finally spilled from Belle’s eyes, and she pulled Luce into a hug, hearing his shaky, rasping breaths. A deep, instinctive fear welled up as she heard the Deceora hiss, although her sisterly love overtook that, her embrace only tightening as she realized that… no matter what form he took, this was her brother, and he’d never hurt her.

She pulled away, finding it hard to look him in the eye, not wanting to see his sentient, deep sadness within those predatory orbs. She didn’t want to see her brother staring through her, unable to communicate. It hurt to see him like this...

“Are you okay?” She instantly winced. Of course he wasn’t okay. He turned into a Tree-blighted Deceora. She sheepishly added, “Sorry… standard question.”

Luce huffed, his tail tapping against the desk as he allowed himself to laugh, his chuckles sounding like staccato growls. As soon as he laughed, however, his eyes went wide. He instantly covered his mouth with a paw, whimpering.

“Not… scare… you…” He whimpered. “I… sound  scary… monster...”

Belle sighed, rubbing her temples as her horns drooped.

“You’re not a monster, Luce. Stop saying that.”

He looked away, his voice airy. “You said… it…” He growled slightly as a twinge of pain raced through is back. “Said… I hurt…. Someone.”

Belle followed the Deceora’s gaze to the bloodied wrench on the counter, feeling a swell of guilt settling in her core. Robotically, she reached for the tool, turning it around in her hand. Luce winced, that pitiful whimper beginning to spill from his jaws again. The purple shape faltered, her eye narrowing. Her gaze softened, and she tossed the wrench in the nearest trash bin.

“There.” She folded her arms. Luce tilted his head, perplexed as to why she’d throw away her favorite tool. She scoffed, a tiny grin starting to quirk at the edges of her mouth. “Anything used to hurt my baby bro is trash, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hearing this, the Deceora’s tail started to wag, rapping against the metal table in a series of rhythmic thumps. Frustrated, Luce turned and hissed, trying to stop the newfound appendage. Nothing worked, and he pouted, looking quite silly. Belle watched, stifling a chuckle; this was her brother, alright.

She suddenly reached for Luce, picking him up before he could protest. He was the same weight, perhaps a tiny bit lighter from the energy burned in his change, as well as the shards he was missing. He whimpered, afraid of being dropped, but Belle just chuckled, shaking her head.

“I’m not lettin’ you go again, ya dork.” Her second pair of arms reached to better hold Luce, and he grumbled, his lanky arms dangling. “I see what happens when I leave ya alone… ya go and turn into a Hue-forsaken Deceora, of all the things.”

Luce huffed, and Belle grinned, glad to see him returning to his normal, snarky self. She carried him to the kitchen, dropping him rather unceremoniously onto the tiled floor. The drop wasn’t high enough to hurt him, but he squealed, scrambling to his feet as he was deposited.

“What… that for?” He hissed, arching up. “Rrrr…”

His Deceora instincts seemed to be shining through a bit, yet Belle found herself uncaring of the threat, her back turned to him as she started to search through the cabinets for anything suitable for a predatory animal. Luce would normally eat a bagel or something. In his current state, Belle wouldn’t be surprised if he requested the souls of the innocent, just to mess with her.

“I’m getting you something to eat, ya demon child.” She chuckled, looking over the refrigerator door to see the Deceora snarling at her, his maw agape. “You don’t scare me. I fought off far larger threats before, and you couldn’t even raise a claw to me.”

He halfheartedly swiped at the air, grumbling. He was, admittedly, quite famished. He wasn’t sure if that was to be attributed to the energy lost in his transformation or just the fact that he hadn’t eaten all day. Judging by how empty his stomach was, it was probably both.

He perked up at the smell of steak, tilting his head as Belle grabbed a plate of the rarest meat she could find, undoubtedly the unwanted leftovers from one of her attempts at cooking. While she was a wizard in the engineering field, the same couldn’t be said for her culinary skills.

She set the plate down in front of Luce, who growled softly, pawing at it.

“You need a fork, or…?”

He shook his head, grinning with rows of deadly fangs. Belle raised her hands in surrender, before turning back to grab a half-eaten muffin. Of course, the little snack was pushed all the way back, and so she had to take a minute to dig through old cartons of juice and milk, not caring as she heard tearing sounds around her.

When she looked back, the steak was already in shreds, the Deceora just looking hungrier from the appetizer. He hissed, his eyes flaring a predatory lagoon as he announced his dissatisfaction, arching up a bit.

Belle winced, her eye going wide as she whispered, “Luce?”

The action reminded her of normal Deceora behavior, and for a moment, she thought that he’d finally lost control of himself. Deceoras were prone to tearing their prey into shreds, decimating them like land-borne piranhas. A twinge of worry hit Belle, and she backed up slightly.

However, just as soon as he’d snapped, Luce seemed to regain his senses.

He seemed to notice what he’d done, whimpering slightly and turning away.

Belle’s expression softened, and she kneeled, looking into his eyes. His magenta gaze was fearful, even now, and he drew in on himself a bit, whimpering.

“Not… okay… can’t think…” He held his head, his eyes flickering between lagoon and pink. He couldn’t decide what urge to act on; the will to flee or to lash out.“Don’t want… to be… monster…”

“You’re not a monster-”

Luce cut her off with a sudden, guttural hiss. Belle reflexively flinched, her eye glimmering with fear as she momentarily forgot who she was looking at. The fear in his sister’s gaze only made Luce cover his face, his form shaking with raspy sobs.

“Don’t want… to hurt you…” He whimpered, his breaths labored. “Can’t control… it...wantsss to hurt you…”

Belle pulled him into another hug, and he squealed, flailing. He rested his head on her shoulder, shuddering violently.

“I… scared…” His voice faltered, dissolving into wordless whimpers and sad purrs. “Rrrr….”

Belle sighed. “I know… I’m scared, too…” She looked away. “Don’t worry… I’ll find a way to fix this… we’ll find a way, together.”

Luce crooned dejectedly. “No… I monster… forever.”

“You… you say that as if you haven’t always been… my little monster…” Belle hugged him tightly, her breaths shaky. “I promise I’ll reverse this… somehow. As long as you have your memories, I won’t give up on you.”

Luce let out a low trill, huffing in disbelief. In all the cases he’d heard of shapes becoming feral, none of them had reverted to normal, even after their ultimate deaths. Then again, none of them had retained their minds, either…

“I’m not giving up on you, Luce… just because you’re a Deceora on the outside doesn’t mean you are on the inside. No measly bite is gonna change that, got it?”

Luce pulled away, averting his gaze. Belle huffed indignantly, narrowing her eye.

“You fought off Deceoras before like nobody’s business. Are you really going to let the least threatening one of them all take you down?”

That got her a laugh. The creature’s horns flicked up, and he glanced at her, tilting his head incredulously.

“Me..?”

Belle grinned shakily.

“Who else, ya dork?” She crossed her arms. “Now, what are ya, a cowardly Deceora… or the best baby bro in the universe?”

Luce finally faltered, turning around. His horns folded back, and he gave a non-threatening growl, pouncing into Belle’s embrace. He shook, although he didn’t seem as distressed as before, having been convinced.

Belle stood, holding Luce for what felt like an eternity. She could hear his heartbeat, and from where she stood, she spotted a few broken pieces of metal under the table. Realizing what the metal was, she put the Deceora down, sighing.

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that for awhile, I’ve gotta make ya some new cybernetic enhancements… your old ones don’t fit anymore, eh?”

Luce perked up, his stubby tail wagging. He trilled in excitement, following Belle to the workshop.

While this was in no way the best situation, they had each other, just like always. And as long as they held on, kept trusting each other and clinging to hope, they’d get through anything… they always did.

#jsab #just shapes and beats #jsab au #steampunk au #luce #belle #Other people's OCs #Oh Look a Story Thing #gift #au #deceora #fresh friday #blixer #new game

[waitingtobelit]

Title: Place Your Hand In Mine

Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Rating: Adult. Nothing overly graphic/explicit but sex is sex.

Genre: Canon compliant canon AU - established relationship.

Summary: In the middle of fighting/figuring out how to fight Amara, Dean and Cas manage to steal some time away for themselves at a lake. 

Notes: This is fairly shamelessly sappy/fluffy and self-indulgent, but I needed something happy to cope with Supernatural ending so here we are. 

Disclaimer: I don't anything regarding Supernatural or any of its characters. This was written purely for recreational purposes, and no profit is being made from this. I also don't own "Feeling This" by Blink 182, some of the lyrics of which are the source of inspiration for this particular story.

You can also find this piece at AO3 here:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407789/chapters/48408475

”Fate fell short this time Your smile fades in the summer Place your hand in mine I’ll leave when I wanna.” - “Feeling This” by Blink 182

Sunflower yellow in the sky, surrounded by fluffy white clouds for petals and a sea of sky so perfectly blue, the sun seems to sprawl over them from straight out of Pixar movie. The murky water of the lake sparkles beneath it all, a darker kind of diamond, but no less treasured for the way it laps over their feet with just the right amount of cool reprieve.

July has proven a cruel mistress so far; today is no different, except for the fact that Dean and Cas are actually taking advantage of the weather instead of hiding away in the coolness of the bunker. (Sam thinks the pair of them of morons very likely to get sunburned. Dean thinks that whatever kind of burn he gets today, it will be well worth it.)

Cas’ tanned arms envelope him from behind, holding Dean to the angel’s lap with serene purpose. Both of them are shirtless, having tossed them aside the moment they arrived to this little nook of a beach on the lake, and both are wearing jeans, Cas having borrowed a pair of Dean’s for the occasion. Dean has his arm wrapped around Cas’ shoulder, fingers tangled in his hair, while Cas is smiling as he presses lazy, hot kisses to the side of Dean’s neck, occasionally biting down on heated flesh. He has one arm wrapped around Dean’s chest and one hand making its way slowly down Dean’s abdomen, kneading and pulling at freckled, flushed skin along the way. With each touch, Dean lets out a huff of hot air and a strangled moan, his hips undulating in time with Cas’ kisses.

They’re both still damp from the swim they took earlier, and their feet tangle together in the water. Dean shifts against Cas, his toes and fingers both curling at the angel’s ministrations. He can feel Cas pressing behind him, which draws another low, wanting noise from his heaving chest. The combination of arousal and heat is as intoxicating as the lemonades mixed with vodka they’d consumed earlier; Dean feels drunk in the best possible way in Cas’ company. This spark between them might be fairly new, and fairly fraught, given that they still have the threat of the Darkness to worry about, but goddamn Dean wouldn’t trade any of what he has with Cas now for the world, regardless of how obstinate he’s been in the past.

They have the summer sun, the seemingly endless lake before them, and all of today before they have to resume their responsibilities to the world. He’ll be damned (again) if they’re not going to savor this brief respite that they’ve stolen for themselves.

“How did you find this place?” He manages to ask, his voice husky and just barely above a gasp. Cas sucks a hickey into the side of his collarbone, and he groans, body arching into the angel, who presses his smile into Dean’s neck.

“Accidentally,” Cas admits, nuzzling at the side of Dean’s face as Dean clutches at Cas mop of messy hair and moves his other hand to stroke and grasp at what he can reach of the angel’s denim clad thigh. Cas moans at the touch, his feet brushing against Dean’s own with increased fervor. “I was looking for ingredients for a spell to use against Amara, and wound up here. It reminds me of that dream of yours by the water, with the fishing. I thought that you would like it.”

“This place is perfect,” Dean sighs, tilting his head to try and meet Cas’ gaze. “You’re perfect.” It slips out without Dean meaning to say it. He hesitates, but he doesn’t regret the words; words that mean so much more than Dean can bring himself to say out loud.

Cas pauses and fixes Dean with the bluest gaze the hunter has ever known, those blue eyes as bright as the sky above them piercing right into Dean’s soul. He sucks down a breath of air before Cas is leaning down to kiss him, softly and fervently all at once. Dean moans into the kiss, a long and low string of sounds that vaguely resembles Cas’ full name.

Cas makes sure Dean’s eyes are open and looking right at him before he speaks, deliberate and slow, voice full with the weight of everything he feels for Dean. And that weight? Dean is certain that weight could stop the Earth from turning. And he’s certain he bears the same exact weight himself.

“So are you.”

It’s enough to take Dean’s breath away as Cas leans down for another kiss, this one much more searing and deliberate than before. The pair of them grasp and clutch at one another beneath the sun, their feet stumbling in the water. Cas eventually maneuvers them into standing, hands moving to latch onto the belt buckles of Dean’s jeans as he steers him backwards, all the while unrelenting in the way he all but drinks Dean whole. Dean, meanwhile, clutches at Cas’ face, letting the pads of his fingers graze against every beautiful nook and cranny of Cas’ skin he can reach as he presses himself against Cas with an increasing desperation.

“I think my poor trench coat is feeling a little lonely,” Cas says when he finally pulls away to allow Dean to catch his breath. He gestures with his head to the discarded garment, sprawled out across the sand. He arches his eyebrows and smirks before pushing Dean right down onto it. “We should fix that.”

Dean laughs as he falls, letting his head fall back in the sand as Cas climbs over and onto him, shoving his jeans and underwear off in the process before moving to do the same to Dean, who lifts his hips and wriggles to help.

“This coat probably needs therapy after everything it’s seen,” he points out with a smirk of his own, green eyes glittering with obvious amusement as he recalls the numerous other times Cas’ coat served a very ulterior purpose than the one for which it was designed. To prove his point, he shakes his ass again, wriggling his eyebrows up at Cas in the process.

Cas beams, moving between Dean’s legs to wrap them around his own hips. Dean shudders and gasps, feeling like the sunscreen Cas helped spread over his shoulders and back earlier that morning in Cas’ hands. He lets out another mewl of a noise when Cas playfully reaches underneath him to smack his ass.

“We’re only just getting started,” the angel grins, wild and lovely as this whole day has turned out. He leans down to kiss Dean senseless as Dean leans up to meet up, grabbing and clutching at what he can reach of Cas’ shoulders and squeezing him between his legs. They both sigh and moan, a mixture of each other’s names that overwhelms the buzzing of the radio Dean set up upon their arrival.

Cas is gentle and insistent all at once with the lube and condoms they’d brought with them, his long, elegant fingers drawing the most delightful kind of music out of Dean. They both laugh and grin as they kiss, messy and lazy. There’s no rush; the sun shines above and the water shines next to them, and Dean and Cas both shine with sweat as Cas slides into Dean, melodic as the lapping of the water against the shore.

They become a part of nature, skin sliding against skin and lips pressing against lips. Hands grasp and mouths moan, and Dean can’t help but wonder if this is what it was like in the Garden of Eden. Cas thrusts into him with slow, deliberate movements, seeking out and pressing against every spot he knows that makes Dean writhe and arch off the ground. Dean shifts upwards to meet each thrust, moving his hands into the angel’s hair to pull in the way he knows makes Cas’ toes curl.

Yes, they will get sand in uncomfortable places, and yes, Dean can feel the way Cas’ coat bunches up beneath him. Neither of them gives a damn.

They are creation in and of itself, their own form of art; and as the angel and the hunter make love, hands and bodies and souls entwined, Dean can’t help but think that, if this is the only slice of heaven if ever gets, it will be enough. He doesn’t believe in fate; he believes that they all make their own choices. And this, all of this? This is the most important choice he’s made in his whole life. And no twist of fate is ever going to take this away from him.

#Destiel fanfic #my writing #fanfic #Supernatural fic #otp: a more profound bond #mature

[spookyscullies]

teachers!au: assembly

based on this post of head canons i made, for #9

rating: PG, but it gets a tiny bit steamy at the end :)

don’t miss the first eight in the series:

teachers!au: subject matter

teachers!au: rainy day lunch

teachers!au: chaperoning

teachers!au: parking lot talk

teachers!au: scully’s library secret

teachers!au: coffee conundrum

teachers!au: extracurriculars

teachers!au: a good lecturing

On the second Friday of every other month, there were school assemblies. The majority of the school loathed the event, seeming as not much ever happened concerning change within the school. It had been pretty much the same ever since Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had begun working there. Mulder was two years into his career at Hoover High School when Scully arrived out of the blue, applying for the empty biology position. That had all happened close to four years prior, so really, there was hardly much that changed around the halls of that school. 

Students and faculty filed into the gym, bleachers pulled out, waiting to be filled. Scully stood on the balls of her feet, searching above the sea of students for Mulder. He was easy to spot, towering over a considerable amount of students and staff. She nudged her way through the crowd to him, holding onto his arm.

“Ah, good morning Scully.” Mulder had to resist the urge to kiss her on the forehead in front of the entire school. It wasn’t that relationships between teachers were means for termination, but it was “highly discouraged”.

“Good morning, Mulder.” Scully smiled up at him as they made their way to their seats. She didn’t think it was possible to explain in words how much she had wanted to quickly peck him on the lips in greeting. 

She knew it was risky to be clutching to his arm like she was in front of Spender. It seemed as if everyone else in the school just went along with their behavior, or maybe, didn’t care, or simply minded their own business. However, when it came to Spender, the slightest thing might tick him off. Scully decided there in that moment, she didn’t give a shit what Spender thought, despite him being able to raise a fuss to Skinner. But then again, Skinner seemed to dislike him just as much as she and Mulder did. Her grip on Mulder’s arm tightened. 

Mulder and Scully climbed up to the top row, away from the multitude. They rested comfortably against the wall, the monotone of Spender’s voice barely reaching them. 

Scully leaned on Mulder’s shoulder. “I really hate Spender’s tie. I can’t tell if it’s because I hate him, or it’s just an ugly tie.”

“I can’t decide whether I hate the tie because he’s wearing it or I hate him because he’s wearing it. Either way, I don’t like both of them.” 

Scully hummed in agreement.

“So, work-husband,” Scully looked up, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“So, work-wife,” Mulder replied, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“What’cha up to tonight?” Scully ventured. They hadn’t been on a proper date yet, not since she had kissed him in his classroom. She smiled at the memory; it had only been a week ago, and since then, it had been touching, so much touching, as much as they ever did, but it wasn’t so shrouded in the guise of innocence anymore. They could really show how they felt and what they meant now through touch instead of hiding behind the sentiment of a touch itself. It felt good. It felt right, more true than anything she had ever known, and it was wonderful.

“I’m actually busy, Scully, I’m sorry.” Mulder looked embarrassed, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh, you are? I mean, that’s okay, Mulder, we can do something another time.” She recoiled a bit. Her first attempt to actually ask him out had been thrown back in her face.

“Yeah, see, I’m going out with the most beautiful woman in the world tonight.” Mulder smirked at his own dumb cliché and the expression of annoyance and disbelief that crossed her face. He snickered quietly as she punched him in the arm.

“Mulder, you dick. I really thought you were brushing me off!”

A few of the students turned around to stare at hearing one of their teachers call the other one a dick in a not-so-quiet voice to which Scully reddened considerably. Mulder’s shoulders were shaking with laughter now. Scully retaliated once again by scowling and smacking him on the head lightly. Mulder’s tittering faded, and he let out a contented sigh.

“Anyway,” Scully arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Anyway,” He echoed. He drew her in close to his side and molded her to his form. She embraced his hold on her, nestling against him snugly. “We could... go see a movie?”

“Mmm... movies don’t do anything for me.” Scully admitted.

“Go out to dinner? We could go to a nice restaurant, order fancy food, drink expensive wine.” Mulder offered.

“You know what I want to do? Order takeout and spend the night in at your place. In all the years that I’ve known you, Fox Mulder, not once have I ever been to your apartment, and somehow you’ve been to mine more than a few times.” Scully let her hand slip down to rest on Mulder’s thigh, sliding up and down dangerously.

Scully wasn’t the “on the first date” type of girl, but hell, they’d known each other for nearly four years. They would have an enjoyable evening, eat good food, laugh, joke, and talk, and maybe it might lead to something more. If it didn’t, that was okay. Nevertheless, there was certainly no denying their physical chemistry any longer. She was ready if he was.

“My place screams of “lonely bachelor,” are you sure you want come over?” Mulder noted the way Scully’s fingers tightened around his leg. He couldn’t help but feel a little tingle shoot through him.

“I’m positive.” She whispered in his ear hotly, causing him to shudder in response. His hand moved rest at the small of her back.

The assembly didn’t last long, much to the relief of the students and the staff. The packs of students and adults filtered out eventually, leaving Mulder and Scully to follow at their own pace. They walked hand in hand, rounding the corner past the bleachers to the exit, when Scully suddenly pulled Mulder down the hallway leading to the bathroom. She pressed herself him, body flushed with heat and eyes dark and daring. She crashed against his lips, delving into his mouth with her tongue, fingernails digging into the back of his neck. She moaned softly into his mouth when he squeezed the supple flesh of her ass. She parted with a coy grin and sauntered away, calling out behind her, “See you later, Mr. Mulder.”

#msr #msr au #scully #mulder #dana scully #fox mulder #txf #txf fan fiction #msr fan fiction

[blazerina]

All Wounds (Liam x MC)

All Wounds (Liam x MC)

Author’s Note: In my AU, my MC Charlotte has married Liam even though she also loves Drake. Liam knows about her relationship with Drake, but Drake does not know that Charlotte told Liam.  This is a continuation of Charlotte & Liam’s relationship now that Liam knows. I know it’s not a normal story-line and doesn’t follow canon, but nevertheless, here it is.

Summary: After confessing to Liam about her relationship with Drake before they were married, Charlotte must now face the consequences. They try to rebuild their relationship, but it proves harder than either of them expected, especially with Drake still around.

Word Count: 3282

It had been almost a month since Charlotte finally broke the news to Liam about her relationship with Drake. While she was relieved that her secret was out, it did not make her life as easy as she had hoped it would.  In her mind, when she imagined Liam finding out, it made everything better. She told herself over and over again, that confessing would not only ease her conscience, but would also make it easier to move on from Drake and forget her feelings for him.  None of that happened in reality, though.  

Her relationship with Liam was obviously strained.  They had not even been married that long, but the night she told him about Drake, he requested separate bedrooms and it had been that way ever since.  People at the palace began to talk and Charlotte got used to the whispers and hushed tones she heard coming from the staff as she rounded a corner, or walked by the kitchen.  It broke her heart and made her feel even more guilty than she already was; but she knew telling Liam was the right thing to do and she was determined to face any of the consequences that came from her admission, head on.

Liam and Charlotte together, had decided to try to start over. They both agreed to try and put the past behind them.  The one thing they knew, without a doubt, was that they loved each other.  Liam questioned just how much Charlotte loved him, but reminded himself that she had a choice and still walked down the aisle to become his wife and Queen of Cordonia. He could only hope and pray that she wanted to be his wife more than she wanted the life of a Queen. He hated comparing her to Madeleine and questioning her motives, but there was a little bit of doubt that was creeping in, now that he knew the truth.

Both Liam and Charlotte felt immense amounts of guilt for causing the situation. Charlotte knew better than to spend time alone with Drake and get to know him in the ways she did. She had been instantly attracted to him and knew it was a dangerous game she was playing.  Liam felt as though he essentially pushed Charlotte into Drake’s arms by being too busy and not focusing enough on her, not telling her enough how much he wanted her, not making her a priority during the social season.

Unbeknownst to Charlotte, Drake had a conversation with Liam, asking him about the rumors that their marriage was already “on the rocks.”    Liam was thankful that he had a glass in his hand at the time, as his reflex was to slam his fist down on the table.  He tried his best to reassure Drake that the press was out of control and looking for any dirt on the new couple, simply because they were so boring and things were going so well.  Liam knew there would come a time when he’d talk to Drake about his relationship with Charlotte; when he would confront him and ask how he could think about doing that to his best friend, but he was also measured and knew his timing had to be just right.  He had to work up the nerve, and handle it just the right way. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

Over the past few weeks, the couple was working hard to put the other first, to reach out, to let each other know how much they both still wanted each other.  It was slow moving and full of tense moments.  Harsh words were spoken in heated, yet calm, arguments. Doors were slammed.  Tears were shed.  Charlotte had been so thankful for Liam’s immediate reaction, he was obviously angry, terrified, full of rage and regret, but had cried alongside of her, realizing how horrible she felt.  

Today, however, Charlotte woke up feeling hopeful. She and Liam were headed to a neighboring country to visit old family friends and see renovations that had been made to their estate. As with all of their trips, there was an ulterior motive and at some point Liam would have meetings and Charlotte would be asked to tea or some other social event, so that everyone could see and know the partnership of these two countries was still strong.  It was the first time in a while that Charlotte and Liam would be travelling together and she hoped their time together, although it would be somewhat forced, would spark something for both of them and set them back on a path to full reconciliation.

The irony of life was not lost on Charlotte as she sat beside Liam on the plane.  He was reading a newspaper, his elbow resting on the armrest between his seat and hers.  She watched his hand, nervously playing with the corner of the page.  His eyes were scanning the words, but she wondered if he was actually reading anything or if he was thinking what she was.  

There was a time when she begged the gods to keep him from reaching out to her; to keep him from wanting her or spending time with her. And now, she would give anything for the faintest touch from him. She tried to remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to be kissed by him, for his fingertips to graze the small of her back, or a quick kiss on the cheek that somehow still conveyed so much emotion, love and care.

Charlotte knew he was still devoted to her and that he still loved her, somehow despite all this, she didn’t doubt his feelings for her. But she hated feeling like a disappointment. She knew she had let him down so much, and she hoped she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life figuring out how to make it up to him. Surely, at some point, he’d give in and they’d go back to being in love…right?

Liam sighed, hoping he was playing it off as though he was deep in thought about the news he was reading. He didn’t want it to be obvious that he longed for Charlotte and wanted all this mess to be behind them.  He wished he could forget that night she told him about Drake, but every time he thought he was close to ignoring it, something would happen and his jealous, possessive feelings would take over again. Why could he not just be happy with the fact that he had won? Charlotte was with him. She had chosen to marry him. Why wasn’t that enough?

Sitting this close to her, he could smell her sweet perfume and the scent alone made his heart race. It had been a while since they had been close enough for him to smell her. Memories of passionate evenings, tangled together, flashed in his mind. He remembered the smell of him and her mixed together with sweat as they made love over and over again. She had so willingly give herself to him; they were so in love.  How could one statement, one confession, change so much? Liam ached to hold her again, to tenderly kiss her and protect her and show her how much he wanted her.

He folded the paper up and laid it on the tray to his right.  Charlotte was looking on the window, her elbow also now resting on the console between them.  Nervously, Liam leaned forward and looked out the window with her.  

“We’re almost there. I recognize the countryside.”

He was speaking low, almost whispering, and his breath against her ear, made Charlotte shudder. It felt like ages since he had been that close to her. Instinctively, her hand brushed against his on the armrest as she locked eyes with him.

Liam smiled at her and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it without letting his eyes leave hers.

“Let’s make this a trip to remember.” He added, slightly smiling at her.

“Liam, I –“ Charlotte began, but was interrupted as the crew came to tell the couple they were about to land.

She hoped that he meant it. She was more than ready to put all of this behind them, and move forward, for good.

__

Due to the influx of press and just other people around in general, Liam was exceptionally affectionate with Charlotte as they exited the plane and went to meet their hosts for the trip.  He never let go of her hand, and casually whispered random, funny things to her at just the right moment, making her laugh and smile at the perfect time for the cameras.

Charlotte almost let herself believe that things were back to normal, until they got to the estate and she saw Drake waiting for them as they got out of the car. Neither Liam, nor Charlotte were expecting him. Both of them felt time stop when they saw him smile as staff opened the car door for them to get out.  

Swallowing hard, Charlotte took a deep breath and nodded to him, careful not to smile or give any kind of “happy to see you” greeting.  She knew he would read her like a book, but she couldn’t take a chance right now with Liam deciding only moments ago, to make amends, especially on this trip. She tried and wished with all her might that her stomach wouldn’t flip flop, and she wouldn’t get nervous, each and every time she saw Drake…but it never failed. He always had an effect on her and perhaps he always would.  She scurried up the steps to meet with her assistant, Elise, pretending she had an urgent matter that needed attention.

Liam was behind Charlotte in the vehicle.  After getting out, he smiled and clapped Drake on the back, pulling him in for a hug.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of you being here with us today?” He straightened his tie, inhaling sharply, surveying the vast expanse of greenery and countryside surrounding the beautiful home.

“Lady Atchschull asked me to come at the last minute.  She remembers my dad, wanted to see me, blah blah blah. You know the drill.” Drake shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You’re here!” A loud, flamboyant woman, dressed in a very bright pink and purple dress, appeared suddenly on the porch, clearly very excited that her company had arrived.

“Queen Charlotte – you are as beautiful as ever, is there a bun in the oven yet, your majesty?” The woman joked, kissing Charlotte on each cheek then rubbing her stomach.

Shocked, and unsure how to respond, Charlotte exchanged a quick glance with Liam and smiled.

“Oh now, Lady Patricia, you know we promised you’d be the first to know!”

She laughed politely and moved along to greet Liam and Drake.  The men gave her hugs and exchanged pleasantries while the staff ushered everyone inside.  Charlotte was towards the back of the group, as was Drake.  She could swear that he waited, specifically for her.

“Hey.” He said, somewhat shortly.  

Charlotte looked him in the eyes and nodded, curtly.  

“Hey…” he whispered, reaching out to take her wrist, asking her to stop for a moment.

“We haven’t even gotten to talk hardly since…”

“Charlotte!” Liam bellowed. It was as if he knew somehow that Drake had stopped her.  His eyes were full of intensity when he saw that Drake was talking with her at the back of the pack.

“I need you.” He demanded politely, pulling himself out of the group and watching her walk to him.

“Sorry to steal her away.” Liam smirked, joking with Drake, but he knew exactly what he was saying and wasn’t sorry in the least bit.

Charlotte hurried to Liam’s side and squeezed his hand, looking up at him, pleading with her eyes.

“I’m sorry, he was just asking me a question about the itinerary and I was telling him that I wasn’t sure but I…”

“Charlotte.” Liam cut her off.  “It’s okay. I trust you.”

She let out a long, deep sigh and rested her head on Liam’s shoulder as the two of them walked to the room they would share together for the duration of the trip.

–

Later that evening, after dinner, Lady Atchschall demanded that the three Cordonians (Liam, Charlotte and Drake) take a tour of the newly renovated portions of their estate. Patricia, as Liam called her, had too much to drink and was extremely excited to show off the remodeled rooms. They walked almost all over the house.  Both Liam and Charlotte were yawning, leaning on each other as they fought off sleep and Drake was sneaking swigs from his flask of whiskey when Patricia wasn’t looking.

“This is the last stop.” She grandly announced, pausing by a door that blended so well into the wall, no one would notice it, had she not pointed it out.

“My dearest Arthur always loved our wine cellar.” Lady Atchschall declared, becoming a bit teary eyed now.  

As she went on and on to describe the wine cellar and what it meant to her late husband, Drake stared at the ground. He could have burnt a hole in it, he was staring so intently at the same spot.  Leaning against the wall, he wanted to turn around and leave.  He realized he never should have come along on this trip. 

What was he thinking? Seeing Liam and Charlotte together, and so happy, only made him feel worse. Worse for what he had done to Liam. Worse for ever thinking he could actually be with someone like Charlie. Worse for thinking his relationship with them both wouldn’t be changed once they got married.

When Patricia opened the door, and led them all down the stairs, memories came flooding into Charlotte’s mind as well.  That night, when she met Drake for a drink, they talked about the moments between…

No. She had to focus on Liam.  She needed to be present, in this moment, with him by her side.

Charlotte gripped Liam’s hand tighter and wrapped her free hand around his arm as well.

“You okay?” He questioned, suddenly concerned.

She nodded leaning on him a little more.

“Just glad to be here. With you.”

Liam squeezed her hand in affirmation and tried to listen to Lady Atchschall’s speech.

Drake pretended to have any interest in the wine and other alcohol stored there, and had to admit to himself he was impressed.  He stopped for a moment, fixated on one bottle of wine that he remembered Charlie told him was her favorite.  Smiling wistfully, his thoughts where interrupted by Liam.

“I’ll go with you, Lady Patricia. I think Charlotte here may not last much longer.  She’s tired from the day’s travel.”

He winked at Charlotte, a sign that he was getting her out of the rest of the evening’s events. Charlotte mouthed a silent “thank you” to Liam as he followed Patricia out of the wine cellar and up the stairs.

“She’s tired you say? Are you sure she’s not pregnant, Liam? You know the first sign is being tired…” Charlotte laughed to herself as she could hear Patricia questioning him on down the hallway.

Charlotte smiled realizing her day was finished.  She was looking forward to being in the same bed as Liam again, and found herself anticipating when he would also be done for the night.

Finding themselves the only two people in the room, Drake froze.  His back was facing Charlotte and she sighed realizing he was standing in front of her favorite wine.  

“You remember.” She said, breaking the silence.

“Of course I do.” Drake’s words came out a little more harsh than he had intended.

After a few more moments of tense silence, Charlotte excused herself, heading towards the stairs.

“I’m going to turn in for the evening. Goodnight.”

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Drake asked.

His eyes turned dark and smoldering. Seeing Charlotte’s exposed back in the tight-fitting dress she was wearing, did not help his yearning for her at all.

“I think it’s how it should be, Drake.” She hissed, turning around on him with frustration in her voice.

“We shouldn’t be alone. You and I both know it’s not smart.” Charlotte continued.

Wincing internally, she knew she hurt him.  She hated that there was no way for any of them to escape this love-triangle unscathed.

“At least for now. It may not have to be this way…forever…but for now…at least…this is best…” She tried to explain softly, her heart breaking at the sight of him.

Drake nodded silently, drinking from his flask once again. Sadly, Charlotte walked up the stairs, watching each foot carefully with each step, as she made her way to the top of the staircase.

She turned over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him one last time.  Locking eyes with him, she watched him raise his flask to her as if he was about to propose a toast.

“Just another moment between right?” He whispered, taking another drink.

Charlotte closed her eyes with a painful look on her face, and covered her mouth as she walked out of the wine cellar, hoping she didn’t make any noise.  She had to leave him. As hard as it was, she knew what she had to do.

She quickly found the room she and Liam were staying in, threw open the door and closed it quickly behind her as the emotions she shoved deep down inside, rose to the surface. She felt her face growing hot and tears threatening to burn her eyes, when Liam suddenly appeared.  He had already made it back to the room.

Knowing she was struggling, Liam watched her for a few moments and then went to her, pulling her into him, holding her as if it was the last time he’d ever get the chance to.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Liam asked, still holding her tight.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte questioned, pulling away.

“Every time you see Drake, an emotional reaction, both of us worried about what’s to come?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean I’m trying my best to not be around him…it’s just…a lot more difficult than I ever thought…” She tried to explain.

“It will get easier, though, right? At some point…it has to…doesn’t it?” Liam questioned.

Liam kissed her forehead, and swayed with her for a few moments in silence. Charlotte pressed her ear to his broad chest and closed her eyes as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.  Grateful for him and his understanding, for his love for her and his protection.  Thinking about him and all he provided for her, she tried to relax in his arms.

“I guess we will both just have to give it time. You know the saying: it heals all wounds.”

This was one of the reasons she loved Liam so much. Even in the face of uncertainty, with a woman who hurt him in the most indescribable way, he tried his hardest to be positive and encouraging.  She froze in disbelief of his love for her.  She knew she was incredibly undeserving of him in every imaginable way.

Charlotte’s mind was racing, asking herself a million questions as she slowly wrapped her arms around Liam’s waist and laced her fingers behind his back. 

She doubted that time would be able to heal this wound. The damage she caused them all was so great, she was almost completely certain that all the time in the world would not be enough to fix the mess she had created.

#liam x mc #drake x mc #trr #liam x charlotte #drake x charlie #my heart #these three #why can't they just be happy #why can't i write non-angst? #blazerina babbles

[meyerlansky]

don’t go far

pairing: meyer/charlie rating: explicit A/N: i warned you all it was coming and here it is. hopefully none of you disown me at the end of this month, is all i’m saying. kinktober 2017 day fourteen: role reversal / sensory deprivation. not quite all three prompts but hey, two outta three ain’t bad. vaguely modern au but it doesn’t have any real plot relevance, i just can’t really see them doing any sensory deprivation ever in canon circumstances but the idea was too good to pass up. also on ao3.

“I’m still not entirely sure what the point of this exercise is.”

”Christ, Meyer, it’s not an exercise,” Charlie snorts, and Meyer startles despite himself when Charlie’s hand drags up the bare skin of Meyer’s side. “And the point is gettin’ you off.”

“We tend to manage that fine without all this, I thought,” Meyer replies, the sardonic quirk of an eyebrow instinctive. Not that it matters much—he doesn’t know where Charlie had the scrap of fabric currently blindfolding him hidden, but it’s wide enough to block out any peripheral vision, no matter what he does with his eyebrows.

Charlie snorts again, and Meyer can picture him shaking his head at him, curls bouncing with the movement. “Ain’t you always sayin’ it’s good to, whatsit, diversify?”

“This is hardly what that means and you know it.” Meyer tries not to think about not being able to see, the unsettling exposed feeling it’s created—Charlie asked, and Charlie so rarely outright asks for anything, this is hardly anything to put up with—but the way he can’t help but drum his fingers against the mattress probably gives him away.

Charlie’s weight shifts, the mattress dipping as he moves away, and Meyer feels unmoored for a second or two until Charlie settles in his lap. It’s comforting to be able to feel Charlie against him, to feel less adrift and unsure with the pressure of him across Meyer’s thighs, but it doesn’t stop him from tensing again when Charlie’s hand lands on the bare skin of his neck. Charlie goes still at that, and that’s not right, it’s not that big of a deal, he’s being jumpy for no reason when it’s just him and Charlie. So he makes a deliberate attempt to relax, letting Charlie guide his head back and to the side. That and Charlie’s weight shifting again is all the warning Meyer gets before Charlie presses his lips to Meyer’s throat. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but the kiss Charlie presses to the skin under his lips makes relaxing much easier.

“You say the word, and we stop,” Charlie murmurs, smothered against the skin of Meyer’s jaw. He drags his lips along Meyer’s skin, slowly. “Just wanna take care of you for once, no distractions.”

And that makes Meyer swallow hard, the idea of being taken care of spawning a confusing mix of feelings he wishes it wouldn’t. “I don’t generally consider being able to see you a distraction, for the record,” he responds. It’s a perk, in all honesty, but Charlie’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding just now. And if Charlie wants to focus on him, well—Meyer will admit to a certain amount of tunnel vision when it comes to the sight of Charlie enjoying himself that might make focus in return somewhat difficult. He cautiously lifts a hand and brushes it along Charlie’s thigh where it’s pressed against his hip. “Just… don’t go out of reach, alright?”

“Not if you paid me,” Charlie says through a grin—Meyer doesn’t have to see it, he can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the prick—before he slides both hands along Meyer’s jaw and leans in to kiss him properly.

This, at least, is familiar, kissing Charlie, eyes closed—he doesn’t need to see to know when to bite Charlie’s lip, which way to tilt his head to deepen the kiss. The way Charlie, almost unconsciously, rocks their hips together with light, teasing pressure as they kiss isn’t new at all. What is new is the way Meyer can’t help but notice the fabric of Charlie’s sweatpants against the skin of his thigh, or how distracting the pads of Charlie’s thumbs brushing along his cheekbone is, dragging just below the blindfold’s edge. There’s a rawness to the sensation, when there’s nothing else to focus on, and Meyer shivers under Charlie’s hands.

Charlie grins into the kiss, his teeth pressed against Meyer’s lip another point of sensation Meyer never really would’ve focused on before. “Not so bad after all, huh?” Charlie says into Meyer’s mouth, and Meyer huffs.

“Don’t be smug,” he chides, pressing up to steal another kiss. He pushes his hand up again, tentative still, and curls his fingers around Charlie’s waist, sliding it up the skin of his side and up to cradle his jaw. Before he can go any further, though, before he can tangle his fingers in Charlie’s curls, Charlie breaks the kiss with a little murmur of noise in his throat as he leans back a few inches.

“Mm-mm, no touchin’,” Charlie says, and his fingers circle Meyer’s wrist—grip light, and he pauses long enough that Meyer knows he’s checking in—before he pulls Meyer’s hand away from his jaw. “See how you like gettin’ teased.”

Behind the blindfold Meyer’s eyebrow quirks upward again. “Really?” he says, and he can’t help but wave his fingers in what he thinks is the direction of Charlie’s face. “How long are you gonna go before you go back on that one?” Meyer’s not especially patient, when it comes to Charlie’s hands on him, but they both know he’s got the patience of a saint compared to Charlie.

Charlie hums, amused, and leans forward enough to slide his other hand over Meyer’s where it’s resting against the sheets, gentle pressure keeping it pinned. “Longer’n you, I’m gonna guess.”

Meyer has a response for that, but he doesn’t get to use it. Charlie’s lips close around Meyer’s finger, absolutely no warning whatsoever, and the gasp breaks out of Meyer’s chest like he’s been punched. He can’t help the way his hips jerk up against Charlie’s, the skin under Charlie’s lips too sensitive and the pressure of Charlie’s mouth too unexpected to exercise any measure of restraint. It makes his head spin, how quick Charlie’s mouth around his fingers drags him down from distantly interested to so hard it hurts, and he barely manages to swallow a disoriented whine. Charlie just keeps going, sucking at the digits in his mouth before shifting to press his lips to Meyer’s wrist, biting along the heel of his palm, and it’s not fair, Charlie knows what this does to him but it’s so much more for not knowing if Charlie will nip at the webbing of his thumb or press two of Meyer’s fingers against his tongue and suck—and it doesn’t matter what he tries to anticipate because Charlie does it all. He’s gracious enough to let Meyer tip forward and lean his forehead against his shoulder, but that’s all the slack he’s cut. He can’t even cover his mouth to hide any more embarrassing noises, because when he tries to move the hand not currently being fellated, Charlie puts even more pressure on it, pressing it flat against the mattress. So his fingers twist hard into the sheet and he bites his lip instead.

Charlie lets Meyer’s fingers slide out of his mouth with a wet pop, licking another stripe up Meyer’s palm to wring another shudder out of him. “Don’t be quiet, neither. How else m’I gonna know I’m doing good?” he asks, as if pinning Meyer’s other hand still wasn’t clear enough. Not that he gives Meyer any time to respond before he’s got his mouth wrapped around Meyer’s fingers again, tongue pressed up against the pads and scraping his teeth along Meyer’s knuckles with the exact right amount of pressure to pull another moan out of his throat. Charlie sucks at the skin, hard, lips sliding down until he hits the base of the digits and back up over and over.

It’s easier with the blindfold, somehow, to be more vocal. Not very vocal, he’s never going to be as loud as Charlie, but noises slip out of his throat with every suck, every bite Charlie presses to his fingertips. He can’t really catch his breath before Charlie does something else with that fucking mouth of his to make Meyer lose it again, and calling it overwhelming is something of an understatement. After… Meyer can’t even guess how long, Charlie hums again, pressing a kiss to the center of Meyer’s palm, before Meyer feels his grin pressed against the skin instead. “S’more like it.”

“You fuck,” Meyer bites out, straightening up, faint spots weaving in and out of the darkness beneath the blindfold, and Charlie just laughs, because he’s the worst tease alive and Meyer is going to kill him.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Charlie says, grin still in his voice, and Meyer shakes his head, not really trusting his voice while his head is spinning. The black in front of his eyes feels oppressive, like it’s pushing in, and he’s painfully aware of every inch of Charlie’s body where it’s pressed against his own. There’s a little pause, and Charlie strokes his thumb along the center of Meyer’s palm, sending another little shudder through him. Meyer faintly realizes he’s breathing heavier than he really should be, just before Charlie adds, quieter: “…Gimme a color?”

“Green,” Meyer says immediately—too fast, too brusque, even without seeing his face he can tell the noise Charlie makes is skeptical, and his thumb is still just brushing gentle circles along Meyer’s wrist. Meyer squeezes his eyes closed—for all the good it does making the spots go away—and breathes in, slowly this time. “…Yellow,” he amends, and Charlie’s thumb stops moving along his skin. Part of him mourns the loss, but it helps clear his head a bit.

Charlie makes another little noise, apologetic, slides his other hand off Meyer’s to… somewhere, his lap maybe or against the mattress, Meyer can’t fucking see to know for sure. “Wanna stop?”

Meyer exhales, harsher than he means to. It’s not a challenge, but—“No, just… give me a second?” He inhales again after Charlie agrees, fingers still gently circled around one wrist. It helps, that and the weight of Charlie still perched on his thighs like an anchor, and the spots behind the blindfold fade back into the inky black from earlier. He lets the breath out, slow, takes another, before he says, “Kiss me again?”

“’Course,” Charlie says, and his weight shifts a little bit across Meyer’s thighs, balancing more of his weight against the mattress. He moves Meyer’s hand to rest against his jaw as he leans in, and it helps keep Meyer from flinching when Charlie’s lips meet his again. It’s light, the pressure of Charlie’s mouth against his, and it’s more than enough to ground him by the time Charlie breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Meyer’s. “Too much?”

Meyer hums, not quite an agreement. “Little bit,” he admits, tilting his head cautiously to kiss Charlie again, once, quickly. “Not bad, just… a lot.” His mouth twists faintly, self deprecating. “You know. Hands.” It’s hardly a normal thing to set someone off, especially to the extent that Meyer finds it overwhelming—though, if he’s being honest with himself, when have they ever been normal? Still, it makes him lose his carefully-measured control enough that he’s self-conscious about it even without the addition of the blindfold.

His hand shifts with the movement as Charlie (presumably) nods. “I can do other stuff,” he says, and Meyer can’t quite suppress an amused huff at that. He also can’t suppress the way his thigh twitches as Charlie smooths his palm up under one leg of his boxers. “You good if these come off?”

After a second Meyer nods, and Charlie’s fingers slide along Meyer’s hipbones as he hooks them under the waistband. The drag of Charlie’s skin against his sends little shockwaves up his spine. Good ones this time. “Hips up real quick,” Charlie mutters, pressing a kiss to Meyer’s cheek and inching down on the bed. Meyer’s hand slips away from Charlie’s jaw, and he rests it against the mattress as Charlie pulls the fabric down and away. He’s more in control, and Charlie said no touching, so the game’s back on.

Charlie moves uncharacteristically slow, but as promised he never breaks contact with somewhere on Meyer’s body. Every touch feels like static along Meyer’s skin—he has no way to not focus on the sensation of Charlie’s palms sliding over his hips, his thighs, anywhere Charlie can reach. The weight of Charlie’s gaze on him is almost tangible, and he has to fight the impulse to shift under the scrutiny. “…I can feel you staring, you know.”

“Lots to look at,” Charlie murmurs, and Meyer hopes the blindfold’s wide enough to cover the heat he can feel in his face at that. He presses his lips together and flexes his fingers against the sheets, giving into the urge to picture Charlie’s face right now—all flushed skin and messy curls, eyes hooded as he just stares, and it’s driving Meyer a little crazy.

Not that that stops the way he startles when Charlie slides his palms down Meyer’s chest. Charlie doesn’t seem to mind, because one hand rests against Meyer’s hip and the other wraps around Meyer’s cock, stroking him slowly as Charlie inches forwards close enough to press his lips to Meyer’s jaw. Meyer bites his lip, swallowing the sound of mingled pleasure and frustration that wants to escape at Charlie’s light touch. His hands are still at his sides—he’s not calling quits on that just yet—but he does tip his head sideways, movements as controlled as he can make them while Charlie swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, to blindly kiss whatever part of Charlie’s face he can reach. The softness of the skin under his mouth and the satisfied hum that buzzes against his lips makes him think cheek, but once Charlie presses their mouths together it stops mattering.

Charlie’s strokes stay slow but steady as he drags his lips back over to Meyer’s jaw, kissing along the ridge to the patch of bare skin at the hinge of Meyer’s jaw. “Gonna suck you off,” he murmurs against the skin, and Meyer shudders as he punctuates the words with a tightening of his fingers and a bite to his throat. “‘Kay?”

The question takes a second to make it through the haze—softer now, easier to relax into than the urgency and surprise of before—and Charlie starts kissing down Meyer’s chest half a second after he murmurs approval, leaving bite marks and sucking kisses as he goes. His hand twists on Meyer’s cock, before sliding down to the base as Charlie licks messily along the underside to the tip.

Meyer’s good at staying quiet when he needs to—it’s a skill that’s proven useful more than enough times to make its cultivation worthwhile—but Charlie’s mouth on his cock is enough to rip groans out of him any time it happens. Now, with a sense removed, and only the memory of what Charlie’s lips look like, spread wide around his shaft, with the experience reduced to heat and slick and the little sounds Charlie makes as he takes Meyer deeper into his throat—

It’d be rude to not be appreciative.

“Fuck, Charlie,” he bites out as Charlie’s mouth envelops his cock, and he presses down, down, til his lips meet his fist, tongue pressed hard against the underside of Meyer’s dick. His head bobs, slow, and Meyer doesn’t bother hiding his moan, sheet twisting hard enough between his fingers that, were he less occupied, it would warrant concerns about structural stability. As it is, Meyer does not fucking care, when all his energy is going into not bucking into Charlie’s mouth.

His hips twitch up, he can’t help himself, and Charlie moans against his cock, curled fingers flattening out along Meyer’s hipbone and taking him in deeper. Meyer squeezes his eyes shut beneath the fabric, biting his lip against a moan and his head dropping back against the headboard.

Charlie looks good like this—he doesn’t need to see to know, dark lashes fluttering against the tanned flush in his cheeks, un-pomaded curls bouncing as his head bobs, spit-slick lips kiss-reddened and spread wide—the memory’s as real as if he was watching, and the fact that he isn’t makes his nails dig into the mattress even harder. The tiny satisfied noises Charlie makes as he presses down inch by inch certainly don’t make it any easier.

His fingers twist in the sheets, but it’s not enough, not when he’s so close, not when he’s been dying to touch Charlie somewhere this whole time, and he’s held out long enough that it doesn’t feel like losing the game when he says, “Charlie, let me touch, just—”

And Charlie licks a wide stripe up his cock before he says, “yeah, c’mon,” and then his fingers are around Meyer’s wrist, dragging his hand to Charlie’s neck before he leans back in and his lips close around Meyer’s dick again.

He tangles his fingers in Charlie’s hair, and Charlie moans around his cock when Meyer pulls, bobbing his head that much faster. Meyer’s fingers slide through his curls, the soft strands wound around his fingers an almost startling contrast to the heat of Charlie’s mouth. Meyer’s too close to do much more than drag his fingers through Charlie’s curls, eyes squeezed shut behind the fabric of the blindfold. Charlie swallows around his cock, and Meyer tugs at his curls in warning before he spends, groaning as Charlie presses further down instead of pulling off. He curls forward as Charlie swallows and pulls away, panting for a moment to recenter himself before reaching out still-blindly to drag Charlie up and press their lips together.

Charlie goes willingly, slinging a leg over Meyer’s lap to kiss him, but pulls back quicker than Meyer’d like. “…Not that I’m complainin’ about this, but. You want the blindfold off?”

And—yes. Yes he does. “Please,” he replies, and Charlie shifts, reaching up to untie the knot at the back of his skull. The blindfold falls away, and Meyer blinks against the brightness of their bedroom lights. Once his eyes adjust, though, fuck if Charlie doesn’t look even better than Meyer’s mental image, gaze a little hazy and spit-slick lips curled up in a smug satisfied grin before he leans in to kiss Meyer again.

“Like I said—not so bad, huh?” he murmurs into Meyer’s mouth, palm stroking up his side as he leans back in.

Meyer hums, returning the kiss consideringly. “Not so bad,” he replies, before leaning back and quirking a brow—which feels much more satisfying now that Charlie will see it. “Your turn next time, then?”

And Charlie snickers, pressing his lips to Meyer’s cheek with a murmured “we’ll see,” and the grin that splits across his face when Meyer snorts is the best sight in the world.

#boardwalk empire #boardwalkfic #kinktober #charlie luciano #meyer lansky #mine #also there's a brief little bit of safe-wording #content notes for that are at the end of the ao3 version if anyone has sensitivities around safewords etc #my fic

[moiraineswife]

Could you do Triss seeing Philippa for the first time after she's lost her eyes? Bonus for maximum hurt comfort feels!!

I have no idea what I’m doing or how to explain the AU (something along the vague lines of book!canon, except that Philippa doesn’t die from her torture, she loses her eyes but escapes) that is taking place in my head to contrive to make this a thing but this is small and contextless enough that it probably doesn’t matter. WIRE IN. 

(Correct me if I’ wrong, but I think @snarkomancy gets credit for the headcanon of Phil letting herself fall off of Very High Things, and shifting into her owl form halfway through. Which I adore and unashamedly stole for this thing) 

*****

The wind runs its gentle fingers through her unbound hair. It floats around her face, wild and free, so at odds with the rest of her body, rigid and still as a marble statue. And as pale. 

Her long imprisonment in darkness, with only the odd candle flame to cast light upon her has left her looking like half a corpse. The fingers that curl over the arms of the large wooden rocking chair that cradles her slight, wasted frame, are painfully thin and brittle looking. Like bone scraped free of flesh, left bare and fragile. Vulnerable. 

It’s been almost two days, 43 hours and twenty minutes, by her reckoning, since she found freedom from that place. 

She had been there so long she forgets how much time she spent there. Kingdoms could have risen, and fallen, ages come and gone in that empty blackness, and she would never have known.

 At the beginning, she had tried to count. Making small scratches on the walls with a small stone or nail she found in her cell, she had kept track of the passing of the days, relying on the infrequent, inadequate meals she was brought to stop her starving to mark the passage of time.

Then they had taken her eyes from her, and she had no longer been able to see the rows of little white lines, stacked like soldiers upon the wall. She had found them again, with broken, trembling fingers, and she had continued her count for a time, determined not to let them take her sanity as well. 

In the end, she had stopped. In the end it didn’t matter to her how long she had been there. She stopped counting the days, when she stopped counting on any thought of rescue, or escape. She would die in that place, she had been sure. How many days she had survived, how many she had left, no longer mattered. That truth was the only one she had had, and it had festered inside her, turned on her, and carved the heart and hope from her. 

Yet she had not died. 

By some miracle, she had escaped the confines of her cell. The details of how it had come about were still hazy, at best. Her imprisonment and the treatment she had received from her captors had left her raw and half-crazed with pain and the terror of further suffering. 

They had led her into sunlight once more. The first touch of it on her delicate skin had felt like a brand, but slowly, she had come to love it, to hunger for it, the constant reminder that she was alive. 

She had begun counting again, once she had regained her wits. The count of borrowed time, time she should not have had, breaths she should never have tasted, beats of her heart that should never have sounded. But did. She had done little else since she had been freed. She needed time to heal, they had told her. And so she had counted as that time had passed, not sure what else to do with herself. 

Yennefer had found her, broken and near death, and she had brought her here. The very last place that anyone might think to look for her, if her captors had any designs on reclaiming their lost toy. So far, she had been right. The tranquil peace of Kaer Morhen had not been disturbed since she had arrived here. For that she was thankful. 

Before, she had not been able to abide silence. She had sought out sound, found ways to fill her quiet chambers with it on the rare occasions she was alone and at rest. It had unnerved her, that silence, made her feel as though she had settled into a dangerous calm that would precede the storm. It had made her restless and irritable. 

Now...Now she welcomed it. Every sound, however small or innocent, made her flinch, her body tensing, her instincts screaming and shoving her back into that dark cell once more, convincing her that she was about to endure their agonies once again. 

It took all of her strength to keep her control in those moments, to leash the dark swell of magic that pressed beneath her skin. After so long bound in chains of demetirium, the magic in her blood was a lethal thing, roiling inside her, howling for escape. It took no small amount of self-control to refuse to let it run wild as it wished, to burst from her like a dam and break over the world that had dared to keep it caged all those months. 

She had lasted all of an hour in the soft, clean bed she had woken in. People had been flapping around her, insisting that she rest, that she needed to heal, that she shouldn’t be straining herself. As though walking twelve feet from the bed to the balcony would kill her, when months of daily torture had failed. 

Yennefer had frowned and chastised her and attempted to draw her back inside the first few times she’d found her in the great carved rocking chair beyond her chambers. But Geralt...Geralt had seemed to understand. She had felt his eyes on her for a long moment, silent in the face of Yennefer’s concerned, ceaseless flow of words. Then, with a quiet murmur in her ear, he had drawn Yennefer away, and she was left alone with her silence and her calm mountain breezes. 

Since then, she had barely left this chair, and refused to step inside for longer than a few minutes at a time. The stillness of the air, the way it deadened, the way it pressed against her skin like an oppressive shroud, the moment she was surrounded by four walls again, terrified her.  

Before, if anyone, or anything, including her own mind, had tried to inform her she was terrified of anything, she would have laughed. Now she had no other word for the crippling panic that chased up her nerves like lightning, or the cold dread that coiled in her stomach like the hand of death, whenever she was enclosed. 

Without her eyes to ground on the bright furnishings and simple domesticity of her surroundings, with only the darkness to pair with the horrifying stillness of a room, her mind cast her back into that cell and refused to let her leave. Only the soft kiss of the wind against her cheek, the light fragrance of the open air, and the sense of inexplicable calm that came with wide, untainted spaces could calm her. 

She could not, would not remain inside. Not for a long time. 

Sometimes, even the gentle, now familiar confines of her rocking chair were too much for her to bear. It was then that she longed to clamber onto the wooden rail surrounding the balcony, spread her arms wide, and allow herself to fall into open space. Only to snatch herself from the looming jaws of death by transforming mid-fall, and soaring into the waiting heavens. 

She longed for that freedom, that escape, that thing that would cleanse the last dark shadows of that cell crawling over her soul. But not yet. She was not strong enough for that, yet. Her battered body had to heal, her magic stabilise, her hands stop shaking for more than a heartbeat. 

Rolling her shoulders, Philippa turned her head slightly, listening to the footsteps padding towards her. She was getting better at identifying the owners of the patterns of sound that played over the wooden boards in the bedroom behind her. The light, rhythmic steps reminiscent of a dancer belonged to Yennefer, she was almost certain. 

Sure enough, a moment later, the younger sorceresses voice broke the quiet of the afternoon, “Philippa.” She nodded in silent invitation for her to continue. 

Yennefer stepped out onto the balcony proper and spoke with that voice she had adopted since Phil’s escape. The one she despised so much. The soft, gentle one, the one that was lowered, as though in fear that a louder, or harsher tone might bruise. 

“There’s someone here to see you,” she says, tone unreadable. 

Philippa frowns, her own voice a rasp when she answers, “You let them enter?” 

“She wouldn’t wait,” Yennefer replies, tone still steady and controlled. 

Phil sighs, massaging her temples and bowing her head slightly, “Tell Rita that whatever she wants to discuss with me can wait until I’m not half-dead,” she bites out irritably. 

There’s a distinct smile in Yen’s voice when she says, “”It’s not Rita. It’s-” 

But she never finishes her sentence. A distant grunt she identifies as Geralt’s, the rush and patter of a new set of footsteps she hasn’t yet committed to memory, and the cracked, hoarsely whispered gasp interrupt her. 

“Pippa?” 

Philippa goes still at the sound of that voice, that name, at the presence of the one person in the world who would call her that. Her mouth goes dry, and she clenches the arms of her chair so tightly it hurts, trying, and failing, to stop her hands from shaking. 

She opens her mouth. Her lips soundlessly form the name, but no sound escapes her, only a dry rasp. She tries again without any more success, but it doesn’t matter. The owner of that voice is running for her, choking on a faint sob, and Philippa barely has a moment to brace herself before the soft, warm body hurtles into her own. 

A moment later, she’s sliding from the chair and down onto her knees, the other woman’s arms tight around her, as though she never means to let her go again. Her thin, brittle fingers stroke tremulously through the thick, sleek hair. She buries her face against it, the ruins of her eyes hidden by the thick, chestnut mop she knows so well. 

“I thought you were dead,” Triss gasps, her whole body shaking, her mouth pressed clumsily against Philippa’s neck. Another shudder wracks her, and she grips onto her all the tighter, choking out the words again, “I thought you were dead.”  

She had thought the same. Had thought that Triss had no doubt died too. Some nights she had hoped for it, hoped that she was at peace, gone where the hot irons and rough hands could never touch her. Now, now... 

“I’m-” the word ‘fine’ which she had meant to press into her partner’s soft, sweet-smelling hair stuck in her throat, the lie gagging her. Instead, she swallows, and nuzzles in closer to her, breathing in the rich, familiar scent of her perfume, unchanged even after all this time, finding an odd sense of comfort and strength from it. 

She tries again, “I’m here.” 

The words are brittle and raw, but it’s all she has to offer her. She isn’t fine. She might not yet even be healing. She’s battered, and broken, and plagued with a darkness she isn’t sure will ever lighten to reveal the woman she once was. But she is here. Is holding her again. Is speaking to her again. Is home again. 

She could never say how long they sat there, knees curled beneath them on the rough, hard floor, until they’d gone quite numb. They had held each other through it all, not saying a thing, not making any sound, only clinging tightly, so tightly. As though each feared they might lose they other, and never find them again, if they let go for so much as a moment. 

Finally, when the sun has risen from its shy dawn perch just above the mountain tops to sit high and proud in the centre of the sky, its heat truly warming her for the first time, Triss draws away. 

Philippa opens her mouth to protest, and finds them smothered by the press of Triss’ warm, soft lips against hers. The kiss is tender and soft, filled with all of the words that neither of them had been able to say before they had been parted, and it strikes Philippa Eilhart truly speechless, for what may well be the first time in her life. 

Then, she laughs. The action startles Triss, it startles her as well, if truth be told. The laughter is a hoarse, brittle rasp, ragged and broken in half a hundred places. But she hadn’t known there was any laughter in her any more, had thought it had all been drained of her, and was a sound that would never make it past her cracked lips again. 

The feel of it, the exhilaration of it, has her laughing all the harder, until every bone in her body seems to ache from it. Then Triss is laughing too, hesitantly at first, then stronger, louder, until the tears are streaming down her face, and the smile that tugs across it seems unlikely ever to leave. 

She leans forwards again, kissing her once more, and Philippa lets herself indulge in it, lets herself enjoy it, as she kisses her back at long last. 

And this, Philippa thinks, as she sinks into Triss’ arms once more...This is better than flying. 

#philippa eilhart #triss merigold #philippa x triss #merihart #i have NO idea what i'm doing rn #i really and truly don't #this is prbably...v oc for phil but we're chalking that up to trauma and my deep desire for lesbian fluff and h/c #in other words: DEAL WITH IT #also #yes #triss calls phil 'pippa' #fucking fight me #not pictured: geralt and yen in the background with their mouths hanging open like two recently stuffed trout #all in all #amazing #i've had this in my head for ages it's just taken SO LONG to actually put down #i'm sorry for that nonnie #but i hope you like it!!! #the witcher #the witcher fic #my fic #merihart fic #philippa fic #the witcher series #the witcher saga #anonymous #answered #prompt fills #lauren fills prompts

[guardianofjunmyeon]

I’ve Got You (part 16)

Pairing: Jongdae x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Canon AU, Smut

Description: You work for SM as it’s public relations specialist, and Jongdae is one client that you have to deal with far too often. Sometimes though, he isn’t all that bad.

A/N: I promised smut, and here it is (kind of? not all the way tho lmao, but look at that gif hes so cute im crying blood)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21.

You’re pulled into the room silently, and it’s as if a switch is flipped inside of you. All coherent thought flies out of your mind, and you forget all about the things you know need to be addressed. Things that…are fairly serious and should be talked about with clear minds.

But they can wait. You just want to kiss him first.

The click of the door behind you snaps awake the longing that you’d pushed down since being around him this morning.

You shove him against the wall and roughly latch your lips to his, cutting off any greeting that he might have wanted to say, trying to express your urgency without words. Although taken back at first, he quickly kisses back with just as much resolve.

It feels good knowing you make him feel just as hopeless as he does to you.

The desperation in his actions coaxes a wanton moan from your mouth right into his. The sound seems to cause a sudden pause in his wandering hands as they find themselves on your jean clad ass.

He squeezes softly and swipes his tongue against your top lip. You press closer to him. “Jongdae.” His name comes out as a whisper. Thick with need and impatience. He hums before licking a stripe along the underside of your jaw that all but has your knees shaking.  Wait. Didn’t you come in here for something? “Wait, Jongdae wait.”

His lips stall on the skin of your neck and you feel him breath heavily, but he doesn’t pull back up. “Yes?” his voice is low and, fuck, it’s doing things to you that are making it a thousand times harder to think.

“I needed to tell you something,” you’re able to murmur through the light kisses he’d begun placing along your neck once again.

“Can it wait?” his breath puffs against your skin as he drifts back up and presses a soft kiss against your lips. “I’ve been waiting all week to see you, just…can the talking wait?” he asks quietly, eyes piercing into yours with unrestrained want.

Without thinking, you nod.

“Good,” he sighs happily.

His hands drag up your sides and burn a path as they run beneath your shirt against your skin. The shiver it elicits makes him laugh against your lips. Your positions switch as he turns you around and presses your back against the wall where he once was. You grunt at the collision but the sound is swallowed once his lips move to suck on your lower lip. His hips roll against you and your body responds eagerly, leg lifting to hook around his hip so you can feel him more directly.

He drops his head to the crook of your neck and moans, sending waves of anticipation through your body. You grip his hair tightly and try to grind against him as best you can with your god damned jeans.

Why are you still wearing your fucking clothes?!

Pulling your fingers away from his scalp and pushing him back marginally you try to get his attention on your words. His eyes are hooded when you capture them. “Clothes.”

He nods along with the statement, or maybe it was a command, and pulls his own shirt over his head while you pull your string bag off your shoulders and drop it at your side. His fingers grip at the hem of your shirt and you allow him to yank the shirt above your head. The air conditioning in the room hits your heated skin and goosebumps arise. Not giving your mind enough time to dwell on the sensation, you drop to your knees and link your fingers through the loops of his pants.

You feel him tense beneath your fingers as they run across this happy trail. Leaving lingering kisses along his abdomen, you make slow work of unzipping and slipping his pants down. He’s restraining himself poorly, having shallowly thrusted against the air at your touches.

The strained “please,” you hear from above you signals another wave of excitement to run through your body. As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he kicks them off. You press the palm of your hand against the growing wet spot on his grey briefs. Leisurely, you drag you hand up and down the clothed heat of his length.

“What do you want Jongdae?” you purr, blinking up at him with a smirk that is anything but innocent. His groan comes from somewhere low in his throat, and the way his eyes flutter closed at the slight pressure you add to your stroking does nothing to slow the dampening of the underwear between your legs.

“I want…ungh fuck, fuck I-”

Your nails drag along the fabric and he shudders beneath your touch. “I can’t do anything unless you tell me what you want,” you murmur, lips connecting with skin as you take the band of his briefs and pull them down agonizingly slow. His cock springs free and hits your cheek leaving a streak of precum in its wake. His moan is louder this time.

“Suck me,” he grunts, hips canting forward to match his words.

Your hand wraps around his cock and you savor the feeling of it twitching at your touch before wrapping your lips around the painfully red tip of his dick. His (barely there in the first place) control vanishes as one hand hits the wall above you and the other curls tightly in your hair.

Swipes along the underside of his cock gets the best reactions out of him, long groans that you could get off to alone. You moan against his length and give him full reign to fuck your mouth as you do your best to slacken your jaw and drag your tongue against him when you can while simultaneously trying not to gag too violently and cry.

He pulls away from you without warning and a long string of saliva connecting your mouth to his dick falls. You swallow and look up in confusion. “I don’t want to come, not that way,” he pants. It looks painful, how hard he is, and you don’t what to think about the fact that he was able to pull away. You stand up to meet his eyes and you can tell he can see your own chest rising and falling in anticipation.

“Do you have any condoms?”

“Aren’t you on the pill?” he asks, trapping you between his arms and pressing against your clothed mound.

“Yes but I don’t want to risk it,” he kisses your collarbone and you sigh. “I can’t go off and buy a morning after pill without pulling suspicion to myself,” you explain. You’re proud that you can still think with him rubbing against you. He groans in frustration. You’re not risking an unwanted pregnancy because of temporary lapse in judgement.

You might not be able to fuck, but you can do other things.

Taking the initiative, you push him backwards to his bed. “I guess we’ll have to do without.” He watches as you unclasp your bra and step out of your ruined underwear (which sucks because you really liked that pair) before crawling over him and settling your soaking heat on his thigh. A whimper slips from you and you breathe deeply to control yourself.

“What are you-”

“Shut up, and let me do something,” you murmur, rolling your hips against his thigh. God, you’ve wanted to do this for a while now, but you never knew how to ask. You wrap you hand around him and try to pump while coating the expanse of his thigh in your wetness.

His hand wraps around yours to assist in stroking his length. You can’t seem to pay enough attention to both yourself and him, so you let him take charge of moving your hand over his cock and you focus on shamelessly humping his leg. Eyes closed as you chase the release that’s right there just out of reach, you moan pathetically. His thigh twitches beneath you as he nears his own, and his choked moan is what gives you just enough to push you head first into your climax.

The spasms of your body are followed closely by the feeling of his muscles tensing and twitching below you as his stomach and your intertwined hands are covered in Jongdae’s cum.

Once you find the ability to open your eyes again, you’re both panting and Jongdae is looking at you with wide, awed and heavy emotion-filled eyes. “That was so hot.”

You can do nothing but laugh.

His arms reach up to pull you flush against his chest and you groan as the feeling of his cooling cum sliding between your bodies. “Jongdae!”

“Shut it, just give me a minute to hold you. We can wash up in a minute,” his voice is laced with an amount of affection that makes your body tingle happily, and you give in to the request easily. Melting into his touch, not caring about the mess of fluids on both of your skin.

One shared shower full of cleaning and innocent kisses later, you towel off and settle on his bed while he pulls on a new outfit. He slips a shirt from his suitcase over your head and offers you some ill-fitting shorts.

He wraps his arms around you and leans his head on your shoulder. “We should see a show on Broadway.”

A Broadway date? It actually sounds really nice. “We should…” you agree. Biting your lip nervously, you turn around in his arms so that you can face him. “…but we have some things to talk about first.”

He blinks innocently but finally nods. “Okay…what about?”

“Jongin knows,” you start bluntly. No point in beating around the bush. “He knows about us.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Okay?”

“Okay? Really that’s all you have to say? Is this not a problem?” you feel unsettled by his nonchalance. He pulls you closer and shakes his head with a sly smirk playing across his lips.

“Nope,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against your lips. You frown and pull back before he can try and distract you with kisses. Knowing you’ve seen through his plan, he sighs. “I’m not worried because he won’t tell anyone, and Junmyeon hyung also knows so he’ll make sure it doesn’t get out.”

You gasp. “You told Junmyeon!?”

“No, he just…figured it out,” he shrugs noncommittally and smiles playfully leaning back to peck your lips. “I did accidentally tell Minseok hyung though,” he adds. You splutter and he laughs before running his hands gently across your skin.

Not that you don’t like it, but he’s acting awfully affectionate. The light kisses and lingering touches within the span of the 20 minutes since you both decided to start moving around the room again is suspicious.

Suspicious, and you have a feeling you know the reason behind it.

“What is up with you? Why are you acting so…” you wiggle your fingers around and lose you train of thought at the need to run your thumb across the bottom of his lip. His lips part unconsciously.

His eyebrow ticks up with the beginning of a wide grin breaking out, and you know the answer isn’t going to be good. Or at least…not something you’re ready to hear him utter. “What? Can I not kiss my girlfriend who lov-” your hand smacks over his mouth. You can’t bear to hear him tease you.

“Don’t! Don’t…” you exhale and he watches you closely. Your explanation tumbles off your tongue in shaky syllables as you try to make it seem like less of a big deal. “I wasn’t thinking when I said that, and I really hoped you hadn’t heard me. I was just distracted and it really didn’t mean-” the words fade as he wordlessly slides your hand down and settles it on his chest right above his heart. It’s beating as hard as your own.

“I love you.” Your eyes widen at his words and at the way his heart pounds just a bit harder beneath your palm. You swallow at the intensity in his eyes, and it gets far too hard to breathe and holy shit he didn’t actually just- “I’m in love with you,” he repeats just as serious as the first time. “I love you. Or…I love you too. I don’t know. I want you to know that I mean what I’m saying, so I’m letting myself- I’m giving you my heart to feel so you can feel that I mean this. I want you to know how hard my heart beats around you. Every time without fail.

“If you meant it…what you said on the phone, and even if you didn’t, it doesn’t change how I feel. I’m…irrevocably in love…with you.” he whispers the last of his words and keeps his eyes on your own.

You expect a change in them. For it to look different from the looks he’d given you before, but it doesn’t. It’s the same…exact look. The one he gave you hundreds of times over the months you found yourself involved with him. In times even before you’d even realized you liked him.

It’s the same look, but now you have the words to describe it.

Love.

You want to cry. No, you don’t. You want to run out of the room and fly on a plane back to Seoul and hide in your bed for the rest of your life in giddy solitude because he loves you and this isn’t a dream. It can’t be because you feel his heart beneath your palm beating fast and steady as he looks at you with that look that promises to learn your secrets, and unravel your heart so that he can make a home within it.

“I-” why won’t your tongue work? In all the times you’d had to talk, it never failed you. When you need it most, it decides to go on vacation. You blink back tears. Push back fears and worry. You just want to enjoy this. Enjoy feeling so high and happy that it feels like your own heart might pop out of your chest if you let it.

His nervous laugh pulls you to earth for a moment and you clench your hand around the shirt covering his heart. “Did…you mean it?” he asks a bit breathless.

A whimper. That’s what you give him. A sad whimper that quickly turns into you mushing your lips against his repeatedly. Hard enough that you might bruise them if you keep it up. “Yes,” you whimper. You nod your head vigorously. “Yes, I meant it. I love you too Jongdae.”

He brightens and exhales so hard that he slumps over. His hand squeezes yours. “Thank god, I felt like I was going to die waiting for you to say something,” he admits. He laughs then, and you want to do nothing except hug him tightly and never let him go.

You throw yourself on top of him and try to do just that.

#im so god damned soft for jongdae you guys #in other news...maybe 5?? chapter left #exo #kim jongdae #chen #exo imagine #exo fanfiction #jongdae imagine #jongdae fluff #jongdae smut #chen sm #chen imagine

[darweaniedraws]

Things Left Unsaid, Chapter 3: A Different Perspective

My third installment of my Olicity soulmates AU, Things Left Unsaid, set in Season 1 and Season 2 canon. Here’s the chapter summary: 

“When Oliver gets shot by his mother, Diggle gets to see Oliver and Felicity without the distractions of the QC employees.“

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Felicity doesn’t know what’s wrong with her shoulder, but there’s this dull pain that’s been bothering her for the past few minutes. It’s not even in the usual place in her back, by her shoulder blade. It’s more toward the front, where her left collar bone is.

She chalks it up to stress. Ever since Walter Steele disappeared during the holidays and Felicity gave Oliver Walter’s book of names about a week ago, she’d thrown herself into her work to keep her mind off of her missing boss and her mysterious soulmate. She’d almost told Oliver about their mark right there in that Big Belly Burger when he’d sincerely told her that she could trust him. The way his bright blue eyes had turned so kind and reassuring toward her, even when the book had clearly shaken him, had almost broken through to the hopeful part of Felicity that she clearly inherited from her mother.

Luckily, she’d been able to rein that part of her in, no matter how much Felicity had wanted to feel that almost delicious burn of her mark again.

That urge had been growing and growing ever since Oliver had found her at QC. She didn’t think he’d take her up on her offer to help him with any technical issues so soon, but he had. And he does so pretty often.

First, it was the bullet-ridden laptop. Then it was finding his “old buddy” Derek Reston. Then it was a very suspicious black arrow, which raised a few red flags, given that Starling City now has a bow and arrow-wielding vigilante running around at night. After the arrow cam a very strongly encrypted security fob with incredibly illegal looking plans on it. Then just before she’d handed Oliver Walter’s book, it was a very scary, incredibly eyebrow-raising syringe full of an “energy drink.” Felicity has her suspicions about that one. Maybe Vertigo? But what would a billionaire be doing trying to figure out where Vertigo is being made? The thought had made her shudder.

All these strange requests have led to even more time with Oliver that she didn’t want. Or at least that’s what Felicity tells herself. With each encounter, Felicity feels their bond grow stronger, even though they never stray from shop talk. Felicity hasn’t been able to tell if Oliver has even noticed or felt their connection yet, but she certainly has.

Ugh. Someone tell her why she didn’t move out of Starling when she had the chance. Felicity didn’t come here to deal with soulmate crap. Instead of thinking too hard about “he-must-not-be-named,” and she’s not talking about Voldemort, Felicity threw herself into her work.

It’s a Wednesday night when she’s so caught up in her server room office that she doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten. It’s when she starts packing up to head home that Felicity starts to feel a dull pain near her collarbone.

She must be beyond exhausted if her body is choosing random spots to pick on.

With tired eyes, Felicity makes her way to her red Mini Cooper. Despite her exhaustion, she can’t help but feel that there’s something wrong, so she hurries to the driver door.

A pained grunt in the backseat of her car scares the hell out of her.

When she turns to look, her eyes go wide. It’s the freaking Hood. Holy Frack.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Felicity.”

Hearing his voice, Felicity immediately know who it is, yet she still asks in a panicked voice, “How do you know my name?”

Then, he pulls his hood back. “Because you know my name.”

Double frack. It is Oliver. Her soulmate. Who is currently bleeding all over her backseat.

Felicity wants to take him to the hospital. Desperately so. However, even in his weak state, Oliver insists she take him to his father’s old steel factory.

So she does.

Felicity doesn’t have the time to think about the fact that her shoulder has been hurting because Oliver’s is so severely injured in the same spot. He’s bleeding out so much it has Felicity shaken to her bones. She almost drives on autopilot, especially when Oliver seems to pass out just after telling her how to get to the factory. Luckily, he’d also told her where to park her car and the code to the back entrance of his secret lair. It saves her the time of having to hack in.

Felicity zooms into the parking lot and tries not to flip her Mini over when she brakes hard.

Her next obstacle is getting Oliver down into the lair. Out of panic, she fails to notice the other car present in the lot while she struggles to lift Oliver from the backseat. Only after a few seconds does she realize the town car in the lot, most definitely driven by Oliver’s bodyguard, John Diggle.

So Felicity rushes to the sealed door, punching the code as quickly as she can. Mr. Diggle almosts shoots her when she catches his attention, but once she notices the bloodstains on her clothes, he realizes she is no threat and they hurry to gather Oliver.

The next few hours are brutal for her sanity. The first time Oliver flatlines, it’s like her world stops. With the small amount of time they’ve spent together, Felicity didn’t think that their marks had bonded all that much. The connection had definitely gotten stronger, evident by the pain she feels in her shoulder and collarbone. But when Oliver’s heart stops, it feels as though hers does too.

She is only jostled out of her frozen state when Mr. Diggle springs into action and pulls out the shock cart.

After what seems like forever, Oliver is finally in a stable condition, but not without giving her and Mr. Diggle a few more heart attacks (almost literally for her).

Now they wait for him to wake up. Since her focus doesn’t have to be on Oliver every second now, although part of her wants to keep an eye on him at all times, Felicity now has the opportunity to survey Oliver’s secret lair.

It’s… not the greatest thing Felicity’s ever seen. It’s just a dark, dingy basement. The tables here and there, with arrows and other vigilante equipment, just look like a haphazard attempt at a secret base. And don’t get her started on that atrocity of a computer setup. Walking over to Oliver’s computers, a scrunched up, disgusted look on her face, she takes account of how archaic the setup is. By Felicity’s standards, it’s almost as archaic as Oliver’s choice of weaponry.

“Something wrong?” Mr. Diggle asks from behind her.

“Other than this poor excuse of a computer system?”

He chuckles. “Well, Oliver isn’t exactly a computer expert.” Crossing his arms, he continues with a shake of his head, “If he’s an expert at anything it’s giving me a hard time keeping him alive.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how you deal with that.”

Mr. Diggle chuckles again. “Honestly, I don’t know either.”

She laughs with him. Tapping on the desk of computers, Felicity contemplated how she could fix the setup. “Do you think our dear Mr. Hood would mind if I tinker with his computers?” She doesn’t know why she asks because she already starts moving off all the clutter. “I don’t think I could stand it here if I didn’t do something about it.”

“Given you’re the one with a Masters in Computer Science, I don’t think he’d argue.”

Felicity turns back around to Mr. Diggle. “And Cyber Security. Computer Science and Cyber Security.” She goes to return to the computers and continue her work, but then she realizes what the bodyguard has said. “Wait, how do you know that? It’s not like a have a glowing neon sign in my office.”

“Our Mr. Queen had me do some research on you. To make sure he could trust you.”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Of course he did.”

She goes back to the computers, thinking about how a third monitor could probably be set up while checking Oliver’s software. A few minutes pass before Felicity realizes Mr. Diggle is staring at her.

Repeating his earlier question to him, she asks, “Something wrong, Mr. Diggle?”

“First, my friends call me Diggle.”

“Oh! Are we friends now?”

“Considering we just worked together to save this man’s ass,” he points his thumb behind him to Oliver on the medical table, “I’d say we’re friends.”

“Okay, Diggle,” she says, testing it out. “What’s the second thing?”

Diggle observes her for a moment, contemplating if he should ask her. He’s seen Oliver’s mark. At first, he thought it was a tattoo. He’d mentioned to Oliver that he thought it ironic that he have a tattoo of an arrowhead. However, in a rare moment of honesty, Oliver had voiced it was actually his soulmate mark. In the end, Diggle does ask Felicity. “How long have you known about Oliver’s soulmate mark?”

Felicity’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, and she is sure that she’s broken out into a nervous sweat. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she denies.

Well, that didn’t sound convincing at all. And Diggle knows it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I saw you touching it after the last time Oliver coded an hour ago. Plus, you’ve been rubbing the same spot on your body as Oliver’s wound.”

Felicity admits to having been feeling a bit of the pain at her collarbone, but she doesn’t even remember laying a hand on Oliver other than keeping him from bleeding out.

“You were probably too focused on Oliver to notice you were.” Diggle gives her a chance to say something, but she doesn’t. Felicity is too blindsided by Diggle’s observations and her lack of subtlety to think of anything. “I’m guessing by your reaction that you probably share the same mark.

Slowly, Felicity turns the computer chair toward Diggle, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. She can barely meet Diggle’s eyes. In a small voice, she pleads, “Please don’t tell him.”

Diggle wants to inquire more. Any soulmate would give anything for a chance to be with their soulmate. His grandfather almost gave up his life to be with Diggle’s grandmother. Why isn’t Felicity jumping at this chance?

But he doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries. Especially if she might be joining him and Oliver in the lair. “I won’t,” he promises, though he hopes in the future she’d be able to tell him why she doesn’t want to be with her soulmate.

Felicity blows a breath of relief and nods her thanks. Then she returns to upgrading the computer system, the tension still in her shoulders.

It only depletes slightly when, another hour later, Oliver finally wakes up. But the furrow in her brow doesn’t truly disappear.

Diggle watches the two of them interact. He’s seen the two of them together before, at the QC offices. He found it amusing how Felicity would always get flustered around the billionaire. But now he can see it’s different than the crush he thought Felicity had on Oliver.

She only flusters because she’s hesitant to be around her soulmate. Probably one of the reasons she’s joining Oliver’s crusade part time.

“I’ll help you rescue Walter, but that’s it,” Felicity says. She catches Diggle’s eye for a second and falters. He can tell she struggles with keeping her soulmate in the dark. But she recovers quickly. “Then I want to go back to my boring life of being an IT girl.”

Away from her soulmate, Diggle assumes she says in her head. Her eyes flicker to Diggle again, but continues to say, “That’s my offer.”

Felicity stands there, nervous but still confident, waiting for Oliver’s response. Diggle can’t help but admire her for that.

Quietly, with a nod, Oliver agrees, “Okay.”

Again, Felicity looks like she’s struggling to say something, but Diggle sees the moment she pushes the urge to say it down. Then she rambles on about needing to use the bathroom.

This girl really is something else, Diggle decides. He’s about to go clean up all the medical supplies when Oliver stops Felicity before she heads upstairs to the restroom. Holding out his head, Oliver waits for Felicity to take it.

She hesitates, but she does. For that moment, as Oliver gives her a sincere “Thank you,” Diggle can tell that the rest of the room disappears from them. For just a moment, the two of them seem completely entranced with one another.

But then, Felicity pulls her hand back, almost like it’s been burned. Nervously, she smiles at both of them before heading up the stairs, unconsciously rubbing the painful spot on her collarbone.

Diggle watches Oliver. He stares curiously at the hand he used to shake Felicity’s. Did his hand burn too? Then, the injured vigilante shakes his head and masks his curiosity.

Diggle turns back to Felicity on the stairs, then back to the idiotically oblivious man standing in front of him, wrapped in a blanket.

God, help him, Diggle prays. These two will probably be the death of him.

#olicity fic #arrow fic #my fic #soulmates au #things left unsaid #oliver queen #felicity smoak #otp: just in case

[anoldwound]

The Bitch of Living - Jacob/Edward [Twilight]

Title: The Bitch of Living Characters/Pairings: Jacob/Edward Rating: R Warnings: Sex stuff. Complete crack. Word Count: 1947 Spoiler Alert: Sort of for Eclipse, but it’s pretty safe, I think. Summary: It had been exactly four days, thirteen hours, forty-six minutes, and eighteen seconds since me and Jacob Black had been locked unceremoniously into this godforsaken room at the back of the house. Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I am just using them for my own nefarious purposes. A/N: For daintress. You can take this as slightly AU; it doesn’t really fit in with canon. Corn on the cob is not the wisest thing to eat while trapped in a padded room with your worst enemy. Because, for one, when you got the little bits of corn stuck in between your teeth, said enemy would point and laugh in your face, waving his own corn in front of your nose and advising you to floss. Enemy would then retract this statement, postulating that corn might be a bit difficult to get out of fangs, but that you should attempt to do so anyway. Complete and utter insanity was imminent. It had been exactly four days, thirteen hours, forty-six minutes, and eighteen seconds since me and Jacob Black had been locked unceremoniously into this godforsaken room at the back of the house. It was the price we had to pay for brawling out in public - it had been an unnecessary risk, and I should not have lost my temper, but the wolf seemed to have secret knowledge of which buttons of mine to push, and how hard to push them. Coupled with his deep-seated hatred for me and my kind, his ruthless mischievousness, and his unrelenting desire to drive me up the wall…well, it was a recipe for disaster, in short. And also, apparently, for taunts about how I choose to eat my vegetables. “Why are you eating your corn in a circle? Why don’t you eat it in a line like a normal person?” He paused. “Oh, wait. Never mind.” I glared at him, strongly tempted to throw my corn at his head (wouldn't have been much of a loss - I was only eating it in the first place because I was so intensely bored), but I managed to restrain myself and simply replied, “I could say the same for you. I fail to see why you are choosing to slobber all over yourself and spit out random bits of corn all over the place. You’re the slobbiest person I’ve ever met…and that is really saying something.” “Whatever. Is that blood-sucker ever going to let us out of here?” He stood up and looked out of the small window at the dark sky. “Two more minutes trapped in this place with you and I might go totally batshit crazy.” “Carlisle says he’s not going to let us out until we learn to respect each other.” Which most likely meant that we would be spending the entirety of our existences in this room. Knowing us, this would be an extremely long amount of time. “I can’t believe he gave us corn, too,” he went on, tossing his bare cob to the side and licking his lips. “How stereotypical can you get, anyway? Just because I’m a native…” “I’m…pretty sure that’s not what he had in mind, pup.” He glared at me. “Don’t call me pup, blood-sucker.” “Don’t call me blood-sucker, Jacob.” He huffed and crossed his arms, then turned in his seat to face the opposite wall. I sighed. He operated on such a short fuse. It was a wonder he hadn’t exploded like a nuclear bomb yet. “You’re not reading my thoughts, are you?” the wolf suddenly asked, flicking his head slightly. “No.” Of course, now I had to. I immediately regretted it. I was hit by an onslaught of highly erotic, grossly perverted, extremely graphic images of him and Bella doing certain things that made me want to pull my brain out through my nostrils and claw my eyes out of their sockets. Dammit, he was doing this on purpose. “Would you cut it out?!” I snarled, curling my hands into fists and glaring at the back of his head. “You said you weren’t reading my thoughts!” He did not sound terribly upset, however. “That was your fault. You deliberately baited me.” The urge to kill him was growing stronger by the second. He just sniffed and pulled his knees up to his chest. I leaned back against the wall, rubbing my forehead. At least the mental images had stopped now. I would not be venturing into that twisted mind of his again any time soon. “So,” he said abruptly, “did all of that…like, did it disgust you?” “All of what?” “You know. What I just thought.” “Of course it did! I don’t want to think about her doing - that - with you.” “What about you, though?” He turned around in his seat and looked up at me. “What if it was you and her…would that disgust you?” I stared at him. “What are you, some sort of imbecile?” “Maybe. Just answer the question.” “No, it wouldn’t. I would rather enjoy it, to be honest.” “But you can’t,” he said softly. “You can’t do that with her, no matter how times you imagine it…but I could, easily.” I snorted, even though his words had stung a bit. “As if she ever would.” “It’s not a question of whether she would. It’s whether we could. And we could. You can’t.” I scowled at him. “Are you trying to get me to murder you?” He bit his lip. “No.” “Then what are you trying to do?” He furrowed his brows, as if concentrating particularly hard - “…You want to do WHAT?!?!” I backed as far away from him as I could, my eyes wide. “Think about it,” he said. “It makes sense.” “I don’t know in what insane world that that makes sense, but I can assure you that it does not make any amount of sense on the planet Earth.” My stomach was sinking faster and faster as that wolf kept throwing those goddamn images at me. He stood up and casually put his hands in his pockets. It was disconcerting, him being cool and collected and me being the one out of control. “Think about it seriously for a minute. We’re both after the same girl. Neither of us is gonna have sex with her - it’s impossible for you and she won’t do it with me because she wants you.” His face twisted slightly when he said that. “So, we’re two sexually frustrated guys trapped in a room together. I mean…what else is there to do?” I sputtered incoherently. “This is just - I mean, of all the things - I can’t even - what’s wrong with you?!” “What? Are you some kinda homophobe or something?” “No! But…I’m not gay!” “Neither am I.” He stepped closer, and I moved even further away. “You haven’t thought about it?” “What - no! I mean…” Well, they had just been fleeting, stray thoughts, they didn’t mean anything… “It must be great to be able to read minds,” he said, sounding a little frustrated. “Not really.” Not anymore, anyway. “Would you at least give it a try?” he asked. “I mean, this sort of thing is supposed to happen all of the time. Don’t you read fanfiction?” “What the hell is fanfiction?” He was still projecting these images at me, but at this point, they had become somewhat…arousing. He looked down and smirked. “You’re getting hard.” “I am not.” I looked down also, just to check. Ah…apparently I was. This wasn’t good. I was literally and figuratively backed into a corner at this point, so all the wolf had to do was suddenly launch himself at me and slam his lips against mine. It… Well, it wasn’t half-bad. Rather…rather pleasing, actually. He thrust his tongue inside my mouth, and I moaned involuntarily. Very involuntarily. I had to hand it to him, though; he knew what he was doing. I thought about Bella as I kissed him. In my mind, it was Bella I was kissing, not him. Or at least on some level it was. On another level - an entirely disturbing level - it was the wolf I was kissing. Jacob. Jacob Black. No amount of therapy was ever going to make this moment okay. Somehow we had ended up on the floor, hands everywhere, groaning, chests heaving up and down, bodies hot and flush against each other. I was indescribably turned-on at this point, and judging from the bulge I felt pressed up against my groin, the feeling was mutual. His long fingers dug into my hair, and he murmured something incomprehensible; I paid no attention to this, however, and instead leaned near his ear and softly whispered: “Are you going to fuck me three ways to Sunday or not, pup?” He let out a strange, strangled noise, then flipped me over and pinned me on my back. He leaned in now and whispered, his breath hot on my ear, “I fucking love it when you call me that.” Huh. Could’ve fooled me. He started to massage my erection through my pants; I shuddered and bit my lip to keep from crying out his name. All thoughts of Bella had been totally wiped from my mind, and all I could concentrate on was him, and him un-zipping my pants, and pulling down my boxers, and stroking. “Oh, God…” I was moaning entirely too much, this just felt way too good, the pleasure was almost more than I could stand and then his mouth was on me and all cognitive functions ceased to exist. I gripped onto his head just to keep some sense of reality as his tongue swirled in just the right places, somehow, and my face screwed up and the moaning had reached new heights. He was moaning too, I could feel it thrumming against me, and that just made everything worse. Or better, depending on your perspective of things. “I…I don’t think this is what Carlisle meant when he said to learn to respect each other,” I managed to gasp out. “Shut up,” he growled, and did something…odd, but nevertheless extraordinarily effective. I cried out one last time and came into his mouth, shaking and panting. He pulled away and spat onto the floor, then rolled next to me. He was panting as well. “So,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “Were you thinking about Bella?” “I was at the beginning,” I admitted, “but not towards the end.” “Neither was I.” I looked over at him. “We’re rather bad people, you realize.” “No. You’re not a bad person. Because, you know. You’re not a person.” I rolled my eyes. “Wow. That’s really turning me on, Jacob. I think I could take you right now.” “So why don’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He was about to take off his pants when suddenly the door swung open. Jacob and I stared at up at Carlisle in horrified shock as he looked at us, eyebrow raised. “Might want to pull your pants up, Edward,” he said dryly. I did, hastily. Jacob was blushing furiously, and I’m pretty sure that I would have been also, were I able. “Listen, Carlisle, it’s not what it looks - ” I started, but he raised a hand to silence me. “Edward. I don’t want to know. I really don’t want to know. Just… you two get yourselves together and get out of here.” He turned on his heel and left, shaking his head. We scrambled up from the floor, dusting ourselves off. “So…” I said. “Yeah.” “This…this never happened, right?” I asked cautiously, looking carefully at his face. “No. Of course it didn’t.” He didn’t look upset, and I did a quick probe (if you’ll pardon the pun) into his thoughts; no, he wasn’t upset. He was relieved, actually. “Well, good. That’s settled.” I would’ve shaken his hand, but that would’ve been odd after what had just happened. Or hadn’t happened. “I still hate you, you know,” he said. “I hate you also, of course.” “Glad that’s clear.” And he strode out of the room, hands in his pockets again. Well. This was just another item on the list of things to never tell Bella. Ever.

#fandom: twilight #ship: jacob/edward