#its easier to distinguish his hair from his skin

[z-skull]

Ochanomizu but a little younger

#Dr Ochanomizu #doodlez #hes not originally supposed to be this dark bc i just color picked from a screenshot but i kinda like it #its easier to distinguish his hair from his skin #idk #putting it here fir reference sake to find it easier #YES i forgot his vest buttons and thats ok

[prospectivereality]

Burning desire | SV5

your complex relationship with Sebastian, your co-worker, reaches its climax during that one infamous night in cold Milan. Is it better speak or to die? Well, when you are both jealous stubborn maybe the way is to show

words: 4.9k, warnings: slight mentions of alcohol overuse, minor angst, mature (!) sexual content

Milan, late winter of 2019

Your breath hitched in your chest. You would have been lying if you said you weren't anxious. It seemed like just another day at work, but you felt like something was eventually going to happen. How could it? After all, it was just another season and just another gala di apertura with guests, sponsors and staff. It happened every year and you were part of it. Yet, you couldn't identify the reason why you felt different in that case.

The taxi driver just said you had arrived. Looking out the window, you checked out the surroundings where the event occurred. The tall, chic and historic building with luminous lights on the walls looked welcoming. It contrasted the city itself, full of graffiti, crumbling townhouses and streets. Such gems hidden in this city were not uncommon, and you allowed yourself a few seconds of silent praise for the Ferrari’s choice before leaving the car and paying.

A long, silky red gown hit the carpet, which was prepared for the guests, as you took your first step. Goosebumps immediately showed on your skin the moment the chilly wind enveloped your whole body. Your entire back was exposed in that dress, you could have been prepared and taken a jacket. For the sake of a ”flawless look,” you had resigned. After slightly fixing the dress by hand, you headed towards the door passing the assistants in suits waiting outside with a faint smile.

This was the time to put your charm on.

The inside was already boiling. The excited bustle and warm laughter filled the spacious red-decorated hall. Dimmed lights added intimacy and elegance to the décor, while an orchestra hidden somewhere in the corners played Italian classical music. Ferrari events were, well, to say at least pleasant in terms of the atmosphere and venues. They always had an Italian touch framed by timeless elegance. Sometimes you even regretted being here because you worked there. Those nights would have been so much easier as the wife of a millionaire posing for photographs by his side.

You began to pass shy but elegant smiles to every single guest who locked their eyes on you. With the long dress and perfectly styled hair, you could simply blend into the sea of guests. A person who did not work with you every day would not be able to distinguish you from a worker or potential investor. Some men seemed to keep their gaze on you for a little too long time to be considered appropriate, which you found amusing. However, unveiling the whole truth and speaking frankly - you were bored. You were extremely bored with those events and you have discovered in recent months a rather risky but effective way for passing the time. Little innocent talks with gentlemen. They were always pleasing and showering compliments. You heard a lot of stories about their miserable love life, cheating wives or unfaithful girlfriends. To some extent, you had a lot of fun listening to their monologues but part of you was telling you ”they think that you can be a perfect replacement and distraction”.

But now, you headed your steps to the waiter holding the champagne tray and took one glass, just to create an aura of warmer appearance. In darker corners of the room, you always drank with lustful sips this light liquid and swapped glasses with waiters in a discreet way. You couldn’t let yourself to be actually seen drinking champagne by your boss. However, it was encouraged to just hold it in order to make the whole event more social and less resembling a big sponsorship hunt. It soon turned out that coping with all your evening positives or nightmares was impossible for you without getting intoxicated. This made you start to suspect that someone must know your little secret, and you honestly didn't know which of your two secrets would be more awful if they went out.

You barely had time to notice that some gentleman in the near distance of two meters seemed to approach you. Smiles that you were giving out to other guests in the recent minutes were apparently encouraging him to do so. Trying to remain your mask and give him as natural appearance as possible you moved your gaze at him and welcomed by passing your hand and offering your name.

”Is my pleasure to meet you. My name is Niccolo” the man bowed slightly with respect and squeezed your hand with grace. A soft smile danced on his lips. In his words, you couldn’t sense a single note of an Italian accent in his perfect English.

He looked rather old money in his dark grey suit and perfectly plain shirt. Some expensive watch shined on his wrist and a tiny gold brooch sparkled on his suit. You quickly noticed how his sharp jaw and nose enveloped his face giving a masculine appearance. His sparkly dark eyes were looking at you quite empathetically. It was not difficult to observe that his dark bushy hair was also arranged impeccably. He was probably in his late 20s. You would be lying if you said he didn't look handsome. Elegance was beaming from him and he was undoubtedly a resemblance of every woman’s dream.

”I bet you are representing ferrari tonight? Looking at your dress” he said halfway letting out a soft chuckle.

You laughed politely at his notice.

”Actually I am. Does my covered inspection of guests give everything out?”

”Mh.. I would rather say it was the way you move around the place. With confidence and grace. Seems like you are in your element”

His words were genuinely astonishing to you. But you knew you couldn’t fall for intelligent banter.

”If I may ask to get to know about you a little more. Are the finances or something else close to your profession at ferrari?” He asked locking dark eyes on you and taking a sip of champagne.

”None of it. I don’t actually know why they insisted me on going here. I work for scuderia ferrari”

”Woman in motorsport? That is very impressive to see” He admitted

Throughout the conversation, he seemed highly professional and did not seem to ask you about any details. You were in a way surprised by the respect he paid to you by showing how equal he treated you.

It was still the bare minimum.

”I would love to learn something about you too,” you said pretending to be truly interested in conversation ”What is your purpose for tonight?”

He changed his look to a more serious yet excited one, looking as if he had been waiting for such a question.

”My family company has been working closely with ferrari for the past few months in terms of marketing. We are delighted to have this manufacturer as our client. We know that Italians see the Ferrari as the sacred thing for their culture”

”You are not Italian?” you said with a confused mimic on your face before you had time to think about it.

”Well, technically I am” he laughed seeming amused by your reaction ”but we are based in Geneva, Switzerland. It is our hometown”

”Oh I see now” you said passing a bland smile.

Another rich man who will try to make you fall in love with his money and prestige

”You really intrigued me” he said suddenly looking straight in your eyes ”I love dropping by Monaco in May to see the formula races, but I still haven’t had any opportunity to speak with someone who works in that industry. Could you tell me more about it?”

”Well” you started ”It is rough. Much more different than fancy galas and special events. It’s loud, it is chaotic and emotional. You have to think and act fast, especially if you sit in a garage like me. I am an engineer” you said faking a smile.

”I thought I couldn’t be more mesmerised by a woman tonight. I am looking up at you” he sightly laughed with astonishment and disbelief.

You sensed that someone was observing your conversation. That was when you saw him. Looking to your right at a distance of a few meters and observing you carefully with discreet, light-shot diamonds from his eyes. Without shame, he looked intently at the two of you while sipping champagne, one hand held in his pocket.

He looked annoyed, like a little brat that was taken away from his favourite toy. You know him, he acts like this when he doesn’t get what he wants. There was a slight assumption in your mind earlier that he would also be here tonight. Why wouldn't he be? He was the Ferrari star that they like to show off to sponsors.

You looked again at Niccolo and tried to act normal as the cold, unpleasant shiver ran down your back. It wasn’t caused by fear, it was anger.

”Are you alright?” your speaker turned to you snapping you out of trans.

”Yes, everything is fine” you said trying to sound convincing and passing a bland smile.

You knew that he was still looking at you.

_

You did not have to wait long till he found you and caught you near the tables with fancy appetisers. The place was much more intimate and discreet than the rest of the ballroom, allowing you to catch your breath and take a break from the business small talk. But even solitude accompanied by a single potted palm couldn’t save you from Sebastian. After catching him approaching, you averted your gaze immediately.

You didn’t have to look at him to be sure who was standing next to you. His presence, smell and movements suddenly appeared similar to you, even natural. For several seconds, he did not speak until he faced you fully and shamelessly while you were still pretending to be curious about the appetisers.

”Hmh” the unnatural sound left his throat. He seemed tensed.

You continued to ignore him by putting perfectly sliced smoked salmon with celery crunch on your plate.

”Good to see you’’ he said with more conviction in his voice slightly raising his head up.

It was becoming hardly possible to ignore him anymore. You allowed yourself to shed the last remnants of your pride and face him. A familiar sight of black steed on his chest first caught your eye, but this time it was falling up and down along with his white shirt underneath rather quickly with each of his breath. The black suit looked flawless, but he still had trouble finding the right length of pants.

”Surprised you decided to talk with me”

”Why wouldn’t I?”

”You are no longer worried about your boss's opinion now? A very important gala for the brand and here you are chatting with your engineer. Maybe he is annoyed with you at this very moment because you are more needed next to some Italian billionaire"

”You like to be bitter shatz, do you? What is wrong with talking about work in work? Don’t you think I have different intentions”

”Hm, honestly I stopped after some time when you limited your words towards me to some quick analyses after the sessions” you could see how Sebastian already opened his mouth to say something in his defence but you continued ”but now I think you just wanted me to stop talking to that man”

”Honestly, I couldn’t care less” he said full of himself, but you knew that his words were far away from being honest.

A silent treatment was given to him by you. He never was a good liar and his pride and stubbornness never made it better. You watched as he reached for one of the appetisers in front of you. This movement forced him to take his eyes off you, which he did rather willingly, and get a little closer to your left to be able to grab food.

”What did you want to discuss Herr Vettel?” After some time you went on with irony in your voice ”some problems in the sim? Or questions about new regulations-”

”What was his name?” He interrupted you and gave no interest in what you have been saying. His tone was firm yet definitely not jealous. Casually and still not looking at you, he took another bite of his appetiser. Watching how his lips sank into the food you blinked astonished. He is the only person who could deny the accusation a few moments earlier just to confirm later the obvious.

Before deciding to answer his question you took a glass of champagne that lucky was nearby.

”Niccolo? I guess. Some wealthy old money from Geneva”

”Sounds like most of them” he said looking amused ”Young, good-looking and prosperous. Did you give him your contact already?”

Sebastian was behaving mean and viciously. He knew he was stepping on thin ice and regretted the words that hung in the air.

”What kind of a woman do you take me for?” you huffed, visibly disappointed with his behaviour.

The moment of realisation hit him when the content expression was fading from his face. He genuinely looked concerned suddenly, almost scared. A lump in his throat appeared in a matter of seconds while he swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple visibly popping off.

”The wisest one, shatz” he tries saving his position like a soldier on the front losing an inevitable war. ”Don’t mind what I sa-”

”If you think you are able to sweet me up with your silly words you are mistaken Vettel” you say sharply looking straight into his eyes ”I am not a goddamn FIA”

Normally Sebastian would share a chuckle at your words but he wasn’t able to take such a risk at the moment. He just stood there with an empty mind and lack of words on his tongue, but at the very moment when you turned around and made your way towards the lavish parquet he stormed after you, your name leaving his lips in a rather jittery tone.

”Hey! Stop” his voice reaches your ears to your great dismay. You attempted to gracefully escape from him and hole up in a crowd. Dozens of lavish guests and scrumptious businessmen had become a jungle in which you tried to escape from your predator.

You were so close, that you thought you almost got it when you felt his warm hand grabbing your shoulder. Reluctantly you turned around trying to behave normally somehow. In the crowd next to all your coworkers, there was never any room for error.

”Talk to me” says Sebastian softly, his tone and mimic visibly different than from minutes ago. He took off his mask and was honestly asking you for this privilege. His hand still hasn’t left your shoulder, probably forgetting where you were or simply doing it by habit.

”Not here, Sebas-” you started sounding defeated.

”Come on” without hesitation he adjusted his grip this time grabbing your hand and directing the both of you somewhere. He didn’t care if someone saw you so he led you towards the corridors, passed bathrooms and finally reached one of the backrooms.

To his delight the doors were open and the sight of a private lodge appeared before your eyes. Sebastian was fast closing them behind and sighting deeply, standing his back to you.

”Well, what a scene” you huffed ”I thought that one in Hungary would be the last one”. The tension of the situation wasn’t in your favour which forced you to practice mockery as a coping mechanism.

”Listen,” he said his accent getting thicker ”This doesn’t work”

”Sorry?” you said bewildered frowning your brows.

German turned around slowly now facing you but still having trouble with maintaining eye contact.

”This dynamics or whatever it is”

You could feel how anger bubbled inside of you and the colour of your cheeks started to match the one of your dress.

”Yes! Because what have you been thinking while you don’t dare speak a word to me? As you play push and pull game with me around the paddock and live in the delusion of whatever is going on!” you raised your voice taking a step closer to him.

”Sorry, but I don’t quite understand what should I do? What do you expect from me? Just to pretend everything is fine and continue this?” He started to step away from his calm stance seeing your reaction.

”See? You are running from responsibility, and consequences. You act like everything is amazing and then you completely ignore me the next day, I see you in that garage and you just stare as if you see a ghost. That’s fucking heartbreaking”

Your voice sounds for a second like it is close to cracking. Sebastian is standing before you, looking at the floor as he is debating internally. You decide to say something more, something that was deep in your thoughts for a longer time.

”Why are you just so cruel and do this to me and then leave me? I don’t understand you. You leave me every time. Every time after you begged me to stay, after kissing me, making love to me. You are not decided. Why do you do this shit and then I see you flirting with other women?”

You feel burning in your eyes and you swear internally at yourself because the last thing you ever wanted to do is to show him that you care that much.

”You need to understand” Sebastian says quietly knowing that his heart is fighting with his mind. The words he is saying are unnaturally formulating on his lips, and he is feeling the weird taste of the lie he will hate afterwards. ”You are just my engineer. Nothing more”

An uncomfortable spike in your chest appears unwillingly but you don’t want to believe his words. You know he lost this war. He can be untruthful with himself but you know him too well now to not know what is the reality.

”It is not true,” you say taking the risk. He is now fully looking at you ”You are scared.”

Sebastian felt like he was sinking. His knees never felt tonight weak but suddenly, someone, made them unstable. The sound of fears spoken aloud happens to be the worst wake-up call. He swallowed hard taking a step closer to you and a weird sensation of madness appeared in his body. It was so strong that he couldn’t compare it to anything that made him angry about you earlier. It wasn’t near to that stupid argument over the strategy or the time you first time drunkenly made out at the celebration party.

”Honestly, I can’t bear you,” he said staring into your soul. He wasn’t lying, you knew he spoke the truth once you noticed his dark gaze. ”I can’t stand being in the same room with you, hearing as you speak. You cursed me.”

”Sebastian” left your lips more as a warning than a plea.

”You consumed me so much, that I had to do that. Don’t you understand? You messed up my head, you ruined me in a way nobody will fix.”

Your chest was falling up and down quickly. Suddenly, it became even harder to breathe than speak. ”Could you..” You started but his eyes were almost eating you and your bodies involuntarily got closer speaking for your thoughts. Choosing to listen to your own selfish needs that appeared in your body like an uncomfortable itch you closed the gap as your lips smashed on his. He was tensed, but as soon as it happened he started to attack your lips mercilessly. There was a lack of gentleness in his action; he was starved as you of tasting each other. Slowly taking in more air between kisses you sweetly moaned.

Sebastian grabbed your arms hardly pushing you against the marble counter standing nearly. He pressed his bodyweight into yours, gaining some stability and power in the position and shamelessly grabbed your breast, sensually yet firmly caressing it. Drowned in desire you bit his down lip hardly and felt how the man parted his lips and groaned. He always looked so beautiful as he did it. You could swear to death that nothing ever made you more full of yourself than hearing his pleasure. Soon enough you felt the taste of his blood on your teeth.

”Up for me” German said touching your thighs now.

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You willingly sat on the marble, feeling its coldness through the thin satin of your dress. He continued to kiss you, now more slowly moving his interest over the chin and neck. You threw your head back slightly hitting the mirror that was on the wall behind it. The guilt washed you weirdly mixed with overwhelming pleasure and desire. Closing your eyes you imaged how his dumb full lips would feel on your breasts. Your hands got lost in his blonde curls pulling them rather painfully.

His firm and soft palms rolled your dress up as your legs parted to make just enough space for him, you needed him closer. You felt how his interest was moved to your neck and to the forgotten necklace you wore for the night. Unexpectedly the end of his fangs grabbed it and dug into the gold harshly.

”I will buy you the one with ”S” on it,” he said under his nose more to himself than you. He was being possessive now, which normally would annoy you but now you were too lust-drunk.

His hands moved smoothly to your open back not breaking the kiss. Goosebumps welcomed you as you experienced skin-to-skin contact, Sebastian was quick to take off your spaghetti-thin straps and the satin fell exposing your breasts. Seeming very occupied with worshipping your neck he only touched them and twisted your nipple earning a high whimper from your mouth.

”That’s my girl.” he murmured against your skin.

But he was tempted for more as he a few seconds later moved his pinky lips to envelope one of your now painfully hard nipples. You let out a moan that was louder than once before, welcoming him and tugging his curls even firmer. He was the only one who could bring heaven and hell for you, purity and sin, unconsciously linking your souls through invisible string.

His soft and very much adored hands were on your hips as he kissed your sternum moving down. It felt like torture that could make you blush easily, all this intimacy was sky-rocketing with each of his movements.

”Seb” you whispered not knowing exactly what you wanted to say.

He returned to your lips, kissing them hungrily. You felt a spark of energy and decided to put your hands to use. They landed on his shoulders taking off the jacket and loosing up a tie in blind movements. He quickly got your idea and added his pair of hands to help you. Soon his shirt was loose, with a few undone top buttons.

You tried desperately to bring him even closer and place sweet kisses on his lips again. Moving them down you peppered with kisses properly his jaw until you reached his neck. Feeling all dominant all of sudden you sucked his skin, biting gently. A shaky groan left his throat as you let out his skin with a wet pop. Your masterpiece was done - red marking showing that Vettel is not such available as it may appear to women.

He took a few seconds to look at you. His eyes were now in deep ocean blue mirroring your body impatiently. His movements were yet controlled, and his hands again found their way on your thighs but you felt like he was winning at this game.

”Sebastian, could you just fuck me” a whine left your lips. You were done.

Normally if he was cruel, he would just chuckle and mock how needy you are for him. He would show his infamous half-smile and take pleasure in it. But he was far from fucking it up this time, again. He wanted it to be serious, he wanted it to be the time.

That was a moment Sebastian Vettel promised himself to ruin all men for you.

”Schatz” he said lowly, kissing your face again ”Schatz, Schatz, Schatz. Anytime”

He didn’t hesitate unbuckling his belt and to get his semi-hard manhood on display. He gave it a few strokes and looked for the condom, he knew he had somewhere in his pocket. You didn’t give a second thought why he came to the gala with protection, trying to push out any feelings of uncomfortable jealousy it could give, you wanted him too much to worry about it now.

Positioning himself you moved a bit on a counter, and soon with a feeling of him being inside you both gasped. He started to move putting his hands on your hips as your legs enveloped his waist.

You would lie if the feeling of him wasn’t addictive. It was too addictive. It shuttered your world to pieces and made it an eden at the same time, leaving you longing, wishing that he could be more than just an undefined sex partner. The labels have never been put on, and this to much of your dismay itch you a bit.

Oh but you know it wasn’t just sex. Oh, it wasn’t

Sebastian was more and more confident and adjusted to your walls as he began to thrust deeper, faster. It was purely erotic as he was able to create sweet moans coming from your mouth. He got closer kissing you shortly before placing his head near your shoulder and erratically breathing right in your ear.

It felt too intimate, but you didn’t care. You also didn’t care as the furniture gave a little sound with your movements. You didn’t care about the probability of half of Ferrari looking for you right now at the ballroom. You only heard husky ”I missed that”, ”you take me so well” and ”show me how much I do you right shatz” praised right next to your ear.

It was getting sloppy. Your skin and clothing started to get sticky to each other, your breathing pattern was irregular and you weren’t so quiet anymore. Sebastian's movements were more and more firm now, taking you right, fuc- making love to you properly.

”Schatz. fuck. You are- ” you really wanted to listen to him but your head was feeling dizzy. ”You are mine. Never fucking again I will leave you”

”Oh, Seb” You started to cry, You weren’t sure if it were emotions anymore, pleasure or just the sense of relief.

Sensing you were close to German placed his thumb on your clit rubbing it in a circular motion.

”For me? Come for me pretty” he begged trying to kiss you but missing greatly due to his fast thrusts.

The orgasm hit you shortly causing your back to arch and again banging your head by the mirror. Warm pleasure taking over the control of your body felt better than you last remembered. Him being with you, doing this to you was your sweetest curse.

His movements got more irregular and soon he groaned lowly spending himself and kissing you again hotly. The image of his closed eyes and open mouth was undoubtedly an underrated artwork you could admire the whole day, and do everything to see it again and again. You both were going back from your high, catching your breath.

You wish it was simpler, you wish you weren’t coworkers. You wish he could see you the same way and don’t break your heart by confusing you.

”Seb?” you whispered gaining his all attention and eyes on you.

He didn’t say a word just stared patiently at your flushed and wet cheeks.

”I shouldn’t be wanting you”

”Why?” He asked confused frowning his brows, which quite didn’t match his blue angelic eyes.

”If we weren’t in such dynamics it would be easier. I just- it is wrong. It makes me feel bad and guilty” you confessed ”and so tired and confused fighting with you.”

Resisting too.

He hesitated for a moment, his hands gently stroked your back.

”If you think of the reaction of others, well I would lie if I said we should fuck them. But remember, it is about you. You make decisions about your own life. You cannot just live and be people pleaser all the time. You believe you are doing something wrong because someone told you it must be, we cannot choose what we like, can we?”

”Or we love,” you said without thinking.

Sebastian looked at you with visible terror in his eyes. It was not supposed ever to leave your lips.

”Don’t play with me” he said quietly resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

You kissed him and stroked his hair gently. It was in mess now, the strands of hair falling on the warm forehead were wet from sweat.

”Please, you can- may, continue, Sebastian”

”I think” he started with a puzzled expression ”that we just fucked a couple of minutes ago”

”Again, please” you looked at him sadly ”I don’t want to leave, go back to those people. I want to stay with you”

Stay with you for eternity. I missed the feeling of being in your arms,

I wish I could never leave them.

You thought but you had enough sanity not to say.

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel fanfiction #sebastian vettel smut #i love german pet names as you can see #and i love making hot intimate content during glamours galas

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Can we see red go apeshit :3 like some thing happened while they were split the boys are worried about them all yeah but he's been the most targeted as a suposed weak link up meanwhile blue green vio are slowly backing away while equipping fire protection gear?

Or the suggestion that since their bodies are crafted from the elements they have minor bending powers?

I saw "Red go apeshit," blacked out, and wrote this. Also inspired by the fwof prompt of a very similar kind!

Warnings: Graphic depiction of injury. If this was on ao3 I would rate it Teen so be careful if this kind of thing isn't your bag. Please check the TWs in the tags.

The first one to go down is Vio.

It's a lucky shot that gets him. Not anyone's fault. Wrong place at the wrong time. The purple wearing smith simply leaps out of the way of one of Sky’s lizalfos punches at the same moment that Blue ducks a tail swipe from another.

It’s just bad luck that the mace-like tail of Blue’s enemy connects with the back of Vio’s head.

The sickening crunch of metal on skull that follows echoes over even the sounds of battle. The tiny, punched out gasp that slips from Vio’s shocked, slack lips is somehow even louder. The crackle of displaced grit and rock as he collapses to the ground is loudest of all.

Or maybe it just seems that way to Red.

Red can’t seem to hear anything else; not the hiss of success the monster spits out, not the concerned shout that pushes its way out of his own throat. Even the pounding of his heart in his ears has gone horribly silent.

Red can’t seem to see anything else either. Can't look away from the sight in front of him. It’s like the world has narrowed down to Vio, the pool of red sprouting from his head like a halo, and the monstrous lizard that stands over him, rearing back, ready to throw another punch now that it’s target can’t get away.

Red doesn't even register himself moving forward. Doesn't even think about it, really.  It’s instinct, a burning tangle of fear and anger in his stomach, in his veins, that sends him diving forward, shield outstretched to deflect the blow.

The beast, not expecting to be denied one again, is thrown off balance with a confused hiss, which Red cuts off with an angry shout and a slash to the things belly.

He turns, sword held at the ready to take on the one that had landed the hit in the first place but Blue is already there, a snarling, unrelenting tide of sword and hammer, protecting Vio’s other side. A decisive mallet swing to the lizalfos' head sends it flying with a crack and a tiny whimper of pain.

They lock eyes for a moment, tsunami meeting lava, and with a quick nod, they take up position on either side of Vio, twin swords a blur.

On Blue’s far side, Red catches a glimpse of Green shoving his own lizalfos away with his shield before turning tail, ducking seamlessly under Blue’s latest swing and skidding to a stop at Vio's side.

Something like warm relief begins to flicker in Red’s chest as Green tosses Vio’s arm over his shoulder and begins to drag the other away.

A flickering relief that is smothered out in the blink of an eye.

Or, rather, in the flash of an arrow.

Between the glint of his own blade and the flurry of punches and tail swipes sent his way by the group of lizalfos in front of him, Red catches sight of one of Wild’s lizalfos lining up a shot too late. He barely has time to register the familiar greenish-yellow energy Red remembers surrounding Wild’s shock arrows before the thing is loosed.

The arrow sings through the air, an arc of crackling ozone that flies across the battlefield, through the swarm of lizalfos bearing down on them before finally diving directly between Red and Blue’s shoulders.

Red doesn't have to look back to know its found its target.

The distorted, jittering scream and acrid smell of singed hair and flesh speaks for itself. As does the thump of two bodies crumpling back into the dirt.

Red feels something inside him crackle at the sound. Feels the moment that the fear and anger twine together in his stomach, twin blazes eating up all the air inside him until he feels breathless with them.

Red also sees the moment that the sound registers to Blue.

And sees the second the dam breaks, releasing the flood.

“Blue, no!”

The warning comes too little, too late. The words are hardly out of Red’s mouth before Blue dives forward with a guttural yell, straight into the swarm of lizalfos, leaving Red to take up position in front of their fallen counterparts, feeling less air in his body by the second.

From there Red only catches glimpses of Blue cutting his way through the hoard. Sees a familiar blade coated in blood, the too fast swing of a mallet as it connects with a head, a flash of dirtied blonde hair. And he sees injuries appear on enemies.  A slashed open throat here, a collapsed skull there. Crushed ribs, ripped bellies, torn tails, gauntlets so dented that blood leaks onto metal.

Any that are injured and foolish enough to stumble Red’s way are taken down without hesitation. Red can’t afford to waste his time with them. He’s too busy glancing back at Green and Vio to make sure they’re still okay, still breathing, too busy craning his neck to try and keep track of Blue.

There is a break in the swarm and Blue crashes into the middle of it, looking bruised and battered but standing. Still standing and snarling and swinging at anything that comes within reach. He’s a tornado of strength and momentum and blade and hammer but he's moving too fast, too wildly. Red can see how each swing pulls him that much more off balance, how every frantic turn tangles his legs further and- and–!

Blue swings his hammer into the chest of one lizalfos, pivots to slash at another creeping towards his back and the momentum of both is just too much for him to handle. His front leg slips in the dirt and Blue goes down hard with a growl, his shoulder and face taking the brunt of his weight.

He’s barely hit the dirt before the lizalfos descend on like vultures, gauntlets and mace-tails raised to strike, completely hiding him behind a horde of green scales and unforgiving steel.

The sound of blunt metal connecting with skin and an infuriated but pained shout is the flint.

Or maybe the spark came earlier, from the electric arrow, the jolted scream.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning of this mess, the kindling a crunch and a gasp and a thump.

Or maybe Red was always on fire.

That's what it feels like at least. It feels like he's on fire. It feels like the burning fear and anxiety and anger have left the confines of his stomach, have coalesced, sparked up his veins, charred his lungs and burned up his throat and he’s screaming.

In an instant, his shield has left his right hand, replaced by the searing grip of the Fire Rod.

And now the fire has reached his skin and it feels like he's caught alight. No longer is fear distinguishable from anger, from rage, all that matters is the heat, the power, and the pain. The heat beginning to gather at the end of the Fire Rod. The pain of blisters bubbling on his hands as the temperature swells higher. The power just waiting to burst forth.

Red screams and screams and screams, a mixture of agony and anger and more, bears his teeth for the lizalfos to see despite the tears boiling down his face, raises the Fire Rod, and lets the world explode.

Everything is a blur of crimson after that. Flames lick at the ground and pull themselves swirling through the air, clawing at anything and everything that stands between Red and Blue.

There might be brief moments of green scales and glinting metal in his vision, seconds when claws and tails and gauntlets score him, bruise him, slice him open, but all it does is add more crimson. More places for flames to escape his body, making it that much easier for Red to cut them down and set them ablaze, filling his sight with scarlet once more.

At once, Red can both feel the heat and feel nothing. Pain and power. Each breath in is agony, filling his lungs with sparks and smoke, and each exhale is ripped from him in a scream, burning so hot that it feels like he might actually be breathing fire.

A roar fills his ears, but Red can’t tell if it's his heart or the sound of the flames or the screams of lizalfos as they fall.

He doesn't care what it is either.

Not with the fire around him. In him. Fueling and fueled by him. Breathing his air and stealing it.

All that matters is watching everything turn to ash and–!

A hand, warm but no scalding, catches his wrist.

Red whirls around, intent on wrenching his arm away, in letting the fire burn and burn and burn until it can burn nothing else.

And then he looks down and sees Blue.

Blue who is looking up at him from behind purpled, swollen eyelids. Blue, with blood dripping from his scalp and nose and a cut open cheekbone. Blue, whose left arm looks to be broken even as he holds Red’s wrist tightly with the other.

“It’s okay, Red,” he says, voice hoarse and lips bleeding. “You got them.”

The words enter Red’s ears, but he doesn't quite understand them. The hand that Blue had caught flexes slightly in its hold and the Fire Rod responds to the call of his magic, sparks beginning to sprout of the red gem once again.

“I-” Red coughs, swallows, tries again. “I got them?”

Blue gives him a nod and a weary, bleeding smile.

“You got them,” he confirms in a voice softer than Red thinks he’s heard in a long time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“We’re…?”

Reality, their situation, it all slams into Red and he whips around, looking back. Behind him is a path of carnage, a path of blacked, scorched dirt, torn and burning scaled bodies, metal gauntlets and tails reduced to misshapen, half melted hunks of steel.

But there, behind the burned dirt and cloud of smoke, beyond any danger, is Green and Vio, the former awake if shaky, still holding on to their unconscious counterpart.

“We’re okay,” Red repeats slowly, numbly, turning back to look at Blue. “We’re safe.”

His body must register the words before his brain does because suddenly his knees are hitting the dirt, bringing Red to sit next to Blue, who wraps his good arm around Red’s shoulder and pulls him gently into his side.

The pain in his lungs and the skin of his hands and any other parts of his body that had been licked by flames, unfortunately, flares to life then, overpowered only by the bone deep exhaustion that comes with using the amount of magic he did.

“We’re safe, we’re okay, we’re safe, we’re okay,” the words keep spilling from Red’s lips in hoarse whispers, even as his throat fails him, and his vision begins to blur.

In the distance, Red thinks he sees eight shapes breaking into a sprint to get to them.

“We’re safe,” Blue agrees, his voice barely making it through the cotton that has stuffed itself into Red’s ears. “You made sure of that.”

Red just hums and nods, letting everything go lax.

They’re safe.

They’re okay.

And knowing that, Red drifts off into the dark, a barely there smile pulling at cracked lips.

#lu four #lu red #lu blue #lu green #lu vio #tw:blood #tw: broken bones #tw: injury #red can go berserker mode #as a treat #red is at the heart of a lot of fours emotions #including seething unstoppable wrath #train writes #can you tell I like elemental symbolism? #linked universe #linkeduniverse

[steeleidolon]

From here: (x)

@ghostofnibelheim​​

Sephiroth is infamous for his aloofness. As a matter of course, he stands alone on his pedestal of command; it is expected that, apart from the other First Classes, he is not particularly interested in interaction.

Kunsel is not so sure all of this is by choice.

It is something he does not know for certain, for all that he has been here with SOLDIER long enough to become distinguished as a Second, if extremely careful not to overextend, not to draw too much attention.

Call it a hunch. Call it empathy--dangerous for anyone in their profession to have. Call it curiosity.

A risk, then. He finds it worthwhile.

As it is, he stands a bit more than arm’s length away, not intruding on space any further than he already has, but also not cautious, not afraid. There is something comfortable about the quiet from this distance--set apart from the others who are milling and mingling about. It is not complete silence, and the noise is a different tenor from the ambience of the HQ with its air scrubbers and the constant drone of technology.

“Ah. A glowing review.”

Mild, warm, not quite deadpan - a touch teasing, maybe, or amused inwardly at something. His lips curve below the level of the helmet.

Around the Tower, Kunsel is a nose and a mouth and a uniform, and he relishes in the anonymity provided by all of it, even if he has taken it a step further--even around the barracks, even in sleeping quarters, the visor is on. He takes it off to shower and to groom. Relegated to and excelling in night patrols outside of active combat deployments, he finds this easier to do than it might be otherwise.

It is not often that he is perceived, for all that he perceives much.

This is different, out here in broad daylight, in a semi off-duty gathering for morale, Lazard’s orders. Kunsel’s back is turned to the group at large. He is a buffer of line of sight, positioned so that no others can read his lips.

“It is where it belongs, sir. I give it another five minutes before someone licks the ones on the tray to stake a claim.”

And then a pause.

He reaches up, back, fingertips pressing to the catches that latch his helmet and visor closed. With a click the mechanism disengages, and he bows his head to roll the sculpted metal off.

He could use more sun, but it warms against bronze skin and chestnut hair regardless. A squint betrays light-sensitivity, mako bright around the pupils of hazel eyes - brown and green, with a dark limbal ring. Kunsel intends to meet and hold eye contact, before looking down to a folded piece of paper on the small tray, attention directed there briefly to indicate.

A note in dark ink that will be easily obliterated with grease - or coffee - or water. 

“Fine motor control exercises after infusions are better when they’re useful, edible, or both, I find.”

​

#Verse: Crisis Core #Kunsel #ghostofnibelheim

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Hi hello! So pleased to hear your requests are open! Can I please request for a marriage au mafia style where the reader gets hurt or assaulted by the rival gang in front of him and due to being restraint he can't get to her and he cries and begs for her stop. Then thankfully Chan and the others come to the rescue and you want nothing more than to be in chnagbins arms. Maybe a lot of angst and fluff afterwards too. Can't wait to see what you come up with 💕

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Changbin

Warnings: Mention of violence and blood; cursing and language; lots of angst and some fluff at the end; mature content

Genre: Mafia AU; Established Relationship

Where are you?

It feels like a dream. The very strange sensation of that in-between state because you were incapable of distinguishing consciousness from something less than. 

Am I alive?

You must be, aware of the sensation of cold, shivers running down your spine, raising little bumps across your arms...

“Princess!”

What? Did you hear that?

“Y/N!” the voice came again. More urgently this time.

You realized then, with the grounding agency of that sound, that your eyes were closed, but it was a struggle to open them, slowly coming back from whatever had sucked you down, wincing at the dull pain in your head.

“Y/N,” the voice sighed this time. Like it was relieved to see you cognizant. “Tell me you’re okay, love.”

Love?

It hit you at that moment, the sound of the voice. One you could recognize no matter the degree of darkness holding you under, and you managed to open your eyes enough to meet Changbin’s gaze from across the room. 

“Changbin?” you questioned. Or, at least, you thought you said his name. You couldn’t be sure since the sounds around you made it seem like your head was underneath water, distorting everything, and the roof of your mouth was dry and tasteless.

“That’s right, love,” Changbin said, and you struggled to keep him in your line of vision, watching his form swim and dance in strange directions.

“I don’t feel good,” you admitted, hearing what might’ve been a sharp intake of breath.

“Where does it hurt?” Changbin asked, and you frowned at how difficult the question was since you weren’t sure how to answer it.

There was too much numbness, and you were far more concerned with restoring your senses, slowly feeling your ears open back up and the things surrounding you come into focus.

Meanwhile, Changbin was still talking. “I’ll kill them all,” he growled. “This was never supposed to happen.”

Them? you thought to yourself vacantly, gingerly turning around as much as your bindings would allow, realizing only after a brief relapse of confusion that your hands and legs were tied to the metal chair you sat on. 

“Where are we?” you asked, finding your voice amidst everything else.

“I’m not sure,” Changbin whispered, and he suddenly sat upright in his chair, eyes narrowing and features taking on that practiced hardening that you associated with your husband at his most dangerous.

But a Changbin bound and tied by seemingly impossible to escape restraints didn’t exactly scream power to you. In fact, it seemed more like a power imbalance, and you were left reeling for answers when the sound of a distant door opening and then closing filled the space between you both.

“I see you’re awake now,” an unfamiliar figure announced, voice slightly accented. He walked with an arrogant swagger, matching the exaggerated steps he took and the smirk he wore on his grizzled features. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Don’t touch her!” Changbin snapped, jerking against his restraints as the veins in his neck visibly popped in response to his obvious anger and frustration. 

“Who? The girl?” the man asked with a lazy gesturing towards you. “Then you’ll give us answers, no?”

“What do you want?” Changbin asked, and you noted how his fingers were clenched tightly against the arm rests attached to his chair.

“The new shipment of weapons,” the man said. “Your men took them from us the other night. Came in and shot my best sniper.”

Changbin sighed, clearly frustrated. “They were originally assigned to us.”

“But then we made a better deal!” the man growled. “It was my name on that contract, and you had no right to interfere.”

“Says who?” Changbin asked, fishing for more information.

“I can’t tell you that,” the man replied. “I’m only the messenger.”

“You act like it’s more than that.”

“Oh?” the man smirked. “Well, I am a big deal.”

Changbin glowered at the arrogance. “I don’t lead the organization.”

“I know, but you’re an important player,” the man continued. “And your name was everywhere when I started investigating.”

“The weapons were a necessary exchange,” Changbin argued.

“But they were ours!” the man declared passionately, and Changbin knew better than to try to argue with someone so overzealous.

“Fine,” Changbin huffed. “I’ll have my men restore the weapons.”

“Wonderful,” the man sighed, tucking his hands into his pocket. “There is one more thing, though.”

“One more?” Changbin snorted.

“I know of your importance, Mr. Seo,” the man said. “I assume that you’re someone in possession of good information.”

“Like what?”

“Like that little bar you opened downtown,” the man continued, taking another step closer. 

You froze when he pulled a knife from his pocket, studying the way the light reflected off the harsh metal. “What about it?” Changbin grumbled, eyes focused on the obvious danger in the room.

“I’m curious about its sudden success,” he said, and you shivered when he started circling your chair. “Seems like something is missing.”

“Just good business,” Changbin said, but you could tell he was trying to get one step ahead of the guy - discerning the meaning of this unexpected conversation.

“Or, you figured out how to delegitimize the competition,” the man harshly exhaled, and you whimpered when you felt the cold blade of the knife tease the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Changbin sat up just a little higher, biceps flexing against his restraints. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Obviously,” the man hissed, digging the blade just enough to draw a tiny pinprick of blood. “You’ve sent your men undercover to spy on my business! To spread rumors and lies and turn my clientele away!”

Changbin chuckled at the outrageous claim, but it was devoid of any humor. “You probably fucked your business over yourself.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” the man growled, searing metal against flesh. “I know men like you, Mr. Seo, and I’m willing to bet that you’ve played a bigger part than what you’ve let on.”

“I have better things to do than fuck with some second rate booze club,” Changbin growled. “We’ve got clubs all over downtown. They’ve all been successful, and it has nothing to do with sending off the competition.”

Changbin smirked then, something harsh and mocking. “Maybe you’re just a really bad businessman.”

But it was the wrong thing to say, and you withheld a scream of terror when the man suddenly wrapped biting fingers into your hair. “You want to save your cocksleeve?” he growled, gripping even tighter to your aching scalp and wrenching your head back to expose your throat and the small laceration he had left there on the smooth skin. A puddle of red amidst the rest. “Tell me why you did it!”

“I can’t!” Changbin snarled in return. “My guys never stepped foot in your territory.”

“LIES!” the man roared, and you were teetering precariously in your chair, back legs lifted from the safety of the floor.

“If you hurt her,” Changbin said, and his tone was staggered and weak. “I will make sure you suffer a thousand times worse.”

The man laughed, incredulous as he looked around the room. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

Silent tears fell down your glistening cheeks as you felt the man’s warm breath against the side of your face. “Maybe violence isn’t enough for you. Maybe I need to get what I need by other means.”

Your stomach dropped at the guttural tone, trying to meet Changbin’s eyes from across the room. “You’ve been warned,” Changbin said. “The grave you’ve dug for yourself is deep enough.”

“Oh?” the man laughed. “Well, since you think you’re in such control here, let me remind of you of the reality of the situation...”

“Changbin!” you cried when you were abruptly lifted from your chair, knife cutting through the ropes binding you, sending you colliding back against the solid mass of an unfamiliar form, loose hands roaming across your torso. 

“Stop!”

Changbin’s voice was just veering on the edge of desperate, recognizing that you were in no position for him to sound anything less than serious. 

“Stop?” your captor repeated in a mocking tone, and you felt the blade of the knife return to your throat, slicing down harder and finally triggering the hair-raising scream that you had been suppressing. Trying to be brave for Changbin.

“You can’t do this!” Changbin cried, and you were amazed to see the faint rivulet of a tear stain - the mark of weakness that your husband tried so hard to suppress in this violent line of work.

If you thought about it, there were only a handful of times that you had ever seen Changbin cry.

“I’ll do anything,” Changbin whispered. “I’ll even take her place! Just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Hmmm?” Your captor relinquished his threatening attack, and you could breath a little easier when he turned his attention back to Changbin.“What if I offer you a compromise? Tell me how you’ve managed your business affairs, and I won’t kill your little plaything.”

Changbin inhaled sharply, gaze full of a sinister rage you knew was reserved for his greatest enemies. “You’ll be screaming for a death of your own by the time I’m done with you.”

“You still don’t understand,” the man sighed, and you gasped when chapped lips brushed against your cheek. “Maybe I’ll fuck her first...”

“You won’t have the time.”

“Says who...”

He trailed off then. The last words you ever heard from your captor before an enormous explosion interrupted the tension, walls and floors shaking as dust and debris fell from the ceiling overhead.

You could feel the body behind you trembling as well, but you knew that it wasn’t from the explosion. It was from fear, and in a split second of panic, the man shoved you to the ground, and you yelped when your head collided hard against the concrete. 

You attempted to pull yourself back up, but there was something numbing and weighty keeping you on the floor, darkness swimming threateningly in front of your eyes once again.

There were familiar sounds: the sharp click of a gun, the whizzing of bullets flying overhead, and the cacophony of screams and yells.

The pain was keeping you from focusing, aware of vague figures passing in and out of your periphery, running and moving in all sorts of directions. It was chaos at its finest, and you were incapable of comprehending any of it. Instead, you could only focus on two things: the pounding of your pulse against your eardrums and the intermingled buzzing of familiar tones.

There was a hand on your shoulder, but you were incapable of responding to their call, succumbing to an irrefutable and dreamless sleep.

The first thing you noticed when you were capable of understanding your surroundings, was the silky fabric of the bed sheets.

They were smooth to the touch and you flexed your fingers around them, humming in contentment when you silted open your eyes just enough to confirm that they belonged to you and Changbin. The ones you used on the King-sized bed in your shared room.

But therein lay the problem: you were alone in the bed, and the only voices you could hear certainly didn’t match the same tone of your husband.

You swallowed hard, flinching when the motion brought attention to the thick bandage around your neck, and upon touching the material, you were bombarded with a barrage of images reminding you of everything that had happened the previous night. 

It was enough to leave you shaking, seeking some form of comfort as you roused your body just enough to turn around to the sound of those voices, recognizing Chan, your husband’s boss, and Seungmin, the residential healer.

“Chan?” you groaned, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged you, rushing over to your bedside in an instant. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you said, watching as he lifted a bottle of water to hand to you.

“Drink this.”

You nodded, taking it from him. “Where’s Changbin?”

The question was met with silence, and you frowned when Chan and Seungmin exchanged quick glances. “Well, if nothing hurts, then I have other appointments,” Seungmin said, hurriedly dismissing himself from the room.

“Coward,” Chan muttered, but he was nothing but smiles for you, coming to sit down at your bedside. “Changbin...he’s busy.”

The answer wasn’t satisfactory, and your heart started beating a little faster. “Where?”

“Downstairs,” he said, and you knew exactly what that meant. 

“He brought him here?” you muttered, hating the idea of having someone like that under the same roof you called home. 

“Changbin insisted,” Chan replied, and you realized that he disapproved as well, but it still didn’t help your tender sensibilities, and you were ready to implode from the inside because you needed Changbin’s comfort.

“I need him,” you said, fixing Chan with a stern look. “Can you ask him to come up here?”

“He won’t be convinced until he’s done,” Chan said, but his gaze was soft as he leaned in closer. “I can help, if you’d like.”

It was a nice gesture, and normally you might take him up on an offer of comfort, but Chan wasn’t going to heal the turmoil bubbling inside of you.

The emotions burst forth, and your eyes had already glossed over from tears shedding themselves like dead leaves falling from a tree in the middle of a windstorm. “I just want Changbin,” you sobbed, and Chan was barely perceivable through the mess of your tears. 

You could tell Chan was upset by your dismissal, even as his fingers tried to brush away the wetness dotting your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, and it spoke to a history between the two of you that often when unsaid.

You had been given to Chan, your organization’s leader, as a peace offering from a rival mafia group. It was a cruel trade, and you resisted as much as you could, especially since, at first, you were meant to be his betrothed.

And you came into the Miroh Group with a determination to resist them to the very end.

Until Changbin stole your heart.

From there, you couldn’t believe that you had gotten so lucky, falling in love whole-heartedly, capable of forgiving Changbin’s worst sins.

Including his more sadistic tendencies.

“You can try to see him,” Chan said, seemingly satisfied after wiping away most of the evidence of your internal breakdown.

You nodded immediately, even though you understood that what you might find downstairs wouldn’t be anything comforting.

You felt a little unsteady on your feet, even with Chan helping you down the concrete steps descending into a place you tended to avoid.

The smell of alcohol and blood were both overwhelming, and you stumbled on the final step, rearing back at the sound of a truly gruesome gurgle that reminded you too much of drowning. 

In the middle of the room you managed to make out Changbin, wearing dark pants and a white t-shirt, allowing you to see all the blood painting the texture in ugly patterns.

But then your attention wandered over to the poor soul strapped to the chair, barely recognizable because of the damage caused by your husband, the one who was gaping at you while holding a knife in one hand and scissors in the other.

"Y/N,” Changbin whispered. “Why aren’t you resting?”

You shook your head, looking past the gruesome, mangled damage to see the pained expression of your former captor. 

Changbin had made good on his threat to tear the asshole apart, and your stomach rolled at the awful display of violence.

Done at the hands of the man who made the sweetest love to you in the dark recesses of your bedroom.

Still, you craved his presence, falling into his open arms as he held you close after tossing aside his tools. “Shhh,” he whispered to calm your tears.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” you sniffled.

“I’m sorry, love,” Changbin said, soothing your cries with soft cooing. 

You savored his closeness, tucking your chin over his shoulder and opening your eyes to look upon the decrepit appearance of your former captor. “What are you doing to him?” you asked, and you felt Changbin sigh as he pulled back from you.

“I know you don’t approve, love,” Changbin said, and he glanced down at his ruined t-shirt and jeans, drenched in blood. 

Under most circumstances, you would agree, but you felt your hand jumping to your throat, wrapping around the bandage covering your wound. 

Changbin frowned at the movement, likely remembering the events that led to your injuries. “Kill him,” you said, and both Changbin and Chan seemed taken aback by your response. It was completely out of character, coming from someone who often disapproved of the murderous part of their work. 

“Y/N,” Chan whispered, and you could see that he wore wariness on top of his horrified expression.

“Come upstairs soon,” you said, squeezing Changbin’s hand with your own. “I need you.”

Your husband nodded, looking at you with something akin to awe as you left the downstairs basement with Chan hot on your heels and torturous screams assaulting your ears. 

Chan only left your bedroom once Changbin arrived, showered and clean, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

“Careful,” Chan whispered to him on the way out, and you shivered.

But there was nothing that could warm you up more than Changbin, and you even managed a smile when he climbed into the bed behind you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Hi, princess,” he whispered, and you felt like bathing in the sensual tone of his voice.

“Changbin,” you sighed in return, turning around so that you could face him.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it love?” he asked, reaching out to tenderly stroke his fingers across your bandages. 

“Not anymore,” you said. “Seungmin did a good job.”

“He better,” Changbin rumbled, and you tried not to roll your eyes at your husband. 

“I was really upset earlier,” you said. “When I couldn’t find you.”

“That’s my fault, princess,” Changbin said. “I didn’t know you would wake-up so soon....and there were things I needed to take care of.”

You sighed, closing your eyes hard against a distant image of your mind conjuring the bloodied and ruined form of your captor. “Did you find out who he belonged to?”

“Yeah, a small organization under Park,” Changbin said. “He was more than willing to talk after I took one of his fingers.”

Your heart twisted at his nonchalant tone. “I guess you silenced him.”

Changbin hesitated, pausing to look at you with concern. “Are you mad at me?”

“Just...disappointed,” you said. “I couldn’t hold myself together.”

“It would’ve torn me apart,” Changbin replied. “If I let him go without making him suffer for touching my princess.”

You closed your eyes, feeling Changbin trail his fingers across your arm. “But you’re here now?”

“Of course,” Changbin agreed, leaning in to kiss you gently. “I’m yours, love. For as long as you need me to hold you.”

“Might be all night,” you said, moving up to kiss under his jaw. “I need you in a lot of ways.”

Changbin chuckled at your implications, leaving nothing to be imagined as you grazed one finger over the front of his sweatpants where his cock lay flaccid. He titled your chin at a better angle, a glaze of lust darkening his eyes. “When you feel better,” he purred. “I’ll take care of your little pussy.”

You shook at his seductive promise, curling even closer to him as Changbin’s thudding heart lulled you into a comfortable peace.

#changbin fanfic #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #changbin angst #changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x y/n #changbin fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mostlycompetent

[rarephloxes]

@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra week #lucien vanserra headcanons #lucien spell cleaver #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fanfic #elucie fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #sleeping beauty

[navegandoaciegas]

Broken Wings

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: You’re a small town girl with big city dreams, set on leaving Knockemstiff and its sheriff behind for good. Lee would do anything to make sure you stay with him.

Warnings: smut, explicit language, consensual sex, slight breeding kink, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of alcohol.

A/N: This is part 1. Part 2

I want to thank my baby @whateveriwant for your support, ily! I haven’t written anything in more than a month but it feels good to be back to it!!

Knockemstiff, 1957

The crisp air of the night hit your exposed legs when you swung them over the window sill, and a shiver ran down your spine as humidity seeped into your bones.

From your bedroom on the second floor, you could make out the shape of the Sheriff’s car hidden behind the line of trees near your father’s shed, and a bittersweet, faint smile spread on your painted lips. Fastening the clasp from the outside, you climbed down the drain pipes, savoring the thrill of it all one last time.

No more Knockestiff, sneaking out of your bedroom, shotgunning while he patrolled the streets, milkshakes and burgers propped on your things and Johnny Cash playing in the background, drowned by your giggles and his laughs. You wouldn’t get to call the sheriff yours anymore, and you would never spend another moment writhing in pleasure under his warm, soft body.

You loved Lee Bodecker in spite of everything he stood for, but not even the love of your life could keep you anchored to this town. Tomorrow you’d be far, far away, and God himself couldn’t stop you if he tried.

You’d promised your mother that you wouldn’t end up withering away with no chances and no future like she had. Like everyone who was touched by the curse of Knockemstiff did.

“Spread your wings and fly far, far away,” she’d hiccup between sobs each time you’d drag her limp body from the couch to her bed, the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes oozing out of her skin, “my pretty little butterfly.”

Your mother would have sold her soul to the Devil to see you out of Knockemstiff.

A new beginning awaited you in New York. A job as a librarian, an apartment to share with one of your college girlfriends, a prospect, a future.

Hope, freedom, opportunities.

The pipe creaked under your weight, but you paid no mind to it. Moonshine would have knocked out cold anyone in the house by now.

Scurrying down the gravel road, you found Lee waiting for you, a smug smile on his clean shaven face and a brown paper bag in his arms.

“About damn time, dove. Been freezing my ass over here, waitin’ on ya.”

You flung yourself in his arms, knocking him back against the car’s hood, savoring the musky scent of his cologne one last time.

“Hello, Sheriff.”

His chest vibrated with a fond chuckle, and you looked up to him, trying to etch every line of his handsome face to your memory.

In another life, the adoration in his blue eyes would have changed your mind.

“Missed me?” he teased you, one arm snaking around your waist, holding you flush to his front. The other came up to your face, cradling your cheek in his palm.

You could feel his soft belly against you. His shirts fit tighter now than when you’d started dating, and his stomach was beginning to bulge over his belt buckle.

“More than you can imagine.” you sighed, offering him a weak smile.

Maybe he missed the melancholy in your voice, or maybe he’d made his peace with your mood swings long ago, because he didn’t comment on it, simply placing a soft kiss on your forehead and pushing you back, thrusting the bag in your arms.

“Let’s get inside dove. These streets ain’t gonna patrol ‘emselves.”

The inside of his car was always warm, and smelled like him.

He drove around while you fed him fries, and you talked until your mouths ran dry.

Guilt gripped your heart when he mentioned a future together.

You knew he’d picked a ring, voices spread fast in small towns. He wanted the white picket fence, a pretty housewife and kids.

You were selfish and cruel and revelled in his love and affection for months, knowing damn well you’d never give him what he desired most.

“You okay? You seem distracted.” he quipped, hand squeezing your thigh.

Your conscience screamed at you to talk to him, but your mouth stayed sealed. There were no words to make this easy on him, so you’d make it easier on yourself.

He’d hate you, at first, but he’d move on, find some other nice girl and settle down with her.

She’d be pretty, and good to him, and she’d love him for the rest of her days.

“I’m okay, you know me. My head’s always up ‘n the clouds. College,” you deepened your voice, mocking your father’s words, “makes ‘m kids airheads.”

His eyes crinkled when he laughed. You’d miss the sound.

“I know, my little dove’s always flying higher than the rest of this shitty town.”

It was bitter, really, that the one you loved the most was what kept you chained to the ground, where you didn’t belong.

You were meant for the sky, his little dove, your mother’s butterfly.

Spread your wings, you reminded yourself, and fly far, far away.

-

You swore time flew by faster when you spent it with Lee, and minutes melted into hours, slipping through your fingers.

You wished you had more.

When he pulled over to an all too familiar clearing in the woods, your body acted on its own accord, and you climbed in the back seat like you’d done most nights for months.

Those trees had seen you in all states of undress, fucked in the car or on the hood, on your knees, on your back, on your stomach, with his cock down your throat or in your cunt, his face between your legs or on the crook of your neck.

Everything made you melancholic, everything reminded you about what you were about to give up.

It was selfish, but you’d allow yourself to forget all about the future for the moment being.

Just you and Lee, just a moment longer before reality would inevitably hit you like a bucket of iced water.

You and the love of your life that you’d betray once morning came.

But in the dark, underneath the stars and the moon, he was still yours, and you were his.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful baby, God, I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.”

You ignored the guilt once again, and straddled his lap. Grabbing him by his tie, you slanted your mouth against his. He parted his lips with a sigh, resting his back against the seat.

“Fuck, dove, you’re so good to me.” he mumbled, calloused hands roaming over your body.

A moan escaped your lips when his strained cock rubbed against your flimsy undergarments, and you arched your back, seeking more friction to soothe your aching core.

Warmth pooled in your lower belly, and slick gathered in your panties.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and pulled him impossibly close to feel everything, his warmth and his scent, his soft body and his rough hands.

Teeth clattering, bruising touches, heaving chests. The windows were getting fogged up by your hot breaths, and the metal creaked and clattered under your weights.

Desperation and arousal clouded your mind, and you looked at him through half lidded eyes, hoping he couldn’t read into your soul.

“Lee, baby, I need to feel you, I need you inside me,” you whined, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging on his belt impatiently.

You were desperate to feel his cock inside you, to have his hands leave bruises and his mouth leave marks on your skin one last time. Be his, be one in the flesh, one last time.

“So eager, you’d think I was Paul Newman or somethin’,” he chuckled, kneading the flesh of your ass.

“Much better than Newman, Brando or whatever they worship in Hollywood now.” you panted through sloppy kisses, hand dipping inside his briefs, his weight heavy and hot against your palm.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his brain. “What are you butterin’ me up for, dove?”

A beautiful moan escaped his lips when you doubled your efforts, wrist twisting around the velvety skin of his shaft, working his sensitive tip.

“I don’t need flattery to get me anythin’ baby, just these hands and lips.”

You popped your lips to emphasize your point, and let your tongue run along his bottom lip, taking it between yours and sucking on it.

He lifted your shirt with a swift motion, and the growl that he let out when he didn’t find any bra sent a thrill through you, straight to your throbbing core.

He groped your tits, squeezing until the line between pleasure and pain became too blurred to distinguish. You gasped when he rolled and pinched your nipples between his fingers, and mewled when his mouth closed down on one of them.

His tongue swirled around the stiff bud, teeth barely grazing the delicate skin.

A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his hot breath against your neck, and in a blur you found yourself laying on your back, his body caging you in.

“Don’t forget about this pussy, baby, I’d do anything for it.”

Your giggles turned to cries once his hand found its way between your legs, his name falling from your lips like a prayer while he caressed the hair on your mound.

He beamed proudly, feeling the wet patch on your undergarments, and dipped in your folds, spreading the slick around your entrance, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

His lips tasted like candy and strawberry milkshake, and you savored them as long as you could while your tongue intertwined with his.

You laughed when he knocked his head on the door, and then his knees on the floorboard.

“Can’t wait till we have a bed.” He groaned, already breathless while he fumbled with his pants, shoving them down his legs in a hurry.

Sadness filled you again, because one day he’d have a big, comfortable bed, but you wouldn’t be the one warming it.

You blinked away the tears as you clung to his shoulders.

When he breached your entrance, you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

You’d never gotten used to the stretch of his girth, and you wondered if anyone else would ever feel this right inside you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips stilling once he’s sheathed himself inside you, “God, you’re so tight.”

You felt like you were bursting at the seams, your walls quivering around his cock.

He rolled his hips tentatively, observing your face for any signs of pain, and started pounding inside you once he’d found none.

The burn soon turned into a pleasant ache.

“I’m a lucky bastard,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a rough snap of his hips, “I can’t wait to have you all to myself, dove.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and didn’t notice how your lips quivered, or the tears that streamed down your face. He kept thrusting inside you, moaning each time he would feel your walls gripping his cock tightly.

Damp skin slid over yours, filling the car with the lewd sounds of his balls slapping your ass, and his belly smacking against yours.

“I’m gonna put so many babies inside you, I can’t wait to see you all swollen with my child. Fuck-, I can’t wait to come home to you everyday, my pretty little wife.”

You let yourself revel in the image. A pleasant, safe one. One that didn’t belong to you, but that warmed your heart anyways.

When the pressure in your core became too much for you to bear, you began blabbering and begging him to give you that release only he had ever given you.

“Please Lee, I need to- need to cum, baby.”

You choked on your words and shrieked when his hand dipped between your bodies, and he began rubbing circles around your clit.

“Cum for me, dove, cum all over my cock, wanna feel you fall apart on me baby.” he growled, hips stuttering.

He swallowed your cries with a kiss as you came undone. Your whole body trembled when hot waves of pleasure shook your limbs, the tight coil in your cunt unravelling all at once, releasing the pressure inside you.

You throbbed and gushed around his cock, arching your back and digging your nails in the flesh of his back.

He kept pounding inside you, riding your aftermath and praising his good girl through shuddering breaths.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whined, and you felt his movements become errantic and his cock swell inside you.

“Finish up outside,” you managed to wheeze out.

He grunted, but obeyed regardless.

Knocking you up before he got a preacher’s blessing wouldn’t look good on his resume if he was to ever be mayor. Otherwise you’d have had a child on your hip already, you suspected.

You winced when he pulled out, and stood on his shins, hovering over you, brows furrowed, sweat dripping down his forehead.

You brought your hand down to his cock, and you stoked him once, twice, running your thumb over his slit before his hips stuttered and he painted your stomach with his white, warm load.

He collapsed next to you, holding you tight in his arms and catching his breath.

“You’re gonna be all mine soon, dove,” he whispered in your ear, rubbing his nose against yours, “and I’m gonna fill your pussy up every night, I swear. No more pulling out ever again.”

-

Freedom tasted bittersweet.

Corn fields gave way to tarmac too soon, and before you realized it, you’d left Knockemstiff and your old life behind, in hope of a new, better one

You rested against the window, your head rattling on the screen with each bump on the road. The stench of stale cigarettes, moonshine breath first thing in the morning and sweat filled the packed bus, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

The prospect of your future terrified you and thrilled you to no end.

You observed the cars speeding past the bus, and the streams of dried tears on your face in your reflection. Your mind swirled with thoughts, the images of Lee torturing you. Sighing to yourself, you clutched the handkerchief that the woman besides you had gently offered with a kind, knowing smile on her face.

Better forget all about him as soon as possible.

New beginnings were hard, but hope blossomed in your chest with each mile that went by. Besides, your mother’s smile when she’d waved you goodbye had given you all the strength you needed.

You let the gentle sway of the bus lull you to sleep.

She’d never looked so happy and beautiful, bathed in dawn’s warmth with her Sunday dress she’d worn to see her biggest wish come true.

Her butterfly had finally spread her wings.

-

Part 2 (hopefully coming out tomorrow)

-

So what do you think is going to happen in the next chapter? 🤭

I hope you liked it! I haven’t written in so long, but I hope it’s good. Please leave some feedback if you can, and reblog!

#sebastian stan x reader #lee bodecker x reader #sebastian stan x you #lee bodecker x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #lee bodecker x y/n #dark!lee bodecker #dark lee!bodecker x reader #the devil all the time

[shreddedparchment]

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

[judeboogaloo]

Dream Ref page + headcanons  Uhh c!Dream used to be a manhunt celeb, so he used to be actually be interviewed on television before starting up the land of the Dream SMP. 

[ID: 3 digital drawings all done with a pixel brush of the character Dream, from the Dream SMP. The First image is labed “ DREAM SMP DESIGNS - DREAM” in blocky font and features an image of a full body shot of a masculine figure standing at three-fourths perspective. He is wearing a white mask with a smiley face drawn on, a green hoodie, grey-purple cargo pants and brown hiking sneakers. He also has on a white chest harness, matching axe hip harness, and white hiking gloves. To the right of the drawing, there is a list with 7 bullet points, all featuring more information about the design. They are as listed: “Covers himself head to toe consistently while in public, including gloves; only ever dresses ‘normally’ during rare press interviews”, “Has a chest harness/backpack that functions as his inventory. The front connecting strap also serves as a place to connect a go-pro camera for filming”, “The insides of his hood has a thick black mesh, similar to a pith helmet (the mask goes on top of the mesh)”, “Wears a hip harness for his main weapon. An axe.”, “His mask is actually quite heavy since its made of polished quartz, so he uses curse of binding to keep it on during manhunts. Filming always ends directly after Dream dies so he doesn’t respawn on camera without it.”, “He has multiple copies of his masks and preserves one after every manhunt as either keepsakes or future auctionable items.”, “Triple-knots his shoelaces (Like a weirdo)”. To the left of these bullet points there are two small illustrations of a front-view and a back-view of the a small whtie chest harness with a tiny backpack attached to the back. The backpack on the back is styled after a minecraft chest block. 

The second drawing is labeled “SHAPESHIFTING - DREAM” in the same blocky text, with a description underneath, “Dream is able to shapeshift to a minor degree, (compared to Quackity and Karl) only able to change his facial appearance and smaller body attributes like physical density, scars, and hair. Shapeshifting requires active concentration for Dream and he can easily fall into the uncanny valley because of odd facial expressions or unnatural facial proportions. It's easier to mimic faces he's already seen in real life and with enough stress, he's unable to maintain a human face at all.”. Underneath this description, there are 4 profile shots of different faces with a corresponding caption underneath. The first face is of a white androgynous man, with a slim nose, dark brows and wavy blonde hair that curls around his thin face. The age of the face is not easily perceptible but he looks to be youthful. He has a disinterested look in face and his eyes are strangely big and pupils are void black. There are no imperfections on his skin besides the two beauty marks on his chin and the one beauty mark underneath his right eye. This face’s description reads “One of Dream's earlier faces that he used for private business meetings. The eyes are completely black because he wasn't able to make them green. It was notably scuffed on its proportions and would unnerve his coworkers, which he found funny. Dream no longer uses this face but enjoyed the challenge of creating moles.” The second face is of a masculine young adult with green eyes and broad lips. His face is marred with a lip scar, a mild sunburn, freckles, a nose bandage, and a left eyebrow slit. He has a blonde undercut and light brown eyebrows, curved upwards in a sympathetic expression. His description reads “One of the faces Dream used on the Dream SMP, specifically made throughout exile. While this appearance has been changed consistently, Dream has always kept freckles on this one. This face is used the most frequently and has the most exposure, permanently sunburned from all the time Dream spent on the beaches of logstedshire. Curiously, this one has slowly morphed to look almost similar to Tommy's face, passing as a possible relative. Whether Dream did this intentionally or subconsciously isn't known.” The third face is an older white man, around his late twenties or thirties. He has long light brown hair, streaked with blond that crosses in front of his very pale face. He has patchy stubble and hollowed cheeks, implying that he is possibly sick or starved. His dark purple eyes are curved in a dull expression and the palette overall is very desaturated. The description underneath reads, “ The face Dream's been seen using in prison during BBH's visit. Originally, Dream had made this face as a "rugged" older look for himself but its beauty has decayed in prison, malnutrition creating a sallow look and pitted eyes. He made his hair longer in length to braid continuously in prison to occupy his time but wasn't too concerned about the color. His eyes are the same shade as the obsidian.” The last face is a completely dark face that looks almost like the silhouette or shadow of a normal person. There are no distinguishing features to the outline other than the outcropping of short hair, swept to the left. Inside this dark shape, there are eyes roughly where they should be, with green and black swirling pupils. There is no nose. In place of a mouth, there are two rows of bright white teeth but no visible gums or lips. The face has an indescribable emotion and the caption underneath reads, “Dream’s actual appearance.” The third image is a canvas full of smaller doodles of Dream, both in his human transformations and as his shadowy true self.]

#dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fanart #c!dream #dream fanart #digital art #tw body horror #body horror #tw teeth #teeth #artists on tumblr #dsmp fanart #dreamwastaken #Image description underneath the cut

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Come As You Are

Summary: Dean takes Y/n dress shopping for a hunt, both of them blissfully unaware of where it will lead. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.9K+

Warnings: Language, self-esteem and body image struggles, public intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it)

Author’s Note: This was written for an anonymous request, 

“Hey babe I don’t know if your taking requests but I had a groovy idea dean x shy plus reader where they have to get the reader nice sexy clothes but she feels really uncomfortable in them and refuses to leave the dressing room and dean confess how he feels and they have sex in the dressing room ? Fluff and smut” 

I truly enjoyed writing it so I hope it lives up to your expectations anon. Remember, feedback is like crack to writers, and we always love to hear what you thought xoxo Alex

Consider checking out a book from Alexandra’s Library!

A frown etched itself on her face as she ran her hand over the fabrics hanging from the racks. All of it felt foreign underneath her fingertips. Satin, chiffon, and everything else that was far more expensive than she was used to. Y/n’s wardrobe mostly consisted of denim and polyester blends that tended to fray after two washes. It was all that a hunter could afford, after all. 

“How in the hell are we gonna afford any of this crap?” She whispered to Dean, who was eyeing the rack behind her, the gowns in front of him all a deep shade of red. 

“Charlie’s miracle card, remember? There is no limit,” Dean raised his brow at her, a grin etched across his perfect face. 

“Fine,” she groaned. “I still don’t see why I even need to go dress shopping, I’m sure I could find something in my closet.” 

“I’ve seen your closet, and none of it is right for this case. You’ve got to distract the coroner for the night and you can’t do that in baggy jeans and flannel.” Dean huffed as he picked a dress off the rack. Y/n’s eyes went wide as she took it in, the hem was short for anyone’s standards, then add in the plunging neckline and this dress left nothing to the imagination. 

“That is so not happening,” Y/n pointed at the offensive garment, her stomach fluttering at the simple idea of even trying to slip into it. Every spot on her body that she hated would be on full display in that thing. Her thick thighs, the roll that sat on her bra just under her arms, and don’t get her started on her abdomen. 

“Come on, just try it. You never know ‘till you try it on.” 

“Ugh,” Y/n snatched the dress from his hand before stalking off to look at more dresses. There were a couple more options that she grabbed to try on that were closer to her comfortability level. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the items in her arms. But Dean had this way about him, always able to convince her to do anything without question. Maybe it was the way his skin crinkled around his eyes or the brightness that always seemed to live behind those deliciously green eyes? Who was she kidding, it was all of that and then some. The huntress had fallen hard for him from that first meeting. Sometimes she wondered why she chose to torture herself. 

Dean Winchester was the cream of the crop when it came to hunters, as was his baby brother, Sam. The whole world knew who they were, including heaven and hell, so how could she be expected to resist him when he smiled at her the way he does. Or even when he made her coffee in the mornings just how she liked it and picked up chocolate and pain killers for her when he knew it was that time of the month. He was exceedingly attentive to her, something that she was sure he only directed at Sam. It was just another thing that surprised her about the legend of a man. 

Yeah, like an idiot she fell for the eldest Winchester. There was no stopping it even though she was certain that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Y/n wasn’t like the other woman that Dean went for when he was on the prowl at bars. It’s not that she was ugly, it was that she was plain at best. People didn’t turn their heads when she walked in the room, men’s gazes didn’t linger on her from across the bar, no, Y/n was merely average. That’s how she knew that Dean would never see her as more than a friend because he had never looked at her in any form of want. 

“Are you ready to try those on?” A sales woman’s voice broke her out of her unrelenting train of thought. Dean answered for her before she could process the woman’s words. 

“Yes, please.” He smiled brightly and Y/n watched as the woman’s face flushed under his gaze. Y/n almost felt bad for the woman who was now just another victim to his charm. The saleswoman at least would be able to relish in his attention, wondering about what could have been had Y/n not been there with him. Y/n on the other hand already knew her fate. But mostly, if she was being honest, she was jealous. 

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and guided her along behind the boutique worker who took them into the back of the store where the dressing rooms were located. The area was mostly quiet, just the music from the speakers could be heard in the space. Three large mirrors sat in front of a stage on the far wall, the rooms spaning out on either side of it. In the center of the room were three plush chairs for those waiting for others to sit in. 

The worker unlocked a door for her as Dean plopped down in one of the chairs. Y/n slipped behind the door, letting out a deep breath as it closed behind her. If there was one thing she hated it was trying on clothes. Nothing ever seemed to fit her right or look anything like what it did on the hanger. It made the task a constant battle with her self-consciousness. 

Y/n had always carried extra weight on her body. It wasn’t that she didn’t live an active lifestyle, she was a hunter, after all, it was the diet that hunters were accustomed to. It was fast food and dives in every small town in America. Not many mom and pop places tended to offer an egg white omelet, and it wasn’t her inclination to eat them either. So, she had always been bigger than most, and if she was being honest she had grown used to that. Maybe she used it as a shield to protect herself. Making connections with people as a hunter only tended to end in heartbreak, so this was easier. 

The hunter hid the scary red thing Dean had selected behind all the rest of her haul, hoping she would find something before she ever even got to the thing. Y/n stripped from her flannel and jeans tossing them on the bench in the corner. She also added her bra to the pile, knowing all of these garments necessitated that she did not wear one. That left her in her favorite pair of panties. They weren’t anything special, but they made her butt looked its best.

The first dress in the line up was a straight black dress that hit just above her knee. The neckline wasn’t anything too crazy but the sleeves rolled off the shoulders a strip of fabric wrapping around her bust. Y/n was able to slip it on and tug up the zipper on the side. With a slide of her hands against the fabric, she frowned at her reflection. Not that it would flatter any figure, in her opinion. 

“What’s taking so long in there?” Dean called out from his spot in front of the mirrors.

“I’m not coming out in this thing,” she called back as she began to take the dress back off. 

“Oh, come on sweetheart,” 

“Nope, next,” Y/n heard him huff even through the door and she imagined he rolled his eyes as well. 

The next dress was a deep blue color. It had a wrap and pencil skirt, with an asymmetrical shape between the hem and the neckline. She supposed it was pretty but it also kind of looked like she had wrapped herself in a towel. Mostly, she felt like the point in the neckline was going to stab her in the throat, and she was not sure how to be sexy when she was trying not to die. It was another pass for her. 

There was only one dress left, and at that moment she was wishing to whoever was listening that she had picked out a few more choices. Dean was whistling now, some Zeppelin tune she couldn’t exactly identify and she knew he was getting impatient. Y/n swapped the fabrics on her body, pulling the thin straps of the red satin piece up onto her shoulders. The dress clung to her skin, the fabric lightweight. 

“Y/n/n,” Dean’s voice was just outside the door, the new proximity of it startling her. “Come on, you have to show me at least one. I know you and you’ll just try vetoing them all.” Y/n swore under her breath because he was right and it pissed her off that he knew her that well. The zipper was out of her reach on her back and she supposed she wouldn’t be able to truly see what it looked like on her unless she zipped it up. 

“Fine, I need help with this zipper anyway,” she sighed and held the fabric against her naked chest while opening the door with her other. Dean was beaming when he came into view on the other side of the door. He snuck inside faster than a flea, the slamming of the door startling her again. 

Get it together woman, you kill monsters for a living, Y/n cursed herself. 

“Turn,” Dean instructed her with his fingers, and the woman obliged as she faced the mirror. Dean brushed her hair off her shoulder with his fingertips, the action barely distinguishable but it sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. With one hand holding the bottom stop, he used the other to tug on the pull tab, sliding together the teeth in one fluid motion. 

“Thanks,” Y/n’s words were soft as she made eye contact with the green-eyed hunter in the mirror. He ran his tongue of his bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth as his eyes wandered over her exposed skin. 

Y/n visibly cringed as she looked at herself. Unfortunately, this was her favorite out of the three, but that didn’t mean she felt like she could venture anywhere in public in the thing. “Sweetheart, if that coroner hadn’t already been eyeing you up today, he would not know where to start when he sees you in this.” 

“Shut up,” Y/n scrunched her nose as she spun around to whack Dean’s shoulder. “You are so full of it.”

“Am not,” Dean scoffed, his eye softening before he continued. “Y/n, why don’t you see how beautiful you are?”

Y/n whipped around to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest, not believing that those words come out of his mouth. Surely, he was playing with her…

“Have you looked at me, Dean?” Y/n slapped her hands against her thighs, emphasizing their jiggle upon impact. “I’m nothing special.” 

“I have looked at you,” His gaze traveled down her body again, his breath hitching slightly as he did so. “I’ve been looking at you for a while now.” The drop in Dean’s voice sent heat rushing through her body, the gravel undertone making her shiver. 

“Dean--” words escaped her as the hunter stepped into her personal space, pushing her back against the mirror. Dean’s left hand came to rest against the reflective surface just beside her head as he chewed on his lip. 

“I don’t think you know how hard it is for me to keep my eyes off of you,” he leaned into her, his nose brushing alongside hers. “And now, seeing you in this dress, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.” 

A rush of confidence coursed through her blood as his hot breath fanned over her face and Y/n slipped her hands behind his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. The movement was anything but smooth, though the action sent both of the hunters into action. Dean growled as he nipped her lower lip and she opened up to him, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth. 

A moan involuntarily came from her as his hands moved to her hips, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin material where his finger pressed into her flesh. He stepped back, pulling her after him as he backed up and dropped to sit on the plush bench. Dean bunched up the material to her hips as he urged her to straddle his lap. Y/n used her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, the new bulge in his pants a surprise to her as she settled in his lap. 

“Yeah, and you thought I was kidding,” Dean took in the slight rise in her brow, leaning forward to run his lips across her jaw, taking note of the places that made her shiver. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she allowed Dean to explore her body and let herself just feel him. Dean raked his teeth along with the shell of her ear, causing her to buck her hips and both of them to groan.  

“Fuck,” her words were a breath on her lips as she repeated the action, the roughness of his jeans just enough friction on her aching sex. 

“That’s it, beautiful, take what you need,” Dean sat back and used his hands to keep her body moving against his own, watching the way her brows scrunched together in the center of her forehead. With a shift of his hips, he had her pushed back and straddling his left thigh, his hands still in their place on her hips. “Can you come like this, sweetheart?”

“I don’t--” a jolt of electricity had her halting her denial, instead she chose to just nod and place her hands against his chest to balance her movement. She could feel Dean’s heart hammering in his chest under her palm and the quick rise and fall of his breath. Even at this moment, she was disbelieving that he was that turned on watching her get herself off on his thigh, but she had the proof hammering under her fingertips. Y/n was biting her lip to keep quiet in the small room. “Dean, I’m so close.” 

“I’ve got you, come for me, Y/n,” he husked as his grip tightened, though she wasn’t sure how that was even possible, seeing as there was already gonna be bruises there later, that she was sure of. The sound of his voice reverberating in her head had the coil snapping inside of her, heat flooding her body as every nerve sparked and faded out. A rush of air left her lungs, her body slumping as her muscles relaxed post-orgasm. 

“Oh my god.” As her arousal ebbed from her body and the reality of what just happened came to her sense, Y/n clammed up and she tried to climb from his lap. Blood rushed to her face and her hands flew to her cheeks to hide the heat settling there.

“Woah, where are you going?” Dean stopped her from making a hasty exit, his eyes searching hers in question. 

“Dean, what the hell just happened?” 

A smirk replaced the confusion on his face as he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in her neck, tracing his tongue up her pulse. “You just got yourself off on my thigh while I tried not to cream my jeans,” he breathed in her ear. It was like he already knew every button to push on her body, his dirty talk doing everything she needed it to for her body to already be aching for him again. 

“I--”

“Shh, sweetheart. That was hot as fuck, and all I want now is to be buried deep inside that pretty pussy of yours.” 

“Jesus,” her eyes shifted to his, taking in the mischievous glint shining behind his iris. “You aren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ at the end of his word and Y/n nodded as she climbed off him. She turned her back to him so he could undo the zipper, and it took a second for Dean to catch on to her silent action. He jumped to the edge of the bench and tugged down the zipper before sliding the material down her shoulders. Dean hooked his fingers into the edge of her panties, placing a kiss on the dip in her lower back before pulling the soaked material to pool at her feet along with the dress. He stood then as she turned back to him and pushed his jacket and flannel down his arms, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes in the room. 

“Come, on we don’t have a lot of time before someone gets suspicious.” There was a quiver in her voice as she lifted the hem of his tee and tugged open his belt. It was taking everything in her to quell the shaking in her hands. Dean’s fingers came down to wrap around her wrists, halting her movement and she looked up at him. 

“Y/n we don’t have to,” he was trying to read her mind as he examined her face. The trepidation was seeping through her pores, but not because she didn’t want this. Hell, the painful ache between her legs told her how much she wanted this, but her brain couldn’t help to race through the million thoughts about what it all meant. 

“No, I-- God do I want this,” Y/n began chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tried to come up with the words to explain to him what she was thinking. But the longer the time passed the more nervous she grew, standing there stark naked and he’s still basically fully dressed. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time now, but I’m just scared.”

“Of?” He urged her to continue.

“That this doesn’t mean the same thing to you,” Y/n cast her glance down, her eyes fixated on the way the fluorescent light glinted in the metal of his belt. 

“You think that this is about getting my dick wet for me.” It wasn’t a question, because she had all but spelled it out for him. “Y/n,” He put his fingers under her chin and turned her head back up to his, brushing his lips against hers, the action soft and unhurried. “I told you, I’ve been watching you for a while now, trying to learn everything I could about you. I would have done this the first night I met you if I hadn’t thought about what it would do to you. But I’m done being scared because I think I fell for you a long time ago and no amount of whiskey or other women could make me forget that. So I’m done fighting it.” 

“Yeah?” Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears now, and Dean answered her with another kiss, pulling her body flush against his own as he invaded her mouth. The pair only pulled apart when they could no longer fight the need for air. “Dean--”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his grip on her to finish what she started with his belt. Y/n watched his movements, her breath getting caught in her throat as she watched him pull his length from its cotton confines. Dean signaled for her to turn with one hand as he stroked himself with the other. She obliged, of course, and Dean pushed her gently between her shoulder blades until her hands were pressed against the mirror. He nudged her legs to open a tad wider, meeting her gaze in the mirror. 

“Do we--” 

“I’m good if you’re good,” she told him, knowing where he was going with his question. He nodded to her before lining himself up with her entrance. Dean held her gaze as he entered her from behind, both of them sighing together as he became fully seated. Y/n closed her eyes as she tried to compose herself, her head falling between her arms. 

“Fuck, open your eyes, look at yourself,” Dean was biting his tongue as he swatted her ass to get her to lift her head again. She indulged him, looking at herself in the mirror before turning her eyes back to his in the mirror. “There you go,” he praised her, the words like music to her ears as he pulled back out and slammed into her hips. 

Dean set up a steady rhythm, careful to not shake the walls of the dressing too much with his movement. The couple kept their eyes on each other in the mirror, the moment the most erotic thing she could ever remember doing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t be bothered by it. Even from her vantage point, she could see how blown his pupils were, the black of his iris’ all but drowning out the green that she loved so much. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which she liked more now. All she did know was the feeling of him moving inside her and the way her muscles were shaking. 

A small knock had Dean stilling his movements, and Y/n stood up, pressing her back against his chest. He slipped an arm around her chest as she signaled for him to be silent. “You doing alright in there?” 

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and let out a breath, “Yeah,” she called back, afraid her voice would be too wrecked if she said anything else. 

“Is there anything else I can get you? Maybe some different sizes?” The saleswoman tried again. 

“Nope, I’m all set, thank you.” 

“Okay, just let me know.” The sound of her footsteps could be heard retreating from the dressing room, and Dean pressed his face into her neck, the pair of them chuckling. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he adjusted their position, resuming the movement of his hips as he snaked his free hand down to rub against her clit. Y/n jolted in his arms at the contact, this time closing her eyes as he built her back up. “I’m right behind you. Can you come for me again?” Y/n nodded against him, her hands flying to his forearm as she felt herself jumping over the cliff, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her knees buckled and Dean had to adjust himself to keep her from falling, still fucking her from behind as her fluttering walls milked him to his own orgasm. He bit into her shoulder to keep himself from groaning out loud. 

“Sweet Jesus,” her body went limp in his arms as the pair of them caught their breath in the now muggy space. 

“Yeah, you are so not going out with that coroner tonight. We will find a different way.” Dean admitted as he pulled his now softening cock from her. Y/n flinched at the feeling and the subsequent rush of his release inside her. 

“What?” She turned to him as he began righting himself, not understanding why he didn’t want her to do her job.

“‘Cause you are all mine now,” Dean tugged her into his chest, his fingers around one of her biceps. “And I want to spend all night making sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed as she blinked at him, clearly lost for any sort of coherent answer to what he just told her. 

“Get dressed so we can get out of here and kick Sammy out of our motel room.” Dean tapped her ass again and she pushed him away from her, a stupid grin on both of their faces.

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @katehuntington​ @lyarr24​ @malfoysqueen14​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester x plus sized reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #supernatural #mine #alex writes #come as you are

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 19

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 19: Got Your Back (And Maybe Your Heart)

“Okay let me get this straight-”

“No one here is, but go on.”

“Hush, I’m still mad at you,” Tang gave a stink eye to the Kappa before turning back to Macaque. “So let me get this straight, so not only are you the same Six Eared Macaque that has fought the Monkey King and the deity that’s known as the Wandering Healer-”

“Not actually a deity,” he inputted.

“Whatever, but I’ve been coming here for years and just now I find out that there are mythical deities and magical plants within the forest! The Yao grass that is said to be a component to the Immortality Pills, an actual Qilin living here?! And the brown bunny and that little shit stain, who probably wants to laugh his ass off, is actually a Kitsune and spirit!”

“Guilty as charged,” the Shui Gui chortled.

“Pretty much,” the monkey shrugged his shoulders.

“Yup,” Ní nodded in her fox form.

“…I am both very angry and very excited,” he grumbled. “Do you know how many questions I have?! Do you know how many things I could have tested? Do you know how long I have wanted to meet someone like you guys? Do you know how many questions I have?!”

“I think you already said that,” said the water spirit though he froze as he saw an ominous glint in his eyes.

“Oh yes I did, because by the time I leave here,” he mysteriously whipped out his phone, “I will have all my questions answered.”

“Just how many do you have?” Macaque cautiously asked.

Tang said nothing as he instead showed a folder containing many files within them. “Quite a few. Quite. A. Few.”

All three immortals, the ones who have faced many fierce opponents throughout their life, gulped at the looming trials ahead.

“Fuck,” they all unanimously said.

It was cold, damp, and thoroughly disgusting with all of the worthless piles of junk lying around, but she supposed she would have to work with what she had under these…conditions.

Lady Bone Demon quietly walked through the open sewer as she attempted to distinguish where exactly she should strike next while her underling, who has been waiting for all these years, searches for the one item she hasn’t quite found.

It was quite tricky, to say the least, all the rest of the ingredients she needed to procure, albeit a bit rare, would be much easier to obtain even if those incompetent bugs mess it up. It won’t be too hard to find a replacement for those, she just decided on them for the proximity, she does not desire to leave the city before she achieves her prize. The last item though is something that is an ingredient that is not so easily replaceable, so she will need to take her time and look through every crack and back alley down until she does.

It was quite irritating, from the conditions she found herself into the annoying bugs that seem to think they are above her to Sun Wukong.

Sometimes she just wished that she could be over and done with this little game entirely and reach the end, but alas that’s not how life works. But she will admit that it will be fun watching them all struggle to get one step ahead of her, though she can’t decide which one she’ll enjoy more, Sun Wukong look when she finally drains him of every last bit of power and torture what he cherishes in front of his very eyes or Spider Queen expression as she stabs her in the back when she becomes the component to her plans. Both sound absolutely delightful when the time comes, but for that to happen she suppose she will have to achieve this the long way, no shortcuts or cheats allowed.

But she doesn’t mind the wait, after all, she had been imprisoned for over five hundred centuries.

She has nothing but time and she intends to play this little game all the way to the end.

“So your not just some random ass immortal,” Macaque bluntly said when Shen met up with him again.

“Took you that long to figure that out,” the frizzy hair old man laughed.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that you were literally giving me Immortal wine when I have never tasted it before you all but shoved it to me?” He grumbled as he held the bottle of very rare wine once more. “You know I don’t really need this, I am still perfectly immortal without it.”

“Oh I know, Yama sometimes grumbled about it from time to time when we get together. Gods know he wants to strangle Sun Wukong's scrawny neck when he gets the chance,” he said while drinking some of the wine.

“You regularly drink with the King of the Dead?” He deadpanned, “Who the fuck are you? Cause that right there shows that you're not just a regular ass deity.”

“Hmm I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out how to make the Immortality pills,” he smirked at the monkey still look.

“What do you mean?”

“I may be old, but I can smell a lot of the ingredients for the pills in this forest alone. Yao grass, Biya berries, Voya roots, Gracidea flowers, just to name a few,” he tapped his nose.

“Can’t really hide the smell,” he clicked his teeth. “Alright fine I’ll talk, but you better keep your end of the deal.”

“Will do.”

And so they talked and talked and when Shen spoke of who he was Macaque all but threw the bottle in his hand.

“What the fuck Ping?!” He hissed out as he had to stop himself from bashing his head against the tree. “How the fuck?!”

“He was an interesting one,” he laughed. He met his old friend by the river where he was doing his laundry, they spoke and then he found himself another drinking buddy.

Macaque’s eyes twitched as he just slumped over and groaned loudly. “What the fuck!”

Shen just laughed wildly next to him.

“Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he hissed before letting out a sigh and sat himself up. “Shit I don’t know if I can ask you this but I might as well fucking try?”

“Hmm?” He curiously questioned.

“I may need something soon that I can’t quite get on normal means and I think-no I know I will need your help to get it,” he asked with an almost pleading voice.

“Hmm, why do you need it?” He noted the tone in his voice but didn’t say a word about it.

“There is a demon that wants to take over the land and almost nobody would be able to stop her,” the simian admitted.

“Eh, there will always be some creature that wants to take over the world, been there, seen that, but that never really happens now does it,” he easily dismissed it as he leaned in closer, “but why do you need it?”

“Because there are people that I want to protect and I know that they will be the ones that will be fighting against that monster and like hell I am letting them do this alone,” he growled.

“Oh now I have your reason, so here’s another question. How much are you willing to give for my favor?”

“Anything,” he determinedly said.

“Anything you say? Even your life?” His green eyes challenged his violet ones.

“Yes,” he replied with no hesitation as the question didn’t even make him flinch.

There was a long silence as both beings stared the other down until the red haired man broke off his gaze and chuckled lightly.

“…hehehe, always knew Ping was fond of the stubborn ones,” he grinned.

“Ping is an old coot with the perchance of running into the weirdest fucking things,” he huffed as the air around them seem to settle down.

“You're not wrong,” he nodded. “Alright I’ll help ya, but next time I drop by I expect some high quality drinks.”

“Tch, fine you alcoholic bastard. Hope you don’t mind Plum wine, have a few sitting for a couple of centuries.”

“Are you kidding? The longer the age, the better it is! It’s like you don’t know me sapling,” he said with a mock hurt expression.

“I mean I might as well as you just told me who the fuck you are!” He threw his hands in the air.

“But you know my wine tastes!”

“You've only given me one kind of wine bastard!”

“Still!”

“Don’t you fucking pout you overgrown child!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” MK cursed as he dashed his way through the volcanic land and ducked from a large fiery boulder aimed straight towards him. “Why does this happen to me!?”

Now you may be wondering how and why MK found himself stuck in the volcano arena, well he was visiting one of the more interesting customers he had delivered to before, as in she was trying to learn more about magic, with Red and Mei. Which is cool and all, especially since she has mastered how to change her hair color on will, but she was showing him her more advanced spells. Now it was very fun with the Bull Prince trying to explain to the young girl how each spell works and how much energy must be put into it. They were even going to try out a new spell together, but the thing about her is that while she does have quite a bit of talent, she is extremely clumsy. As she took a step forward and accidentally pushed him into the symbol on the ground and then ‘poof’ he teleported right in the middle of the fire imp territory.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, he can handle a few enemies on his own and he did with such ease that not even a scratch was laid on him. It’s just that the problem was that they all happened to be a bit too loud and woke up a humanoid creature that was three times his size, entirely made up of molten magma and rock crystals, and looked very pissed.

Needless to say all of them booked it as fast as they could, but unfortunately it had their eyes on one creature that looked different from the rest.

“Seriously!” He yelled as he climbed up the mountain and quickly hid and he held his burnt side. He knows that he is quick on his feet, but even he can’t dodge all of those boulders and swipes aimed at him. It doubly hurts as he can feel the burning of the magma touch his skin, he desperately wants an ice bath when he escapes this.

SMASH

But until then he will continue to make his way to the ocean ahead where he hopes that it would be enough to stop the beast in its tracks. He will swim all the way back home if he has to, he can deal with the sickness later after he saves his skin.

He felt the beast let out a devastating roar and a glance back he saw the creature lift the largest boulder that he didn’t even think he could dodge. So, he instead prepared himself as he was about to bring out his staff when-

“Here comes Jade Dragon/ Blazing Bull!” Twin voices shouted as the next second two terrifying forces slammed into the creature and with a pained roar he flew back.

He blinked as he saw Mei and Red Son, one who is surrounded by ethereal viridian energy and the other encaptured in a fiery crimson aura, jump in front of him protectively.

“MK/Noodle boy! Are you okay?!” Both of them have been trudging through not only ashes clogging their lungs and spot marking their skins, but also all different types of books and ruins trying to find the right activation phrase to reopen the portal to where their friend had disappeared to. They were tired, dirty, clothes ripped, and pissed off, but in MK eyes they were the most beautiful people he has ever seen as he couldn’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks as he took in their perfectly disheveled appearance, the muscles peeking from their ripped sleeves, sweat dripping from their face, and the worried look in their gorgeous eyes.

“Y-Yep!” He involuntarily squeaked. ‘I really should not have read some of those romance books with Jin,’ he thought as he cleared his throat. “I mean yeah, yeah you guys are perfect-I mean you got here at perfect timing!” He nervously said as he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid eye contact.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head along the way,” she lightly teased as she kept a firm stance in front of him.

“Would be an improvement,” he smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave the Cherufu dazed form.

“Heyyy,” he whined before he realized what they said before, “Do you guys have names and you didn’t tell me!”

“Umm.”

“We’ll you see-”

“They are so cool!” His eyes sparkled, “they fit you both so perfectly, and the way you guys came in and shouted it made the scene even more awesome!”

Both of them couldn’t stop both smiles and blushes as their smaller friend, and small crush, kept on praising them, but unfortunately, their little bubble popped as the beast roared once more.

“Tch,” Mei irritably clicked her tongue at the beast ride interruption, showing off her fangs (after countless of honing to both tracing and the dragon sword, she was more than ecstatic to see that she matched with both of her boys) “I actually forgot about that.”

“You mean the walking miniature mountain that was just chasing me down,” MK huffed as he shook his head. Hopefully, the two would just blame his fluster on the heat and not drift towards the thought that he may like them more than friends.

“Yeah that.”

“You both need to really get up to speed with your Mythical beings,” Red grunted as he opted to not use his fire against the creature made of lava.

“Says the one who never knew what Advil was,” MK muttered.

“It’s not my fault you mortals inconsistently change their names for no reason!” He hissed as his hair flared up.

“Surrrreee,” both mortals said.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“You just don’t want to admit that your wrong~”

“Shut it!

“And where do you think you're going?” Wukong flinched as he heard Macaque's voice behind him.

“Oh you know, just a little road trip,” he smiled wider than normal as he quickly turned around to hide his suitcase, “I thought that it was time I get off of my mountain and see what else I missed.”

“Uh Huh,” he noncommittally said as he casually walked forward, “and you just decided that right this week?”

“Yep!”

“Just out of the blue.”

“You know it!”

“With no thoughts in mind.”

“None whatsoever!”

“Sunny, I know you’re bullshitting me,” he bluntly said.

“Whattt?” He nervously laughed, “I’m serious, I am just going to go sightseeing for a bit and-”

“You still have that same tell when you lie, you know. Smiling too widely,” he pointed out.

“I thought I got that under control,” he muttered to himself and sighed, “alright yeah, you caught me. I was gonna go out and look for a weapon to stop her, but I have to do this, Lady Bone Demon is not someone to trifle with. You know how she can easily command someone under her will and that was when she just got out of centuries of captivity! Imagine what she could accomplish once she regains more and more power! I just can’t sit here and wait for that to happen.”

“I know, that’s why you're not doing it alone,” he pointed out.

“Huh?”

“Did you really think that talk we had the other day was just a one off thing? No no no, there are so many people and demons solely invested in this, because what Spider Queen did really pissed off a lot of people and they want revenge on not only her, but those who helped her,” he said as summoned a map and showed him. “Just see for yourself.”

The monkey took the map and he became confused about what he was looking at. “There’s just a bunch of doodles in certain areas.”

“Those are the areas that have been hit and investigated thoroughly, the ones with X are the no goes of anything suspicious or useful, the ones with question marks are the clues or hints, and the few with checks are the ones where they found positive report and/or confirmation on successful supplies that we need. All of these are for finding the necessary materials to end the Bone Demon life once and for all.”

Wukong's eyes were wide at the end of his statement, “You know how to destroy her?! How long were you planning this? How have you managed to search all of these areas?”

“Well, it helps that I have so many favors stacked up from my former clients. I usually don’t care what they pay me, but usually, it’s in either money, food, or favors and I have a lot of those. I mean just Po and his students alone have them all checking the western areas for it by themselves. He says it’s a good training exercise for them, but I think he just wants a break from those brats. And for your first one, we’ll ever since BK got possessed the family has promised vengeance upon her, and Queen Iron Fan happens to have knowledge of a permanent kill switch to ending that demon life,” he said as he showed him the formula.

Wukong examined it and after a while, he nodded his head and faintly said, “Yeah…yeah that might actually work…there is something to destroy her.” He still couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was right there in front of him, then the first part of his words hit him, “Wait, that long?”

“Yes that long,” he said with exasperation, “Am I the only one who found it fucking weird that the Demon Bull King, one of the strongest beings in the realm, got possessed out of fucking nowhere? That right there was already suspicious by itself and the ominous whispers were sure not helping her case, that just added it on. So we decided to get to the bottom of this and boy is this one deep chasm we got ourselves into.”

“It really is,” he agreed as he looked over the map and saw that some of the places that were marked were the ones he was going to go to, even some that only celestial beings can access, “You already investigated these realms?”

He looked over to see what he was pointing at and nodded, “Yeah, pretty much. As I said, I have clientele all over and I don’t really restrict unless they have really done something so fucked up that I would rather kill them.”

“You have favors with Celestial deities,” he emphasized.

“Just some minor ones,” the doctor tried to brush it off, but judging by his friend's look, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Celestial. Deities.”

“How about we talk about this later.”

“Oh we are so talking about this later, but I still have to do this. I have to make sure that she doesn’t cause any more harm to people anymore, this is my duty that I have to do-”

“You're not understanding!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “I literally gave you a map and you still don’t understand what I’m trying to say!”

“What!” He threw his hands in the air, “What can you possibly-”

“You aren’t alone dumbass!” He hissed out and froze the Monkey Sage.

“Wha-” he was cut off once more by a furious finger poking his chest at each word Mac hissed out.

“You. Are. Not. Alone. I don’t know how many different ways I have to say this, but if it gets through your thick skull then god damn it, I will.”

“I-”

“I know what you were about to do, you were about to galavant off and try to do everything on your own and not say a single word to nobody like a stupid martyr, cause apparently this is a shared trait between you and MK about being so self sacrificial that you wish to take on the burden yourself! Well fuck that! I’m putting my foot down for both of you, you don’t have to recklessly go out there and hope that one of them will stick!”

“What else am I supposed to do!” He leaped to his feet, “I basically serve no purpose other than this glorified title of hero, which I am really sick of hearing, and that Bone witch could strike at any moment and we won’t be prepared. If I leave the city then that would mean that not only would I be faster on looking for the weapon, but I would be far away from her and her attempt to sap my power.”

“But you would also be away from the city and by the time you come back, there might not be anything left to come back to,” he said with a final tone. “No one would be able to stand against her, not the demons, not the people, not MK, not the Bull Family, not even me. We would all fall by the time the morning sun rises if we tried to face her head on. We would all be corpses below her feet.”

The Monkey King stilled as the morbid images flooded into his head.

City in ruins.

Bodies sprawled everywhere.

Familiar faces all dead eyed.

Bodies collapsed.

Heart stilled

His precious student.

All of his tribe members.

The rambunctious Demon quartet.

His family to the West.

The headstrong Dragon successor.

Demon Bull with his wife and son.

Yanyu surrounded by her siblings.

Macaque

Macaque

Macaque

They're all dead.

Dead

Dead

Dead

Deaddeaddeadeadeadeadeadead

“Wukong!” He snapped out of his thoughts by black furred hands and looked up to see Macaque worried Violet (alive there so alive and bright, so so bright and alive) eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he stopped himself and remend what he was about to say, “I will be fine…I’ll stay.”

The Six Eared monkey let out a sigh of relief, “Good, that’s good. Sorry for putting that image in your head.”

“No, no I needed to hear that. I-I can’t be impulsive, not right now, not when things are becoming dangerous, I need to think things through,” he sighed as he sat down.

“You're not going to be out of the loop, you are the one who knows where a weapon may be hidden, so you can easily tell them which spot to tackle more thoroughly,” he reassured him as he sat by him.

“That would be more efficient than me just searching one at a time, okay I’ll do that,” he let out a small puff of air and managed a small smirk, “I guess that’s why I have you in my life, you somehow manage my little quirks.”

“‘Little quirks’ is an understatement,” he deadpans and leans on him, “but yeah we do fit well for some odd reason.”

“Like peaches and congee,” he grins.

“I think you are the only ones who actually dip it into the food.”

“Oh like I haven’t seen you do the same with mango,” he pointed out.

“There’s a difference okay! It just tastes better that way,” he huffed.

“Surrrre it does,” he drawled out.

“It does.”

“Whatever you say.”

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #macaque #PlumTeaAU

[weasleydream]

Ad astra

This one is for @teheharrypotter​‘s two weeks of angst, obviously I had to participate! My trope was dying in their arms. I wanted to add that the last scene is inspired by a very sad scene of the movie Christmas shoes (I made the gif to show the scene). If you haven’t already seen this movie, don’t watch it or you’ll cry. A lot.  Anyway, as usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy! 

Masterlist

(gif is mine)

There were so many things he loved about her. 

The way she always closed her eyes when he kissed her, the way her sweet lips moved against his. The little groans she let out every morning when he woke her up. The warmth of her breathing in his neck, the way his heart always beat faster whenever he saw her. 

He used to think that no one would ever take a place in his heart as important as the one she had taken. 

That was before they met.

It was a nightmare. The most awful nightmare you could imagine, and it wasn’t even violent. There was no blood, no murderer, no monster chasing after me. I wasn’t locked up in a room, I wasn’t getting drowned or tortured, yet it was like all of this was happening to me at the same time. Everything felt more intense, more painful, and everything seemed to disappear. A fucking nightmare, and I wasn’t even asleep.

A sentence, it’s all it had taken for me to sink. A sentence pronounced by a hurried nurse who had left the room a few seconds later, leaving my world crashing around me. And in this damaged world was Charlie. He had always been my rock, the only one who had never given up on me, the only one who had always been able to look straight into my eyes to tell me “You’re wrong”. And now, he was unable to even look in my direction. All I could see was his back, his hunched posture and the nervous movement of his hands. He was pacing, getting to the window before sitting back on the chair, then getting up again and doing it all over again. And me? I was looking at him, my eyes fixed on his bright hair which colour had always been a synonym of peace and protection and love. I was biting my bottom lip to the blood, barely noticing the metallic taste. I was trembling, I was getting more and more terrified and numb at the same time. I was dying.

“We don’t know what it is. Nobody, muggle or wizard, seems to have heard of this disease. I’m sorry, miss Y/L/N.”

“Charlie…” 

My voice was weaker than I had expected, so small that I knew even Charlie’s trained ear hadn’t heard me. But I didn’t know if I could trust my voice to be louder, my trembling had reached every single fiber of my body and my vocal chords were vibrating with the emotions I was trying to contain, and the rest of my body had already betrayed me. Given up on me, stopped fighting, it was letting me die. 

“Charlie, please, don’t ignore me.”

I knew he had heard me as his pacing had abruptly stopped, but he still wasn’t looking at me. In a way, it was better like this; I didn’t know if I would be able to face him. I didn’t know what was going on his mind, and mine was hard enough to ignore. 

“I’m not- It’s not you that I’m ignoring.” He stopped and I waited for him to continue. “It’s the fact that every time I look at you could be the last.”

“Does it really change anything?” 

I was surprised, because I didn’t think opening my mouth without exploding in sobs was possible. It had been roughly five minutes, yet I was already accustomed to the feeling of pressure on my chest, and I already knew I wouldn’t bear it for long. But I also knew I couldn't let it overwhelm me because Charlie was needing me and I was going to give up on him, and I had to say something. Anything.

“Every day we’ve spent together could have been the last. It’s just- now, we know for sure it’s going to arrive.”

Then came the sobs. They began weak, silent, only betrayed by the shaking of my shoulders. And a first cry echoed in this creepy hospital room, and Charlie’s head turned toward me. I caught the movement, but everything was blurred by the pool of tears in my eyes. The damaged world around me was now nothing more than a dull white cloud in which this bright stain of ginger was getting closer and closer. 

Charlie’s arms wrapped around me, strong and firm like I had always known them. His chest was vibrating against mine and his head was hidden on the crook of my neck. He was silent but I knew he was crying. His tears were soaking my blouse and mine were soaking his shirt. It had never happened before, the both of us crying in the other’s arms. We had always stayed strong when the other needed it the most, whether it was after a long and tiring night and Charlie was missing his family or when I was hurt by my parent’s remarks about my choices of life. But now, what was the point of staying strong? Things wouldn’t get better, the nurse had said it. Now, every day was another danger, a step that maybe would be too high for me and that would make me fall. As Charlie was tightening me against him, as I was tightening him against me, as we were holding each other like the last thing that counted on earth, I remembered how the unknown used to be exciting. All it was now was destructing. 

_ _ _ 

The romanian sun was already high in the sky, and its light was piercing through the closed curtains. If I opened my eyes, I would certainly be able to walk to the door without tripping on Charlie’s mess which, trust me, was an exploit. An arm wrapped around my waist and I smiled to myself, savouring the warmth of my boyfriend’s touch. I wriggled to face him without waking him up and I was met with his freckled nose. I laid a gentle kiss on his lips and he didn’t even move, his snores barely stopping for a second before echoing again with a renewed vigour. 

“Charlie, love, I need to go.” I murmured before trying to move his arm. 

He only tightened his grip around me and mumbled something I didn’t understand. 

“Charlie… Charlie, wake up!”

My voice was becoming more and more urgent as the odd feeling was invading my body. There was a time I didn’t know what was this impression stronger and stronger within the seconds. It was like a veil enveloping me, tightening me so hard that it was making me suffocate without depriving me from oxygen. It also felt like a weight on my lungs, as if someone was pressing my chest constantly to make sure I wasn’t breathing. 

I didn’t know if it was my voice or my agitation, but Charlie woke up. He first opened an eye and muttered a few words before looking at me and opening both his eyes. 

“Y/N, love, are you okay?”

There was a knowing glimpse in his eyes, and he tried his best not to frown. I shook my head and closed my eyes, the movement having caused strong nauseas. 

“You should go back to sleep, you’re quite pale.”

Charlie put his hands on my shoulders and gently yet firmly pushed me back on the mattress. I barely nodded and curled up on a ball, letting him cover me with a blanket after a particularly bad shiver. He placed his hand on my forehead and his eyebrows furrowed. 

“You don’t seem to have a fever. Sleep, you’ll be better.”

He couldn’t know it, of course. None of us could. Maybe it would be better, maybe it would get worse.

He laid a light kiss on my forehead and left the room, closing quietly the door so that I wouldn’t be bothered by the noise. It only took a few seconds for me to close my eyes and fall in an agitated sleep. 

I opened them after what had felt like a minute. The feeling in my chest had disappeared, replaced by a headache particularly strong. Slowly, I sat on the bed and the mattress squeaked. The room was now dark, I couldn’t distinguish Charlie’s belongings on the floor anymore. I grabbed my wand which was on the nightstand. 

“Lumos.”

I crossed the room, picking up a sweater on the floor before joining the kitchen. I glanced through the window - it was night. The sky was dark, for what I could see there were no clouds and the moon was missing. A cold air stream made me shiver. I put on Charlie’s sweater and pushed the front door wide open. Charlie was standing a few meters away. His dark silhouette was barely visible, but he seemed to be staying still in spite of the wind. I walked toward him, and he only moved when I stopped just behind him, extending an arm and wrapping it around my shoulders before pulling me against him. 

“Aren’t you cold?” I whispered. Charlie was only wearing a shirt and I could feel his goosebumps against the skin on my neck. 

“No I’m okay, don’t worry.”

I looked up to see his face turned to the sky, and his eyes resolutely fixed on the stars. 

“It reminds me of the Astronomy tower.” I murmured a few minutes later. “When we would sneak out of the dorm and just go up there.”

“The good old days…” added Charlie. “Of course I remember. It was easier back then, wasn’t it?”

I nodded. Of course it was easier. Back then, we were teenagers in love and our only worries were to be caught by Filch in the corridors during night. Now, we were both afraid that whenever I closed my eyes I wouldn’t open them again. But the worst was that I knew it was easier for me than for Charlie. He would be the one to bury me, he would be the one to keep living with only our memories, and that was what I was the most afraid of, because I knew how much he put his heart in our relationship, I knew how deep was his love for me because it was as deep as mine for him, and I knew that if he had been the one to leave me, I would never have gotten over it. That would have broken me in the very same way as he was going to be broken. 

“Charlie?” He hummed in response, not looking away from the stars. “I’m sorry.”

It was rare to see Charlie’s walls crumbling, and now was one of these moments. His jaw clenched as if to make sure nothing would escape his mouth. He opened and closed his eyes several times to blink the tears away and suddenly, he engulfed me in a strong hug with the vivacity given by years of working with dragons. His hands were on my back, his long fingers clenched against it in an almost painful way that even the sweater couldn’t ease. I didn’t say anything though, and I held him even tighter, because I understood. 

“I love you so much…” he whispered in my hair, his voice shaky. “So much more than just to the moon and back… Y/N, I- please, don’t say you’re sorry. I know- I know you don’t want to leave me. I know it.” 

His hands cupped my cheeks and I rested my forehead against his, breathing deeply because I didn’t want to disturb the bubble around us. It was terribly sad but it was also filled with a love more pure than what we had ever shared before. Slowly, I kissed him. Our lips were trembling, our movements too clumsy and our muscles too tensed, but it brought me and incredible comfort. It brought me peace, because it was one more memory of Charlie to bring with me when the time would come, and because it was one more memory for him to keep for when he would need it. It was just us under the stars, two lovers whose story was bound to turn to the tragedy but whose love was deeper than anything else. 

It seemed like such a strong flame wasn’t meant to last. 

_ _ _ 

It had all begun with a simple headache. Sometimes, after having read for too long or helped Charlie with a dragon, a sharp pain would appear in my head and it would only disappear with a potion and a good night of sleep. Then it began to get more and more regular. Charlie was the first to get worried, and I would always shrug it off, pretending it was because I had read in the dark, or because I was tired.

After a while came the nauseas. Every morning I would wake up because of this pain in my stomach and run to the bathroom. I began to worry too but not for the same reason: I was sure I was pregnant. And if there was one thing we didn’t want with Charlie, it was kids. I told him about it, we freaked out together and I eventually took a few tests. They all happened to be negative, and after the relief had disappeared, another question had popped up in our heads. 

If it’s not a baby, then what is it?

But I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Maybe I was too scared, maybe deeply I knew something was wrong, fact is that when Charlie had asked me to go and see a doctor, his blue eyes full of worry, I had refused. Shrugged it off again. I had only accepted when it became harder and harder to breathe, always at random moments and for longer and longer moments. Charlie had brought me to the nearest hospital from the reserve and the diagnosis had come. 

I was sick. I was going to die.

Things had quickly worsened and, a month after my first visit to the hospital, during the first hours of the day, Charlie had brought me back there again, my limp body in his trembling arms. I had lost consciousness. The same nurse as the first time had taken care of me. The results were clear: there was nothing we could do anymore. 

“How are you feeling, love?”

Charlie’s voice was extremely quiet, and I could barely distinguish his silhouette in the darkness of the hospital room. It was late at night and the only light was coming from the streetlamps outside. 

“Now that you ask, the pillow is a bit hard.”

I didn’t need to see it to know Charlie had rolled his eyes. What he thought was nonchalance was always getting a bit more on his nerves and, even though he had never told me so, it was making me feel even guiltier. But it was for the better, or at least that’s what I tried to say to myself. Asking him to be strong for the both of us would be selfish. I knew it was easier for me than for him, and I didn’t have the right to add to his pain. 

“I can’t sleep.” I whispered, and Charlie’s hand immediately found mine.

It was closer to the truth. I was unable to close my eyes but not because I couldn’t… It was because I was terrified. Terrified because it could be the last time I closed them, because I wouldn’t have the time to say goodbye, because Charlie would be left alone and I didn’t want to do that to him. If there was one thing worse than wondering when you’re gonna die while on a hospital bed, it was thinking of the after. 

The after for me, because what would happen when my eyes would definitely close? Was I going to wake up in a fabulous place, surrounded by white clouds and lost persons that were dear to my heart? Or would it be more like nothing, emptiness I wouldn’t even be aware of, an eternity of just not existing, where I would forget and be forgotten? 

But the after for Charlie too, because what was he going to do? Would he cry or try to stay strong? Would he stay in our shared apartment or would he go back to his family? 

“Do you need anything?”

“Is a night or two in this hotel in Alaska too much to ask?”

The corner of Charlie’s mouth moved into a faint smile when he thought of the memorable week we had spent in Juneau. 

“I think I can manage this.”

I sighed and opened my arms, hoping he would understand the silent request. His face, previously quite relaxed, immediately gained back this anxiety that had never left him and he let go of my hand.

“I don’t think that’s reasonable…” he muttered.

“Fighting against three nurses to stay here day and night for a week wasn’t reasonable.” I corrected, a ghost of a smile on my lips. “Hugging me until I sleep is way more reasonable. Please.”

My hands still in the air as if to reach his, I suddenly hoped that, despite the darkness of the room, Charlie could see how desperate I was, how I needed his reassuring touch when the night was the most terrifying. Obviously, he understood, as he had always seemed to be reading my mind. He slowly got up, walked around the bed and slipped under the blanket behind me. His strong arms wrapped around me and he stuck his nose in my hair. 

“I love you.” he whispered, and the sound of his voice reached straight to my heart, making it beat faster and faster. “I love you, and I want you to know that no matter- I chose you Y/N, and if I was given the chance I would do it all over again.”

I was glad we couldn’t see each other. I didn’t know if I would have been able to bear the sight of his blue eyes sparkling not with joy but with tears as I knew they were, and I didn’t want him to see my face getting more and more wet as salty drops were overflowing. 

I wanted to answer him. I love you too. These four little words had always been so easy to say, so natural, but now it felt like a burn in my throat. It felt like a lie. How could these simple words said again and again possibly hold the immensity of my love for Charlie? It was like calling an ocean a drop of water, like calling a desert a grain of sand. What I felt for Charlie was so much more than love that calling it love was a lie. And despite everything I was leaving him, inexorably getting snatched from him and I didn’t even know what we had done to deserve that. 

Instead of saying something that would feel like a lie, it was easier to sound asleep. I steadied my breath as much as I could with the sobs that were blocked in my throat. I didn’t move. And Charlie was doing the same so that I was sure he was sleeping. I don’t know how long we stayed like this, but decades could have passed and I still wouldn’t be able to sleep. My mind was too concerned, my heart too pained. 

“You aren’t sleeping.”

Charlie’s breathing tickled my neck and I shivered. He misinterpreted and tightened his grip around me, pulling me closer to his torso.

“I still can’t.”

“You should get some rest, love. You’d feel better.”

“I know.”

Our voices were faint whispers that I was sure no one could hear even with their ear to the door. 

“I was thinking.” began Charlie, still murmuring in my hair. 

“Congratulations.” I smiled lightly when Charlie chuckled. 

“There’s so much I still want to do with you…” he said with a strangled voice. “You know, we’ve never danced together.”

“I’m sure we’ve already shared a dance or two.”

I closed my eyes, thinking of a night that seemed so far from us. We had spent hours dancing like fools, reproducing shamelessly muggle dances we had only seen once or twice, and it was one of my best memories with Charlie. 

It was in another life.

“Not like this. A slow dance during which I could hold you really close and…” He stopped and sighed, very lightly though, as if he didn’t want me to hear it. “Let’s dance.” he suddenly said. 

It was my turn to sigh. I wanted it so bad, of course I wanted to be held in his arms, but I knew I wouldn’t have the strength. I couldn’t walk on my own anymore for days, now.

“Charlie, I-”

“Don’t think about it. Do you want to dance with me, love?”

“You know the answer.”

Charlie left the bed and my back suddenly felt cold. I didn’t move, still giving him my back; my eyes were closed, I was trying to imagine the next seconds. Charlie whispered a first spell which I didn’t understand as it was muttered underneath his breath. He said something else - a spell I understood but that I had never heard before - and music echoed in the room. Then, extremely precociously, as if I was a fragile porcelain doll, his arms slipped under my body, bringing with them a welcome warmth. He lifted me up effortlessly, giving the impression that I didn’t weigh more than a feather, and immediately pulled me close to him, the closest possible. I snuggled against his torso and wrapped my arms around his neck. 

Suddenly, I wasn’t dying anymore, Charlie wasn’t grieving. I had never felt like this before. My heart was fast, so fast that in any other moment I would have worried. But I knew it wasn’t bad, it was the most fabulous feeling. It wasn’t euphoria that was flooding in my veins, it was something way softer that was soothing everything in me. Charlie’s body was firm against mine but his touch was like a caress, light, gentle. My face was hidden in the crook of his neck, and his head was bowed and resting on mine. 

Charlie had never really known how to dance. He was a clumsy boy, not really the kind who went to girls during balls. However, tonight, he was perfect. Perfectly in rhythm with the music, perfectly steady as he waltzed in this dark hospital room, perfectly him when his lips kissed mine.

It felt like a second or a lifetime before he eventually stopped - more like a lifetime, because feeling so many things during a second was impossible. Charlie delicately lied me back in the bed and covered me tenderly with the blanket. Slowly, his hand found my cheek, cupped it, stroked it. He bent over me and kissed my forehead, and in the darkness the only thing I could see was a blue sparkle moving away from me when Charlie straightened. 

“I love you so much, Y/N, so much…”

“So much more than just to the moon and back…”

When I closed my eyes, I realized it was time. It was my last night, my last seconds with Charlie. I wanted to fight, I wanted to keep my eyes open, but Charlie’s other hand cupped my other cheek. His face approached mine, and in his teary eyes I saw that he had realised too. His lips barely touched mine. 

A tear rolled down his cheek, and I closed my eyes.

#nina's 2 weeks of angst #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x yn #angst

[comehomeducklings]

Past [Part 3] (Obsession)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1940 - 3rd year

There’s no chance of getting out of this. Our mentor must be out of their mind. No smooth sailing this period, not for me. Nothing at all has prepared me for this point in time.

My heartbeat rises by the second. At the brink of jumping out of my chest. I constantly try to reassure myself as I prepare. Forcing the illusion that I have everything together.

I most definitely don’t have anything, not a crumb, together.

My hands sweat with anticipation, my wand almost slipping off multiple times. The magical stick even wants to run away from this situation. I’ll start running with it soon enough.

The whole room is quiet in expectation. The tension levels in this area are too high for me to even start to comprehend. All I can hear is the sounds of my breathing and the occasional ruffle of robes. The high regard these people hold for me isn’t doing me any favors. I’m about to ruin any confidence anyone holds in my skills.

My friends are holding their thumbs up for encouragement. It does little to calm my panic, but I appreciate the effort anyway. Other acquaintances from the same house nodded their heads in an attempt to console my emotions.

Before the teacher signals to start, he gives us a bit to come up with a plan. Ten seconds at most. Now, this isn’t something possible to win. Not against him, no. My only goal here is to last as long as I can and don’t mess up.

Act smart, seem like you know more than you do.

He looks as easy-going as ever. This may seem like a walk in the gardens to him. No “threat” whatsoever to make him feel uneasy. I’m quite irritated at the thought of being anything but a challenge. He may be a little right, but that doesn’t help my ego.

Easy, I’m nothing easy.

Riddle might be stronger at this, but that doesn’t mean I'm complete garbage. I can hold my own, I will hold my own.

My breathing patterns change into more of a deep inhale and exhale. Focusing on completely dropping my heart rate and keeping my thoughts intact. Madam Rose, the school nurse, hates seeing me walk in there. Frequent visits from dealing with plants has her hair getting pulled out. I don’t think Miss Rose would be too keen on me passing out from the lack of oxygen.

“Only stick with the one basic spell of force. For both offensive and defensive tactics.”

Riddle’s atmosphere surrounding him is focused, deadly. He hasn’t moved his gaze from my lips. Probably on guard for whenever I cast something. I’m slightly unsteady on my feet from nerves. It’s almost suffocating being under all these watchful eyes.

A snake takes their time to strike. They examine all angles where you may be weak. Testing the vulnerability of your actions and thinking process. A few testing snaps of their mouth can tell them how the fight will go. They are well-balanced and focused, masters of intimidation.

Breathing.

Oxygen informs the snake how much you’re able to hold on for. The more you intake, the tighter it gets. Restricting the amount of oxygen the prey respires. Until they are physically unable to anymore, slowly weakening. The fight they were presenting lessens to almost non-distinguishable. The prey’s struggling to get free, dying down. Then it passes away, openly given to the snake without any more thought. A mere temporary meal in its eyes.

“Begin.”

Our eye contact is steady, neither of us moving an inch. Our mouths are closed shut, wands at the ready. I slightly squint my eyes while I focus. If he’s waiting for me to go first he is out of luck. I’m not budging, we will stay in the same position until next period if we have to.

Riddle also slightly squints his eyes. His hand doesn’t shake even if his wand was out in the air for a long time. The arm he holds out is steady and unmoving. Nothing triggers my attention since his movements are of little importance. I search his eyes for any life, no emotion is found swirling in those charcoal black eyes. Absolutely brilliant and fierce when focused or aggravated. The class starts getting rowdy, finally allowed to talk since Riddle just made the first move.

There’s only one spell I need to remember, that makes it a little easier to think of ways to find my opening. I quickly revert the spell away from me and send it right back. A tennis match is played between that one spell. Tom huffs and sends his enchantment straight towards the ground. It bursts into tiny magical specks of green. During that time I sent a spell his way.

After a while, I start to notice right before he casts a spell he moves his mouth like he inhales to take a breath. I’ve noticed him do it quite often. Since he casts fairly quickly there wasn’t much to go off of. Not much to use to my advantage. When he “inhales” he’s most of the time not actually breathing in air. It’s just a simple movement he does. It might be because of his accent, the way he learned to talk. Quite a small little quirk of the lips.

To start testing out this theory I centered most of my attention on his mouth. Waiting to see if my theory was reliable enough to depend on. He’s starting to gain more offensive attacks on me. Most of my spells undecidedly move more defensive by the minute.

Right before he mutters the words, I send a spell of my own. The magic aiming for his knees. Before he could defend himself from that one I prepared another offensive conjuration to his wand. He forwarded an incantation my way and I hurriedly obviated the sorcery as it was also heading to my stifle joint. Some of the force still slightly makes contact with my left knee. My balance is suddenly thrown off.

As I scramble to catch my footing, Riddle with point accuracy parries my wand attack. Then diverts my knee attack towards my right knee. Since I was focused on stabilizing my posture I didn’t notice the spell approaching my other knee

Forthcoming my inevitable demise.

I end up planting both hands on the ground. My knees falling one after the other from the pressure.

Our audience starts yelling complaints and praise. Calls for a rematch and cheats. My loss was bound to happen, but I did get to do that three combo. Two offensive and one defensive, all in the span of 5 seconds. Not too bad if I say so myself.

“Mr. Riddle wins this duel. Excellent job to the both of you. A very good strategy was well thought out for each side.”

I make my way down the steps on my platform’s side. Immediately being greeted by hugs and pats on the back.

At least my feet didn’t get tied together from restlessness causing me to fall and he wins the duel immediately. I would have dropped out right then and there from embarrassment.

There’s barely any feedback for Riddle, his little posse praising him like a king. People either saw no fault in him or were too frightened to actually comment on it publicly.

For me, that’s another case. Quite a bit of suggestions are offered, keep my form ready and my attention on more than one thing. Any and all advice is welcomed. Who knows how it can help me one day.

Amelia hugs my side with the biggest grin on her face, “You did so well! I think he actually had to work a little for that win.”

Everyone is dismissed and we head our way to Herbology. Tom’s face looks as if he’s already forgotten about the duel. His body language remains tranquil as ever.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Bubotuber pus, one of the grossest things I’ve had the misfortune of learning at home. Now I have to live through it again? How can one endure harvesting the essence?

“All of you are required to wear gloves for today’s class. Does anyone know what effects you would have when touching this substance with your bare skin?”

Quite a number of students raise their hands. I’m guessing they did research on why they needed to buy these gloves when handed the school procurement catalog.

Exactly what I did, curiosity might actually kill the cat.

“Yes, you sweet girl,” she picks, “What’s your name?”

“Merlene,” the student answers, “If you touch this without protection then extremely painful boils will appear in its stead.”

“Correct! 5 points to Hufflepuff,” she claps.

My fingers already lay inside the dragon-hide gloves. Its rough texture rubs against the calluses from dealing with the harsh stems of different plants.

This substance is usually processed to be used for acne treatments. Only touched in its weakened state. Oddly satisfying to some, I am not a part of that group of people

“This is disgusting,” I say as I harvest the pus. My gagging reflexes acting up every time the plant gets squeezed.

A few students chuckle at my remark. They seem to be having a good time, weirdly focused on this substance. It smells of petrol, not a big fan of the scent. Reminds me of the sketchy gas stations my parents and I would take on family road trips.

Its thick goo is finally contained in bottles. Relief washes over me from finishing the collecting process. My gloves are removed and I do a quick spell to clean my area. Nothing really fell on it so it didn’t need scrubbing beforehand.

Amelia seems to just be finishing her plant. A lot of goo splashed all over her table. Luckily it doesn’t seem like any of that touched anyone’s face or uncovered arms.

“I’m just about done, can you help with cleaning please?” Amelia starts collecting all of her bottles into her arms. None of the glass vials touched in green gunk.

“Yeah, I got you, turn those in to the professor.” I immediately started helping her out. In that process, I also cleaned other’s messes too. Why not, there is still time to waste until we can all leave. Cleaning products smell better than whatever chemicals intoxicate the air.

“Pop quiz, shout out the answers. Why not use spells instead of treated bubotuber pus for treatments?”

Easy question, I whisper the answer in Amelia’s ear when she comes back from turning in the assignment so she can shout it.

“Using spells proves to be too risky, like the Eloise Midgen incident,” she answers.

Good, she remembers Eloise's event.

“Yeah, she cursed her nose off, poofed from existence,” a girl from Hufflepuff adds.

“Precisely, everyone has permission to leave now,” the professor exclaims, “don’t head out without cleaning or I’ll reduct points. Last time a student got boils all over their hand from an improperly cleaned station.”

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“It actually went decently. Nothing blew up, surprisingly.”

At lunch, we are all talking about our first three classes. Potions being our first topic.

“Thought as much, I saw your stupid grin. You looked like you just won the wizarding lottery,” I say with my mouth stuffed with food. Hoping they could understand me between my chews.

“Both of you, slow down. The food ain’t going anywhere damn,” Devyn laughs.

Amelia and I pause, we look at each other, then at Devyn, then back to us. After a silent halt in our actions, we continue to shove down a bunch of food.

“I noticed you kept gagging at the pus. You looked queasy, your face was so pale.”

I audibly shiver at the recollection of said class. My eyes were watering so bad there. That stuff would never stop coming.

“I’m eating, stop mentioning that nasty stuff,” Amelia starts shaking her head. If only I could see the thoughts forcefully being shaken out of her head.

“You should have seen her station. That stuff was everywhere. How bad is your aim, the opening to the bottle wasn’t that small?”

“It wasn’t even that!” she drops her fork, “I squeezed that bloody plant too hard and it squirted everywhere!”

“Poor choice of words,” Devyn snickers. All she gets is a shove from me.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, she’s clearly traumatized.”

Devyn shoves me back, “You’re clearly traumatized from the duel. The one you failed at, the one-”

“I’m aware of the duel you’re talking about,” I interrupt, “I bet you wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did.”

“Oh please, you’re just salty about losing.”

I roll my eyes and subconsciously scan the room for him. There he is, mysteriously talking to his group of buddies. After a little bit, he catches onto my staring. He briefly looked around him to see if I was looking at something else. Finally, he comes to the realization it was in fact him I was blessing with my attention.

During this, he was talking to his friend next to him. He stopped his conversation to completely give me his attention. The guy he was just talking to engaged in another conversation quickly.

The moment was interrupted with hands waving in front of my face, “You gonna eat that?”

“Nah I’m full, go ahead.”

Riddle continued on with his food. Never looking my way again.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“Hey, uh, Riddle you have a second?”

I stop him by tapping his shoulder a couple of times. His height already makes mountains seem molecular.

He furrowed his eyebrows and glances at the shoulder I just touched. Making it a scene to dust that part off, what an ass.

“No, I really don’t have a second,” he responds.

“Well that, really, sucks for you huh. Can you teach me techniques for dueling?”

“No,” he starts to turn away.

“Please, you will get one favor from me. Whatever you need.”

Tom turns back around, “Anything? Does that favor expire?”

I shake my head no. If he plans to wait a long time he’ll probably forget about it. He seems to be deep in thought for a bit. No rush really since we're on our break. If he agrees I could get ahead of so many competitors.

“Fine, every Friday afternoon starting tomorrow in the Room of Requirement.”

He immediately strides away while I stare back in shock. My brain didn’t expect him to actually accept. Getting this far wasn’t a very possible outcome.

Now I just have to find out where the Room of Requirement is located.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Taglist:

@empath-bunny

@jinxqsu

#tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #lord voldemort #voldemort #gryffindor #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #slytherin #hogwarts #wizard #post wizarding war #enemies to allies #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #angst #oc #poc #Oc is any race #horcrux #moldy voldy

[thethirdamell]

The Cruelest Month

Zevran/Amell - WIP / Writing exercise

The Blight was over. Amell was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden. He was also blind - mutilated by his father - and had fallen to drink, drugs, and despair. One love of his life had left him, and the other had died.

For a year, he'd had nothing. Then, for one cruel month, he'd had hope. 

1. Champagne Flavored Kisses 

“You can kiss me," Amell had said, and so Zevran did. Amell had been drinking wine, but the stutter in his breath was like the breaking of bubbles at the surface of champagne. For all it seemed his Warden had forgotten how to breathe, he had not forgotten how to kiss. Wintermarch fell before him, a flood of warmth in his lips, in his hands, in his trembling breath. 

How Zevran had missed him. Amell's arms wrapped around his waist beneath his jacket, but it could not have been the cold that made him shiver so. He made a sound - a sort of whimper - like the union of loss and lost - and Zevran didn’t know what to do with it. There was so much in that sound. 

And then all at once, there was no champagne. No bubbles. No light. No air. Nothing but gasps and sobs and snow.

2. Opportunities 

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the Maker. Perhaps it was simply Leliana, but Zevran had been afforded an opportunity and he did not intend to waste it. Amell wept and Zevran forced himself to listen. To feel the racing of his own heart, and the way Amell’s hands seemed to fist around it and not his back. He was almost too much. Too fast. Too vulnerable.

Amell had been blinded and Zevran didn’t know how or why. Rumor said it was the Crows, and what if the rumors were true? What if the Crows had sent him here to finish the job? The contract on Amell had existed once. Zevran could have taken it. Amell had no way of knowing he hadn't. Nothing beyond his word, and Zevran had already proven his word meant so very little. 

Zevran could have been lying. It was possible. Surely Amell knew it was possible. Yet still, the weeping. Zevran traced over the old scar at the top of Amell's ear. His Warden had pierced it years ago, on nothing but the hope that one day Zevran would give him the earring and it would mean something. And so he had, and it had. "You wish for it to mean something!? Here is what it means!" Zevran had thrown it at him, and Zevran had left him. 

"Amor-" Zevran said gently.

"Don't-" Amell cut him off. Amell was taller than he, and had to bend slightly to embrace him. His hunched shoulders shook with a rickety inhale. "Don't call me that. Don't call me that unless you mean it." 

"... Amor," Zevran said again. Softer. Slower. "Amor." Zevran set his fingers to Amell’s chin, and peeled him off his shoulder. What a mess he was. Face flush, blindfold stained with tears, spit cobwebbed between cracked lips. What a mess Zevran had made him. "Amor."

He meant it. He would mean it. This time, he would mean it. 

3. Condensation

Condensation from the glass ran over Amell’s fingers, the chill white almost warm in winter. Amell tipped the glass back to his lips, and washed away the taste of his tears. Whatever room he was in smelled like a headache. Leliana meant well, but going from huckleberry to vanilla blossoms to cinnamon to some sort of soap was so disorienting he would have lost his sense of smell half way through the night even if he hadn’t been crying. 

Zevran hadn’t wanted to stay for the rest of the First Day Ball. Leliana had found Zevran a room at the palace, and Zevran had pushed the key for said room into his hands before leaving for the night. “In case you would like a more thorough apology,” Zevran had whispered into his ear.

Amell kept a hand in his pocket, turning the brass and all its promises over in his fingers. He hadn’t been with anyone in almost two years. Not in truth. Not without magic, and a bemused bottle of wine while he compelled whatever nobleman or dignitary that wanted a night with the Hero of Ferelden into thinking they’d gotten one.

The first time he’d managed sex after he’d lost his eyes, he’d thrown up afterwards. It had gotten easier, but it had never been the same, and he hadn’t tried or wanted to try since Anders had died. 

“Kid?” Oghren’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?” Amell asked.

“... Don’t do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go balls deep in the elf the second you see him,” Oghren explained. “You gotta play a little hard to get for once.”

“Three years isn’t hard enough?” Amell asked.

“Elf ain’t been back three minutes. Lemme guess, he’s a changed man. Well, lemme tell you something, I was a changed man. Every day, I was a changed man. Every drink, I was a changed man. You know what I didn’t do? Change.”  

“You changed,” Amell argued. Oghren was sober. Oghren had changed more than he had.

“For you,” Oghren reminded him. “Cause I wasn’t about to find you the way I found you when you tried to do you know what you know when because of you know who. Cause I love you.” 

“... Zevran loves me.”

“He tell you that?”

“...”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

4. Love and fear. The most destructive forces on earth.

Fuck it. 

“Excuse me,” Amell caught the hand of the servant that went to refill his wine. “Could you show me to the third floor in the west wing, where the guests are staying?” 

“Yes, Chancellor,” The servant gulped. A woman. She sounded young, but nerves did that to a person, and Amell couldn’t say for certain. “Of course, Chancellor.”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure what to do with him, but ultimately tangled her hands around his bicep and set off. Westward, hopefully. He didn’t need her hands. He could follow the pulse of her heart, but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget how disconcerting most people found that. “Forgive me, Chancellor - aren’t you worried about the scandal?”

“Which one?” Amell asked. There were so many on any given day it was hard to keep up. 

“Of walking with a servant,” The woman explained.

“Only if you’re worried about walking with a mage,” Amell countered.

“But you’re not a mage!” The woman protested. “You’re the Hero of Ferelden.” 

“What’s your name?” Amell asked.

“Nessa,” Nessa said. “... I’m an elf, messere.” 

“Nessa, I’m Amell, and I’m a mage. I promise it’s fine if we walk together.”  

Nessa seemed to accept that. She talked on the walk through the palace, but Amell had had too many drinks to follow along with everything she said and restrained himself to a polite hum whenever it seemed like he should respond. Eventually, Nessa announced, “We’re here, messere.” 

“Thank you,” Amell said. 

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” Nessa offered.

“No, thank you, Nessa,” Amell waved her off. It wasn’t his room, and he didn’t want Zevran to know he had to have someone walk him to it. “I appreciate your help. I’ll have to repay it someday.” 

Nessa said something and left. Amell’s head was so heavy he felt like he kicked it down the hall to the seventh room on the left. Zevran’s room… Maybe Zevran’s room. Shit. Which left? His left? Someone else’s left? Was this actually the seventh door or was he so drunk he’d lost count? Someone was inside. He could feel their heartbeat, but nothing beyond that. They weren’t a warden or a mage, and Amell couldn’t distinguish between anyone else.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Nessa was gone. Why had he let her go? Why did he have to be so fucking proud? What did he have to be so fucking proud about? There was no one else in the hall, but there were people scattered throughout the rooms. The last thing he needed was to knock on the wrong door and scandalize some foreign dignitary. With his luck, he’d bring half the palace out to check on him. Alistair would hold it over his head for so long he’d never feel the sun again, and Amell liked the sun. It made him feel something. 

The sound of the door opening. 

“I knew you could not resist,” Zevran’s voice. Amell let out the breath he’d been holding and felt for his heartbeat, a hand to Zevran’s chest and whatever fabric he wore atop it. Suede maybe. 

“Why would I want to?” Amell countered.

“Why indeed?” Zevran pulled him inside and shut the door behind them. 

Amell found his jaw, tracing over the memory of black ink on bronze skin before he sought his lips. His kiss was almost enough to bring him back to tears. Oghren was wrong. Amor meant love. Amell knew it meant love. It was enough that it meant love. It didn’t matter that Zevran never said it in the King’s tongue. Amell didn’t even like the King. 

He liked Zevran. He loved Zevran. Amell had loved Zevran as much as Zevran had feared Amell loving him. For one passionate year love and fear had felt like the most destructive forces on Thedas, a force to rival the Archdemon, but in the end love and fear hadn’t destroyed anything but them.

Amell fisted his hands in Zevran’s hair and kissed him harder. Zevran kissed back, cradling his jaw and caressing down his side. It was just a kiss, and then it was just a haze. Flashes of miserable memories Amell buried beneath skilled hands and hot breath and so many fucking buttons. “What is this?” Amell asked while he fought with whatever Zevran was wearing. 

Zevran chuckled against his neck, his hands finding easy purchase beneath his doublet, “You would think it a chastity belt with how you struggle, no?”

… A joke. It was a joke. Amell meant to laugh, but the sound was a harsh hum. 

“Allow me-” Zevran started.

“I should go,” Amell untangled himself from him. 

“Should you, now?” Zevran asked, a familiar evenness in his voice that spoke of anything but, “You are too much, my dear Warden.”

“You mean I’ve had too much,” Amell corrected him with forced levity.

“This as well.” Zevran allotted. “... Very well. Go then.”

Amell patted himself down, checking over his outfit, and whether or not it was still something he could be seen wearing, but Zevran hadn’t gotten much further than he had. He found two undone buttons and fixed them. Because he could fix them. Because buttons were easy as long as he was the one wearing them, and he wasn’t undoing them from the bottom of a bottle. 

Zevran’s hand, tangled around his collar and pulling him back when he turned to go. “... but take the memory of me with you.” Zevran kissed him. Just once, and there was surprisingly little pressure in it. “Another night, yes?”

“Another night.” Amell promised.

5. Thick, wool jackets piled on a leather chair in the corner of a dark bar.

"I'm turning in, Kid," Oghren thumped a fist against his back. "You know the way back to your room?" 

"Hm," Amell took a long pull of blood lotus and waved him off. 

"Lay off the coffin nails, will you?" Oghren said.

"One pull won't kill me." At this rate, nothing could. He was already dead. He’d died so many times he was losing count. In a closet in the Circle. On the Tower of Ishal. On the back of the Archdemon. In his bed. In his bath. Death after death after death, but he kept coming back. 

"You got court tomorrow," Oghren reminded him. 

"I'll be up," Amell promised. 

"Yeah, alright," Oghren said, chair creaking across the floor when he stood. Amell didn't hear him leave, and turned to take in the pulse of his heart. Slightly sped up. Stress. 

"I'm fine, Oghren." Amell lied. There was only so much drinking could do for him, but he didn't plan on overdoing it. He just needed to forget everything Zevran forced him to remember. The Blight. The breakup. The fucking closet. Amell took another pull for the high and the hallucinations that followed it. 

Oghren left. Amell smoked, resting against a pile of thick wool jackets stacked high on the leather couch beside him. They belonged to whoever else was in the parlor with him, but all their heartbeats bled together with the lotus, and he felt alone in the not-dark.

6. Allergic to bullshit

Oghren couldn't sleep. He was itchy as a cuckold, and his throat kept swelling up on him and choking him awake. Coulda been the palace. Coulda been the bed. Coulda been something he ate. Coulda been, but it wasn't. It was the Kid, giving him a full on reaction in the middle of the night. After three years, Oghren was allergic to his bullshit. 

Oghren got up, got a drink of water, and got dressed. He went back downstairs to the parlor, first at a walk, then at a jog, and eventually at a full on sprint, but the Kid was where he left him. Lying on a couch in the smoking parlor, the air around him so thick with blood lotus folks could get high on the fumes.

A few had. Some noble lass was lying on his chest while Amell blew smoke in her face. Another noble fellow sat on the floor, leaning against the couch and smoking his own roll while Amell toyed with his hair. The Kid was fine. Fucked up, but fine. 

He wasn't dead. He wasn't lying in the bath, a bottle of aqua magus shattered on the floor, incense still burning while he overdid it on everything there was to overdo it on. Oghren just had to drag him off the couch and not out of the grave. "Let's go, Kid," Oghren said and didn't sob.

Kid was still breathing. Kid was still dressed. Kid could still walk. Oghren made it back to his room with him, and Amell slumped to the floor as soon as Oghren untangled him from his shoulder. Paranoia made him check his pulse, but the Kid was alright. He was just out. 

Oghren rolled him onto his side and pushed him up against the wall to keep him that way. It would be his sodding luck if the little shit suffocated on his own sick in the middle of the night. Ironic maybe, considering being sick was the only thing that'd saved him a few months ago. Stupid shit. Stupid little shit. 

What the fuck, Kid!? The fuck were you thinking?

I don't know. I'm sorry.

Fuck your sorry, you little shit! You trying to kill yourself?  

I don't know. I don't know. 

Fuck you. Fuck you, Kid. 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You stupid fuck. You stupid little fuck. 

"You're alright," Oghren decided.

He was alright. The Kid was alright. His kid was alright.

7. Earl Grey

Fuck. Where was he? Not the parlor. The air wasn’t thick enough. Amell splayed a hand across the cold floor beneath him, a stark contrast to cushioning leather and the few vague memories he had of last night. He was still dressed, but his cape was gone. He must have left it in the parlor, buried in some indistinguishable pile of woolen outerwear. 

Where was he? Amell dragged himself to his knees with the help of the wall beside him, a rising panic in the pit of his stomach and a growing ache in his head. They joined together in his heart, like feral lovers tearing each other apart, and every pulse was agony. Where the fuck was he? Amell clutched his forehead, cursing his lack of creationism and struggling with the magic that pulled on the pulse of those around him.

His hand crawled across the wall until it connected with something. Wood. A post. A bedframe. Rich sheets. Layered. Fine quarters. For a noble or an honored guest. His room? Someone else’s room? Why was he on the floor? Amell stumbled to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. Probably his room. Maybe he’d made it back or gone back with someone. 

Amell pulled his blindfold off, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Fuck,” Amell muttered. What time was it? When was court? Had he missed it? Where the fuck was he? 

A Warden’s pulse. Oghren. Alone, some distance from him but closing. He should probably put his blindfold back on. Oghren couldn’t stand his eyes, but his head ached and his forehead itched and he was as sick of the fucking blindfold as he was of everything else. Amell stayed on the bed, stretching the knots from his back until he heard the door to the room open and close.

“Morning, princess. Get your beauty sleep?” Oghren pushed something into his hands. Ceramic. Warm. A cup. Amell sniffed it. Leaves and dirt. Tea. 

“Where am I?” Amell asked.

“My room,” Oghren said, the bed lurching with his weight when he sat somewhere off to the left. 

“What time is it?” 

“Morning.”

“Did I miss court?” 

“No, but you’re gonna.”  

“Oghren-” 

“Get over it,” Another dip in the mattress accompanied by the rustling of sheets as Oghren made himself comfortable. “They will. Drink your damn tea.” 

Amell took an obedient sip. Bergamot. Not that it mattered. He hated tea, no matter the type or how it helped with his hangover. “I’m expected,” Amell reminded him, “I need to go.”

“You’re the Chancellor,” Oghren countered, with a slurp and a satisfied gasp that was wholly unwarranted, considering he was probably drinking the same piss. “You don’t need to do shit. Besides, it’s the King’s court.”

There was that. Alistair would take his absence for an insult. The nobility for his backing of the Queen. There were worse days to be absent. Amell took another drink.

“You can’t go back there, Kid,” Oghren said. “Not over the elf. You’re better than that.”

No he wasn’t.

“Well?” Oghren pressed.

“Well what?” Amell asked.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“You know what,” Oghren kicked him, but he was too far away to do anything more than push the sole of his shoe into his hip. “Let’s hear it. You talk it out or you drink it out. You want your kid to find you like I found you?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Nuh-uh.” Oghren cut him off. 

Amell sighed, cradling his cup in his lap. He didn’t want to talk it out. He didn’t even want to drink it out. He didn’t want it out at all. He wanted it buried or branded with the rest of his emotions. He should have just let them do it in the tower.

“Kid,” A clink of Oghren setting his drink down. 

“I can’t,” Amell croaked.

“I ain’t asking you to walk on lava here. I’m just asking you to talk.”

“I can’t sleep with him,” Amell clarified.

“Like you two ever did much sleepin’ anyhow,” Oghren snorted.

“I couldn’t get his jacket off.” 

“Can’t believe I’m giving advice on this, but so what? So he keeps the jacket on. Just get your pants off and go about your business like I do with the ladies.”

“He said something. A joke. I just-... I felt like I was back there… in the Circle… I always feel like I’m back there…”

“... You’re not, Kid.”

“I know.”

“Do ya?”

“... no.” A shudder tangled up in his chest. Amell fought it back with tea and shallow breaths and time. “…I never know where I am.”

“... I know.”

“I hate it.”

“I know, Kid.” Oghren shifted again, and his hand fell on Amell's shoulder. “... You’re in Denerim. You’re at the palace. You’re on the second floor in the west wing. You’re in a guest room. You’re with me, Kid. You’re with me.” 

8. Hygge (A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment)

A wave of stress. The sort of stress you feel in your skin, under your fingernails, paralyzing you more effectively than any spell or poison. The sort of stress that says run, fight, stop, you're dying, you're dying, you’re dying. It was the kind of stress Amell felt whenever he stopped to think about how he felt. How he really felt.

Amell couldn't have feelings. Growing up, feelings were just a thing the Circle could take from you. If you wanted to survive you had to take them first. Nothing could matter. Nothing had mattered. Nothing except Jowan and Anders, but Jowan was Leyvn and Anders was dead and they couldn’t matter now because they were gone.

The Blight had only made it worse. He’d been one of only two surviving Grey Wardens, trying to save a country from civil war and a world from annihilation. Nothing else could matter in the face of that, and after? He was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden, trying to resurrect a dead Order and a dead Arling as one of the first mages openly entrusted with a position of nobility since the Shame of Serault.

There was no room for feeling in any of that, but he’d had feelings anyway, and his feelings had died. After everything, how was he supposed to have them again?

Amell finished his tea and held the empty cup in his lap. He didn’t know where he could put it down. So far his assessment of Oghren’s room was limited to the floor and the bed.

“There’s someone at your door,” Amell noted.

The knock came a moment later.

“Could you be more of a creepy fuck?” Oghren took his cup away. Amell wasn’t sure what he did with it. He found his blindfold, tied it back around his eyes, and the sound of the door opening followed.

“Elf,” Oghren noted.

“Oghren,” Zevran’s voice returned.

Amell forced himself to take a steadying breath. He couldn’t break down every time Zevran was around him.

“You start your monthlies yet?” Oghren asked.

“I missed you too, my foul smelling friend,” Zevran returned.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.”

“You are only slightly more attractive to me than a slime-filled pool of swamp water,” Zevran assured him. “You have my oath.”

“Better be,” Oghren grunted, “Come on in then.”

“Here you have caught me off guard,” His steps were soundless, but Amell felt his pulse when he stepped inside, circling Oghren to stand a short distance from him. “I came only to ask if you knew what room Amell was staying in, and yet I see it is this one. Amor, if you have taken in with the dwarf then I fear you have traveled to an awkward place I dare not follow.”

“He wishes,” Oghren said. “Boss’s room’s across the hall, three down on the left.”

“I should probably get to it,” Amell stood up. “I need to change.”

“Perhaps I could help with one or both of those things?” Zevran offered.

“Don’t you two start with that. Not in here,” Amell imagined a finger wagging accompanied Oghren’s threat, but his blood magic wasn’t quite precise enough to distinguish between the veins in someone’s fingers and their hand. “Go on, get out.”

Amell took a step towards the door, when a hand on his arm stopped him.

“May I?” Zevran asked.

“If you like.”

Zevran escorted him out of Oghren's room and back to his own. He smelled like leather, but the texture of his sleeve was linen. Maybe a vest. Amell ran his hand down to what felt like an armband with some sort of embossment. He couldn’t quite tell what it was by the time they reached his room. Amell let them inside, and stood in the center of it, trying to think of what to say to him.

"Let us dispense with all the awkwardness of last night, shall we?" Zevran saved him. "My words were ill chosen, but I meant no ill will."

"I know."

"Ah,” Zevran cleared his throat. “Of course you know. Why would you not? I-... meant only that if you need help-"

"I don't,” Amell cut him off. Maybe a little too sharply.

"Truly?" Zevran sounded surprised. Amell must have frowned, because when Zevran continued he sounded uncharacteristically soft. "I don't know. How would I know such a thing? I have not been with you. You are blind and I am not and you must tell me."

Amell let go of whatever emotion had been fueling him. Pride, probably. “I will,” He promised, and hoped he meant it, “If I ever do.”

“Good,” A pop, like the anxious cracking of knuckles. “Then I shall be there to give it if you do… I am told the king is holding court today?”

“He is,” Amell didn’t want to talk about Alistair.

“And I am told you should be there?”

“I should.”

“Haha! I do love a good royal scandal. Perhaps we could add to it? The Chancellor of Ferelden, out in public, a handsome fellow on his arm. A lover perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

Zevran clasped the back of his head, tilting his head down to urge him into a kiss that tasted like mint and spoke of a purposeful morning. Amell tangled one hand in Zevran’s hair and ran the other down his chest, catching on some sort of necklace resting against a loosely laced linen shirt. Leather vest, like he’d guessed, and familiar mixed metal rounds still belted at his waist.

Zevran tugged his doublet free of his belt, and Amell forced himself to break from him before the day went somewhere he couldn’t. “I don’t need help changing, Zev.”

“Are you sure?” Zevran joked, but this time it was easier to handle, “Such a complicated outfit you wear, my dear Warden.”

“Is it?” Amell couldn’t help smiling.

“Why yes! You see, there is…” Zevran floundered for a moment, “A belt?”

“I can’t, Zev,” Amell said, bracing himself for a fight. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough,” Zevran relented, so easily it didn’t seem possible. “I shall wait outside, then.”

“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“A few minutes it is,” Zevran went to the door, but didn’t leave.

“I know you’re still here,” Amell said.

“Nonsense,” Zevran laughed, returning to him for another kiss, and Amell couldn’t help wondering why he’d hesitated. What more he’d wanted to say. “You are alone.”

“Who am I talking to, then?”

“Why yourself, of course! You are so very vain, after all.”

“My mistake.”

“One you will make again, I am sure. Do not take too long.”

Zevran released him, and actually left the second time around. Amell changed into a fresh doublet and trousers, and rejoined him in the hall. Zevran took him to the servant’s quarters, where a second, smaller, First Day celebration was taking place the day after the nobility had had theirs. Whatever room they were in was warm, and slightly crowded, but the furniture had been cleared away to make room for dancing.

Nessa was there, and sounded excited to see him again, as did a handful of others she introduced him to once they realized he wasn’t there to interrupt the festivities but join them. There was no alcohol being served. No incense choking out the room. Just music and laughter, and a comfortable conviviality to it all.

“Can you dance?” Zevran asked.

“Can you lead?” Amell countered.

Zevran’s laugh was light. “I shall be glad of it,” He took his hand, found a space for them, “You have led long enough, no? I think you deserve a rest.” 

9. Crisp

Amell was not Rinna. He was not Taliesin. True, he was many things they were. Cunning. Ruthless. But he was also many things they were not. Forgiving. Gentle. Alive. The palace gardens were frozen over, and so conveniently abandoned. Zevran sat on a bench of ice and stone, Amell's head in his lap, their breath misting in the crisp winter air. 

Zevran threaded his fingers through Amell's hair, wisping a few raven strands free of his ridiculous blindfold. "Why do you wear this?" 

"For the aesthetic," Amell joked.

"I do not suppose I can persuade you to take it off?" Zevran asked, thumbing the edge of the cloth and wondering at what lay beneath it. Eyes, surely. Real or glass, red or some other color, mangled or not. 

"Just the blindfold?" 

"And anything else that you fancy removing, of course, this is a given," Zevran laughed, "Come now, I am serious. What is the purpose?"

"I told you," Amell said.

"No, I do not believe so," Zevran traced one of Amell’s eyebrows, relaxed despite his prying, which seemed a good sign, "Shall I guess? You are concerned for how they look when you cannot?" 

"Something like that.”

"Something like that is not that,” Zevran noted. 

"Tell me about Antiva," Amell deflected. 

"Antiva," Zevran let the conversation go with a wistful sigh, watching the word catch in the cold. "Very well, Antiva. It is a wonderful place, save for all the Antivans. I have been killing rather a lot of them, and the Crows are cross that I have crossed them, as it were." 

"Why have you?" Amell asked.

"Why not?" Zevran laughed. 

“You said you just wanted to escape them,” Amell reminded him. 

"And so I have,” Zevran said. “And yet when I left, I realized it was not enough to be free. I had to do something with my freedom. You remember the orphanage, yes? In Denerim?”  

“I remember.”

“We do not have such things in Antiva. Not such as they are here. The Crows empty them too quickly. We are not so very different men, you and I. I was sold to the Crows. You were given to your Circle. Tell me, Amor, if you could go back, would you not do the same? That day at the tower? All of your templars gathered in one little room… You have such a spell that would serve - a cloud of death. I have seen it.” 

Amell cracked his knuckles, “...We needed the soldiers.” 

“True.” Zevran allotted, “But this was not my question.”

“... you know I would.”

“So I do,” Zevran traced the anxious tension out of Amell’s brow. There was no need for it. Zevran knew the man he’d come back to. “And now you know I would as well.”  

Amell caught his wandering hand, and kissed his fingers and the ring Zevran wore upon them. Amell’s brow furrowed again, in confusion and not confession, and he spun the silver band around his finger. “... Is this the ring I gave you?”

“So it is.”

“... I thought you would have added it to your belt.”

“I considered it, I will not lie.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Who can say?” Zevran shrugged, but the deflection was an old habit, and he’d promised to break them. He traced Amell’s lips, dry against the cold, until a smile curved in them. “... Who needs to say?”

10. Melting snowman

Amell caught Zevran’s hand, still tracing his lips, and wove their fingers together. "What are your plans?"

"My plans?" Zevran repeated with a blithesome laugh, still unchanged after all these years. "Have I given you some indication I make a lot of these?"

"How long are you staying in Ferelden?" Amell revised. "Until the snow melts? Wintersend?"

"Who is to say I am leaving?" Zevran countered. 

Experience. 

"You love adventure," Amell said instead.

"And there is none to be had here?" Zevran asked. "I had thought to offer my services to the crown, and the lovely woman who wears it, as it were. You will put in a good word for me, I am sure?" 

"I'll have to think of a few," Amell joked.

"Tsk,” Zevran flapped his hand free to swat him with it, “So cruel you are. I think I may cry.” 

"Skilled," Amell ventured, trying to remember the man he’d fallen for years ago and wondering how much of him remained. "Dashing. Clever. Charismatic."

"Sexy?" Zevran suggested.

"Obviously," Amell dropped his arm off the bench and squeezed Zevran’s calf when it proved the easiest part of him to reach lying on his thigh. Amell had always liked his legs. "Gallant." 

"Gallant?" Zevran laughed his familiar laugh. "You are aware of the meaning of this word, no? I regret to inform you an assassin is no gallant thing to be, amor." 

"You are," Amell argued. "I remember how you spoke against Knight-Commander for locking the mages in the tower and calling for the Rite of Annulment… you were the only one who did. I think-..." 

"... what is it you think?" 

I think that's when I fell in love with you. 

"I think you're gallant."

11. Bleak

Amell let the words go. He’d said them once, despite his better judgment, and he didn’t trust himself to say them again. For all he said them often enough to his friends, they lacked the weight they carried when he said them to the men who mattered most in his life. They lacked the heartache. Zevran had left. Anders had died. The words were a curse, a hex, an affliction he wouldn’t speak again without hearing them spoken to him first. 

His recticience changed nothing. His feelings were all still there, unspoken, but his love felt less unrequited if he gave nothing to requite. It wasn’t. This time it wasn’t, but Zevran hadn’t said it first, and the thought that he might not say it back too bleak to bear, so it was better not to say at all. 

12. You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet

You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Felsi understood that. Girl broke damn near a dozen trying to cook one. Kid understood it too, but with the Elf back it was like he forgot. Spent a whole week at the Palace flitting and farting around the heavy stuff - so scared to talk it out he figured he’d smoke it out instead. Kid was fucking it up, and Oghren could tell, and that was saying something.

Oghren couldn’t tell whim from wham on the best of days, but that was what the Kid was doing. Whim-whamming it up. Elf wasn’t gonna put up with that shit. Elf barely put up with the Kid’s shit the first time around. Add in the smoke, and the drink, and the dust, and the Elf was out. Oghren could smell it. That sovereign was as good as got, but Oghren didn’t really want it. He had enough coin. Kid took care of him, even if the Kid never took care of himself.

Oghren thought the Kid’s kid would snap him out of it, and he had. Kid had gotten better for a bit, but soon as the Elf showed up, he went sliding right back. Elf hadn’t even left him yet, but it was like the Kid could tell he was gonna and was just trying to speed it up. Oghren didn’t know what to do about it. Kid was the one who’d helped him get back with Felsi, but Oghren didn’t know how to help the Kid get back with the Elf when it seemed like he’d rather get back with the drugs, ‘cept to take the drugs away. 

“Alright Kid,” Oghren snatched the roll from the Kid’s fingers one evening, and tossed the burning lotus into his drink. Kid shouldn’t have been mixing lotus and aquae lucidius anyway. “You gotta stop.”

“... Did you just throw my smoke in my drink?” Amell asked.

“Aye, and don’t you go drinking it anyway. Sick of seeing you in this longue. Why don’t you go fuck around with the elf?”

“I told you - I can’t fuck him.”

“So don’t fuck him. Shouldn’t be fucking yourself instead.”

“It was just one smoke, Oghren, and that drink costs a sovereign”

“And I’m good as gold for it. Fixing to make one off you anyway you keep this shit up.” 

“I’m not keeping anything up.”

“Yeah, I got that that’s the problem. Why don’t you go fix it?”

“I can’t.”

“Not in here you can’t.”

“Oghren-...” Kid went hunting for his drink, and Oghren slid it out of reach. Took damn near everything in him not to slide it right into his mouth, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d lost too many days to drink, but the Kid had almost lost them all, and Oghren hadn’t noticed.

He’d dragged the Kid out of the Deep Roads and called it a day. Went back to drinking like it was nothing. Watched the Kid go back to blood magic like it was nothing. Knew - sodding knew in his rotting guts - that the Kid wasn’t alright, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Why would he? The Kid was never alright, and Oghren wasn’t all that right either, but he was a damn shade better than the Kid. 

Took finding him in the bath to finally figure it out, and Oghren wasn’t gonna find him there again. 

“Go to your room, Kid,” Oghren said. 

“Give me my drink.”

“Go to your room.”

“Give me my drink and I will.”

“You ain’t getting it unless you magic it out of my hands, and we both know how that went down last time.” 

“I missed last time.”

“Don’t care if you miss or not, you still ain’t getting it. You don’t want it bad enough.”

“You have no idea how badly I want it.”

“Fuck you, Kid, I’m the only one who knows how bad you want it, and I’m the only one who can keep you from getting it. You know damn well why your magic doesn’t work on me.”

“Just give me the drink, Oghren.”

“Go to bed, Kid. Take the Elf with you, why don’t you?”

Kid didn’t call it. Slammed his chair back and stormed outta the lounge without another word.  Oghren stayed and stared at the drink. Aquae Lucidius was ambrosial quality booze. One whiff was enough to burn the hair back into his nose. It was liquid gold - and it was going to waste - and that was fine with him. 

One sovereign down. One more to lose.

#prompt list #writing exercise #zevran ariani #zevran #amell #amell/zevran #apples and apostates #dark content #tw: drugs #tw: suicide mention #tw: rape mention #WIP #No happy ending

[hteragram-x]

It’s a short story about the first encounter between Virgil and Remus in my Firefighter AU. Previous posts about this AU are [HERE] and [HERE].

Word count: 942

Ships: it’s technically Dukexiety, but they’ve just met

TW: fire (nothing dangerous, it’s a small flame from a lighter), mentions of arson

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Virgil was stressed. Also water is wet.

Anyone knowing the young man standing in fr­ont of the firehouse this frosty January morning would be equally surprised by both of these statements.

This time, however, Virgil’s stress was of a slightly different nature. He didn’t even feel bad for internally freaking out. Anyone would be nervous on their first day of work… or potential work, he thought desperately trying to reassure himself and readjusting a pile of documents in his hands for the nth time within the last five minutes.

He was starting to feel really cold. He also really should go inside.

Taking a deep breath and filling his lungs with cool air he finally moved forward purposefully focusing on the wooden door and not the fact that his shoes seemed to be glued to the cracked concrete.

Entering the building solved at least one of his problems. The empty corridor was warm and his fingers tingled slightly at the change of temperature. He looked down at the papers consciously making his grip looser to not crumple the edges. It already didn’t look very presentable. He should have brought some folder. Or at least bring the files inside a bag. There was a dried droplet of water in the corner of the first page. It looked extremely unprofessional. No one would hire him with such poorly kept documents. That will be the worst first impression ever. Or it won’t. He doesn’t have to go for a job interview at all. He may as well go home. They won’t accept him here anyway. Such a waste of time. The firehouse wasn’t far from his flat, but he had to left home so early…

Some noise at the other side of the corridor pulled Virgil out of his swirling untamed thoughts. He took a deep breath looking up at the source of the sound and locked eyes with the weirdest man he’s ever seen in his life.

He wore a green tank top in the shade of green that seemed so toxic that it probably shouldn’t be put anywhere near the human skin and a jacket of an old firefighter suit with cut off sleeves and a bottom part making it look like the most ugly crop top on the planet. To be honest, it was barely “a jacket”. The trousers of the protective suit were intact, but they were entirely covered in small drawings and chaotic writing leaving almost no plain material in sight. The outfit – if the unusual choice of clothes even deserved such a title – was completed with a pair of vaguely reddish fluffy slippers, although the poor lighting in the corridor made it difficult to distinguish between colours.

Virgil gulped noticing the man’s smiling face.

It was not a nice smile. Or rather… No. It was nice. As in “the guy was handsome”. But creepy. In a attractive way. …What?

“Hello”, he said in a voice that made his greeting sound like a question.

“Yo!”

The man grinned and suddenly his face lit up – quite literally – with a flick of a lighter. This time Virgil noticed neatly styled moustache that somehow hasn’t caught his attention before. The sickly green tank top was very distracting. It seemed to glow in the dark.

“Y-your lighter is a little too close to your moustache”, Virgil said nervously to somehow fill the silence. “It’s nice by the way. Maybe… maybe don’t burn it down?”, he suggested not really sure why he was talking at all. It was almost eight. He should have found the office already. Not waste time on... whatever that was.

The man’s grin became even wider.

Virgil tried his best to smile in return. He probably looked ill.

“Are you one of those firefighters who’s into arson?”, he asked jokingly, eyes fixated on a dancing flame and liquid shadows it cast on the guy’s face. The second the question left his lips he wished to grab the nearest fire extinguisher and inhale its contents. He was not the weirdest person in the room right now, but that comment was just stupid. It’s most likely some outdated stereotype he heard ten years ago and probably should have checked if it’s even true before saying it out loud…

“He is!”, answered a deep voice from one of the rooms ending at least a small part of Virgil’s suffering. The prolonged silence was probably worse than any answer that a stranger could give.

A door next to the weird guy opened revealing another man the same height and with the eerily similar face. He had the exact same features, however, the lack of facial hair made a huge difference. Or maybe the crazy glint in the first man’s eyes made it easier to distinguish between both of them.

The new stranger absentmindedly grabbed a lighter from his twin’s or clone’s – why not? it was already an outlandish interaction – hand, closed it, and put it in a large pocket ignoring the other’s immediate pouting.

“Are you here for a job interview?”, he asked with a nice, polite smile that somehow looked out of place on that face. “I’ll show you the office. This way!”, he gestured towards the stairs previously obscured by an overgrown plan. Virgil followed him without a word, still not really knowing how to react.

Before he fully left the corridor he looked back to glance at the other twin who waved at him with just his fingers and gave him a much more normal smile. Virgil found himself awkwardly waving back and forced himself to focus on his incoming interview.

He couldn’t tell with any amount of certainty if the unexpected encounter made him more or less willing to get the job.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #remus sanders #ts remus #roman sanders #ts roman #dukexiety #ts dukexiety #remus x virgil #virgil x remus #well... it's for the future #creativitwins #firefighter!roman #firefighter!remus #firefighter au #sanders sides au #ts writing #my writing #hteragramx #tw fire #for a moment

[mimirexx]

Im super duper late for the jeanpikuweek i feel so bad ;-; but i finally finished this work! I chose the promts AU, saving and alliance and tried to put it into a fic somehow! Since it got a little long i divided it into three chapters and will post one chapter each day 😌

Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Breakout

An AU where Jean is a shifter and got caught by Zeke and his men. Beside the torture he was receiving, Pieck visits him and the two start to get closer. They want to escape together - but at what costs?

TW: torture, beating, rape (no explicit rape, not between Jean and Pieck!), blood, violence, angst

Chapter one - Chapter two - Chapter three

Deep down in a basement where no sunlight reached sat Jean, a man unfortunate enough to have been captured and imprisoned during a failed mission. He had long forgotten what day it was, spent too much time in the darkness to distinguish between day and night.

Heavy chains hung around his wrists, not allowing him to move more than a few feet away from the wall. There was a thin mattress on the ground where he slept and a shabby piece of cloth that couldn’t be called blanket in any possible way. The cell he was locked up in was small, the stone floor so cold.

They ripped off his clothes before they threw him inside, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, mainly to ensure he had no chance to hide any weapons whatsoever but Jean had a feeling it was also to humiliate him. He was on enemy territory, so of course they would use every opportunity to humiliate and torture him. Nevertheless, he never gave away any information. They could do whatever they wanted, Jean wouldn’t lose a word.

Whether it was beating him up, burning his skin or slicing off his limbs, the shifter remained silent. There was nothing that could make him betray his friends and comrades. Their safety was the top priority, he would be fine as long as they didn’t kill him- which he didn’t think was their intention. At least not until they knew what they wanted to know.

He’d be fine until then.

~

“Why the long face?” A male voice spoke up, standing in front of his cell. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jean didn’t answer, instead just stared at the same spot on the wall he was staring at for hours. One would say there was something really interesting on it with how long and intensely Jean already stared at it. He was thinking deeply, thinking of a way to escape that cell.

Though, he had no idea where he was. Even if he made it out, he didn’t know where to go, which made him an easy target to get captured a second time and receive even worse treatment. The smartest move was to stay where he was and try to gain more information. Everything else would be suicide.

The male stepped into Jean’s cell, the sounds of his boots echoing as he approached the brunet. Only when he stood right in front of him did Jean look up and immediately received a kick in the stomach, making him groan.

Jean kept his volume as low as he could because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of hurting him. The man crouched down and turned Jean’s face towards him, his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“My, my. You’re such a nuisance, you know?” He laughed. “Just tell us where your people are and you’re free. Are they really worth all this? I don’t think so, they aren’t even looking for you.”

The brunet looked up at the person that was Floch Forster, a man who betrayed the Survey Corps along with some others, and furrowed his brows in response. It could’ve been about a month already if Jean counted right and his chances of being rescued were shrinking with each passing day, but Jean wasn’t a person to lose hope. If his comrades didn’t come to help him out, he would find a way out by himself. Either worked fine.

“All of this could end right now,” Floch said while looking into Jean’s eyes. “You’re not who we are after. You don’t need to go through all this. If you tell me where the Commander is, I promise you will never have to see any of us again.”

“Fuck you.” Jean said very simply and spat into Floch’s face. “Different from you, I’m not a traitor.”

The redhead’s expression darkened at Jean’s action and his hand found its way around the other’s neck. “Hah, I just like being on the winning team. And I’ve been nice up until now but spitting at me? That’s intolerable.”

Before Jean had the chance to say much more, he was forcefully pressed down against the stone floor. Floch knelt down behind him and used his free hand to pull Jean’s underwear down.

“That needs to be punished, don’t you think?” He kept Jean pressed down against the ground and rubbed the tip of his member against his entrance.

Jean shivered in discomfort and cringed. That was about the most disgusting thing Floch could do, but not even that was enough to make Jean talk. He was convinced to keep quiet, especially in front of Floch.

“Just do what you have to do and leave me alone.” He muttered and closed his eyes. He wanted this to be over quick because any minute he spent without Floch around him was a minute well spent.

Floch didn’t need to be told twice.

Jean was left alone afterwards again and decided to lay on the mattress to spend the rest of the time there until he would fall asleep. It didn’t take long for him to do so and give his body and mind some rest.

~

When he woke up a few hours later, he was surprised to see that his blanket was draped over him. He blinked a couple of times before shrugging it off and looking around.

The second surprise was a person standing in his cell. After squinting a little, he saw that it was a very short person. The black hair gave it away and Jean slowly sat up. He winced a little, feeling sore, but managed to sit anyway.

“You look awful,” the ravenette hung up the torch on the wall and sat down in front of Jean.

“I’m sorry for not getting ready and greeting you properly,” Jean rolled his eyes.

Pieck giggled. “I forgive you, but only this once. Here, I brought you some stew. It’s still warm.” She carefully placed a tray in front of Jean as she said that.

He stared at the bowl of steaming stew and looked away. “I don’t want it,” he lied. The only things he got to eat were bread and sometimes an apple if he was lucky enough. Not that it affected him much, his titan powers allowed his endurance to grow stronger. He could stay weeks without food and would be fine if he wanted to. Not to mention that Pieck was the enemy.

A gorgeous, kind and caring enemy who brought him a little food whenever she came.

She was the only one who hadn’t made a wrong move on him yet. That didn’t earn her his full trust, however, he enjoyed her company. It was a nice change.

“It’s not poisoned or anything, look.” She scooped a spoonful of the stew and ate it, showing her empty mouth afterwards to prove her point. “It’s safe to eat and you need to eat something proper before you pass out or anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” he denied anyway and leaned his back against the wall. “Shifter and all.”

“I don’t care.” She lifted the bowl and filled the spoon with stew before holding it out for him. “Just eat it.”

“Will you tell me where we are if I eat it?”

“You know I can’t,” Pieck moved the spoon a little closer, “now open your mouth.”

Jean narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t deny that the stew smelled really good, and Pieck ate from it, it had to be safe. So he eventually opened his mouth and ate the spoonful, chewing it slowly while savoring the taste. It had vegetables and potatoes and even some meat. It’s been a while since he last had meat.

“...I can eat by myself.” He insisted and took the bowl and spoon from Pieck. It was a little embarrassing to be fed like a child.

Pieck let him and rested her hands on her lap. Her expression turned a little more serious, her brows furrowing. “What did Floch do?”

“The usual.” Jean replied nonchalantly.

“Can’t be, I don’t see any injuries…”

He paused to look up at her for a moment. “Healed. Not important.”

Pieck was quiet and lowered her gaze slightly. It seemed she put one and one together and didn’t need any further explanation.

As the cell fell into silence, Jean ate more of the stew, eating rather quickly so he would finish soon and avoid getting any of them in danger. But one question was on his mind.

“Why are you doing this?”

Pieck tilted her head. “Doing what?”

“Bringing me extra food and all… Is that your way of coaxing me to get information?” He raised a brow.

“Ouch, that’s not nice to hear. Although I understand why you think this way.” She shrugged and gave him a little smile, “that’s not my intention nor my job. I know we’re at war and that information is very precious but I do not like the way you’re being treated... You’re a human being just like the rest of us and I wouldn’t want one of my comrades to be treated like that if they were in a similar situation… So I’m trying to make it a little easier for you.”

Jean stared for a moment before he gave a nod and continued to eat. He wasn’t sure if Pieck’s words were genuine. She did sound like she meant what she said so, for the time being, he left it at that.

“Don’t you get in trouble for being here anyway? What if they find out you’re bringing me food?” Jean questioned next. Up until now, that was Pieck’s fourth or maybe fifth visit. She always brought him something small to eat. He did not want to draw any unnecessary attention.

“They won’t, it’s my turn to watch over the prisoners so I need to be here anyway.” She crossed her legs and leaned back against her palms. “And don’t worry about the food. I know what I’m doing.”

Jean was a little hesitant but nodded anyway. Nobody noticed that he was getting extra food or a chance to have a decent conversation with another person and he would rather keep it that way. “I see… I hope for you that this isn’t any kind of trick.”

“No way,” Pieck shook her head, “you’re too smart to play any tricks on. And I’m starting to like your company, so this is a win-win for both of us.”

“Mhm..”

The brunet was quick to finish the bowl and set it back down on the tray. “Thank you for the meal.”

Pieck smiled and leaned forward again. “You’re more than welcome. You know, talking with you is way more fun than talking with the others.”

“What, because I’m half naked?” He joked, making Pieck giggle.

“Of course not! Although I have to admit, that’s definitely a sight to behold,” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

Jean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall again. He couldn’t help the little smile from forming on his lips.

“What I meant,” she said, “talking with you, it feels so different. Makes me feel careless. It’s like talking to a good friend.”

“A friend, huh…” Jean repeated before shrugging. He missed his friends, they were all precious to him. What he would give to see one of them now... It’s been so long.

“Is there anything else I can get you for today?” Pieck spoke while taking the tray and standing up.

“How about the keys for these?” He lifted one hand, making the chains rattle. “And a map?”

Pieck smiled with sympathy and grabbed the torch. “Dummy. You have the keys and map to my heart, that’s the only ones I can give you. You know that.” She hummed and walked out of the cell, making sure to lock it behind herself before waving. “See ya.” And she disappeared in the dark.

Jean watched her leave and exhaled deeply. He already knew Pieck wouldn’t give him any of these but it was still worth a try. Even if only to humor himself.

It was after Pieck’s visits that Jean felt a little better. It was like she was restoring his energy so he could make it through another day or week. Talking with her was so calm and without any pressure, it was so easy.

He might not fully trust her but he still looked forward to the next time he would be able to have a chat with Pieck.

~

A few days or so later, Jean didn’t know how long it was, Zeke personally came down to his cell. He was in charge of these people and the whole mission, Jean learned. He was the one who suggested kidnapping one of the shifters to turn the tables. This far, it didn’t appear to benefit him much since Jean didn’t give away any information and the Survey Corps had yet to make a move towards them.

The brunet glanced up when the door of his cell was unlocked and the tall blond walked inside. Behind him stood a few other soldiers with rifles pointed at him. He stared at them before shifting his gaze up at Zeke.

“Jean Kirstein, am I right? I gotta say I’m quite impressed.” The blond stopped right in front of Jean and rubbed over his beard.

Jean just stared, the indifference obvious on his expression.

“You’ve been here for more than two weeks and haven’t lost a word. That’s quite exceptional.”

Just two weeks? It felt so much longer. But then again, Jean lost every sense of time he had. He couldn’t even tell if it was day or night at the moment.

Zeke hummed and tilted his head. “Aren’t you a smart man? You should know that your friends will not find you here, never. And you should also know that we will not stop searching for them. We’re at advantage. If you tell us where they are, we will let you leave. I will even prepare you a lunch bag for the way, how does that sound?”

“You don’t think I believe you would really let me go, do you?” Jean raised a brow before a sly grin came to his lips. “Kick and punch me all you want, tell your men to rape me as many times as your sick brain feels like. Do whatever pleases you. You’re not getting anything out of me.”

It was Zeke’s turn to stare. His eye twitched a little. He cleared his throat and nodded, “I see. Then we just need to continue trying out new things until we find something that works. Or until I’m sick of it and just feed you to someone.”

He waved two fingers, making one of the soldiers at the door enter the cell with something in his hands. Once he was close enough, Jean could see that it was some kind of bottle with a colorless liquid inside. At first glance, it looked like a bottle of water.

But Zeke wasn’t that innocent.

“Have you ever touched sulfuric acid?” He took the bottle and opened it, crouching down in front of Jean.

Well, that made him a little tense.

“Curious to know what this does to the skin?” Zeke’s glasses reflected the light of the nearby torch. The grin on his face didn’t make the situation any better.

Jean clenched his teeth and glared. “Tsk…”

“Where is your base?” Zeke questioned.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you climb some trees and search for it, Monkey?” Jean spat, unintimidated.

And that was when Zeke splashed a generous amount of the acid over Jean. It hit his face, stomach, arms and legs, causing Jean to cry out loudly. Every single drop of the acid burned in such a cruel way, turning his skin into a bright red mess with many blisters. It burned mercilessly through his flesh and Jean felt every drop of it having its effect on him.

He groaned and panted heavily, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stifle his noises. His body naturally began regenerating and steam rose to the ceiling. Jean looked at Zeke, shot him a look of disgust.

“Did that help your memory?” Zeke questioned with a dark expression. “Will you tell me now?”

Jean took a few deep breaths. Then he smirked. “H-hah? That only tick-tickled a bit... You-you gotta try better.”

The blond snarled and grabbed Jean’s face with one hand, shoving the bottle into his mouth with the other. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind this!” He tilted Jean’s head up so the liquid would run down his throat.

Jean tried moving his face away somehow while he tried to scream and felt how the acid burned his insides. From his air pipe down to his lung and guts. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. In fact, that was the worst kind of pain he had ever experienced. It was a hundred times worse than just getting the acid on his skin.

It felt like he was melting from the inside, like he was decomposing while the acid devoured his organs and bones. He wanted to cough and throw up and breathe at the same time, wanted to get the acid out again. But chained up and held in place, he had no chance to defend himself. And for a split second, he was considering Zeke’s offer. The pain messed with his mind.

When Zeke finally pulled the bottle away because it was empty, Jean fell back and began wheezing. Breathing was almost impossible now and Jean was on the brink of passing out. Even though his body was regenerating itself, it would surely take a while and the pain was unbearable.

Zeke said something Jean didn’t hear. A few moments later, he did pass out and laid sprawled out across the floor. His mouth hung open, steam passing his lips with his body’s desperate attempt to heal itself.

This was rough. This Zeke was insane, a maniac, and he was sure he would get to experience even more of these psychotic torture methods in the next days.

But as crazy as Zeke might be, Jean was stubborn and strong. He just needed to hold on. And maybe he needed to find a way to escape earlier before all of this could cost him his life and pain wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

~

Jean groaned in discomfort and reached up a trembling hand to press it against his stomach. It already was much better from when the acid burned him but the soreness and irritation was still there. His body already healed most of the damage, Jean could tell, but it wasn’t fully done just yet.

His eyes blinked open tiredly to get a view of his surroundings. Still in the cell, still chained up. The only difference from the last time he was awake was that he was now laying on the mattress with the blanket over his body. There was something strange under his head too.

“Jean? Can you hear me?” He heard a tender voice by his side and turned his head slightly to look up at the person.

Upon seeing the worried expression on her face, Jean’s lips tugged into a tiny smile. “Your voice is… is soft like an angel’s... Not sure i-if I’m already dead…” He murmured and closed his eyes again.

“Oh, God… I’m so glad you finally woke up…” Pieck whispered, her hand coming up to run through Jean’s long hair.

“Don’t tell me... you were worried about the enemy. That’s.. That’s not how it works, Pieck.” He let out a small chuckle which ended in heavy coughing.

“Jean!” She exclaimed and turned him onto his side quickly, patting his back to help him ride out the cough. “Stop talking, you’re not in the condition to talk now. You need to rest so your body can focus on healing.”

Jean laid back once he got a grip of himself and let out a weak sigh. He glanced up at Pieck again and looked into her eyes. He wasn’t sure if he saw tears in them because he couldn’t focus too hard but it was easy to see that she was very sad.

“‘M fine,” he assured her and lifted his hand which Pieck took into her own. Her much smaller hands embraced his big one, squeezed him.

Pieck looked into his eyes and this time he saw rage in them, something he had never seen before. She always wore a smile on her face, so Jean never imagined how it’d look like if Pieck got angry. It was scary, in a way, to see her enraged, out of all people.

“You were unconscious for two days… Zeke went too far this time. He’s gotten so gruesome ever since all of this started, he’s not the person I once trusted anymore. I can’t trust someone who would go this far only for dumb information.” She stated, her voice loud enough for Jean to hear but still kept quiet.

“Jean.” She gave his hand another squeeze, “I’ll help you out of here. I thought Zeke was a good person- he’s clearly not. And I’m not gonna sit and watch how his actions will get worse from here on.”

Jean was silent for a moment, letting Pieck’s words process in his head. Surely, hearing that she would help him wasn’t what he expected, and he couldn’t tell if this was a trap or not. After what Zeke did, he had to be much more careful now.

“You just couldn’t resist my charm, could you?” He joked.

“Maybe that’s true too.” She reached one hand down and smoothed out Jean’s hair. “But I’m serious. You don’t deserve such treatment only because you're the ‘enemy’. I’ve made my decision.”

The brunet closed his eyes when he felt Pieck’s hand on his head. It’s been a while since he last received a tender touch and with Pieck it felt so right. He knew that it could be a trap but it was the most gorgeous and kindest trap ever.

For a moment, he wanted to believe Pieck’s words. Just for one moment.

When it was only him and her, Jean felt like everything was right. She always sounded so sincere and genuine and honest… always treated him as equal and even almost like a friend. Maybe that was how Pieck was and maybe she was honest about wanting to help him. This was a tough decision.

“Can you tell me where we are exactly?” He opened his eyes to look up at the ravenette, awaiting an answer from her.

Pieck gave a small nod. “We’re in an open area, about ten miles away from the nearest forest. They’ve spent weeks building this place to hold someone - preferably a shifter - captive. Right now, we’re underground. So if you planned to transform to leave, you’d have to get to the surface first or else you’ll be stuck in the ground. It’s too small.”

Her fingers entangled in his locks, giving him a few more strokes before she held Jean’s hand on her lap using both hands. “We’re pretty far away from any kind of civilization, so just running away won’t help, they’ll capture you again.” She explained, rubbing a thumb over Jean’s knuckles. “I would suggest going southwest, that’s where you can find the most people and hide until you know where to go.”

“I see.” He muttered and stared up at the ceiling in thought. If that was the case, he needed a plan to get out of the building and leave without anyone noticing to buy time. And he needed to be fully healed to be able to run that distance.

“I can sneak out the keys of your cuffs but I haven’t seen any kind of map here apart from the big one in Zeke’s room. I can’t give it to you but I will try to make a sketch of it for you from my memory.”

“Why?” Jean questioned, moving his gaze to her eyes. “Why are you doing all this for me? It can’t be only because Zeke poured acid over me. What’s the real reason behind all this?”

“...I don’t want Zeke to win. Not anymore. He’s my friend but his motives aren’t something I can agree on. If I can stop him or at least manipulate his plan somehow, I will.”

“What are his motives?” Jean was the one to squeeze her hand this time.

“...He wants to turn all subjects of Ymir infertile. He thinks that it’s better, that those who can turn into titans should no longer exist. He wants to rot them out and that’s wrong… but he won’t listen to anyone.”

“I see.” Jean said again and furrowed his brows a little. He didn’t only need to escape, they had to do something about Zeke and stop him. If his plan succeeded, it would be the worst outcome.

The brunet began pushing himself up into a sitting position, wincing a little when a particular move hurt too much. He exhaled carefully once he sat and glanced around the cell quietly.

While he looked around, he noticed that Pieck used her coat as a makeshift pillow for his head and couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she spoke the truth about wanting to help him out.

“Alright,” he looked up at Pieck, “will you be able to get me a sketch or something similar of the surroundings and this place by tomorrow? I’ll think of something to do against Zeke and his men.”

Pieck nodded. “I’ll do my best. And you don’t move around too much, your body needs to rest and heal.”

The brunet stared, a little deadpanned. He gave a short glance around the small cell, down to his cuffs and back up at Pieck. “Not like I have a choice?” He raised a brow in amusement.

“I meant it as in ‘don’t strain your body’.” She corrected.

Jean nodded quickly and held back a grin. “Oh, sure! I’ll just tell them not to beat me up too bad next time. Mhm, understood.”

“Jean!” Pieck pouted and gently slapped his arm. “You know what I meant, you big dummy.”

He let out a short chuckle. “I know, I’m just teasing you. By the way…” His voice became a bit more serious again, “what about you? I guess you will stay here?”

The ravenette gave a small shrug and looked around, scratching her head. “Not like I have a choice,” she repeated his words.

“Listen, if you really help me out of here and you really aren’t on Zeke’s side anymore…” he trailed off. “My people will understand. We can figure out something for you to stay with us, we could need someone intelligent and strong like you.”

“You expect your friends to welcome me with open arms after what I’ve done?” She tilted her head, brows furrowing.

“You were following orders.” Jean emphasized. “If what you’re saying about turning your back on Zeke is true, then I can talk with my people about this and we will figure out something. Whatever happens, I can assure you that you will not get this kind of treatment, even as one of Zeke’s soldiers.”

“Ah…” The ravenette looked down and scratched the back of her neck.

Jean reached out to touch her shoulder gently, making Pieck face him again. “I’m not telling you to make a decision right now. Zeke aside, I know you probably have close friends here. Just.. think about it and let me know once you made up your mind.” He offered.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy to just take her back with him, Jean knew that, but this place - and especially Zeke - were awful and someone this kindhearted like Pieck had nothing to do here. They could become really good friends if the circumstances were different, so Jean wanted her to go with him.

Not to mention that someone like Pieck would benefit them greatly. She was strong, she was smart. If Zeke lost her so suddenly, it’d be a big shock and a big disadvantage, that much was for sure.

Then again, only if what Pieck said was true.

Though, Pieck didn’t seem like the person who needed to lie to get what she wanted. Jean had a good feeling about it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, try to get enough rest.” She reached up to take the hand that was on her shoulder and pulled it down. Giving his hand a few gentle pats, she soon stood up and grabbed her coat as well.

Jean watched her stand up and gave a firm nod. “Be careful.”

After she left, Jean carefully laid down again and closed his eyes, both to let his body do the work of regenerating and to think deeply. He needed to concentrate and think of a plan.

#jeanpikuweek #jeanpiku #jean kirschtein #pieck finger #floch forster #zeke jaeger #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot #attack on titan #fanfic #my writing #i wasnt able to finish in time again but im happy i at least got something done #not 100% happy with it but it was now or never #plus jeanpiku needed some angsty stuff #aahh the first multi chapter fic i finish lmao #now its back to the old stuff oops