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hotmentransformed · 1 year

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Science Can Be Cool

There was no denying it. Professor Johnson was an extremely attractive man. After graduating with his master's degree, he came directly to your school to teach chemistry. While you despised science, you loved to watch your 26-year-old teacher. His shirt was always tight around his chest and biceps and his pants always fit him just right, showing off his ass and a sizable bulge. Whenever he was teaching about titration or the periodic table or whatever, you were never looking at the whiteboard, you were always looking at him.

He was everything you wanted to be in life: smart, attractive, and charismatic. All of the girls (and some of the boys, you included) in your class had a massive crush on him. And who wouldn’t? He was incredible. You wished you could be like him.

It was Friday afternoon and Professor Johnson’s class was your last of the day. You had spent the rest of the day just anticipating another wonderful day of staring at this beautiful man, daydreaming about what he looked like under those tight clothes. After another pleasurable class of ogling and admiration, Professor Johnson explained and assigned a new project due Monday. Everyone in the class had to make an “aqueous solution” and bring it in to present on Monday. Although you spent most of the time staring at his big ass and arms, Professor Johnson was a good teacher, and you had learned that basically, he just wanted you to dissolve something and bring it in. Easy enough!

As you left school, you decided to get the project over with and took a slightly different route to get home, taking you past some of the shops on Main Street. You thought about maybe getting some sugar to dissolve, but that would be too easy and everyone would do it. Maybe you could get some artificial sweetener like Splenda or Equal and talk about how it dissolved differently than regular sugar. That would be creative! Maybe Professor Johnson would think you were smart. Your body shuddered at the thought of him patting you on the back and saying “Good job.”

Splenda it is. Walking down the street, looking at the stores, you paused. There was a sign you didn’t recognize. Aunt Sally’s Mystical Emporium. Glancing at your watch, you saw that you had plenty of time before dinner, so you decided to take a step in. Maybe there was something interesting here you could use for the project. As you opened the door, you heard the chime of the bell above to alert the attendant of your arrival. Glancing around, you saw aisles and aisles of shelves adorned with random objects, bottles, and clothes. Following the velvet carpet, you found the counter, where the woman behind was already staring at you. She was old, probably in her late 80s. She had this strange grin on her face, exposing her yellowed teeth.

“What can I help you with?” She croaked.

Taken aback slightly at the harshness of her voice, you explained.

“I need something to dissolve in water for a school project. Something really cool.”

Her grin widened, exposing more of her yellow teeth. Without saying a word, she lifted her gaunt hand and motioned for you to follow her. Stepping from behind the counter, she began to move at an alarming pace for a woman her age through the maze of aisles and shelves. Struggling to keep up, you found yourself breaking into a sprint. She stayed composed though. How was she moving so goddamn fast?

Suddenly she stopped. You nearly tripped over yourself trying to stop in time to not trample her. You panted, trying to catch your breath as she slowly reached onto one of the shelves, pulling off a small clear vial of white powder. Holding it out to you, she said “This is magic. It will grant your deepest wish.”

Oh, so she was insane.

Before you could even open your mouth to say you weren’t interested in some fake powder, the old woman interjected. “I can sense you have a wish in your heart, so for you, it is free.” Her face contorted into that awful grin again. So uncomfortable around this strange woman, you mumbled a thanks, grabbed the vial, and made your way rapidly toward the exit. You felt her gaze follow you until you had pushed open the door, the bell once again chiming, and turned the corner.

Finally, out of sight of the woman, you had a chance to breathe. What the hell was that?! This weird woman gave you some fake powder for free? Overwhelmed, you decided to head home for the night. You would deal with the project later. Once you arrived home, you put the weird vial on your nightstand, took a shower, ate dinner, played some video games, and went to bed. The rest of the weekend, you played some more video games, ate some more, and slept. It was a very relaxing weekend, all things considered.

When you woke up on Monday morning to get ready for school, you had barely put your pants on before you realized that you had forgotten all about the project. Professor Johnson was going to be so angry at you. You couldn't disappoint him. The thought of him shaking his head at you, or god forbid yelling at you... no. You had to figure something out. Scrambling around your room to find something to dissolve in your water bottle, you rediscovered the weird white powder. It was all you had, and honestly, it had a story behind it. Biting the bullet, you headed to the bathroom to fill your water bottle. Pouring the white powder into your bottle, you closed the lid and shook it aggressively, trying to get the powder to dissolve more quickly. As you opened the lid and looked inside, you were astounded. It was clear! The powder dissolved! As you lifted the bottle closer to your face to inspect further, your nose was enraptured by a strange, sweet smell. It was like caramel and flowers and cotton candy and every single fruit all at once. It smelled so good. This powder was incredible. You thought for a moment: maybe it tasted as good as it smelled. You lifted the bottle to your lips, and as soon as the liquid entered your mouth, your chest was filled with a raging pain.

Oh my god, the old crazy woman had poisoned you. Dropping the bottle into the still-running sink, you panicked. Your throat tightened and you couldn’t scream for help. You grabbed your phone, trying to call 911, but your vision blurred. Stumbling blindly, you slipped backward on the mat and landed flat on your back, your phone still in hand, knocking the wind out of you. In shock and still panicking, the pain abated, but the blurriness remained. Taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself, you slowly lifted yourself off of the ground, clutching your phone, still ready to call 911 for help. You reached around on the counter and finally found a pair of glasses you assumed were your dad’s. Placing them on your face, you were astounded.

In the mirror, looking back at you, was Professor Johnson. The firm pecs, the bulging biceps, the washboard abs. All of it. He was right in front of you. Fuck, he was even hotter underneath those clothes. No longer were you scared, you were aroused. You had wished to become your hot professor, and here you were! Taking out your phone, you took your first (of many) hot selfies in his hot body.

As you took this picture, you saw your dick swelling up in your pants, which stretched with your new thick legs in them. You were always curious about what Professor Johnson was packing. Heading back into your room, you went to your mirror, slowly lowered your pants, and tossed them to the side, exposing your underwear which strained at the pressure coming from within.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you admired every crevice of your new body. Your feet had grown several sizes pushing your socks to their limit. Your calves had grown and stretched the socks even more. Your thighs were monstrous, covered in veins and leading up to your monstrous dick, which was barely confined within your underwear. Your ass had grown massive and muscular, with the backside of your underpants riding up between your cheeks. Your arms had become enormous: your hands were meaty, your forearms had become covered in thick veins, and your biceps swelled like mountains, barely covering the forest of armpit hair you now had. Your stomach was covered by a thick set of washboard abs, leading up to your pecs which jutted forward from your body like a shelf. You matched your own gaze. Your face was a replica of Professor Johnson’s. You had his manly facial hair and sharp features. You had gotten everything you wished for. You snapped another picture. You were going to love your new body.

Dressing in your loosest clothing, as you now needed a whole new wardrobe, you grabbed your water bottle and left your house, and began the walk to school, ready to show Professor Johnson your aqueous solution and explain how much you loved chemistry.

#male tf #male transformation #muscle transformation #muscle tf #tf #transformation #gay transformation #transform

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pinkmoondoll9shihtzu · 6 months

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wild dream. Sorry its long: there was this tall wirey gaunt looking old man who was a gemini and he was obsessively in love with me. He was poor he lived in a big white van like a moving truck type vehicle. And He wanted to give me money. so he pretended to lose control of his truck while driving down a narrow street & plowed thru crowds of people, eventually crashing into this taco truck that belonged to his friend. i was in the back of the mans truck while this was happening but somehow escaped just b4 the crash. the two trucks were burning as everyone gathered around to watch. The man ran to me looking frantic & hurried me into a nearby pub to hide me. in the pub were random famous ppl drinking .. at this point the man explained to me he and his friend had come up with the plan to crash their trucks on purpose so they cld get insurance payouts and he cld give me thousands of dollars from it. i felt uncomfortable and afraid as i didnt ask for any money in the first place and dont want to b responsible for this money he attained fraudulently.

i felt he was treating me as an accesory to his crime in order to trap me and i got so anxious i literally had to shit LOL. BUT the only fucking toilet in the establishment was just in the middle of the bar with no stalls so i had to shit in front of everyone. And in a way i was fine w this as i knew all the others drinking there regualrly wld have had to do the same at some point. no one paid attention. Once i was done my friend Mel (who's also a gemini irl) came into the bar because she worked there, she was wearing a cute outfit with bright colors and butterfuly clips in her hair. Oh i forgot to mention for this dream i was also wearing a very over the top cutesy outfit like an 80s/90s idol creamy mami huge poofy skirt and ribbons. Mel took me into the back room to help me hide. we talked for a while and she affirmed i need to stay away from that man. last thing i remember her saying "No more breaking the law for you!" and i woke up from noises in the house. Weird ass complicated dream.

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olivyh · 1 year

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HIIIII LIV im back !! finals season kicked my ass but i was finally able to binge ur recent stuff ??? adore adore adore omg

RUGGIE MY BELOVED i love the way u write him i cant get enough !!

may i request octavinelle, savanaclaw, and scarabia SFW body hcs??? i feel like youd have cool insight on it

like their general build, any scars or stretch marks (azul :0) and maybe for the octavinelle boys something that indicates they’re not quite human (maybe scars that look like gills in their human form ? go crazy man)

tysm in advance !! also u saw that u liked colors so mwahaha have some colors

A/N: Welcome back!!!! I hope finals went well!!! 💕💕💕 this took a little longer because everytime I thought I was finished I came up with something different to add!!!! Also tysm for the colors!! they make my little heart so happy 💕💕💖💗💓💖💕<<333

Savanaclaw:

For all of Savanaclaw, I’m going with my other hc’s about their legs looking more animalistic like a satyrs almost; with Leona’s lower half being a lion’s hind legs, Ruggies being a hyena’s hind legs, etc etc. Also the idea that beastmen are naturally hairier than humans because,,, theyre beastmen,,,

Leona:

-I think he would be fairly muscular, but he wouldn’t be considered to be buff either. It’s enough to look at him and see that he works out with enough definition to show his strength

-He definitely has more tattoos all over his body! I feel like he would be the kind of person to have it to the extent where you don’t see it when he’s wearing a t-shirt, but he takes it off and his entire chest/back is covered in tats

-Also likes piercings, but gets too lazy to take care of them properly so he wears them for a week or two and takes them out

-Maybe one on his ears, but I hc that beastman ears are very sensitive so it would be very painful for them

-Would like a nose piercing, but doesn’t want to go through the effort

-Does have an eyebrow piercing that he adores

-His face would be somewhat gaunt I think. Not enough to be concerning, but enough to highlight his already sharp features

-Leona would have lots of other scars from different fights, but I feel like the larger ones would be on his arms and one across his chest

-Theres also three very faint scars along his neck from when Cheka accidentally scratched him one time

-I think his left eye would be a little duller with the pupil kind of spilling out into the colored part, since I think his eye would have suffered some sort of damage from his large scar. It’s also a lazy eye

-I also hc that he has a little bump on the back of his neck because he slouches a lot, and doesn’t have the energy to correct his posture enough to get rid of it

-His bones crack a lot,,, like,,, old man standing from a chair thats too low kind of crack

-Will also do the thing where he asks you to walk on his back. Do it for him please he hasn’t been able to crack his back in so long and its so uncomfy for him

-Has dry skin bc of his unique magic like,,, all over,,, his hands, his feet, his knees, his elbows,,,,, he also found a patch of dry skin on his stomach somehow?????

-I think his hair, in contrast to canon, would be much curlier!! Like 4a-4b kind of hair. I don’t think the hair on his legs (again, not human legs, animal legs) would be similar, but they would be more like a lion’s fur where its very soft and sleek

-Same goes for his tail and ears

Ruggie:

-He’s very tall and scrawny but… in the malnourished kind of way. He’s very gaunt, and you could see the way his skin shifts over his bones when he moves. Since coming to Nrc he has gained some weight and he has built a little bit of muscle so it’s not as bad as it was before, but you could still see the effects of his background :(

-This is the reason why his hands look a lot larger than his arms

-Along with them being larger, they’re also heavily calloused and scarred

-I also think that he doesn’t bite his nails, but he bites at the skin around his nails so his nail beds are pretty scarred from that

-I think he would have the most scars out of all of the Savanaclaw trio because he would likely get hurt in the scraps he got into growing up, with most of them being along his arms and legs.

-He also didn’t get proper care for his injuries so they scarred over worse

-I think he would also have a bit taken out of one of his ears from a bad scrap that he got into as a kid

-He also has long, crack-like scars up his right arm and across his chest, which go up along his neck from Leona’s overblot.

-I think he would be a lot more tanned than he is in canon, since most of his work would be done outside

-He gets insanely funny tan lines which take forever to go away. Use that to your advantage

-Also freckles all over!! Everywhere!!! His chest, his back, his shoulders, his face!!! Every!!!Where!!!!

-Wants piercings so badly like, lays awake at night thinking about all the different places he could put them

-He wants lots of ear piercings the most, as well as a tongue piercing

-Would also not be opposed to a belly button piercing

-I feel like his hair would be very rough and, like leona, would be curlier than it is in canon! Like 3a type hair! It would be very brittle, though, due to the lack of nutrition

-Same with the hair on his legs and tail. It would be kind of patchy

-He also has a bump on the back of his neck due to slouching, but a big part of it is also just normal hyena anatomy

-His teeth are actually larger and sharper than Leona and Jack’s due to his ability to bite through bone

-Slightly crooked teeth also because they’re so cute :))

-Kind of on topic but also not: He literally has the brightest smile out of anyone in the cast like,,, his genuine smile rivals Kalim’s most days

-His eyes crinkle a lot when he smiles :)

Jack:

-Jack would have very much a triangle shaped body, with really broad shoulders that sort of,,, narrow down

-I also think that he still has a little bit of baby fat, so his muscles aren’t very clearly defined (or, not as defined as an adult who works out a lot would be)

-Yes I am a proud advocate for smushy face Jack

-His face is so squishy please just one chance

-His body is also a little squishy but not as much because he works out

-He also has stretch marks along his stomach and biceps because I think he had a huge growth spurt

-Hugging arms!!!! Big warm hugging arms!!! And a broad chest to match for better hugs!!!!!!!!!

-He also has dry skin but mostly during the winter (I live in a colder place and my skin has been dry nonstop since October send help pls). He carries around a lot of lotion because of this (and is more than willing to share with anyone who needs some)(No its not the scented kind sadly)

-He gets really bad eczema along the sides of his face and the backs of his hands, and it scars up sometimes

-Doesn’t have many scars besides that, probably only a few on his arms from scraps with his siblings

-He was likely pampered a bit as a kid, so his scars are only really on his elbows from when he would fall and climb trees

-His hands are very calloused, though! Aside from the normal padding on beastman palms, like Ruggie, his hands are rougher from working out

-Literally the thickest hair in the world

-Its also very soft (no he will not let you touch it)

-One piercing on the side of his nose, maybe a septum tbh. Hes not a fan of them

-Definitely wants a tattoo, cannot commit to a design. Would definitely get something for his family as a tribute, then maybe something cool. Would get inspiration from Leona’s tattoo, except make it a wolf

-Very round face

-Big fangs!! Not as big as Ruggies, but big enough to jut out a little bit when he closes his mouth and when he smiles

Octavinelle:

Azul:

-I think he still has baby fat, and he has a little bit of chub around his stomach/thighs!

-His face has slimmed down since he was a child, but it’s still very round naturally

-Also has cheeks that you would never guess are squishy, but they are

-He has a lot of stretch marks, specifically the insides/backs of his thighs, the backs of his calves, and around his arms and the sides of his belly

-Pear shaped body!!

-Not many scars though! This is because I think he wouldve been very protected by his mother at home (although the same may not have applied outside the house,,) and she was sure to keep him put of harms way (mommas boy <<33)

-In his human form, he has large, discolored circles on his legs (normally a few shades darker/pinker than his skin tone) as a shadow of the suckers on his tentacles

-Has little scars and red patches on his hands from when he bites his nails and gets hangnails

-He does have scars/birthmarks that resemble his gills along his ribs/neck

-He has lots of little moles around the rest of his body, and a lot of them tend to congregate on his chest/shoulders. Also lots of faint freckles on his shoulders!

-In his merform, I feel like a lot of the above headcannons would apply!

-No bones in merform, just like real octopi (except maybe,,, a skull??? maybe his ribs arent set like humans and are sort of more like cartilage???)

-His hair is very soft, and splits into thick sections in his merform (think of the movie Luca and how their hair looks)

-I was thinking about this a lot since I watched the new avatar movie,,, and I thought it would be neat if the entire octatrio had a wider ribcage like the water people!! (The character design in that movie was flawless,,, the signs of different evolution were really interesting!!)

-I also feel like his ears would resemble a cuddlefish’s in his merform!!

-Horizontal, rectangular pupils!!!

Jade & Floyd:

-Very similar body since know,,, twins,,, but I feel like Floyd’s muscle would be more built due to his activity, and Jade’s muscles are more slim

-Both have a reverse triangle shaped body; wider on the top and gets narrower once it gets to their legs

-Both have stretch marks on their thighs

-There’s also multiple bite marks/Scars along both of their bodies from when they would get into arguments as children and bite each other,,, (The marks Floyd left tend to be scattered all over and there are more of them, but Jades are a low fewer and a lot deeper so they scarred more on Floyd)

-The skin in between their fingers would be a lot longer and, while it would restrict movement, it resembles the webbing on their hand, which wouldn’t be as long as their webbing, but just enough to be able to tell their species

-Floyd has scars on his lips from when he bites them as a nervous habit

-Jade has scars along the tips of his thumbs from when he bites them

-For their ears, I feel like they would jut out a little bit so they resemble fins! They’re not very prominent, but they’re lightly ridged

-Same as Azul with the scars where their gills would be, and dark spots where their marks are on their face/legs/torso

-Very long in general; not long enough to be lanky, but just very,,, long

-Its canon that they have insanely long legs, and I think that makes a lot of sense! I also feel like they would have a long line on the insides of their legs from where their tails split into two

-Yes they do have the small inside-mouth thingy thats in a not of fanart, yes it’s in both forms

-Freckles!!! On them both!!! Mostly Floyd, though, since he spends more time in the sun

-Floyd is also slightly more tanned than Jade for the same reason

-No baby fat on their faces :(( they’re slim boys

-They both have dark circles that they can’t get rid of, and their eyes are a little sunken in

-Broad noses, like, you know how you see someones profile and it’s a very prominent nose bump towards the middle?? Exactly like that!!!

-Thin lips

-Theyre just very sharp in general and not very squishy

Scarabia:

Kalim:

-I might have mentioned it before, but I think Kalim would be a little pudgy! He does dance a lot, so he might have some built up muscle underneath. For the most part, though, I feel like he would be very soft (Soft arms, soft belly, etc etc). It suits his personality (and also acts as a contrast to Ruggie’s own build because I feel like the juxtaposition of the two are mentioned a lot in canon)

-Stretch marks along his stomach, arms, and thighs

-I feel like his tattoos/henna would be all over his body and not just on his arms. Like,,, over his chest, back, some one his legs and maybe a bit on his wrists! I think he would like to look as decorated as possible because he would see his body like a canvas to fill with fun things :))

-Honestly,,, I feel like he would want more ear piercings, but none anywhere else! He would think it would look cool, but he would get a little scared seeing it happen

-He has a few scars from when he was growing up, including scars on his wrists from kidnappings, and a few along his back

-He also gets bad acne which he tries to fight off, but it’s genetic so he has a difficult time finding products that hold it at bay (though, he’s rich, so affording skincare isn’t hard)

-Because of this, he has a few dark spots around his mouth, on his cheeks, and on his forehead

-Some scarring from that but, along with the tattoo idea, he sees it as a way of decorating his body!!!

-Hes vv body positive so the scars and such dont really get to him

-Very small, round hands that are always decorated with rings

-I also think that his nails are really well taken care of!!

-He has a very round face! Not as round as Azul’s, but it’s still enough for a little squish

-Plump lips!

Jamil:

-Very lean; not quite lanky because he does have some muscle but not built enough like Jack

-Beanpole shaped; Maybe as he gets older it turns into a reverse triangle shape

-His muscle is a little bit more defined in his torso and arms than anything, though

-So toned. Hes toned

-Very narrow face, with high cheekbones and eyebrows!!

-Also has a long face and a sharp jawline

-I think he would have a lot of piercings!! He would have a cartilage piercing or two, snake bites, and maybe even a tongue piercing?? I also feel like an eyebrow piercing would suit him!

-I think he maybe gave himself a small stick n’ poke when he was younger as an act of rebellion, but it’s mostly healed over/faded so you can only see a few lines and dots from where it was on his wrist

-Wants more tattoos, cannot decide what to get

-Lots of scars on his knees from when he would scrape them as a kid

-Sharp teeth; not because he’s not human, but because he thought it would look cool when he was younger and is stuck with the consequences of his actions

-Thin and long hands that have a lot of scars on them

-A lot of callouses and rough skin on his hands too; from cooking, writing, dancing, etc

-Same goes for his feet

-He has deep dark circles under his eyes that he also can’t get rid of

-Another one who has dry skin! It’s mostly on his cheeks, but he struggles the most to get it off the back of his hands, elbows, and knees

-Long legs!! It’s enough to make finding pants a little bit harder for him

-The kind of guy that has really long, thick eyelashes without trying (and it makes Najma so mad everytime she sees it)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcannons #twst headcannons #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper #scarabia #octavinelle #savanaclaw

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fanartandfanfiction · 8 months

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Since Ominis was the winner of the poll, here’s the first chapter of my new story, “Starting Over.”

It’s about a 28 year old Ominis who has cut off his family and he’s trying to make it on his own. He meets a girl named Guinevere starting her life over as well. They quickly form a friendship, but will it turn into something more? I write romance, so you know it will 😝

Starting Over

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Ominis loathed Hogsmeade, especially the three broomsticks. Being blind, crowds were incredibly overwhelming, yet here he was, perched on a bar stool for one person and one person only.

Guinevere Devonshire.

-previously-

“Lighten up, it’s my birthday!” Sebastian chided Ominis.

“OUR birthday.” Anne corrected him.

“Wouldn’t you rather celebrate it somewhere that wasn’t sticky with the remnants of spilled butterbeer?” He rubbed his sticky fingers together in disgust.

“I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet with your expectations, your highness.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. He was crammed into a booth with Sebastian, Anne, Garreth, and Imelda.

“Welcome to the three broomsticks, what can I get for you?” A voice said from beside the table.

“Where’s Sirona?” Sebastian asked.

“Working the counter, and if one more person makes a snarky comment about her not serving them, I’m pouring a tray of butterbeers on their head.”

“Of course they’d ask for Sirona, what with your sunshiney disposition.” Ominis glared.

“If you’ve got a problem with my disposition, haul your ass up to the counter and get it yourself.”

Ominis was shocked at the audacity of this woman!

“How dare you speak to me that way!”

“Apologies, your royal highness. Would his majesty like a butterbeer?”

The rest of the table laughed while Ominis fumed. “Your attitude is completely unacceptable!”

The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away.

“Way to go, Ominis.” Sebastian grumbled. “Go apologize so she won’t spit in our drinks.”

“Why should I apologize for her behavior?!”

“Go on, go!” Anne urged him.

Ominis sighed and slid out of the booth, navigating through the busy bar. He reached the front counter and waited.

“Ominis! Good to see you. Need something?” Sirona asked.

“To speak to your new waitress, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Don’t mind Gwen, she’s a bit rough around the edges. She’s been through a lot.” Sirona waved at the waitress.

“What?” She asked as she approached Ominis.

“I wanted to apologize for my rudeness. I was already in a foul mood and it was unfair of me to take it out on you.”

“Well, that makes two of us then. Sorry. I just moved here, the landlord just told me my apartment won’t be ready for another two weeks, I’ve had four people hit on me and spilled two trays of drinks on myself.” She sighed. “But you didn’t ask for my life’s story. I’ll be back to wait on you guys in a moment.”

“I’m Ominis, by the way. Ominis Gaunt.” He extended his hand.

“Guinevere Devonshire.”

“Guinevere. That’s a lovely name.”

“That’s an old woman’s name, so you can call me Gwen.” She smiled at him.

“A pleasure.”

“WAITRESS!” A drunken voice shouted.

“Ugh. If that guy smacks my ass again, they’ll be hauling me off to Azkaban.”

“He touched you inappropriately?”

“It’s fine.

“It’s not.”

“WAITRESS!”

“I’M COMING!” She huffed and went to the table. Ominis knew he shouldn’t, but he followed her.

“If you’d move your ass as fast as you can move your mouth, I’d have a refill already.”

“What can I get you, sir?” Gwen was gritting her teeth.

“You can start with a smile, love. You’re much prettier when you smile. Then bring me another beer.” Ominis heard the slapping sound as he hit Gwen’s behind. Ominis moved forward to help, but it wasn’t needed.

He heard the man let out a squeal of pain as Gwen punched him in the face. She grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him up. “Don’t you EVER touch me or any other woman like that again, you drunken waste of oxygen! Next time you’ll be carrying your balls home in a to-go bag, understand me?!”

“GWEN! Take a break!” Sirona shouted. Gwen let the man go and headed out the back door.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he followed her. She let out a small scream of frustration, then turned around and saw him. “What?!”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. Go back with your friends and give me a few minutes, I’ll be a less shitty waitress.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her apron pocket.

“You handled that man better than I would have.”

“Hopefully I won’t lose my job. Sirona is a friend, but if I start punching her customers, I don’t think she’ll look the other way. You smoke?”

“No, thank you.” He leaned against the wall beside her. “So you just moved here?”

“Yep. From London. Newly divorced, the bastard robbed me blind and now I’m starting over.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He was the one cheating on me, yet somehow his slimy lawyer still got him the better end of the deal.”

“That’s terribly unfair.”

“Well, life is terribly unfair.” She blew a puff of smoke. “I’m sorry. I’m just holding onto my sanity by a thread right now.”

“I’ve been there myself.” He gave her a small smile. “It gets better.”

“Luckily Sirona is letting me stay upstairs since my apartment isn’t ready. It just all went wrong so quickly. We’d been married five years, three of which he was apparently cheating on me with my former best friend. I found out, the next day I got papers, whole thing was over in four months.” She sunk to the ground. “I’m sorry. You’re a stranger. Please, go back to your friends.”

Ominis sunk down beside her. “I hate crowds and they were drunk before we got here, they probably don’t notice I’m gone. Besides, sometimes you just need someone to listen. What was his name?”

“Brian.”

“And how did you and Brian the idiot end up together?”

A small laugh escaped her, and it made him smile. “I actually owned a bar, Gunievere’s Beers, and he was one of my first patrons. He actually was the one that helped me get it running, I met him right after I’d bought the place. He helped me with the financial aspects since he was an accountant. Do you see the problem?”

“Well, hindsight and all that.”

“Exactly. So Brian the idiot was super supportive and we got married in a year, and he talked about how this was going to be our bar, our dream. Little did I know he was arranging everything to be in his name. God I was an idiot.” A small sniff escaped her. Ominis wanted to comfort her, but wasn’t sure how, so he just kind of patted her shoulder.

“Sounds like a con artist. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“He got the bar and pretty much everything. We were talking about having kids. I don’t know how this happened.” The tears were flowing freely now. “Now I’m 27 and starting everything over.”

“My situation differs slightly from yours, but I’m also starting over in a way. My family is awful, all blood purists and snobs. I finally got them to take my name off the family tree. I still go by the name Gaunt, but I’m cut off from them. I’m financially independent now and trying to figure out my place.”

“Wow.”

“And I’m 28, so I know firsthand how terrifying it is to start over. I couldn’t have gotten through it without my friends. So if you need a friend, text or call me sometime.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Just so you know, I’m not some easy score just because I’m vulnerable.”

“I apologize, that wasn’t my intention. I’m merely offering my friendship.”

“No, I’m sorry. I just thought it was a clumsy come-on, because that’s pretty much what I’ve gotten since I got here.”

“That would be a terrible come-on, giving you my business card. Far too formal.” He smiled softly.

She examined the card. “You work at Gladrags?”

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. What use is a blind man in a clothing store? My wand pretty much sees for me. And as an added bonus, when someone asks ‘how do I look?’ I can respond honestly and say ‘you look great to me.”

Gwen laughed again. “Thanks for the company. I should probably get back to work. Let me get you a butterbeer as a thank you. And I won’t punch you.”

They went back inside and Ominis returned to the table with his friends.

“Where have you been? We thought you left!” Anne asked.

“I was talking to Gwen, some guy touched her inappropriately and she punched him. She was upset and went outside, so I went with her.”

“Oooooh! Ominis was having a snog in the alley!” Garreth wiggled his eyebrows.

“It was nothing like that, we were just talking.”

“She’s really cute.” Sebastian said.

“Very.” Garreth replied, then saw Imelda’s glare.

“Go on, Gare, talk about how cute she is.” Imelda gave him a wicked smile.

“I’ve no idea what she looks like, of course. I assume she’s attractive, she mentioned being repeatedly hit on.”

“She’s got blue eyes and short blonde hair. It’s kind of messy, makes her look tough. She’s got a killer ass, she’s wearing tight jeans.”

“Must you act like a lech?” Anne rolled her eyes.

“Well, she’s much kinder than she appeared. She just moved here after a messy divorce.”

“That’s sad.” Imelda frowned.

“Very. But I gave her my card and said if she ever needed a friend, she could call me.”

“Sure, FRIEND.” Sebastian winked.

Gwen walked up to the table again. “Sorry about earlier. Anyone need any refills or anything?”

“Guys, this is Gwen. Gwen, this is my best friend Sebastian and his twin sister Anne, and that’s Garreth and Imelda.”

“Nice to meet you all.” Gwen smiled.

“So Gwen, Ominis says you’re new in town?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, I’ve been here a week.”

“Well if you’d ever like a private tour sometime, I’d be happy to oblige.” Sebastian gave her a flirty smile and Ominis smacked him.

“Forgive my friend, he’s an idiot.”

“I actually think we’re ready for our tab.” Anne smiled.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

“She is pretty cute, Omi.” Anne added.

“It doesn’t matter!”

They settled their tab and headed out the door and Ominis went to say goodbye to Gwen. She was unfortunately dealing with another handsy customer.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” An older drunken man was wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Is that a yes or no on the refill?” Gwen replied flatly.

“Bit of an attitude! I like a girl with a backbone.”

Ominis decided he had to step in. He approached the table, straightening his shoulders and adopting the snobby, powerful posture he’d been raised with.

“Excuse me, gentleman, but I don’t appreciate you harassing my girlfriend.”

He couldn’t see the confused look Gwen gave him, but he stepped closer to her.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t know she was spoken for.” The man said, quickly losing his bravado.

“Treat her with the utmost respect, or I assure you that you’ll never set foot in this establishment again.”

“Will do.” The man cowered under Ominis’ piercing stare. Despite being blind, he knew he looked intimidating.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Gwen grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side. “For future reference, I don’t need someone to save me.” She sighed and her expression softened. “But this time I appreciate it. Thank you, Ominis.”

“My pleasure. Goodnight, Guinevere.” He turned to go and she grabbed his arm again.

“Hang on, I’ve got to say goodbye to my boyfriend.” She stepped forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight.”

Ominis was walking on air the rest of the way home.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfic #hogwarts legacy modern au #ominis gaunt #ominis x oc #ominis gaunt fic #ominis gaunt fanfiction

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yvningshowers · 3 years

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......can you fucking IMAGINE. You fuck Izuku for the first time and you spend the night. And this man jolts awake in the dead of night talking 'bout some "ALL MIGHT!" .....bitch you just lost your v card and I am sleeping in this bed next to you and you're dreaming about All Might? ......How the fuck do I give you back your virginity. Where are my clothes. I'm leaving.

#I'd be so fucking MAD LMFAOOOO #like 😒 bitch really??????#nah cuz fuck you REALLY #BONUS points if your clothes are ripped to all hell #he's a good fuck he's just a piece of shit fanboy LMFAOOOOO #good luck dealing with his ass Uraraka #what's it like to know you come second to AN OLD ASS MAN. RETIRED OLD ASS GAUNT ON THE VERGE OF DEATH DAILY MAN #couldn't be me 😔#I'd fucking KILL all might for that shit #although that might give Izuku limp dick for like five years so idk maybe not #the grief..... he just can't get it up.#I love late night posting none of y'all see this dumbass shit LMFAO #THANK GOD

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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Home is Where You Are pt 3 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. CW: abusive relationships. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

The next time Rhys saw Feyre was at the wake.

Back in his apartment, Rhys tried to settle into his normal routine. But the idea of having Feyre back in his life was intoxicating, after having imagined it for so long. He tried to concentrate hard on his work in order to prevent him from texting her everyday. Especially because it turned out that in the city, the did not live far from each other at all.

A few days later, Rhys put on a black suit and went to Feyre and Tamlin's apartment. She looked so tired, with black circles under her lovely eyes and a slight tremor in her hands. The fluttery feeling he had had in anticipation of seeing her again was replaced by a solemn concern.

Feyre met him at the door. She smiled at him, and clasped his arms. Rhys searched her eyes, questioningly. "I'm okay," she said quietly. "Don't spend too long with just one person," Tamlin said to her. "Make sure to greet all the guests." Rhys rolled his eyes. "Do whatever the hell you want," he whispered, once Tamlin had walked away.

After the service, through which Nesta and Elain did very little and everything seemed to fall to Feyre, the people fanned out through the small apartment. Rhys found Feyre sitting in the walk-in pantry.

He had gone looking for a glass for get some water, and now shut the door behind him before sitting down next to her.

"Okay?" he asked. "Yeah. Just tired." Feyre leaned her head back against a shelf. "Have you eaten today?" "Not much appetite." "Do you want me to tell you stories about your dad?" Feyre smiled. "Yes." "Okay. I haven't told anyone this before, and it's a sort of heavy story. But did you know my dad used to keep a baseball bat by the door. Self-defence, he said, in case of home invaders.

"Well, this one time he was going off at me, you know, really laying into me. And your dad, every so often, when my old man was just shouting the whole house down, would knock on the front door at an opportune moment. Sometimes it would just break his rhythm, and that was enough to stop the screaming. And usually your dad would make up some excuse and then leave again.

"Anyway this particular time, my dad had the bat in his hands when your dad knocked. He opens the door, and spits what in your dad's face. I remember so clearly, your dad's going from my dad's face, to the bat, to me behind him. And then he says, 'You know I think there were some teenagers scrabbling around my porch last night. And I've been thinking I should get myself some protection.' And my dad says, 'that's the problem with you lot, you're soft and they know it.' 'well,' says your dad, 'I've got four women in the house and they suddenly feel unprotected. Do you think you could give me a hand?' and next thing I know, my dad's handing over the baseball bat. 'Hold onto this for now,' he says, 'then get yourself a decent rifle.' Then your dad left and he had to whack me with a newspaper roll instead.

"The point is, I'm pretty sure on more than one occasion your dad saved my ass. And I'll always be grateful."

Feyre stared at him. "I didn't know he used to go over there," she said. "Not sure I'd be here if he didn't," Rhys responded. "At least, I wouldn't be nearly this pretty." He grinned at her, and Feyre laughed. The sound of it released some of the tension in Rhys' stomach, and he leaned over and kissed Feyre on the cheek.

A few weeks later, Feyre came around to Rhys' neighbourhood. She had agreed to design something for a campaign Rhys was working on, and they decided to meet at his place to discuss the brief. Over the past fortnight, it had been the perfect excuse to be able to talk to her.

What are you making at the moment? he had texted her. Ugh, nothing, she replied. I've had no inspiration since my last show ended. Maybe you just need some better source material, Rhys wrote. You could always paint me, if you like. Har har, Feyre wrote back. Don't flirt with an almost married woman. Sorry, Rhys texted back. I do it with no hope or agenda. But seriously, if you like working toward things, my company is looking for an artist for an upcoming project, I could throw your name in if you'd like. I'm not in charge of who they pick but I think they'd love you. That would be amazing! Feyre said.

And then they had loved her, not surprising Rhys at all after years of following her on social media. So he picked up the brief and invited her over.

Rhys had torn around his place all evening, trying to get it to look the right balance of homely and inviting, and immaculate. Ridculous, he told himself, trying to impress an engaged woman. Still, even if she wasn't interested in him romantically, he still cared about her opinion.

Finally there was a knock at his door, and Rhys tried not to throw it open too enthusiastically. But when he saw her, the smile fell from his face.

"Feyre," he said. "I... come in." He stood aside, and Feyre smiled. She looked awful. The bags under her eyes that Rhys had attributed to her father's funeral were somehow worse, and she had definitely lost weight.

"Thanks," Feyre said. "How are you?" "I'm... good, how are you? Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine." "Okay, you look..." he trailed off. "Are you sure you're okay?" Feyre brushed him off with a laugh. "Yes mother hen, I'm good. So tell me about this project."

Rhys led her to the couch, and looked sidelong at her. If she didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to push her. "I was going to order some food first, what do you feel like for dinner?" he said. But Feyre shook her head. "Nothing for me. Tamlin has me on this cleanse, says it's good for stress." She pulled out a bottle of green-brown liquid and took a long drink. Rhys watched her, and held his tongue.

"Okay," he said. "Well I'm going to get some pizza and if you decide you're hungry you can have some." "Sure, whatever," Feyre said. "Now tell me about this project! I'm so excited, when they reached out to me they only gave me this really vague outline."

So they sat and talked about work, and even though her face was gaunt and her skin a little sallow, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about her ideas made Rhys' heart squeeze. If he could just make her a tiny bit happy, that'd be enough.

Over the next couple of months they exchanged texts and emails, mostly about work, but sometimes about life, too.

Nesta's a pain in my ass, she wrote once. Nesta's a pain in everyone's ass, Rhys replied. Hadn't seen the woman in a decade and when I asked her how she was at the funeral she said 'oh you're back' and then walked away.

Rhys I'm giving up on this project, I quit, she sent another time. Tamlin says what I've made won't resonate with the modern audience, but I don't have any other ideas and I can't bear to start again. We didn't pick Tamlin out of twenty applying artists, we picked you, Rhys wrote back. And personally, I fucking love it as it is. If you change it you're fired.

And then one day, The house sold. I can't believe it's really happening. Congratulations, Rhys said. That's great news. It went for more than I expected, Feyre said. Then, I guess I'll have to go back down and get all that stuff out before the new owners move in. Want company? Very much.

This time, Rhys drove. He picked Feyre up at her place, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel with effort not to comment on how she had lost even more weight, and her beautiful honey hair looked dull and lank around her face.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said as she climbed into the car. "How have you been?" "Just fine Rhys dear, and you?" "Good," Rhys said carefully. "That Tamlin treating you okay?" Feyre made a face. "He's pretty stressed out lately. He finds it difficult to work with new people, so I've been modelling for some of his advertising stuff. You know how it is, running your own business." "Sure..." Rhys said. "And... is there a certain... aesthetic they stick to?" Feyre frowned. "Of course, he's a personal trainer." "Okay..." "So are we going to drive or are you going to ask weird questions all day?" "Sorry ma'am, right away ma'am," Rhys said, flicking his sunglasses onto his face and pulling out of his driveway. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Feyre. She was slumped in her seat, and had started to chew on the nails of her left hand.

"Welcome to Archeron Airlines," Rhys said, in his best pilot voice. "My name is Rhys and I'l be your captain for the day, on behalf of us all here thank your for flying Archeron."

Feyre stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"It's a fine day for flying, the weather looks good and minimal turbulence is expected. We are cruising at an altitude of 0.75 feet, your expected fight time is four hours."

"It's six actually," Feyre corrected, the corner of her mouth pulling up. "I know," Rhys said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. "But I drive like a maniac."

Feyre laughed out loud then, and Rhys' heart glowed in his chest. He could do this. He could make her laugh all the way to Velaris St, and make those frown lines disappear. If only he could see her everyday, he thought. If only he could make sure she was okay.

Because she wasn't saying anything, but he was so sure this had something to do with Tamlin.

****

I was going to try keep this very separate from COD but also I want to get the heavy angst out of the way. Because you guys, I promise this one gets so sweet and fluffy if you can just stick with me a little longer.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #rhysand #angst #fluff #mine

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 3 years

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12C, part 12

Tag List: @deluxewhump @whumpinggrounds @yet-another-heathen @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @killtheprotagonist

Content Warnings: immortal whumpee, lady whumpee, captivity, lab whump, dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, temporary character death, sort of dehumanization? or perhaps better stated as disregard for ones humanity

Author’s Notes: I call this chapter ‘I have no clue what I’m doing but I’m trying’. Brought to you by 6 lovely souls. :) Usually I do a deeper edit of these but I’m feeling lazy tonight and really want to get this one up so I can move forward. I was also a little writer’s blocked this week so apologies if it’s not my best work. :\

Also, I think I might post the next set of parts under a new title...picking up where this leaves off, of course! But there’s something nice and complete about there being 12 ‘chapters’ to this, and as you’ll see, the title being named for the room might not apply anymore. ;) So if you’re on this tag list or watching this series don’t be alarmed if suddenly a new title is there when the next part pops up.

----

Emmeline has been gone before - taken away for testing or left somewhere overnight so they can check for results in the morning.

But this is different.

Everything is gone. The table, the equipment, everything except the camera in the corner. The room is completely dark and empty.

Liv pulls out her clipboard and flips to her page for the room - or, she would, if it was there. She hasn’t been given any checklist, any notes, anything for room 12C. It’s as though no one was ever there.

Slowly she backs out of the room and shuts and locks the door. In her mind she begins frantically skimming through every moment of the day she can remember. Did anyone look at her differently? Say something to her?

This has to be my fault somehow.

Right?

And yet, no one called her to an office or confronted her in the hallway. She came in to work and went about her day as usual. Surely if they suspected her of tampering with a subject, or any other violation, they would take action immediately?

Unless Emmeline is being punished instead of me.

But where is she?

Liv goes through her final routine tasks of the night on autopilot, her mind turning over every worst possible scenario.

Maybe Emmeline was taken to another lab. Maybe there’s an even more top-secret level to this lab that she has no idea about. Or maybe...maybe that bastard Dr. Crafton did something with her…

An additional thought creeps in that Liv refuses to dwell on.

What if she died for good this time?

But that can’t be true. Even at her most fearful and cynical, Liv can’t comprehend the tragedy of Emmeline’s light being snuffed out in this prison after hanging on so long.

She has to be alive somewhere. Suffering, scared, but alive.

But where?

----

In the days that follow Liv performs her magnum opus of pretending things are fine.

On the surface she’s as calm, quiet, and moody as always. Inside she’s constantly paranoid, expecting to be confronted at every turn, pulled into an office and questioned. She’s wary of the researchers and of security, even of her own boss. She over analyzes every look and interaction.

But one, two, three days into the week and nothing has changed except Emmeline being gone and, as of Wednesday evening, a new resident in room 12C. The balancing act in Liv’s mind between ‘I’m so fucked’ and ‘where is Emmeline’ tips in favor of the latter. It’s not as though she can ask someone. So she starts simply...listening.

Her late hours are an obstacle; most of the researchers have left by the time she starts cleaning. But the ones that sometimes stay over tend to be the chattiest when they believe no staff - at least, in their mind, no staff worth acknowledging - are present.

It takes caution and patience, but soon from observations and overheard conversations with her headphones in, Liv manages to piece together what happened.

There are whispers of new subjects, more than they have room for. Frustrated complaints of how the ‘research’ with Emmeline was going nowhere, of failed blood transfusions and transplants. ‘Fascinating but useless’ was how one of them put it. Without results the funding would soon dry up, but selling her to a competitor would be disastrous if the competitor had success where they didn’t.

But that’s as far as Liv gets. A why without a where. They don’t have a room for her or funding to continue research, but they won’t sell her. In a better world they’d let her go, but Liv doesn’t humor that idea for a second.

Her suspicions still linger on Dr. Crafton a little while longer. Considering his newfound enjoyment of torture, she wouldn’t put it past him to ‘volunteer’ to move Emmeline to a private lab of his or something.

This soon disproves itself for her. In the fleeting moments she sees Dr. Crafton he seems irritable, not at all like a man who got exactly what he wanted. Then one evening she overhears him griping about the ‘wasted potential’ of the former subject in 12C and Liv is sure he doesn’t have her.

Any satisfaction she gets from these discoveries is quickly dulled by still not knowing where Emmeline is. Liv keeps showing up, keeps hoping, does her work in spite of the gnawing ache of Emmeline’s absence. All this time Liv was trying to help and comfort her, she didn’t realize how much of a help and comfort Emmeline was in return.

I just want to see her again...

----

A week passes, and then another. Liv still listens, still keeps an eye out, but her hope is fading. No one notices, of course. She was always a little sullen, always kept to herself. As long as she continues to be a good worker, no one bothers her or questions her.

That night is particularly quiet. Most subjects are asleep or keep to themselves. Even the chatty guards in Hall A are bored and end up listening to a sports radio show rather than talk to each other or Liv.

Near the end of her shift Liv makes her way to that floor’s storage room. It’s a small, dingy room with a single lightbulb that barely illuminates all of the shelves that line the walls. Nothing important resides here - not samples or expensive medical equipment. Only cleaning supplies, tools for maintenance, a handful of basic first aid, and obsolete equipment gathering dust, some of which might be older than the building itself.

Normally Liv prefers the supply room on the floor above; it’s a little bigger, a little cleaner. But tonight she’s feeling lazy and settles for this one.

As she’s putting things back on the shelves, she notices something pushed back against the far wall that wasn’t here before. It’s just a crate, long and sturdy but unremarkable. But what piques Liv’s curiosity is its presence here at all. No one uses this room except her, the janitor who fills in on nights she’s off, and sometimes maintenance. Maybe one of the researchers might come looking for something they need, but more often than not this room sits neglected.

Liv kneels beside the crate and feels around for a way to open it. She finds a latch and unclasps it easily, then manages to wiggle the lid up enough to get her fingers under. It isn’t even on that tight, and it only takes a couple pulls to lift it open.

What the fuck?!

She gasps and recoils, falling back and scrambling away from the crate, breathing quickly. Not much gets to her around here, but she was not expecting to open that thing and find a dead body.

Once the initial shock subsides she sits up and brushes her hands on her jeans. This doesn’t make sense. Subjects that die are given autopsies and then incinerated. If it’s here in the facility, why isn’t it in a lab room?

Shaken but determined, Liv scoots closer to the crate and peers in again. It’s hard to make out much in the dim light, but she can tell that the body is...fresh, for lack of a better word, and padded with some kind of loose packing material. She moves up along the box, having to tilt a little to keep her own shadow from blocking her view so she can see the face -

For several long, silent moments, Liv just...stares. She blinks against the darkness, trying to process what she’s seeing.

“Emmeline?” she says aloud, barely recognizing her own voice. Hands shaking, she takes out her phone and turns on the flashlight.

The face illuminated by the light, gaunt and lifeless, is unmistakably Emmeline’s.

Liv quickly turns off the flashlight and puts her hand over her mouth to suppress a sound of...of…

Of what?

Relief that she found her, or fear that she’s dead dead, or disgust that they stuck her in a box in a storage room like nothing more than a piece of old equipment.

There are too many questions going through her mind and she pushes them all aside. She reaches a shaky hand down and cups Emmeline’s face. It’s cool to the touch, but Liv has seen her share of dead bodies before and something about this is...different. Like her body is lingering in some state between life and death, simply dormant. It’s just a half-assed theory, but it gives her hope.

Liv brushes her thumb over Emmeline’s lips, finding them chapped. There isn’t a mark on Emmeline’s body, and any drugs to put her under would have worn off by now. The most obvious and awful conclusion is that they simply let her die naturally of dehydration, alone in the dark.

A tear slips from Liv’s cheek onto Emmeline’s neck and trickles down out of sight. Liv sits back with a loud sniff and rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “You deserve better than this…”

She slips her hoodie off and leans forward again, draping it like a blanket over Emmeline. Like this, it’s almost easy to believe that she’s just sleeping.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says numbly, “somehow.”

Then she puts the lid back on, stands, and leaves the room.

----

In the time between when she leaves after discovering Emmeline, and when she returns the next day, something shifts in Liv.

The sight of that drawn, still face haunts her dreams. And when she wakes all she can think about is the notion of Emmeline being stored like a piece of furniture only for them to take out and hurt again someday when they have funding or whatever the fuck.

When Emmeline was in one of the lab rooms the idea of trying to help her with guards and cameras around felt impossible. But the storage room...that she can work with.

She waits until the end of her shift before going to the storage room again. She doesn’t even have to act differently or come up with an excuse; she has plenty of legitimate reasons to be in there.

As soon as the door closes behind her she grabs her water bottle from her cart and goes right to the crate. She opens it cautiously, as though not wanting to startle its occupant. But Emmeline hasn’t moved an inch or changed in the slightest since last night.

“Hey,” she says quietly, just like she would when entering room 12C. It feels natural even if Emmeline doesn’t answer.

Liv leans over the crate and tips the water bottle to Emmeline’s lips. She lets just the smallest trickle of water slip in at first, then another, then another. Nothing happens right away, but Liv isn’t deterred. She has no idea how her immortality works, but Emmeline has been ‘dead’ for days now, surely it will take more than a couple sips of water for her body to heal.

She leans one arm on the edge of the crate and rests her chin on her arm. With the other hand she continues slowly pouring water down Emmeline’s parched throat, a little at a time. Pour. Stop. Wait. Look for signs of life. Pour again.

It feels a bit like watering a plant, and also not at all like that. Emmeline is not nearly so replaceable.

When the bottle is empty, she caps it and sits up with a sigh, stretching her stiff shoulders. She can’t help feeling disappointed. She was expecting something to happen. But it’s okay - if it takes time, so be it.

Just as Liv is reaching for the lid, she hears a soft sound. She freezes, arms out, listening intently. It wouldn’t surprise her if it was a rat or something, with the state of this room…

Several silent seconds tick by and she’s starting to believe she imagined it when the sound happens again. A little louder...and close…

Heart pounding, she looks down into the crate. At first glance nothing has changed, but the longer she looks...yes. Yes, she’s sure of it - her hoodie, still draped over Emmeline, is moving ever so slightly with barely-there breaths. When Liv presses her fingers to Emmeline’s wrist, she finds a weak pulse.

Oh my god. Oh my god, it worked.

The soft sound comes again and it is now clear that it’s the sound of a sighing breath. Triumphant as she feels at having done something right for a change, Liv knows things are far from good. Emmeline is in bad shape. This is going to take time.

Liv touches Emmeline’s arm for a moment, watching her face. Little changes apart from the puffs of breath that now escape her chapped lips, but it feels like a victory. Not to mention a big fuck you to the researchers.

“Hang in there,” she whispers. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

It kills her to have to put the lid back on and leave Emmeline in the dark like that. The best she can hope for is that she remains unconscious a little longer. Liv is impatient, she wants to make this all better right now. But for both of their sakes, patience is necessary.

Hang in there, she tells herself, as well.

----

Part of being patient means not going back to the storage room every night. She used to barely use it at all, and she fears too sudden a change in her behavior will draw unwanted attention. It’s one of the hardest things she has ever done, to walk past that room knowing Emmeline is inside and then keep walking.

Still, Liv manages to hold out for a few days before returning. She parks her cart just inside the storage room door; she doubts anyone will enter, but if they do, the obstacle might buy her some time to quickly close the crate.

Emmeline is no longer breathing. Liv expected as much, but it hurts all the same. This time, though. This time will be different.

Once again she feeds her sips of water and soon enough there are signs of life. This time, Liv is prepared with another bottle - this one filled with apple juice.

She cups Emmeline’s head and lifts it a little to give her a sip of the juice. Another, then another. Slow, patient, hopeful. Emmeline’s pulse grows stronger, her breathing more steady.

And then she moans, and it’s a weak, pitiful, broken sound, but Liv is so damn relieved to hear it, because it means she is that much closer to waking.

Liv continues giving her sips of juice, watching her throat bob as she actively swallows it. Suddenly she begins to cough and it startles Liv so much she nearly spills the juice all over her. She quickly pulls the bottle away and sets it aside, her eyes fixed on Emmeline.

Emmeline’s coughs fade into raspy breaths. She groans and shifts uncomfortably. Then finally, finally, her eyes slowly open.

She’s frail and shaky. Her glazed-over eyes flick around, uncomprehending. Her mouth opens as though to speak, but when she tries nothing comes out.

“Emmeline?” Liv says, very quietly.

At the sound of her name, Emmeline’s eyes land on Liv. The recognition on her face is immediate, and Liv can’t help but smile.

“Hey. It’s just me. Here...”

She holds the bottle to her lips again and Emmeline drinks eagerly.

“Careful, not too fast...that’s better...okay I’m going to take it away again, I don’t want you to overdo it…”

She sets the bottle aside again while Emmeline gasps for breath after practically chugging the whole thing down. Liv can’t blame her, and hates to deny her what she so desperately needs, but she also doesn’t want to make her sick.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” Relatively. “I’ll give you more in a minute.” She reaches down and takes Emmeline’s hand.

“Where…” Emmeline’s voice cracks. She pauses, swallows, starts again. “Where am I?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“...good.”

“The good news is you aren’t in the lab.” Liv gives her a moment to process that before regretfully adding, “the bad news is that you’re still in the building. In...a storage closet.”

Emmeline blinks slowly up at the ceiling, her brow pinched. “What?”

She shifts again and Liv realizes that she’s trying to sit up. Liv instinctively reaches to help, putting a hand on Emmeline’s back - only to withdraw when Emmeline gasps.

“S-sorry, I was just - “

“No,” Emmeline interrupts. “Please - put it back, it was warm…”

Liv remembers how cold Emmeline’s skin was when she found her like this, and this room is just as chilly as the lab. She slowly settles her hand on Emmeline’s back again and helps her ease herself up. It’s hard to resist the urge to touch more - a hand in her hair, an arm around her shoulders - but she doesn’t know whether it would be welcome.

But Emmeline is shivering and she has to do something.

“Here…” she takes the hoodie that has been acting as a blanket for Emmeline these past few days and slips it around her shoulders. “Arms.” Emmeline obediently slips her arms through the sleeves.

When Liv zips it up Emmeline curls her arms up to her chest and presses her face into the cuffs of the sleeves. “Thank you, this is - oh - “

Emmeline’s eyes flutter shut and she sways, nearly dropping back into the crate. Liv steadies her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Shit...hey, breathe, you’re okay…” Maybe sitting her up so quickly wasn’t the best idea.

Taking slow breaths, Emmeline opens her eyes again. She looks so tired in spite of being under for so long. But then, she’s been denied food, water, warmth, proper rest, safety, and the type of weariness living like that brings is bone-deep and not so easily solved.

Her eyes dart around the room - from the old metal shelves to the dim lightbulb to the concrete floor, and heartbroken understanding falls over her face.

“When they put me in this box,” she whispers, looking so empty, so resigned, “I thought they were moving me somewhere. Maybe another lab. I thought within a day or two the lid would come off. But it never did. It was so dark and cold and...and you weren’t there, and…” her lip quivers and she clutches at the cuffs of the hoodie. “I was scared…”

Liv swallows around the lump in her throat, feeling her eyes burn. Those fucking bastards. “I thought they took you away too, at first. Finding you was...kind of by accident. But now that I have...” she steels herself, knowing once she says this, there’s no going back. “...I’m getting you out of here.”

Emmeline looks to her, eyes wide and tentatively hopeful. “You are?”

Liv chews her bottom lip and nods. “I have a plan. I just need you to hang in there a little longer…”

“I can do that,” Emmeline replies, voice wavering. “Please just be careful…”

“I will.”

Emmeline looks half about to cry, half about to pass out. Liv gently nudges at her shoulders, easing her back down into the crate.

“Please don’t take the shirt,” Emmeline whispers as her eyes close.

“I won’t,” Liv promises. “It’s yours now.”

“Thank you…”

A tear slips down her cheek and Liv brushes it away with her thumb. She leaves her hand there a moment for Emmeline to lean into, seeking out every small bit of comfort she can get. Liv wants to give her more, so much more, but she can’t. Not here. Not yet.

“I’ll be back,” she promises as she reaches for the lid. “Just hang on a little longer,” she adds as she lowers it, cloaking Emmeline’s sleeping form in darkness once more.

#immortal whump #lady whump #female whumpee #lab whump #lab experiment #captivity #dehydration #starvation #exhaustion #temporary character death #emotional whump #angst #comfort #whump #whump writing #my writing #my ocs #emmeline #liv

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania

Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Or: I saw the new artwork for Season 4 and I’m SO HYPED, and I want more Castlevania content now, or preferably yesterday. Also, my boy Alucard needs love. :’)

CW: Blood (obviously), Injury

Read here or on AO3!

Chapter 1: Blood on White

Blood. There is blood everywhere: on his hands, on the sheets, on the floor, on the gilded bedposts. The smell of it, thick and cloying, clinging to his nostrils. Sumi and Taka's bodies are lying beside him, unmoving, and he lies still with them. The silence that spreads after their hearts finally stop beating and their eyes glaze over is deafening.

How did this happen? How?

It is minutes, hours, days later, for all he knows, when he finally pushes himself up. He sits at the edge of the bed, for he is sure his legs will give way if he stands. Adrian glances about him, at the place that was his room, and not a place of death, only a short while before. His gaze falls on the vase of roses by his bedside table; blood roses, their crimson blossoms soft like velvet under his fingertips. His mother's favourites, said to bloom where blood has been spilled the thickest.

There's hope to be found in the grimmest of places, Adrian, she would always say, and smile. Kindness is a gift freely given.

Kindness. Hope. Notions he tried to fool himself with, sentiments that were dangled before him, like an apple before a starving man. He ran after them, stretched bodily to grasp them, only for them to turn to ashes in his hands. Only for the people he trusted —so readily, foolishly— to turn against him at the first chance they got.

Adrian could laugh. Who is he, to be kind and hopeful? Does he deserve it? Can he afford it?

Can anyone?

The vase crashes against the wall when he swipes at it with his arm, the glass shattering, the blooms scattering on the floor. He is not his mother's son.

"I am my father's son," he declares as he drags Sumi and Taka's lifeless bodies to his front door, as he sharpens the stakes, as he mounts them both on them. He stands long, makes himself watch their blood stained nightclothes flutter with the wind, the morning sun touch their ashen faces.

This is trust, he tells himself, and its price.

It is not a mistake he is about to make again.

“Just hold on. We’ll be there soon.”

Trevor blinks blearily when bright sunlight stabs his sore, tired eyes. His head hurts. His lungs burn. The wound at his side sends sharp jolts of pain through him every time the carriage bumps on a rock or a fallen log- which is, frankly, all the bloody time as they follow that old, unkempt dirt road. The reek of old booze and acrid night creature blood that still clings to his cloak is not helping the situation much, either.

God, he just needs a fucking drink.

“I don’t see how riding to a castle in the middle of nowhere is going to help us, Sypha,” he groans, and immediately regrets it when the dryness in his throat sends him into a fit of coughing.

Sypha clicks her tongue and frowns. “It’s not about the castle, you—”

Trevor can almost hear the mild insult that's lingering at the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back. The fact that she refrains from snapping at him, even though she's worried and obviously frustrated, only reminds him of the seriousness of his injury. And he doesn't bloody need any further bloody reminders that his life is hanging by a thread.

“I’m fine,” he croaks. “Really.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Sypha mutters irritably, eyes fixed on the road before her as she urges the horses to go faster. Her full, rosy lips are set in a grim line, her eyes red, her cheeks drawn from weariness. They have been riding like mad for two days now, stopping only to rest and water the horses for a bit. Trevor is feeling quite weary himself, but seeing Sypha so haggard only makes everything a thousand times worse. He hates to see her so worried, and for a louse like him.

He shifts a little closer to her, wincing at the sharp pain from the wound. “Sypha—”

“You are not fine, Trevor!” Her gaze flicks to him, her bright blue eyes sparkling with anger, gleaming with tears that are this close to being shed. “You are not. I’ve done all I can for you, but I can do no more. That’s why we’re going there. You are not going to change my mind.”

“And how exactly is Alucard going to help? Is he a healer as well as an arrogant bastard?”

“He knows far more about medicine than anyone within a hundred miles from here, and then some. The castle holds ingredients that most people in the rest of the world have never even seen. We are going there, and you will be nice to him, or I will box your ears. Yes?”

Trevor rolls his eyes and looks away, mumbling curses under his breath. It is hard to argue with her when his wound stabs at him at every breath. Yes, it is definitely the wound, he tells himself. He is perfectly capable of holding his own in an argument with her under any other circumstances. Perfectly capable. Absolutely.

Trevor sighs. He just needs a drink. And a nice, long sleep. That's what he needs, what will sort him out. It always does. He leans back into the seat, letting his head rest on the smooth wood.

“There.”

Sypha’s voice rouses him from what must have been a very light and troubled sleep. Not that he can tell the difference between that and utter agony these days. He opens his eyes, squinting at the familiar curve of the road that led to the Belmont hold. To his once home.

“Just hold on a moment longer,” she says soothingly, drawing the horses back to a steady canter. “Alucard will fix you right up. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see us after so long, don’t you think?”

The stench of rotting flesh drifting with the eastern wind reaches them well before the carriage finally stops. Two corpses, cold and rigid, their eye-sockets picked clean by the vultures, staring up into a grey, unforgiving sky.

Sypha gapes at them, unblinking, like she has forgotten how to breathe.

“I don’t know, Sypha,” Trevor mutters, strained, under his breath. “That doesn’t look like a bloody warm welcome to me.”

Without a word, she hops down from the carriage, taking a few tentative steps forward. The staked corpses are frightful to look at, without a doubt. Whoever did that, Trevor thinks, must have been holding a hell of a grudge.

“What on earth,” he hears Sypha whispering under her breath. She turns to look at him, and he simply shrugs. What can he possibly do?

Sypha blinks slowly up at the stakes once more, her brows gathered in a furrow, before coming back to the carriage. Making himself stand up and lower himself to the ground takes up every last bit of strength that has been left to him, despite him dropping most of his weight on poor Sypha. She groans underneath him, wrapping her arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“God, you stink,” she protests, taking a shaky step forward. Trevor rolls his eyes, but even that takes effort.

“You don’t exactly smell like roses yourself,” he grunts, following as best he could without tripping on the hem of his bedraggled cloak.

Sypha snorts, leaning her head against his shoulder for a breath. “Ass.”

He tries for a clever quip to make her laugh, but her smile falters when he starts coughing again, so hard that he is sure the wound has opened again. He shivers when he feels warm blood seeping through the bandage. "I sure hope Alucard is home," he pants weakly, "and hasn't gone into a little nightly escapade."

Sypha holds him more tightly, even though her arms and legs are shaking now. “Just a little further. Just until we get to the steps-”

Trevor barely hears what she says before his vision darkens. The stone steps rise up to meet him at lightning speed, knocking the air out of his lungs. White hot pain lances through his entire body, blocking out everything else.

Sypha frantically banging on the tall, gilded door of the castle is what pulls him out if the darkness.

“Alucard!” she cries, again and again, hitting the door with her fists. Her voice is raw and hoarse— she must have been at it for a while while he was unconscious. “Alucard! Open up! Ugh, where is he?” She turns to him, her round blue eyes wide and disturbingly liquid in the morning light. “Just— just hold on, Trevor,” she pleads before raising her fist to knock on the door once more.

The heavy doors creak ominously as they slowly peel apart. Sypha’s hand hovers in the air for a breath before she lets it fall, watching while sunlight flooded the thick darkness beyond the door.

The figure that walks out is pale, skin almost translucent in the bright light. Hair like spun gold falling freely about his shoulders. Face smooth and cold, as if carved in marble. Gaunt. More gaunt than Trevor remembers. His gaze hard and aloof when it sweeps over them both. Trevor sees those familiar golden eyes widening in shock when they fall on him, sprawled as he is on the ground.

“Sypha,” Alucard says. “What happened?”

The voice is low and throaty, hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in a while. Or like he just woke up. Wouldn’t surprise him if Alucard decided to take a bloody nap the whole time he and Sypha were out, killing monsters. That’s what vampires do after all, isn't it? Yet, those corpses were fresh. No more than a couple days, a week at the most. That week has been cold, so it would have stopped the flesh from rotting too soon. If it is Alucard that did it, that is. There is still the possibility that he didn't, and that he isn't the mindless beast that Trevor has been brought up to believe of his kind.

He blinks up at him, watching him through the cloud that threatens to descend on him again. Alucard’s gaze does not fall on the bodies when he drags it away from Trevor and fixes it on Sypha. Not once. Not even by accident.

The absolute, bloody bastard.

Sypha straightens, regarding him curiously. It evidently hasn’t been lost on her either that Alucard is not in the least surprised by the bodies at his front door. “Trevor has been hurt,” she says, her voice trembling only a little. “Will you help us?”

Instead of a response, Alucard brushes past her, coming to loom over him. The sunlight casts a halo around his golden hair, shadows on his sharp features. “Can you walk?”

Trevor scoffs, then coughs. He brings his hand before his mouth, and when he withdraws it, there is blood. “Do I look like I can walk?”

Alucard raises a brow at that. Whether it is for his response or for the blood on his hand, Trevor can't say. He kneels before him, snaking one arm behind his shoulders, the other under his knees. “I’m going to lift you now.”

“Whoa, wait-” Trevor doesn't even manage to protest before he is picked up off the ground and lifted into Alucard’s arms, like a blushing bride on the way to her marriage bed. He attempts a weak struggle, but Alucard’s voice is firm.

“Stop moving. You’ll hurt yourself even more. Not that you need much help with that, but still.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, frowning even as he winces in pain. “Ever the pompous prick, Alucard. How nice to see you again.”

The dhampir’s gaze is locked straight ahead as he walks, not even deigning to answer. That is… odd. To say the least. Alucard always rises to his barbs, and Trevor to his, however petulant or childish. There is a somberness to him, a sort of stillness; it is like looking at the smooth surface of a frozen lake. It unnerves Trevor more than he can say.

But then again, it could just be that Trevor's not thinking straight. The pain that stabs him every time he so much as bloody blinks isn't exactly conducive to thought.

Sypha shuffles after them, the hem of her robes whispering around her ankles as she tries to catch up with Alucard’s long strides. He walks smoothly, evenly, with the grace of a dancer, or that of a swan gliding along calm waters, and the steady rocking makes it even harder to keep his eyes open. Trevor loses track of how many flights of stairs they ascend, or how many endless, identical-looking corridors they cross, but at length Alucard stops before a door and pushes it open.

The room he takes him in is wide and spacious, with a large hearth, a thick red carpet that muffles the sound of Alucard's boots, and one of the biggest beds Trevor has ever laid eyes upon- with a mountain of pillows and a red velvet canopy, with carved mahogany bedposts and gilded bedside tables and whatnot- he is far too dazed to notice more, but even he can tell the thing is luxurious.

Alucard’s hair brushes his face when he gently -surprisingly gently- sets him atop the bed. His pale golden strands smell of fresh chopped wood and wild berries, Trevor remarks absently.

“How did he get hurt?” he asks, turning to Sypha.

“Oy,” Trevor grumbles weakly. The mattress is so soft and inviting he feels like he is sinking in it, but he makes an effort to keep his eyes open. “I’m still conscious, thank you very much. You don’t have to talk like I'm not here.”

“As it is, Belmont, I do not believe you’re in any position to give an accurate account of your injuries,” Alucard replied coldly. “It is best, perhaps for everyone, if you try not to talk much.” His golden gaze slides off him swiftly to return to Sypha. Arrogant sod.

“We were in Lindenfeld, a few days ago.” Sypha comes to sit beside him on the bed. “There was… an attack. Night creatures. Powerful ones. There was a portal, and they kept streaming… We managed to make it out of there alive, but the damage was already done. All the night creatures within twenty miles from here have gathered in the woods beyond the town, and are terrorising the villages along the country road. We tried to stop them, kill as many as we could, but...” Her lips tightens in a line, her gaze falling on Trevor.

“A portal?” Alucard asks, as if he hasn't heard a word of what Sypha has said.

Her eyes meet his. “An Infinite Corridor.”

Fair eyebrows lift ever so slightly along a pale, smooth forehead. “Those creatures you speak of. What kind of night creature was it that attacked him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know its name, or its kind. I’ve never seen the like. It possessed a level of intelligence, for one. And it was made up of dozens of souls. Like the one that was trapped under the priory in Lindenfeld, but... different. Vicious. Frantic.”

“The bastard wouldn’t stay dead,” Trevor croaks, and coughs again.

“It had those glowy eyes and those sharp claws—” She rubs her temples, sighing. “It caught Trevor with one of those claws. I’ve done all I can to heal him, but the wound refuses to close. The flesh knits back together, albeit weakly, but then the smallest movements rip it open again. Healing is not my expertise, but even so, I should have been able to treat it. I don’t know what it is—”

The desperation in her voice makes Trevor’s heart tighten. He hates that she's so tired, so worried; he hates that it is he that has brought her to this state. He never makes things easy for her, damn him. Not that she makes things easy for him, but even so, it is he that should be looking out for her, not the other way round. If only he'd been more careful, if only he'd seen the attack before it came—

He reaches out to place his hand on her forearm. “Sypha,” he says softly.

She pats his hand and gives him a tight smile. “We’ll find out what it is. Yes? Alucard and I. We’ll heal you. Right, Alucard?” She turns her gaze to their friend. Their once friend. God knows what he is now. Trevor does not dare to trust him, but he's their last hope.

Alucard’s eyes linger on them for a long moment, and Trevor thinks he sees something flashing in them; something sad and desperate, but it's gone in an instant. The dhampir's gaze is icy once more when he says, “I have to see the wound for myself. I'll need you to take off your clothes.”

“Now, hold on—”

“I’ll help,” Sypha says promptly, reaching out to undo the clasp of his cloak. “You needed a change of clothes anyway.” Her smile is still on her lips, but it never reaches her eyes, so it is hardly a comfort. His cloak comes off, then his thick leather jerkin. He tenses when she starts pulling at the laces on his undershirt, with Alucard watching over her shoulder.

“That'll do,” he hears Alucard say. “I can inspect the wound without completely undressing him.”

Well, that, at least, is somewhat fortunate.

Sypha edges back as Alucard bent over him, long fingers dragging his shirt up from the waistband of his breeches. Even though the wound is wrapped with fresh bandages he can still feel the fabric brushing over it, and he bites his lip down hard to stop himself from wincing. Alucard produces a small pocket knife out of thin air and starts cutting away the blood soaked cloth. When he peels it back, a strong acrid smell of sepsis fills his nostrils. Trevor almost gags, almost —almost— faints.

The frown that creases Alucard’s brow does not help one bit.

“How long ago did he get this?” he asks Sypha.

“Three days ago,” Trevor responds, more gruffly than he intends as pain lanced through him once again. Even the air touching the wound makes him squirm.

Alucard’s frown deepens. “It shouldn’t have reached this level of infection in just three days. I’m surprised you’re still on your feet.”

“Us Belmonts are hard kill,” he says, and regrets it as soon as does. Sympathy warms Alucard’s gaze for the briefest of moment, so brief Trevor thinks he imagines it, before it is swiftly hidden behind his impervious mask once more. It is enough to make a spark of irritation flicker in his chest, however weak. Why s Alucard pitying him, anyway? His lot is worse than his own.

That shouldn’t have made Trevor’s heart clench as it does. He looks away.

There is nothing that Trevor can make out of Alucard's expression when he straightens. Or perhaps it is that the pain and the exhaustion finally taking hold. “I’ll bring something for the pain, and to stem the bleeding. As to how to treat the infection, that will require some research.”

“How much?” Sypha asks, and this time she doesn't even bother to hide her worry. “It’s spreading quickly. I don’t think we-” She stops herself, her fists bunching up the fabric of her skirt.

“Just say it, Sypha." Trevor lets out a huff and sinks back into the pillows. "I’m not a child.”

She shoots him a glare. “What I meant to say, is that I don’t think we can afford to let more time pass.”

“What we can afford even less is a mistake," Alucard says. He clasps his hands behind his back as he draws himself up to his full height. The bastard is tall, Trevor will give him that. "I’m not much of a healer, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Sypha says softly, breathing a sigh of relief. “We appreciate it. Really.”

Alucard’s gaze flicks between the two for a breath —golden, luminous, and so bloody cold and aloof it sends a shiver up Trevor's spine— before he turns to leave. The room somehow feels warmer after he's gone.

As soon as he was gone, Sypha lets out a long sigh, dragging her palm down her face. Her hand stops just before her eyes, and she peers at him through her fingers.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Trevor groans. “If I had any clue what was going on, I wouldn’t be lying here on this bed, waiting for Alucard, of all people, to take pity on me and save my life.”

“No one’s taking pity on you, you silly ox,” she mutters, shifting closer beside him on the bed again. She stares at him, her large, clear sky eyes reflecting the sunlight pouring through the window like glass. “Something very wrong has happened here, Trevor. I can feel it.”

“What gave it away? The staked corpses by the front door? Or that the half-vampire lordling seems to have a stick farther up his arse than usual?”

She blinks. “Both?”

Trevor sighs. “Yes. Both. More, probably. Give it some time. We’ve only been here a few minutes.”

She taps her chin thoughtfully, glancing towards the door. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” she says, her brows gathering in that determined frown of hers he’s come to know quite well. “We have to. Something’s fishy. Very fishy.”

“Sure, sure, yeah. For now, let's just hope whatever he brings for the pain is strong enough to knock me out for a day or two.” He sinks back into the bed, his eyes closing on their own, but not before his gaze falls on a gilded cabinet by the window. “Think there’s any liquor in there?”

Sypha snorts, rolling her eyes. “Just go to sleep, Belmont.”

Her cool fingertips against his brow is the last thing Trevor feels before the world grows dark.

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #alucard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #trephacard #alucard x trevor x sypha #alucard/trevor belmont/sypha belnades #castlevania fanfiction #where blood roses bloom #johaerys writes

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 5, Male Reader][18+]

<- Part 4 | Part 6 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

For @thatesqcrush‘s Summer Bingo: anal square

With apologies to all medical professionals in the audience. I am absolutely sure this violates hospital policy :)

Warnings: NSFW. Hospital sex. Threesome. Anal sex. Blowjob with bedridden burn patient. Improper sterility procedures for removal of a foley catheter. Basically sounding. Not exactly piss kink (despite the debauched suggestions on Discord, no one drinks from Chilton’s catheter like a sippy-straw) but there is a bit of pee I mean not much but look it just kind of happens, OK?

5,500 words

Bryan Kneef shifted uncomfortably.

In another room, a heart monitor beeped quietly but incessantly, and if it continued much longer, he might go insane. The dry air filling the sterile white walls was slightly too cold for someone dressed in cool linen, prepared for a southern summer. Outside, bees and flowers filled the hazy orange world, but it was always winter inside the Chesapeake Hospital burn ward. His eyes darted around for the offending AC vent. Searching for anything to fixate on besides the man in front of him.

Frederick Chilton was laid out on a hospital bed like a corpse. Inflamed skin wrinkled with scars wrapped too tightly around his bones, as if there were no muscle in between, and white teeth grinned from his skull like a mummy. He hadn’t moved from that bed in months.

Bryan wasn’t one to cower from difficult situations, but this? He didn’t know how to behave around the sick.

“Well, you look like shit,” he at last blurted.

Frederick Chilton rolled his eyes, scowling as much as his face was able without the assistance of lips.

In the bedroom, Frederick reveled in being humiliated, the ego of his outside persona stripped away and torn down. He deserved it, and fuck, he loved getting what he deserved. And the praise for being a good little slut made him melt.

Outside was an entirely different matter. That carefully constructed persona—the esteemed psychiatrist who demanded respect—could not be threatened. Not by a vulgar, unpredictable man like Bryan who knew his filthy secrets.

So why did he call?

“I assure you, it looks better than it feels,” Chilton grunted. His speech was slow and deliberate. Daily sessions with a speech therapist were helping his cheeks and tongue learn to produce shapes and sounds his lips once handled, but it would never be quite the same.

Bryan took a step toward the bed. He puffed his chest out and pretended not to be bothered by the skeletal figure that seemed barely clinging to life.

“I’m not your dick-for-rent you can use whenever you want,” he said, cutting to the chase.

Chilton coughed—a weak, wheezing sound, accompanied by involuntary spittle. “Yet here you are, running when I call.”

Why did he come?

“Any chance to fuck our boy,” Bryan smirked. In other words: I’m not here foryou.

The flash of pain in Frederick’s eyes made him instantly regret saying it. It wasn’t the cute sort of jealousy when he had Fred on his knees, desperate to come—it was the kind that made his eyes drop to the floor.

A few hard lines on Bryan’s face softened. His lips went slack in their bearded nest. He would never admit that he had been worried sick, or the tears he’d shed when he heard the news. Baltimore Psychiatrist Mutilated by Red Dragon. He was pissed that he had to read it in a newspaper first, but your voice was so trembling and weak when you finally called—when you told him the doctors all said Frederick wasn’t going to make it. You were too distraught to think. He had to remind you to eat something. You asked if he wanted to come to the hospital to say goodbye, and he pretended he was too busy with a case.

But Frederick didn’t die.

A stillness came over the room, both men so lost in their thoughts they hardly noticed the other had also fallen silent.

“As you can see, I am in no condition to provide… sexual release.”

“Shame. You used to give great head.”

Affronted by Bryan’s piercing gaze, Frederick turned his head away as far as he could. It wasn’t far enough to hide his tattered mouth.

“I suppose I could return the favor,” Bryan mused, daring to lean closer over the bed, dropping his voice.

Blood rushed to Frederick’s cheeks and between his thighs. He had sucked Bryan off many times, but never had Bryan in a submissive position. The image of him between his legs, piercing eyes gazing up at him with a mouth stuffed full of his cock sent a shiver up his spine.

“No,” he stammered. “I asked you here for one reason.”

He was too skittish for such a thing now—too accustomed to Bryan’s roughness to trust him with his fragile body. Besides, he had not missed the shock on Bryan’s face when he entered the room, or how he almost turned around at the door. What would he say if he saw his grafted cock? Mere weeks ago, the poor organ had been flayed—flaps of skin peeled around the bloody shaft, stretched, split, pinned back down in place, and stitched together again under the head.

It was better now. The surgeries corrected uneven scarring that would have made erections painful, and it had time to heal. But it still felt… tender. Sore in a way that was not physical. It looked like a medical experiment.

No. He was not ready yet. But he wanted to see you happy. Bryan could give you pleasure his bedridden, broken shell could not.

***

You were surprised to find Bryan Kneef sitting in the visitor’s chair in the corner of the hospital room. He was flipping through an issue of The Wall Street Journal with a bored expression, one leg crossed over the other, but smiled and stood when you walked in.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?”

He paused long enough before answering to suggest the question stung—as if you were implying he shouldn’t have been there, which was not what you intended at all. In fact, it explained a few things.

“Shh. He’s sleeping,” he whispered.

A glance at the bed showed that Frederick was dozing peacefully—a rarity these days. You nodded your understanding. It would be a shame to wake him.

With a quiet sigh, you rushed into Bryan’s arms, burying your face against his solid form. Thick arms closed around your waist, warm and comforting, and his beard rubbed the back of your neck as he rested his chin over your shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” you sniffed, and just like that, hot tears were rolling over the brim of your eyelids, soaking into the collar of Bryan’s white linen jacket.

“You too.”

He held you tighter, surprised at the lurch in his heart. His eyes hung on the broken figure sleeping on the bed and imagined what it had been like for you all these months. This gaunt thing was Frederick recovering. You were all alone when he was unconscious, his body an open wound, machines keeping him alive. Alone because Bryan was too selfish and cowardly to be near that kind of sickness. But he was here now, and the way your body clung to him, he knew it had been a long time since you had someone to comfort you.

***

“Right here in the hospital?” You quirked an eyebrow. Frederick had a private room in the burn ward, since his care was so intensive, but there was a constant stream of nurses in and out.

“Yes, here,” Frederick replied. “I want to see you.” A hungry spark entered his eye, and he sucked a quick breath to prevent his salivation from escaping.

Now that his plan was so close to fruition, excitement roiled in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a long time. At first, calling Bryan was only meant as a gift for you. But suddenly, a familiar heat flared up in his belly, and he wanted to see—wanted to watch your eyes roll back as Bryan split you open.

“Don’t worry, we bribed the nurse supervisor not to disturb us,” Bryan added, hand on your lower back.

“Did you do as I instructed?”

The pressure in your ass seemed to increase as your mind was drawn back to it. “Yes,” you swallowed heavily. “I was wondering about that.” A plug kept your tight hole stretched and prepared, worn under your clothes, just as he had asked.

“Good.”

“So… you want to watch Bryan fuck me?” you purred, starting to get into the mood. You put your hands on the side of the bed and smirked down at Frederick, sticking your ass out for Bryan.

Before Frederick could answer, Bryan interrupted: “No.”

Frederick opened his mouth. You gave an equally confused look.

“I’m his dick-for-rent today,” Bryan chuckled, low and sultry. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Chilton? I’m going to fuck you for the doctor, since he can’t do it himself. Whatever way he wants.” He ran his palms over your shoulders and down your arms as if he were presenting you to Frederick as a gift.

Frederick nodded, not missing a beat as he pretended that was his plan all along, and not an unexpected act of charity from a man who seemed anything but charitable. When he woke to find the two of you conversing in hushed voices like a couple of dear old friends, he felt a sting of fear that Bryan was stealing you away.

So Bryan was going to let him be in charge? He liked the sound of that. After three months of bondage within his own skin, he liked the sound of that a lot.

***

“Pull it out slowly,” Chilton instructed.

Your ass spasmed around the flare of the plug as Bryan gradually removed it, and, under Chilton’s guidance, drizzled more lubricant over it.

“Push it in again. Fuck him with it a little.”

“Yes, doctor,” obeyed Bryan.

A guttural moan escaped your chest as he plunged it back inside, twisting it, fucking the lube back into your tight entrance. Your fingers clenched on the metal guardrail at the edge of the mattress.

“That’s right,” Chilton mumbled. “Good.” He raptly watched you bent above him, arousal building by the second.

He had never been more pleased with Bryan, following his instructions perfectly as he worked you open, first with the plug, then with his thick fingers.

“He’s dripping for you already,” Bryan said, drawing a finger through a bead of precum

He held the slick digit out to Chilton, and he extended his tongue to lick your essence off Bryan’s calloused pad. A familiar taste flooded his mouth.

“I missed the way you taste,” he moaned.

It had been too long since he sampled your arousal, and it pooled like heat in his stomach. Bryan’s breath shuddered at the sensation, or perhaps the monstrous sight of a tongue probing forth from bared teeth.

Finally, the thick, round head of Bryan’s cock was notched against your prepared opening. Fisting the base of his cock, he circled it lightly over your puckered ring, listening to the breathy whimpers it elicited.

“Take a deep breath, my love,” Chilton said. He held your eyes, steadying you with his gaze. “And let it out slowly.”

He nodded to Bryan, who rocked his pelvis forward little by little, stretching you open around his impossible girth. You gritted your teeth and tried to relax under the invasion, but it was no longer Chilton using Bryan to fuck you—Bryan was so much bigger than Frederick ever was, the illusion was shattered in that moment. No plug could prepare you for this. You wanted to squeeze Frederick’s fragile hand, but with the intense burn you were feeling, it might have shattered like glass.

“Shh. There you are. Good boy,” Frederick whispered, and even though you weren’t touching, it was like he was helping you. That soothing, soft, carefully-spoken voice caressed your ears. You felt your lower body relax, the muscles opening up for Bryan, allowing him to penetrate deeper, deeper. “You are doing so well for me.”

Your body surrendered with a heave of breath, allowing Bryan to slide in all the way until his balls were pressed against your ass. You were so full, it frightened you to move. Frederick saw how wide and wild your eyes were, the tremble in your limbs as you gripped the rail, and told Bryan not to move.

“Let him get used to you.” He added regretfully, “It has been a long time for both of us.”

“I’m never in a rush,” Bryan said. A powerful hand gently stroked the side of your face as he waited, stock-still with his cock buried inside you.

Slowly, you experimented with moving your hips. Grinding against him just slightly, you felt the way he filled your walls, stretched your entrance as he slid in the lubricant. It was so hot, so impossibly hard, but it made blood rush between your legs, your cock throbbing to be touched.

“F-Frederick… please, make him touch me,” you whimpered.

There was a flash of jealousy in his good eye for a fraction of a second. He wondered why you didn’t beg him to touch you, even though he knew he couldn’t. You might be able to ride his hand and let his fingers haphazardly twitch over your flesh, but he could never reach your cock from here.

At Chilton’s command, Bryan began stroking your heat, and soon your moans filled the sterile hospital room, drowning out the background hum of medical equipment. He guided Bryan in exactly how you liked to be touched, sharing the secrets of your body. Your lower half was on fire, screaming out for more until you were impaling yourself on Bryan’s length, hips bucking, indifferent to the pain.

Then Bryan began thrusting.

Chilton’s breath was heavy as he watched your chest heaving above him—bent over the edge of the bed so you were hovering above his face, giving him the perfect view as you were fucked brainless. Each swing of Bryan’s hips rocked you forward, your jaw slack, skin misted with a sheen of sweat.

His arms were too weak to reach up and touch you or to stroke his own cock, but he whispered words of encouragement that made your skin flush. “Good boy. You take his cock so well. That’s it… A touch faster,” he ordered, and the slap of Bryan’s skin against your ass quickened. You gurgled out a strangled moan as his cock hit a deeper spot.

“Good. Give him more. He can take it. Do you want more, dear?”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, throat too tight to form more than a strangled growl. It was almost too much—almost. But you wanted to take more for him. You wanted him to see you at your limit with Bryan rutting into you like a beast. Bryan stopped stroking your cock and fixed both hands to your hips like a vice, fingers bruising your flesh as he fucked you harder, drawing a cry with each brutal thrust.

Chilton’s cock stirred between his narrow thighs, envious of the pleasure just out of his reach.

“Kiss me,” he rasped.

You leaned over the railing and kissed his neck first, sloppy and unfocused, lavishing affection all over his skin. Down the side of his neck, over part of his shoulder exposed by the loose-fitting hospital gown, then up his jaw, your panting lips and tongue left a trail of saliva wherever they traveled.

Finally, he gasped softly as you found his toothy, exposed mouth. Your lips became its protection, replacing what was lost. He thought he would be scared—that insecurity and disturbing memories would surge to the surface—but for a beautiful moment in time, he was whole again. He had lips, and they were warm, and soft, and everything he missed. Then your tongue was exploring the smooth surface of his teeth, and his hungry tongue licked up to consume your muffled cries, inviting your sweetness deeper inside.

“Harder,” he groaned.

Your hand snaked around the back of his scorched-bald head and pulled him deeper against your mouth. Bryan obeyed the command, too, pounding you against the side of the bed until its locked wheels dragged scuff marks into the floor, and you were so breathless you almost collapsed on top of his fragile body.

Frederick’s mouth captured your wailing moans as Bryan’s massive cock nudged against a place impossibly far inside you. And suddenly, you were breaking—ropes of cum ruining the sheets, your ass spasming around Bryan’s cock. It hit you so fast, you were practically drooling into Frederick’s mouth, melting as he kissed you through your release. When you parted, a string of saliva connected your tongues. Bryan’s cock was still buried deep in your ass, but he paused to let the two of you catch your breath.

“Keep going,” Frederick nodded to him, and he thrust again.

An inhuman noise choked out of your lungs, your body exploding with overstimulation. Stuffed to its limit, and you wanted more. Frederick wanted more, too. He wanted to be more than a spectator, trapped inside a broken body.

Your searching hand groped low on the blanket until it found a satisfyingly hard bulge buried between Frederick’s legs. You lightly squeezed around it, and he gasped out.

“I want to suck your cock,” you moaned, voice thick with need.

He froze, both eyes wide, the green seemingly as blind as the pale blue one in its scarred socket. You were already throwing back the thin blanket. A tent strained in the center of his hospital gown.

“Please let me suck it?”

“I… There is a…” he hesitated. He wanted it so badly, but fear held him back. Mortification merged with lust in his face, the inflamed pink scar tissue nearly beet red.

You shifted to the foot of the bed and gently grasped his ankles, spreading his legs wide enough for you to crawl onto your belly between them. Bryan followed with you, slipping his cock back inside you, his legs pressed up against the edge of the bed, nested between yours. He smirked down at Frederick, giving a few lazy thrusts.

Frederick glanced between you and Bryan, then back to you, your lips so close to his touch-starved erection. Watching you get fucked turned him on, and he was desperate to feel your mouth, but he did not want Bryan to see it… what was beneath the gown.

You had been by his side since he was admitted, witnessing every embarassing medical treatment he endured. But how would Bryan react?

The nervous stammering Frederick gave as you lay between his thighs wasn’t a no, and you had a safeword if he needed to stop, but it wasn’t an enthusiastic yes, either. Considering the circumstances, you didn’t proceed any further, just rested there, searching his eyes with a gentle expression as Bryan smoothly rolled his hips in a holding pattern.

Somehow your willingness to wait made him feel safer. He was in control, Frederick reminded himself. Bryan was just his puppet today. What did it matter if he was disgusted?

“Suck it, then.” His voice was sure. Aloof, even. But it trembled with emotion churning just below the surface.

You pulled the medical gown up over his hips.

And there was his cock, standing partly erect, with all its rosy mesh texture. In a few months or years, the graft texture was supposed to fade into smooth skin, indistinguishable from the original, but right now, it looked like a fishing net of flesh had been pulled over it and sewn with a zig-zagging seam down the underside.

From the center of its tip snaked a long yellow catheter, the other end feeding into a urine collection bag strapped to his thigh like a gun holster.

You circled the meeting of the tube and his cock with your finger. He hissed, and it twitched. You pulled away and glanced up to his face. His jaw was hanging open, but with no lips or eyebrows, it was difficult to assess whether it was slack with lust or open in a silent scream.

“Did that hurt?”

“N-no. Oh god,” he groaned. His fingers dug into the sheets. They could not grip tightly, but his body shuddered with the attempt.

Frederick instructed you on how to take the catheter out. You had seen it inserted and vaguely understood the process, but fortunately, he had a medical degree and academic knowledge of the procedure (if not as much practice as a nurse).

“That syringe there will do,” he gestured with his chin and signaled when you found the right one.

Bryan pulled out and patiently assisted the scavenger hunt, though he was averting his eyes from the reconstructed thing between Frederick’s legs. It did not make Frederick feel appealing, but at least it was better than a sarcastic remark. Even a half-joking “you look like shit” comment would have made him crumble, and perhaps Bryan was skilled enough at exploiting vulnerabilities to recognize that.

“And bring the kidney dish. Yes, that one.”

After disposing of the half-full plastic bladder of warm yellow liquid, you brought the supplies over to the bed and sprawled back out between his legs. Bryan stood nervously behind you, kneading your ass cheeks in his large palms.

“There is a small inflated balloon holding the catheter inside my bladder, so it cannot slip out. You will need to deflate it first.”

“A balloon?” You tilted your head curiously. “How does it feel?”

Taking the end of the yellow rubber tube in your fingers, you gently pulled until you felt resistance, the tiny inflated ball pressed against the wall of his bladder at the entrance of the urethra. You twisted it slowly, rubbing the ball against the internal opening.

Frederick’s back wanted to arch, but he was helplessly immobile in his body, completely at the mercy of whatever you chose to do. He realized in that moment how vulnerable he truly was—that you could do anything, and he couldn’t escape or resist. He gasped out, but not in pain.

“You like that?”

His breath stuttered, but he couldn’t quite form a response. He didn’t know if he liked it. It felt strange. Not unpleasant. He felt full. On the threshold of torture, but something was thrilling about it—electricity sparked and built deep inside as you kept moving it.

You were barely touching the catheter anymore, only holding the end as you searched for the balloon port, but each tiny vibration made him whine softly.

“The orange cap. Use the… s-syringe… to… drain the…”

By the time you drained a few milliliters of water into the syringe, he was moaning loudly, incoherent.

Now when you pulled, there was no resistance to the tube sliding out. As you started to remove it, the deflated balloon passed over his prostate. You recognized it by the familiar whimper—the same stuttery, breathy cry he gave when you fingered him and found just the right spot. You stopped pulling and let it slide back in a little.

He choked, panting and begging, “P-please… please!” but wouldn’t tell you please what? Stop? Faster? More? Don’t?

In truth, he did not know. It burned, but it felt like stroking the shaft of his cock from the inside. It was humiliating—urine dripped from the end of the tube. He had no control over it. He felt so alive. So wanted for the first time in months of lying in that bed. The way your eyes lit up, your lips quirking at his every trembling breath. The way you whispered, “Easy. You’ve got this. Almost there.”

He was on the verge of coming when you pulled it the rest of the way out and set it aside in the tray. You gripped his cock firmly but gently, tilting it up to show Frederick the tip.

“Look at that. Your cock is gaping open like your asshole when Bryan fucks you,” you smirked. A bit of that rough, teasing quality entered your voice—an echo of the way you and Bryan used to use Frederick like your personal sex toy.

But you were going to be gentle today.

Extending your tongue, you laved over the head of his cock, soothing the stretched hole. Then all at once, your warm, wet mouth sank over his entire length, and he let out a shattered wail that was heard through the hospital wing.

Frederick went absolutely brain dead at that moment. His entire existence floated in a shimmering void with no up or down, no gravity. There was nothing but dizzying pleasure consuming his senses. Going without sex—and until recently, without touch—for so long made every sensation more intense than seemed possible. Your head bobbed up and down in his lap, lips wrapped around his cock, and waves of volcanic heat exploded up his vertebrae with each stroke. He still could not arch his back, jerk his hips into your mouth, or writhe beneath you. All of that frustrated kinetic energy came out in uncontrolled vocalizations. The nurses must have been bribed well to not come running at the hoarse, fevered cries.

His cock felt like a cock again, not some pathetic thing discarded after surgery. He couldn’t wait to come down your throat.

He almost didn’t notice Bryan was still standing there watching, obediently waiting.

“Fuck him,” Frederick managed to hiss.

A small pink smile flashed across Bryan’s lips as he nodded and leaned over you.

Your throaty groan vibrated around Frederick’s cock as Bryan pushed forward, gripping your ass to hold you still as he split you open again. He didn’t wait for you to adjust this time, doing just what Frederick had asked—he fucked you. Skin slapping skin echoed through the small room as you choked on Frederick’s cock, powerful thrusts pushing you forward and down.

Bryan sharpened your focus. You had started with your tongue languidly exploring the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive area beneath the crest of its head. Warm wetness traced along scars where stitches had been removed and the flesh was still raised, making his skin erupt in tingles. Now, you hollowed your cheeks and held on for the ride.

Continuous moans tore from Frederick’s throat, louder as you drove him toward his climax. He wanted to really fuck your mouth, control your pace, but he couldn’t even lift his arms.

As if reading his mind, Bryan’s large, veined hand ran down the length of your spine and settled possessively on the back of your neck. His eyes met Frederick’s, bushy grey brows raised in question.

The corner of Chilton’s mouth quirked—a tug of his cheek—and he nodded. “Yes… faster. Make him go faster.”

Bryan’s fingers snarled into your hair and pushed you down onto Frederick’s cock, then dragged you back up and shoved you down again. Frederick sighed in relief as you gagged on the head striking the back of your throat. He pretended it was his hand controlling you—savored the tears streaming from your eyes, the drool smearing your lips and pooling around the base of his cock. Most of all, he relished how willingly you took him—let him abuse your mouth for his pleasure. You were so eager.

Sensing that Frederick’s mind was gone on that last, desperate stretch toward release, Bryan took charge, setting a punishing pace as he fucked you harder and faster in time with the rhythm he was pumping your head. Bryan was a bit skeptical at first, but listening to you gag, he wished he could have a turn sucking Frederick off. But it was almost as good using your mouth like a masturbation sleeve to jerk him off.

“Take his cock like a good boy. Nice and sloppy,” Bryan growled. “Make him come, and don’t spill a drop. You swallow it all.”

Frederick moaned again. He was so close. Heat coiled in his lower body; his balls felt so heavy and tight, ready to burst.

Each time Bryan pulled you back, your tongue did this perfect little swirl, sometimes over the tip or under the crown of his cock. A sinful flourish before his heavy hand impaled your throat on Frederick’s throbbing length. He wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. Looking down at the both of you—Bryan’s face drawn in effort, sweating, and you beneath him, cheeks hollowed as your nose met Frederick’s scarred-bare pubic mound—he couldn’t help think he didn’t deserve you. Either of you. So devoted to him in his time of need. A maddening heat rose under his abdomen. He was going to… going to—

“C-come inside him. Come in his ass,” Frederick choked out. Saliva ran down his chin wantonly without lips to collect it. His eyes were barely open and rolling back in his head.

Bryan’s breathing grew erratic and turned to audible grunts as he chased his pleasure in your tight little hole. There was no restraint now—he mercilessly abused your ass and your mouth, creating a symphony of Chilton’s cries and your choked gagging. He wasn’t sure if you could take it—usually, it was Chilton he treated this way—but your walls were gripping around him, eagerly pleasuring his cock while your hips pushed back into his thrusts. You were just as needy a cockslut as your boyfriend.

The antiseptic air seemed to still for a moment, like the perfect silence that precedes a thunderclap. Bryan’s rutting hips hitched, then came crashing back down, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he sheathed your throat around Frederick, and in an instant, you were filled with hot cum from both ends. Frederick gave the small whimpering cries of a dying animal as his bitter release coated your tongue, salty, coppery, and thick. Bryan’s roar was that of an apex predator, your inner walls flooding with his seed.

A euphoric feeling settled over you. The feeling of being claimed, totally and completely, surrounded by two men you loved and trusted, knowing you brought them satisfaction.

You sucked Frederick through each twitching aftershock until there was nothing left to be milked from him, and his cries turned to uncomfortable sobs. Only then did your lips release him, shiny and red, and already softening.

Bryan, on the other hand, was hard as steel when he pulled out of you, and knowing his quick recovery time, ready to go again if need be. But that wouldn’t be advisable, considering the hospital staff would only look the other way for so long.

You quickly pulled your underwear back on, cringing at the squishy feeling of Bryan’s dripping cum being pressed into your skin. After returning Frederick’s legs to their usual closed position, you carefully crawled onto the edge of the mattress, avoiding the paths of tubes and wires attached to him, and gently cradled his prone body.

His breath was steadying, and his eyes were watery with emotion, coming down hard from his high. You surreptitiously brushed a tear away with your thumb. He wouldn’t want you to notice he was crying, but it would be worse if Bryan saw. So you held him, whispering soothing praises, and helped him calm down while Bryan cleaned himself up and made sure there were no stray fluids on the floor.

Then Bryan stood, once again unsure.

Where did he fit, with the bed too narrow for two people to cuddle on, much less three? Did he even want to join? Hospitals reminded him of death, and Frederick’s cadaverous figure made it worse. Fucking you with him was fun, but it felt like a last request—a favor for a dying man. Though as he understood it, Frederick had already beaten the odds and was going to survive, barring complications. But it still made him shudder.

He watched you smiling at him, gently whispering comfort with your arm so carefully draped around him, and watched his mutilated mouth try to smile back. Your eyes were transfixed on each other. Another pang throbbed through Bryan’s heart. He wanted to be part of that.

He took a step forward.

What if Frederick didn’t want him to be part of his lovey-dovey snuggle? It was stupid. Bryan was only here to fuck, anyway. It was what he was good at. Bryan Kneef didn’t do clingy emotional bullshit, and this was way too fucking Hallmark right now.

He took a step toward the door. It was roughly in the same direction. The last thing Bryan Kneef wanted was to appear indecisive.

But before he could pass the foot of the bed and lock his trajectory toward leaving, Frederick’s eyes shot open and froze him. He repressed another shudder, still freaked out by his ghostly blue eye.

“Thank you,” he said. His face was unreadable (there were not enough features left to read), but his voice had a hopeful edge.

“My pleasure.” A surprisingly uncomplicated reply. It didn’t seem the time for tacky vulgarity.

You looked up at him, too, and the combined forces of your puppy-dog gazes broke his resolve. He pivoted away from the door and pulled up a chair beside the bed so he could lean close, resting his head against your warm shoulder and gently stroking Frederick’s withered arm.

Frederick hummed contentedly at the contact, and he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#Frederick Chilton x reader #bryan kneef x reader #Frederick Chilton x Bryan Kneef x Reader #male reader #thatesqcrushsummerbingo #my writing

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hotchley · 3 years

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🦄 i know there are fics with hotch and food and how he eats bland food but also the guy puts jalapeños in his omelettes. do u think likes flavorful cuisines? he also does seem to only make bland foods for jack (mac n cheese, pancakes). which could be a kid's thing but could be a white thing like i wouldn't know lmaoo (come on, asian to asian, tell me to my face you weren't eating flavorful foods at a young age). like i dunno, hotch is such an inconsistent character. at one point im p sure he stopped eating bc he literally looked so gaunt on screen. but in the same ep he shows that he knows how to cook (or at least sautee onions lmaoo) AND organized a team cooking lesson. or maybe this is just me obsessing over all the hotch/garcia scenes bc they're one of my fave pairs and she always brings out the colorful sides of him.

this is also just me being annoyed at reid's character bc one of the trope i hate most is white guy knows more about minority things than the actual minorites. like somehow the guy knows korean but can't use chopsticks? also his pronunciation of korean phrases is horrid and i just hate the trope so much bc white ppl always butcher asian things and they always use asian cultures/aesthetics as props. like haha look at how smart i am, i can translate this korean movie for u in realtime. and him speaking over the kid at the reservation rubbed me in the wrong way like stay in your fucken lane, whiteboy. just bc u read books doesn't mean you understand anything at all and im really glad hotch called him out on that. i mean the same thing happened with the ep on african religions (which was not sensitively done might i just say). like i get he's a genius and he likes to read but what good is that booksmart if he just ends up being an asshole irl. so many of his "look im a genius and im cultured" end up being throw away lines and this show is already super white which makes the treatment of those lines seem even more insensitive. like does he know most of his genius comes a lot from his privilege of being a white male. i dunno, his character is just so annoying to me and ive said it before: garcia does the whole genius thing better and she isn't even half as annoying about it (even if she's white lmaoo).

Okay, so Hotch probably does enjoy trying new foods and different things but he’ll just give Jack bland things because he’s white and doesn’t want to destroy Jack’s taste buds, even though he would be fine. (Yep, I was definitely eating things I probably wasn’t old enough too as a younger child)

I reckon after Foyet there was only so much he could stomach which is why his choices went bland and after Pakistan he was probably so anxious, stressed and sad that he just couldn’t stomach anything without feeling nauesous.

I LOVE HOTCH AND GARCIA SO MUCH!!!! “Don’t call me honey.” is one of my favourite scenes with the two of them.

OH I KNOW! I get that the show came out in the early 2000s and all that, but if they really cared, they could have had an Asian character. Okay he can’t use chopsticks, but they should have just either a) left other peoples cultures alone or b) done it properly by actually doing research and having the team be like: Oh so I learnt this but obviously, I am white.

I’m gonna be honest, I do not remember the episode with African religions and I’m not sure I want to remember. I just feel like the writers should have made it that Reid has knowledge on other cultures but lets the people who are actually part of them speak and listens instead of having him every two minutes flaunt the fact that he’s a genius.

Because what I want to know is, if Reid had been an ethnic man, a white woman, or an ethnic woman, would the intelligence have been praised the way it was or would it have just been an expectation?

I’m fairly neutral towards canon-Reid I’m like: Yeah okay, cool. There’s a particular subsection of the fandom where I’m like: GUYS! REID IS A GROWN ASS MAN YOU CAN’T BLAME EVERYTHING ON OTHER PEOPLE!! And I also think basing your like of a character off what they say to Reid is kinda unfair because I will put my hands up and say I probably would ask how he happens to know stuff and not always be able to keep up with what he’s saying because I just couldn’t.

Garcia is the best. Absolutely love her!

#🦄anon

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solastia · 4 years

Text

The Dragon’s Lair | 5

Pairing: Dragon Hybrid Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 2,872

A/N: The smut is here! It’s a little short, since it’s been crazy at work, but I wanted to give you guys something. It’s also pretty vanilla since it’s Dragon Joonie’s first time, but boy will learn some things eventually. The spoiler for the next chapter is: We meet a new hybrid that likes riddles ;)

One of the most charming features of aging homes is their ability to fall apart during the least convenient times. Like how the power has currently gone out in the middle of a snowstorm and you can’t get a hold of anyone to come out and fix it because it’s too late in the evening.

You sigh as the air in the big house begins to take on a sharp bite, rubbing your arms as you assess your stack of wood next to the already blazing fireplace. This should be enough to get you through the evening and maybe into the next afternoon. You’d already braved the storm to take all of the food to the barn where there was an extra fridge and freezer set up to a small generator, since this wasn’t exactly the first time this had happened. You’d have to pull the couch closer and sleep on it tonight if you wanted to stay warm - no way would a single fireplace be able to heat all the way to your bedroom. And you weren’t really sure how comfortable he’d be with his long ass legs, but if you could talk Namjoon into sleeping on the couch with you then you’d have the added bonus of the Dragon’s natural heat to help keep you warm too.

As if you summoned him with your thoughts alone, Namjoon finally leaves his studio for the first time in several hours. He had been using the last bit of daylight to write in this huge notebook that he’d been toting around for a while (He still refuses to let you look, but he blushes so cutely whenever you ask that you let him get away with it). He looked unfairly comfortable wearing nothing but basketball shorts and a tank top, while you had thrown on a sweater and hoodie, sweats, thermals and three pairs of socks. He comes up and wraps his arms around your waist, humming into your hair as you turn back to the fireplace.

“Still not able to get a hold of anyone?”

“Nope,” you scoff. “Soonest anyone can be here is 2pm tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “l guess we no choice but to turn in early tonight since there’s not much we can do without power or the ability to go outside.”

“Yeah. Any chance you wanna sleep out on the couch with me?”

“As if I can get any sleep with you off in another room,” he scoffs as he walks over to the couch. “It’ll be tight, but we can handle it.”

He pulls the couch closer to the fire and you whisper a silent apology to the old wooden flooring that was surely getting scratched underneath.

“There,” he grunts, patting the cushions with a self-satisfied grin. “We can get cozy and I’ll read to you until we’re tired enough to go to sleep.”

Namjoon splays himself across the couch, laying against the left armrest with a few pillows before he opens his arms. You smile and crawl in between his legs, using his chest as a pillow as you lay back and pull the couch blanket over the both of you. He reaches back and grabs the book he’d been reading the past couple of days and opens it to where he left off, clearing his throat before he starts reading. You don’t really listen to the words since he’s starting in the middle and you have no idea what happened before, but his deep voice and the rumbling in his chest vibrating against your back is comforting.

From your place, you can look right out of the front room window and observe the wild storm. The howling wind is strong and shaking at your windows, but thankfully those at least are holding up.

Namjoon pauses his reading for a moment to drink some water and you take the chance to mention something that had been bothering you.

“I hope Mark doesn’t get sick again in this weather. This is so bad.”

Namjoon rubs your arm comfortingly. “He’ll be fine. He’s got the eyes of a wizard on him at all times now. While hyung may not be able to stop the natural course of nature enough to make the storms cease - that I know of at least - he can certainly handle keeping a whelp warm. Not to mention, you made Mark promise to call you if anything happened again.”

You had made him promise that - and he’d followed it almost too well. Since he’d recovered enough to get out of bed he often snatched Heechul’s phone and called you at least three times a day, sometimes over something as small as finding a butterfly. The strange thing was, you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you found them reassuring since you’ve begun to worry about Mark nearly constantly. Realistically, you knew that Heechul was doing an amazing job keeping an eye on him as well as the other hybrids that had suffered under the eye of that horrible staff woman, but you worried anyway.

Every time you made a meal, you hoped Mark was getting plenty of his own food too since he still had that slight gaunt look to him. You worried about him getting enough sleep, enough vitamins, if he was staying under his UV bulbs enough, if anyone had hugged him today. It was getting ridiculous. Why were you worrying so much about a child that wasn’t even yours?

You sigh and burrow closer into the heated body behind you. Namjoon tried to act cool about it, but you knew he was just as attached to Mark. You’d even caught him calling Mark and lecturing him when the boy hadn’t gotten around to making his daily calls yet.

If only he lived here you wouldn’t have to...

And the solution to your worries was so obvious you wanted to punch yourself in the face. Why couldn’t he live here? You had the room, he was one of the adoptable hybrids, the both of you already treated him like he was yours. You already had tons of rooms that you’d just have to fix up to make livable for the reptile hybrid. And you had no doubt Mark would be happy with the idea.

Content with that settled in your mind, you finally focus on Namjoon’s voice again, a secret smile gracing your face as the Dragon’s deep rumbles and warmth soothed you.

“You falling asleep, baby?” he whispered into your ear after a few moments.

“No, just comfy.”

“Mmm, yeah this is really nice.”

You heard a soft thunk as he set the book back on the table behind him then he slid his arms under the blanket to wrap around you, lacing his hands with yours. You could feel the warms puffs of breath against your neck as he nuzzled against you like a damn cat.

“Doing okay back there?” you ask with amusement.

He hums, “Yeah. You smell good.”

As if he’d flipped a switch, you begin to notice exactly where his mind is going as he somehow pulls you even closer and begins trailing gentle kisses on your neck. Not to mention the suddenly hard and heavily twitching thing that was poking into your lower back.

“So what’s doing it for ya? The cat hoodie or the sweats with the oil stain on them?”

He snickers lowly and presses a kiss against the side of your head.

“Just you. You just smell so good and I love holding you like this. I was just thinking about how much I love you and how I wanted to be even closer to you. And...uh...well, that’s the only thing we haven't done yet.”

You turn a little to study his face.

“And you think you’re ready right now?”

“Yeah. Always ready,” he chuckles with a self-deprecatory tone. “Just wanted to wait for the right moment, and I guess this is as good as it’s going to get. Cuddling on the couch with only firelight piercing the darkness. Your scent tickling my nose, teasing me.”

Your breath hitches as Namjoon purposely lowers his voice, the deep tones of his words teasing as he presses soft kisses behind your ear.

“Sit up for me, baby.”

He helps you sit up on the edge of the couch then slides onto the floor, peeking up at you with a slight blush as he settles between your legs.

“May I?” he asks softly as he pets your thighs.

The sight of Namjoon on his knees like that makes you quiver with anticipation.

“Yeah,” you tell him breathlessly, scooting up a little to help him as he begins to pull your sweats and thermals off, throwing them behind him (thankfully nowhere near the fireplace. You checked. It was still Namjoon after all).

“Cute,” he mumbles, playing with the lace on your admittedly not very sexy strawberry panties. He softly caresses the outside of the fabric, making you whimper.

He nuzzles the inside of your thigh and presses a soft kiss to it, looking up at you with wide eyes that would look almost innocent if it weren’t for the slight smirk he was sporting. He pulls the fabric of your panties to the side, taking a moment to just inspect it, embarrassingly enough. You had to remind yourself this was technically his first time so naturally he’d be curious.

Without warning, he leans forward and licks through your folds and suckles your clit hard like a pro.

“Oh, Namjoon.”

He hums, his tongue working furiously against you like a man starved. He pauses and moves a thumb to your clit, rubbing at a medium pace as he holds a couple of fingers to your lips.

“Get them wet for me, baby?”

You open your mouth and he slides them in, watching avidly as your tongue darts out to wet the digits. You circle his fingers with a teasing grin, biting the tips softly. He growls and the sound goes straight to your core.

He slides his fingers out of your mouth and slowly pushes them into you, meeting little resistance. You could hear him pumping them in and out, slick with your juices. He moans and leans over to tongue at you again, flicking against your clit. You whine and buck against his mouth, thinking that of course he was a fucking natural at this. And those big beautiful lips felt so good against you.

“So good. You taste so fucking good,” he groans, voice already sounding wrecked. And you swore he was trying to sneakily hump the couch, which only made it hotter. He was so excited just from eating you out.

Suddenly he stopped, whining as he gripped the front of his shorts. He closed his eyes and panted for a few moments before they shot open and he set his jaw, looking at you with desperation.

“I need to...you know...like now. Is that okay?”

You inhaled sharply, trying to come back from the god damned ninth form of heaven those lips had sent you to.

You grin, slightly happy for the reminder that this was actually his first time. His tongue had fooled you into forgetting that for a while, but now he seemed willing to go back to taking direction.

“Of course, sweetheart. How do you want me? Want me to ride you?”

His jaw dropped and he nodded frantically, quickly jumping up and kicking off his shorts before sitting on the couch. He widened his legs and watched you crawl over as his cock visibly twitched in anticipation.

You straddled his lap and lined him up with one hand, using the other to grip his shoulder to brace yourself. He bit his lip as you rubbed him against yourself, smearing your juices on him to ease the way. Sweat was beading across his brow as he held himself back from moving.

You exhaled slowly as you eased down, Namjoon’s girth stretching you further than you’d ever gone before. He reached around to grab your waist, just holding you and not directing you at all. You pause to let yourself adjust and to tear off your shirt and hoodie, then raise yourself up nearly to the tip before dropping back down all of the way.

“You good, Joonie?”

“Yeah,” he nods, answering like he was grinding his jaw while he stared at your now bare breasts right in front of his face. “You feel so good. So soft and warm. I’m trying so hard to not cum.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll try to keep this quick and you can cum whenever you want.”

You increased your pace, riding him with your hands gripping his shoulders to keep you steady.

“So beautiful,” he grunted. “Finally have all of you. I’m so happy.”

You rolled your hips against him, whining and tucking your head against his neck. You kissed and nibbled the skin there as you rode him as hard as you could. You reached down and moved one of his hands to your clit, showing him what you needed. He eagerly began rubbing you, bringing you even closer to the edge.

He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, tonguing it and giving it a sweet little nip before he moved over to the other one. His grip on your waist tightened as you began to slow down, and he smoothly started to take over, bringing you down on his cock with powerful thrusts. His hands moved down to your ass, cupping them with his huge hands as he took full control.

“So wet, baby. You feel so fucking good,” he growled, bringing his forehead to yours, staring at you intensely.

“Mine. Tell me.”

His eyes were more vivid than you’d ever seen them, practically sparkling as stared at you. His skin felt like lava, and you were almost certain that you felt claw tips pricking your behind. Namjoon was practically going feral and you loved it.

“Yours. Been yours since the moment I saw you, Namjoon. I love you.”

His hips sped up at your words, the slapping of skin against skin echoing in the silent room. You soon became incapable of doing anything but panting and moaning as Namjoon fucked into you with a speed that you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Joon, I’m gonna - “

“Go ahead, baby. I’m right there with you,” he growled, bringing one hand to your clit and rubbing viciously.

You throw your head back and moan loudly as your muscles clench and twitch. Namjoon grunts and drops his head against the couch, sighing loudly as he follows you off the edge. It’s not until you begin to come down and think clearly again that you realize he’s dripping out of you and that you just let him take you completely raw. However, your bones feel like jelly and the Dragon underneath you looks close to passing out, so you figure that’s a conversation for another day.

“You good?” you ask, still draped across his chest. You reach up and caress his cheek, and he reaches up to hold your hand there for a moment before bringing it to his lips.

“Yeah. Totally worth the wait.”

You chuckle quietly. “I’m glad. Want anything to eat? I kept the stuff for PB&J Sandwiches inside since it doesn’t need to be refrigerated.”

“Maybe later. Kinda wanna stay like this for a while,” he grinned, bucking up a little like you needed to be reminded that he was still inside you. And...not growing very soft?

He noticed your unasked question in your eyes, shrugging. “Dragon stamina?”

You shrugged back. You’d long ago stopped questioning much.

You hummed and laid your head against his chest, uncaring that it was slightly sweaty. You stroked his beautiful skin...skin that still looked slightly unusual in color. You were pretty sure that his scales were trying to break through, but he was still too self-conscious about it to let them. You reached up to his hair under the guise of playing with the strands, and sure enough, you found two little bumps on either side of his scalp, like even his horns had tried to come through.

That sex with you was so exhilarating to him that he nearly lost control and shifted was flattering. That he still fought it off and apparently was still too worried to show you was not. You’d have to figure out some way to make him comfortable enough to show you.

You sigh and cuddle closer to him, nuzzling against his chest.

“I love you, Namjoon. You know that, right?”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“Of course. I love you too. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You smile happily, content with that for now, although you still had work to do to get him to trust you fully.

You close your eyes and start to doze off, only to be startled awake as an unrepentant dragon smirks down at you as he rolls his hips against you. It was apparently going to be a very long night.

At least you weren’t cold.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts scenario #hybrid #hybrid!au #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #dragon!namjoon #dragon hybrid namjoon #bts smut #the dragon's lair #solastia

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unforth · 4 years

Note

Bakery owner!dean, hungry endverse!cas

I wanted to warn you this ended up having a brief mention of John Winchester’s A+ Parenting. Am I misremembering that you’re actually kind of a John fan? Sorry about that...it’s largely incidental, fwiw. Also, this got kinda long, and I’m not sorry.

Also, mentions of drug use, and a mildly dub con kiss (there’s not explicit consent before hand)

Fuck, but it had been a long day. Exhausted, Dean finished consolidating all the garbages into one ginormous bag, hefted it over his shoulder, and carried it out the back door. The alley behind his bakery was as repulsive as always: reeking, with puddles best left unexamined, and a handful of rats skittering into the shadows. Ignoring them - but making sure the door was shut behind him - Dean strode to the dumpster and swung the bag atop it. An explosion of fetor burst outward as the new weight atop the garbage forced air from the bags beneath.

Ugh.

This bullshit was why Dean always saved taking the garbage out for last. He didn’t want to touch a single damn thing in his bakery after interacting with the alley. Heck, he didn’t even want to walk on his floor - that’s why he mopped before he closed and before he opened.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean stomped back toward his door. Something squished underfoot, and before Dean could look - before Dean could convince himself not to look under any fucking circumstances - and aggrieved voice protested, “Watch where you’re stepping, dickfuck.”

“Sorry,” said Dean, sincere, as he realized that the squishy thing was an arm, belonging to a scruffy homeless dude who’d been sleeping in what Dean had mistaken for a pile of recycling. “What’s a dickfuck, anyway?”

“You are,” the man said sourly. “No screw off and let me sleep.” He was filthy, his face covered in dirt, his hair matted, his clothing in rags that didn’t conceal his emaciated figure.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean replied. The man glowered and tugged a dilapidated box over his face. “Sleep well, asshole.”

And Dean went back into the bakery.

He wiped his feet on the entry mat.

He washed his hands in the sink.

He looked with contentment at everything he’d built, shut down for the night after another successful, if exhausting day.

His wandering gaze spotted the basket of “day olds” that he’d repackaged to sell at half-price the next morning.

An image of the gaunt, dirty man sleeping in the alley floated through his memory.

Selling his excess at a discount helped him keep the business afloat and meant he didn’t waste ingredients; that said, it also weirdly cost him money, because the customers who checked the “day olds” would, if they found nothing to their taste, usually opt for a pastry at full price instead.

So...if it wouldn’t really cost him much, if anything, to give the baked goods to someone in need.

Nodding as he made up his mind, Dean took up the entire basket - a half-dozen cookies, a loaf of bed, and two scones, not the most nutritious selection but when the alternative was “no food,” well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that alley dude had begged.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hungry. He sure as fuck had looked hungry. Heading out the front door, Dean locked up and carried the basket around the block with him, returning to the back alley. The pile of boxes still looked like recycling, but alley dude’s fingers still poked out. Setting the basket down beside him, Dean lifted the limp hand and set it on the baked goods. No need to wake the guy up again. He could find the bounty later, and do with it as he would.

Chest glowing with that Good Samaritan feel, Dean headed home with a bounce in his step.

Maybe he should make this a regular thing - stop selling his “day olds” and donate them instead...

Dean hoisted the day’s garbage into the dumpster, turned to walk back to his back door, and stopped. Alley guy sat amidst his boxes, looking like some weird cardboard golem. Dean’s basket was sitting on the back stoop. Embarrassed, Dean looked away and scowled. He’d not given the food expecting thanks. Alley guy had never been there before; Dean had assumed he’d never be there again. Fuck, but seeing the dude was just awkward. Ignoring him as best he could, Dean walked by, took up his basket, opened his door, and--

“Hey, dickfuck - I’m allergic to dairy,” grumbled alley guy. “So, thanks for nothing, I guess.”

Opting not to turn around, Dean shrugged and said to his graffitied door, “eh, it’s not like you asked for that shit. You weren’t obligated to thank me, or to eat it. Hope you paid it forward, though.”

“Oh, yeah...cause I got so many friends or some shit. But yeah, the rats loved the crumbs. You dickfuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean walked back into the business. That’s what he got for trying to do a good deed. What a goddamn waste.

Still, the charity he’d e-mailed about donations hadn’t gotten back to him yet, and he had a baguette in the resale bin...grabbing it, Dean used a red pen to emphatically circled the ingredient list, went to the cooler and took a bottle of water, and poked his head back into the alley.

“Hey,” he said. Alley guy jerked around to stare at him. “Dairy free, asshole.” Dean threw the two toward alley guy, who snatched them from the air with surprising dexterity. “Any other allergies you wanna warn me about?”

“Manners,” alley guy replied flatly. “That gonna be a problem?”

“Pfft, like I care what the fuck you say or do,” Dean scoffed. “But if you die back here, I’m the one who’s gonna have to deal with the cops. Like I wanna talk to those SOBs over your mangy ass? No way. So, eat up.”

And before alley guy could reply, Dean went back inside, locking the door behind him.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any hummus in there?”

“Buy your own.”

Over the days that followed, Dean and alley guy developed a weird rapport.

“You know your food is garbage.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Alley guy was abrasive, sardonic, and irreverent. In any other circumstances, Dean would want to deck him in the face, but his perpetual rudeness despite his dire circumstances was weirdly...endearing. It seemed a bizarre form of self-preservation, a show of strength that the man would sass him. Dean was willing to bet, oh, a fuckton, that his thinking so was a sign of his own stereotypes about the homeless - it’s not like losing their houses reduced them to personality-less manikins or some shit - but still, alley guy’s bullshit, and that Dean could give back as good as he got after kowtowing to all the crap that customers pulled on the daily, was refreshing.

“...did you figure out a dairy free quiche recipe just for me?”

“Why the fuck would I do that? New recipes are for paying customers.”

Dean totally expanded his knowledge of dairy-free cooking for alley guy’s sake.

“Ya know, you really don’t have to keep feeding me...”

“You leave, I stop.”

And despite his expectations that alley guy would leave...he never did. And occasionally, when Dean looked back, it would be to see yellowed teeth revealed as pink lips spread in a broad grin, and blue eyes sparkling, and an expression rife with all the appreciation that alley guy couldn’t express and Dean didn’t want to hear anyway.

Alley guy’s cheeks had some flesh on them again, too.

Seeing him - smiling, and appreciative, and douchey, and healthier - felt good.

Dean was gonna buy him a fucking toothbrush.

“Hey dickfuck - I’m not your charity case, you know,” grumbled alley guy, sniffing suspiciously at the crisco-crust pie Dean had brought out, along with a plastic fork and bottle of water.

“No fucking duh,” said Dean, rolling his eyes. “You’re a strong, independent man who can leave anytime you wanted.”

“...no, I’m a useless, broke, jobless, homeless drifter with PTSD and not even enough money for a dime bag...and I could leave anytime I want.”

“Well, glad we sorted that out.”

“Yeah.”

“My name is Dean, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Not dickfuck.”

“Bullshit,” retorted alley guy. “Your mama absolutely took one look at your dick face and wrote ‘dickfuck’ on your birth certificate.”

Flinching despite himself, Dean grimaced. He should let it roll off his back. There’s no way that alley guy could know he’d poked a sore spot, and no reason alley guy would care if he did know. And yet...some jokes hurt, and somehow Dean couldn’t escape the feeling that alley guy wouldn’t want Dean to actually be upset. Maybe that was reading way too much into their pseudo-relationship, but...

“Hey, yo, call me whatever the fuck you want, but don’t diss my mama, okay?”

“Aww, yas, gotta love the whiff of toxic masculinity that comes out when someone shits on mom.”

“She died when I was 4.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Channeling his upset into a glare - I will not cry in front of alley guy, not gonna do it, not gonna do it - Dean headed back to his back door. “Oh. Thanks for the shitty memories, asswipe.”

Throwing the door open, he stepped in, expecting at any moment for alley guy to say something even more dickish, but there was only silence, until--

“I’m Cas,” alley guy called.

Catching the door a moment before it shut behind him, Dean tossed it open wide, stepped into the opening, and caught it with a hand. Alley guy was eating the cupcake, frosting smeared over his lips, and he offered Dean a disgusting, crumby smile.

“Sorry I’m a fuckwad.”

“No, you’re not,” grumbled Dean.

“...yeah, okay, usually you’re right. Usually, I’m not even a little sorry I’m a fuckwad. But I am sorry about your mom, dickfuck. Dean. If I’d known it was a sensitive topic I’d have made fun of your dad, instead.”

“You do that,” Dean said, quirking his lips in a half-smile. “Dad’s an alcoholic son of a bitch - with all possible insult to my grandma intended - and if he’d a known I’d grow up to be some pansy-ass baker, he’d have named me dickfuck, not that ma woulda let him.”

“Your dad’s a fucker,” said alley guy...Cas...solemnly.

“Cheers to that,” agreed Dean. “See you tomorrow?”

Dean expected a quick riposte, a nasty reply, a joke and a shrug to break the seriousness they’d unexpectedly descended into. Instead, Cas gave him a funny look, and said in an equally odd tone of voice, “yeah...yeah, I guess you will.”

Shaking his head, Dean retreated into his business.

What a weird fucking guy.

“Dean, I was wondering...you give me all this shit...is there anything I could do for you in return? Odd jobs? Mobsters you need driven from the premises? I’m handy with a screw driver and an every weapon in the US arsenal.”

“Really? Every single one? Even the black ops shit?”

“Especially the black ops shit. But I’m being serious.”

“That you’ll shut the mafia for me?”

“That I want to help. I know I seem like an ungrateful sod...that’s because I am an ungrateful sod...but I could, I don’t fucking know, sweep your stoop, or snake the pipes, or wipe your counters, or...”

“...just so I’m absolutely clear, you’re not offering me a blow job or an assfuck in exchanged for baked goods, right?”

“...would you accept a blow job or an assfuck in lieu of payment?”

“From someone with your skank-ass breath and gingivitis? Fuck no.”

“I don’t have gingivitis on my cock, Dean.”

“And honestly...if you don’t take a goddamn shower, I’m not even letting you on the premises. But--”

“But you appreciate the offer, you don’t mind giving me baguettes, it’s definitely not a no homo thing, blah blah blah, I get it, I--”

“--but I got a shower stall in the basement.”

“...oh.”

“So, get your ass cleaned up - and no, I don’t mean sexually, I’m not a homo but I am bi as fuck, but like, just no, the levels of squicky in the homeless dude I’ve been feeding paying me back in sexual favors is just all kinds of nope - and then if you want to help, I could use an extra set of hands with the dishes. But if you do, I’m fucking paying you. Okay?”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m not offering it. Heck, you’re in this alley every fucking day - that already makes you about a billion times more reliable than the last dumbass I hired as a kitchen boy.”

“You want me to be your...kitchen boy?”

“Do you want to be my kitchen boy?”

“...we’re still not talking about sex?”

“Just get your ass in here and take a fucking shower. And I’ve got a bag of clothes I’ve outgrown - before you say it, I mean that I’ve got too fucking chubby to fit into, thank you very much for fucking noticing - and I’ve been figuring out how to give them to you anyway, so you can change into those.”

“You wanted to give me clothes.”

“It was you or Salvation Army.”

“They’re a bunch of fucking transphobes, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I opted for you. I assumed you weren’t a bunch of fucking transphobes.”

“What if I’m one fucking transphobe?”

“Look, you want to take a shower or not?”

“...yeah. Yeah, that would be nice, Dean.”

“Good. Get your utterly non-sexual ass into my place of business. You’re hired.”

“What’s your fraternization policy?”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“That’s an oddly specific policy.”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“...make me?”

“Shower. Now.”

“Yes, Dean.”

A distinctive musky, skunky smell wafted through the kitchen, so strong it over-powered the mouthwatering scents of proofing croissants and caramelizing sugar. Wrinkling his nose, Dean stuck his head into the dining area, expecting to see some stoners with the munchies buying him out of cookies, but the scent terminated at the door. If it wasn’t a customer, it might be one of his neighbors...but the other businesses around were closed on the weekend...or someone who lived in the building above...but that should drift up, not down...or from the alley outside...but the handful of small windows in the kitchen area were nailed shut to prevent exactly that kind of problem...so where...?

Grimacing, Dean returned to the kitchen.

“Heya, Dean,” Cas drawled.

Cas.

On his third day of work.

Late.

Dressed in Dean’s hand-me-downs.

Shaved.

Surprisingly hot, now that he had some flesh on his bones and some color to his skin.

Pupils dilated.

High out of his fucking gourd.

“Out,” snapped Dean.

“Oh...did I blow it?” Cas broke into a lazy smile, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “Shocking.”

“For fuck’s sake, dude - no, you didn’t blow it, but you do not show up in my place of business reeking. You get your ass to the shower, clean up, change into some fresh clothes, and then wash the goddamn dishes like we discussed.”

“And if I don’t?” There was something bizarre about Cas’ expression. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think it was...affronted? Insulted? Put out?

What, because I didn’t fire him?

Over some goddamn pot?

Who the fuck does he think I am?

“Then you can go right back out to that alley, bury yourselves in those ratty, stinking boxes again, and I’ll bring you some bread tonight,” replied Dean with a shrug. “No skin off my back either way. You’re here because you fuckin’ offered, man, not because I insisted or nothing. Anyway, you want to afford more weed, you need money, so...dunno why you’re acting like a dickfuck about this, but seems to me that from your point of view, it’s a lose-lose, and from mine, it’s whatever. Capish?”

Silent, Cas stared at Dean.

Sending a silent what the fuck skyward, Dean turned to check on the croissants.

Cas stared at him.

Ignoring him, Dean glanced through glass front of the stove to see if they were up to temperature.

Cas stared at him.

Running through his mental task list, Dean checked his stocks of frozen cookie dough - and Cas stared - and gathered the ingredients for Sally Lunn rolls - and Cas stared - and tossed some tart shells in the oven to blind-bake - and Cas stared - and set some butter on the counter to warm to room temperature...

...and Cas stared, and said, “You’re right,” with solemn conviction. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ready to work.”

“Awesome. You do that.” Dean offered him a half-smile, and Cas startled and shook out his arms as though a spell had been broken.

“And Dean...thank you.” He smiled. “But I’m not a dickfuck. You are.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dean smiled back; the genuine grateful pleasure on Cas’ face was irresistible. “Get out of here and come back when you smell better.”

“Yes, Dean.”

There was a knock on the door of the closet that Dean liked to pretend was his office. Looking up from his account books, Dean frowned. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, hesitantly, and Cas stepped into view, stopping framed by the rectangle of brighter light that emanated from the kitchen. A year had done wonders for Cas; he’d gone from sleeping in the alley and showering in the basement and working odd hours to being a full time employee, with an apartment, and time off, and clothes of his own, and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow. If the occasional whiff of patchouli drifted about him, well, it meant he cared enough to mask the pot stink, and that too was a vast improvement. How he spent his extra money and leisure time was his own damn business.

Even if, sometimes, Dean wished it was his own business.

But nope. Cas is off limits. Given our relationship - as benefactor and benefactee, as employer and employee, as...fuck, I don’t even know, but it’s awkward - there’s no way in fuck-all I can tell him that I think he’s gorgeous and hardworking and totally spank bank material.

Being the boss blows sometimes.

And Cas was still standing in the doorway, still watching Dean in that peculiar, steady way he had, and still silent.

“Look, these books don’t balance themselves. So unless you got an accounting associates you haven’t told me about, spill it and then kindly fuck off.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” grumbled Cas, rolling his eyes.

“Yet here you are,” Dean replied with an ingenuous smile.

“Yeah, well, not for long.” Something in Cas tone made Dean really look up, really look at him, and he was surprised to find Cas serious, troubled, and focused. Blinking at him, Dean set his pen down, closed his book, and tried not to worry. “I, um.” Cas was hesitant. Cas was tongue tied. Cas was never anything but brash and confident and full of amazing douchiness.

“Hey - dude...” Dean rose, and shimmied to the side to initiate getting through the teeny path beside his teeny desk, but Cas arrested him with an upheld hand. “...whatever it is, you know it’s okay, right? I trust you.” Cas laughed hollowly and Dean’s concern intensified. “If shit’s going down, you don’t have to face that shit alone any more, ya know?”

“Yeah...” said Cas bitterly. “Yeah, I know.” Cas took a deep breath, let it out as he squeezed his eyes shut, and said in a rush, “I quit.”

“What?” exclaimed Dean.

Cas opened his eyes, deep blue obscured as they narrowed with uncertainty, and nodded slowly for no obvious reason. “I said, I quit.”

“Why?!” Shock, worry, and disappointment collided within Dean. If Cas quit, would he end up on the streets again? If Cas quit, would Dean get to see him any longer? If Cas quit--?

“Because as long as I work here, I can’t do this,” Cas replied, and as Dean watched as though time had dilated, Cas lunged forward, knocked into the desk, grabbed the loose sides of Dean’s apron, and pulled him into a rough kiss. Stubble tickled at Dean’s cheeks. Lips applied amazing pressure to his own. Cas’ face was so close that his two eyes seemed four until Dean’s eyes slipped shut and he leaned in, deepening the kiss, teasing at Cas’ lips with his tongue.

Cas jerked away from him with a gasp, chest heaving, and for a split second Dean thought he’d somehow misunderstood everything.

If he doesn’t want tongue...is there something, anything, else that kissing me out of the blue could mean??

“Cas?” Dean asked weakly.

“Yeah, dickfuck?” replied Cas with a mysterious smile. His tongue flicked out and ghosted over his lips, and Dean swallowed a surge of arousal.

“What the fuck was that?”

“It was the kiss I’ve been wanting to give you for a goddamn year,” Cas explained contentedly. “Whaddaya think?”

“What do I think?” Eyeing him, Dean took a deep breath and let it go, raising two fingers and brushing them over his mouth. The way Cas stared at every movement was more delicious than Dean’s special, patented, best-in-the-tristate-area apple pie. “I think I want to do it again.”

“Good,” said Cas, his hunger as obvious as the growing bulge in his pants. He reached out...and Dean stopped him with a hand.

“After I finish the books, and seriously, anywhere more comfortable than in here, okay?”

“In the kitchen?” Cas suggested with a lascivious wink.

“Ew. No! Unhygienic. Do you know how much trouble I’d get into if the health department found out?”

“...aren’t I worth it?”

“Okay...look...just to be clear...we are talking about sex, right?”

“For once...god, I hope we are,” said Cas fervently. “Because if not, this is, hands down, the most confusing conversation I’ve ever had with you - and that’s saying something.”

“What?! I’m not confusing,” Dean exclaimed. “You’re fucking baffling.”

“I’m easy,” disagreed Cas. “In every sense of the word.”

“I call bullshit. If you were easy, it wouldn’t have taken me a year to get in my pants.”

Cas raised a finger. “You were trying to get in my pants?”

“No! Of course not!” Dean spluttered. “I’m your boss, that’d be wrong on so many levels!”

“That’s about what I figured,” agreed Cas with a hum. “But you’re not my boss any longer.”

“That’s why you quit.”

“So if we can’t fuck in the kitchen, how about in the shower?”

Catching his lip between his teeth, Dean barely quelled a hysteric laugh. He wanted to - fuck, how he wanted to - but... “Ok. Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re rehired. There’s no fucking way I can close up for the night alone before at least eleven, unless I’ve got help. Payroll is due, and this shit won’t balance, and I can’t go anywhere until it’s done. So, you do closing shit, and I’ll do fucking math, and then, when once all that is set...we can talk. Okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak?” smirked Cas.

“Has anyone ever told you I don’t give a fuck?” Dean retorted.

“Don’t worry.” Cas’ smile went gentle, and Dean’s heart fricken melted. “I love it.”

“You--”

“I’ll go wash the dishes now, sir,” Cas interrupted, grin going saucy. “Come fire me whenever you’re ready...”

Dean’s mouth worked around a reply, but no words would come; Cas, looking eminently proud of himself, turned and sauntered from the room, ass wiggling.

“I will,” Dean called after him as the door swung shut. He sounded strained, and high pitched, and he’d have been mortified if he wasn’t so damn excited and horny.

Guess no good deed goes unpunished...

The gorgeous sound of Cas’ rich laughter echoed loudly enough that Dean could savor it despite the door separating them.

...and man, is the punishment for this good deed going to be a goddamn blast.

Hot damn.

#sheinthatfandom #unforth writes #spn #baker dean #homeless cas #endverse cas #idek know how to tag this #the read more is broken and I don't know why #sigh

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