#originally the prompt was blood and i had him bloodied but u know what

[hisui-dreamer]

his cleaner shrimp

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: you had only meant to help him once, but he attached himself to you straight away

Tags: fluff, comfort, humour(?), Floyd calls you shrimpy, mentions of blood, Floyd and Jade fought, bot proofread

Word count: 1.5k+

Notes: more floyd fluff! this fic was originally angst can u believe it anyways i was inspired to do a classic shoujo manga scene hehe

Masterlist

'I did nothin' wrong!' Floyd thought to himself.

In the shadowed back alley, Floyd sat curled up against the wall, his emotions roiling like a stormy sea after a heated confrontation with Jade. Anger still boiled within him, but the sting of his injuries dampened his spirit.

His left cheek was swollen and discolored, a vivid shade of purple and blue, with a raw, angry red spot where Jade's knuckles had landed with force. A small cut near his eyebrow oozed blood, giving his face a gritty and battle-worn appearance. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied as well, the skin was broken in places from the forceful punches he had thrown.

He nursed his wounded pride, nursing his bruised ego, and found solace in the alleyway alone, away from prying eyes. If anyone had dared to even look at him funny, they would be met with a fierce glare from his mismatched eyes, as if daring them to challenge him to a second fight.

But it seemed his glare wasn't intimidating enough, as your shadow started approaching him, prompting him to look up from the floor. You were a small thing in Floyd's eyes, not the best target for a fight, and definitely easy to throw around.

'Pshh... Just small fry...' he thought as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Uhh, hey there," you said hesitantly, holding out a plastic bag Floyd could only assume contained first aid supplies from the red symbols. "I couldn't help but notice you're hurt. Your injuries might get infected if you leave them untreated."

Floyd's initial gruffness wavered slightly as he glanced at you, surprised by your concern. But he didn't want anyone's pity or help, especially not from a stranger. "I don't need any help from small fry like you," he retorted, trying to sound tough and dismissive. "I'm not that weak."

Still, you continued taking steps closer, kneeling down next to him to stare directly into his eyes. "Even strong people can get infections, you know," you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. "It'll hurt more then, so it's better to have it treated now."

Floyd hesitated, torn between his pride and the growing realization that he did need help. Perhaps it was the adrenaline passing, but he could feel his bloodied hand throbbing in sharp pain. He cast a hesitant glance in your direction, taking in the softness and understanding in your face. In that moment, he decided to let his guard down, just for a little bit.

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled, begrudgingly extending his injured hand toward you.

Your touch was gentle and sure, and as you cleaned the wounds and applied antiseptic, you made sure to warn him of the incoming sting, though he seemed unaffected by it all. Despite his efforts to stay aloof, Floyd found himself feeling strangely comforted by your presence. As you continued to patch him up, he felt a warmth spreading through his body, a soft and fuzzy feeling that he couldn't explain. He wondered if that was the infection you had warned him about, but it didn't feel bad or painful; instead, it felt like a balm for his tired soul.

With your curiosity getting the better of you, you couldn't help but ask about the cause of the fight.

"So, what happened?"

Floyd looked at you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he hesitated. However, the trust he had found in your compassion made him open up.

"Shrimpy's curious, huh..." he replied with a small smile. "Okay, I'll tell ya, but only cuz you're Shrimpy."

You blinked at the peculiar nickname, amused and intrigued. "Shrimpy? Is that... me?"

He nodded happily, a hint of mischief in his eyes. You couldn't help but smile wryly at the odd choice of nickname.

"I had a fight with my brother," Floyd finally admitted, his smile fading into a pout.

"It's Jade's fault!" he yelled, his frustration evident in his voice. "He kept using those weird ingredients in his cooking, even though I hate 'em! I kept tellin' him, but he didn't even listen."

He paused, his voice turning quieter as he continued, "So I broke one of his terrariums to make him stop, but he got really angry..."

You listened attentively, humming as you carefully cleaned the wound on his face. "And so you two fought... I understand how that could be frustrating," you said softly. "You know, cooking takes a lot of time and effort... I'm sure your brother just wanted you to enjoy it like he does."

Floyd glanced at you, his mismatched eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. He couldn't ignore the gut feeling that maybe you were right.

"Yeah, maybe he did," he conceded, a hint of contemplation in his voice. "But it's still annoying he doesn't listen to me."

You nodded, understanding his frustrations. "Of course, it's not nice that Jade disregarded your feelings," you replied gently. "But you should respect his feelings too. Breaking his terrarium wasn't the right way to handle it."

Your words struck a chord with Floyd, and he felt a pang of remorse for his impulsive actions. He knew better than anyone else how much time and effort Jade devoted to caring for his cherished terrariums, often staying up late into the night to tend to them.

"Aww man... Shrimpy's right," he muttered, feeling the weight of his mistake. "Jeez, what do I do now?"

You offered a reassuring smile, glad that his anger had dissipated. "It's never too late to make things right. The best place to start is always an apology," you suggested. "There, all done," you murmured as you finished placing an island dressing bandage on his face, a smile forming on your face at the job well done.

Floyd, meanwhile, stared at you in a daze, your close proximity allowing him to notice all the little details on your face. He felt his cheeks warm as a gentle affection slowly bubbled inside him. Your genuine care and gentle touch had triggered something deep within him, and he found himself feeling drawn to your presence.

"Floyd!" a familiar voice broke him out of his daze. "There you are!"

Jade stood at the front of the alley, slightly panting as if he had been rushing around. You nudged Floyd gently, having recognized that the man must be his brother, and gave him a reassuring nod.

Floyd glanced at his brother, momentarily torn between his pride and guilt. But he took a deep breath and stepped forward, his voice steady as he said, "Jade, sorry... I shouldn't have broken your terrarium, and it was wrong..." He confessed. "But I don't want to eat any of those weird things again!" he exclaimed with a pout.

Jade's initial surprise gave way to a soft smile, appreciating Floyd's rare willingness to apologize and make amends.

"I understand, Floyd," Jade replied, his tone more understanding now. "And I apologise as well. I should have listened to you and respected your preferences."

Floyd's pout softened as he realized that his brother was willing to meet him halfway. "Really?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Jade nodded. "Yes, really. Though I do not wish to, I will stop using mushrooms for your meals."

"Wait..." you blurted, turning to look at Floyd. "This whole time, the weird ingredients you've been talking about are mushrooms?"

At he nodded furiously, your incredulous expression only intensified. "But mushrooms are so delicious! Why would you hate them?"

Before Floyd could even start to complain, Jade approached you and clasped both of you hands, his eyes alit with surprise and excitement. "I'm delighted to meet a fellow mushroom lover! Would you like to join me on a mushroom foraging trip in the mountains?"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. As you tried to muster up a response, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you backward to meet his sturdy chest. It was Floyd, and you could feel his warmth and presence enveloping you, his chin resting on top of your head, his hair tickling your forehead.

"No way! Go get your own Shrimpy! This one's mine!" Floyd exclaimed, his arms tightening around you possessively to prove his point.

Jade's lips spread into a wide smile, his sharp teeth showing playfully. "Now now, Floyd, I do believe you've broken a precious terrarium of mine," he hummed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's only fair that you give me something for reparations."

"Nuh-uh! As if I'd let you steal my Shrimpy!" Floyd said. In a fluid motion, he picked you up and started running off with you, while you scrambled to hold on tight to him.

You couldn't help but squeal as the unexpected playfulness unfolded. "W-wait! Floyd! Put me down!"

"Nope! You're my cleaner Shrimpy now! I'm not lettin' you go!" Floyd declared, his voice lighthearted and full of joy.

Maybe you should have been more concerned by his words, but you found yourself so captivated by his joyful and innocent laugh, that you couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles with him.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#for anyone who doesn't know #moray eels have symbiotic relationships with shrimps #so they'll have a cleaner shrimp that'll clean their teeth #while the eels protect them #so i was inspired by that haha #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland floyd #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: HALO: A MasterChief Collection: Let Me Help {10}**

Master Chief Pablo x Sergeant Reader

Warning: Mild cursing, Fluff, Plot, SMUT, NSFW, 18+ Content

Words: 2.5k

Summary: You are part of the mighty SPARTANS as sergeant and a pretty badass addition to the team at that. After the failed mission on Eridanus Two and with the artifact gone, you and master chief are battered, and bloody. Healing is needed but neither of you can lose face or appear weak now.

Note: Guess who needs more fics? Master Chief!!! I’ve decided to make a Master Chief collection of standalone one-shots. They all can be read separately to understand but can also be read in sequence. I will put a number on them so anyone who is interested in reading in sequence can, but again not necessary. This might be an acquired taste, but it’s Pablo as Master Chief forever and always around these parts.  Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous: On Your Six*** | Feel Something | A Night Off | Apex Predators | Truth Be Told | Confess | Unto Dawn*** | Learn Me, Learn You*** | Conceal

~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t fail. He didn’t fail. The Spartans never failed. That was not what you were created for. Still, you’d done just that. The mission on Eridanus Two was a colossal failure according to Halsey and that was putting it kindly. She was furious. As she had each of you standing there, she railed into you about how important the mission was and listing off the many ways it was a complete fuck up. she then moved on to outlining who had fucked up with what. Riz, Kai and Vannak got the least of her rage. When it came to you and John however, that was where she unleased.

 It was then you found out about John nearly attacking her and Halsey attaching a failsafe device to the back of his head that incapacitated him. You had to fight every reflex to not bug your eyes upon hearing that. You wondered what in the world prompted him to do that. When she turned to you asking where you were through the whole attack you found you had no answers for her. You didn��t know what had happened. All you knew you felt the pulse heard the screeching and heard actual words in your head then passed out. The next thing you knew, you’d woken up in the middle of the fight. You couldn’t tell her that though. You saw how she treated John like a means to an end to acquiring the artifacts. You refused to be another pawn or tool for her.

 When she dismissed the others, she kept you and John then questioned him first about him disobeying a direct order to secure the artifact to save you. Then interrogated further to what he was thinking. You knew by her questions she suspected something was off with both of you. She didn’t know the full gist yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time. When John offered her no answers just a cold face and angry eyes you knew something had happened between them and looking at Halsey, she was slightly afraid.

 Because she could, both of you were sent into lock up for a few hours as punishment. Neither of you could speak to one another, remove your armors or seek medical attention. It was an added punishment. This wouldn’t be your first time in lock up, but you wondered if it would be your last.

 As you sat in the dark with your eyes closed, you played over everything that happened before the pulse took you out and before you passed out. You went over the screeching that somehow turned into coherent words. Words that began in a different language but came around to English. You even understood the language it originated in. You didn’t know what it was, but you understood it. You focused in and tried to focus on the message. It made no sense and the more you tried to stay with it the more your head hurt. As you got something a spike of pain ripped through your head then you tasted the strong coppery liquid that was your own blood in your mouth. You dabbed under your nose and found the source. As you wiped you repeated the piece of the message you got.

 “You will save us all.”

 ~~~~~~~~

 By the time you walked out of lock up the ache in you had intensified. Halsey knew that the longer you went without proper healing procedure the pain would be worse. This was done purposely. She was sending a message. You cause me problems; I cause you pain. Fuck up again and it will be worse. You’d only been in lock up for five or six hours when it could have been all night or days. You heard her message and planned on sending one right back.

 When you made it to the barracks the others were there. They approached you but you could barely move or breathe so you took your time.  

 “Halsey shouldn’t have sent you to lock up,” Kai said first.

 You stood as straight as you could.

 “I’m a big part of why the mission failed. I needed punishment.”

 You watched John’s blood caked jaw tick.

 “Are you all right?”

 You nodded.

 “Spartans at ease. Recoup and keep your ears to the ground.”

 They nodded then walked off. You and John stood there before each other. He was assessing you as much as you were him. The two of you looked a mess, bloodied, bruised and keeping on a brave face. You could almost laugh. Almost.

 “With me, Seargeant,” John said walking out of the barracks. His movements were slower but still controlled, nonetheless.

 You tried your best to mirror him and ignored your body screaming at you to stop. When he made the third turn, a left you knew where he was leading you. Before you, an elevator opened, and you stepped on. Both of you still stood tall knowing the feed was still running. After a silent two-minute ride you walked out. John entered his code into the touch pad outside the healing bay. Once inside he opened the panel and yanked out an orange wire. If you guessed right it was probably the power to any video for the sector.

 “Aren’t you a real rebel, master chief?”

 He turned to you then crossed the room grabbing your arms. You hissed then winced from the action. He sighed.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “No worries, you should see the other guys.”

 He scoffed and shook his head. “I did.”

 You lifted your arm and pressed one of the buttons at your neck and piece of the armer opened.

 “Here, let me help,” he offered lifting off the piece of your armor that attached to your chest and back.

 He dropped it to the ground not caring if it were worth billions. He then moved to the attachments on your arms. You tried not to wince or groan too much as he removed them piece by piece. When he got to your lower half, you couldn’t hold in your whimpers any longer.

 “It’s okay, Y/N. You’re safe with me.”

 He knew you didn’t want to appear weak in front of anyone including him. He was giving you his assurance it was safe to be vulnerable with him. You were safe with him. When he took the rest of the metal off, you groaned. Though you almost toppled over you remained upright.  

 “Your turn,” you said slowly reaching for the button by his neck.

 For the next few minutes, you took off his armor in the same way he’d done for you—piece by piece, bit by bit. As you did, he didn’t release one groan or grimace. You wondered if he felt anything. When he was free of the metal and only in the one piece as you, you slowly moved to his back and unzipped the suit. Upon the first sight of his flesh, you hissed. He was red and purple everywhere.

 “Gods,” you whispered as you traced your fingertips over his injured body.

 “It’s not so bad.”

 “No? Cause you look like you are on the brink of death.”

 You peeled the suit off him leaving him bare before you. There was not one inch of skin that was not bruised or bloody. John turned to face you and your eyes scanned his well defined chest and took in the damage there. He’d been through hell tenfold.

 “Your turn.”

 “Even if I look like you?”

 John gently clasped your shoulders and turned you around so your back faced him. You then felt his heat at your ear.

 “You’re safe with me,” he whispered.

 You stood there and allowed him to undo your suit and peel it off of your frame. When it was at your feet you felt his body press to yours and his arms wrap around your abdomen. His touch was so gentle, so soft. There was no way this was the same man who’d stepped his boot through the skull of a covenant drone hours ago. They were so different, so majorly different.

 “I don’t think I’ve felt fear until today,” he whispered against your ear.

 “When you didn’t answer my call, I was scared. When I saw your body fly through the air and over the cliff I was terrified. When you weren’t moving I--.”

 You heard him swallow, it sounded like a gulp.

 “Then you being beamed--.”

 You turned to him and pressed yourself to his body.

 “I know. I felt my heart in my throat when that creature was running for you. I had to do something. I was scared too.”

 You stared at each other both using your eyes to communicate in ways your words wouldn’t achieve. John’s hand came to your jaw, and he wiped at the dried blood under your nose. Without words he led you back toward the healing bed. As you approached, it illuminated and filled with the high tech, nano inspired gel that would work its magic. John dipped his hand into then raised it. His hand was coated with the blue gel that looked like it was alive and radioactive. He gently swiped his hand against your forehead, your brow, corner of your eye, your jaw, nose, and lip. The gel was cold but instantly you felt cool relief. It would take hours to heal you completely, but surface injuries would be gone in minutes.

 His eyes bored into you and you could feel what he felt. This mission had revealed plenty to you. One, you desired more than his body, wanted more than his touch. Two, whatever was happening between the two of you was more than likely mutual and just as confusing to him as it was to you. Three, this was more dangerous than either of you had previously thought. Four, There was no way to contain it. He’d disobeyed orders and put you before it all. You’d ignored mission objective and released the artifact rather than remaining with it to possibly help later. You’d chosen him over all of it.

 John leaned to you and pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back enjoying the feel of him. You didn’t know if the coppery taste in your mouth was his blood or yours and you didn’t care. Not right now. The kiss became more and more heated until your arms were wrapped around each other. You both moved to the center of the table and lied on your sides facing one another.

Acquiring DNA.

 The compute ran diagnostics then spoke again.

 Error, two different DNA found.

 “Proceed,” John ordered.

 Error. One pod per specimen.

 “Override,” John added.

 Authority of--

 “Master Chief Petty Officer John-117.”

 Confirmed. Welcome Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 and Seargeant Second Class Y/N-144. Stand by, assessing injuries.

 You and John continued to stare at one another. He was tracing small circled just on your shoulder while you roamed your finger tips across his chest.

 Extensive injuries detected. Estimated cryo-thermo healing time three hours. Proceed?

 “Proceed.”

 Your lips met again, and the table filled with the gel. Soon, your bodies were submerged in the substance leaving your heads elevated above the surface.

 Pod enclosure initiating.

 John turned your body so your back was to his chest and he was pressed against you. You felt safe in his arms—safe with him. John kissed a path along your ear then snagged your lobe between his teeth. You moaned and snuggled closer to him. The pod closed then and the gel became a lot colder. You winched hating this part.

 “I have you.”

 You felt his hand slid down the side of your body until he reached your thigh. He lifted slightly then, and you felt his appendage seconds before he joined your bodies. You sighed then groaned. Your body was taken over by the pleasure he gave rather than the extreme cold of the cryopod. John’s moan was heady.

 “I have you,” he repeated as he slowly rocked into your body.

 With every buck of his hips, he groaned. You were impressed. You knew he was as injured as you but still had it in him. Unlike your other couplings this one was slow, and steady. It almost felt therapeutic like an entire body massage. You could feel the gel and the nanotech working. slowly your aches ached less, your muscles tensed less, and your soreness faded. You weren’t sure if John deserved most of the praise there. As he worked in and out of your body from behind you his hands caressed your skin, massaged your breasts, tweaked your nipples and even circled your greedy bud. His hands created war and pleasure and his words soothed deeper wounds. Every word he muttered and whispered against your ear and into your neck made your heart race.

 By the time the gel in the pod turned warm you knew half the cycle was complete and by that time you felt you could move. You turned in his arms breaking the joining of your bodies then slipped on top of him. While the pod wasn’t small it wasn’t large enough for you to raise to your full seated height, so you were hunched over with your body still pressed to his. The way he looked at you only made your heart lurch against your chest harder. The way he fit inside of you felt too good, too right. As you rocked against him, your body easily glided against his and made your movements even more sensual. John groaned and moaned all between repeating your name over and over.

 You felt his body tense but in seconds, you were on your side again with him between your legs rocking back and forth. His eyes were glazed and before his lips met yours, he muttered.

 “Mine.”

 You clung to him holding on as if your life depended on it. It hit you then and there you didn’t want to lose him either, you couldn’t.

 Not now and not ever.

 “Yours”, you whispered as your pleasure climbed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

TagList:

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @caramara3 @violinchick @laurenstacy610 @pinheadbanger @morganas-pendragons @shar74nett @lialacleaf @laurenstacy610 @marvel-at-my-obsession @casually-dancing-fairy @beyourownkindofbeautiful @momobaby227 @chaneajoyyy @piscesgyalinit @amaraohara​ @117s-girl​ @xxdeankratosgirlxx​ @weirdodreamergirl​ @keytodespair

#halo a masterchief collection #halo tv series fanfiction #halo fanfiction #let me help one shot #master chief fanfiction #master chief x reader #master chief x you #master chief x black reader #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #sunshine x grumpy #pablo schreiber fanfiction #black fanfiction

[hansama]

Skeletober 04 - Mockery.

bonus 2 different suits cuz u know he owns stuff like that

#undertale #underfell #papyrus #underfell papyrus #mafiafell #mafiafell papyrus #mafia skelefam #undertober2020 #undertober #drawtober2020 #drawtober #oh to be a handsome skeleton man wearing a suit.... in the mafia.... #originally the prompt was blood and i had him bloodied but u know what #he wouldn't sit around with blood on his clothes he'd wash them off #also i just... feel like Mocker/Sneering suits it more #originally i drew him with a hat and i even lined it i just didn't like how i drew him with it so i removed it uu #people who can draw hats and esp fedoras and it looks GOOD are amazing #anyway the 2nd ver. was a mistake actually #i just wanted to fix smth and i accidentally removed the left section of the colored and i was like #hey that ain't bad... ACTUALLY THAT'S /MORE/ THAN THAT IT'S RLY GOOD??? #DAMN EDGE... U ROCK EVERY OUTFIT #also the red isn't colored in but his vest/tie/napkin(?) are all red but i didn't do it for the ~aesthetic~ #but you BET he's wearing red stuff #Skeletober #Skeletober2020

[wlntrsldler]

you belong with me (d.m one shot!)

“You belong with me” for Draco plz 🥺💚

@scene-awsten said:

you belong with me + fred or draco ( u choose im not picky at all !! ) ur writing is amazing btw <3

-

PROMPT: based on you belong with me by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) Draco doesn’t know how to express his feelings.

WC: 2.8K+

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

-

you belong with me (d.m one shot)

You and Draco have a complicated relationship, to say the least. Most days you were at each other’s throats ready to tease each other until one left the room or turned an embarrassing shade of red. He’d reply to your words with a rude remark- which you learned not to take to heart- that leaves you in a fit of laughter because you knew he never really meant it. 

It started out in your first year, when you would try to talk to him, as best as your 11-year old half-blood self could. When you were sorted into Hufflepuff and were placed in the same class as the Slytherins for Defense Against the Dark Arts. You were partnered up with young Draco, who wore a frown on his face when he was separated from his friends in the class. 

You stared at the boy, taking in his appearance. You grew up in the Muggle world, only learning about the Wizarding world in small bits through your father’s stories. You tapped his shoulder, “Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, looking up and down from your face to your outstretched hand. Reluctantly, he shook your hand, “Draco Malfoy.” 

You grinned at him, scooting over to get closer to him. “You look like a barbie doll.” 

“A what?” he asked, looking at you with a grimace. He moved his chair to create more distance between you two, completely defeating the purpose of your move, “What the hell is a barbie doll?” 

“You guys don’t have barbies here?” 

“If it's something from the Muggle world, then no.” Draco scoffed, opening his book to the correct page. “Anything from the Muggle world is inferior to the Wizarding world.” 

“I don’t know,” you replied, oblivious to his obvious jab. “I will say I miss pens and pencils because these quills are just ancient.” 

Draco didn’t talk to you for the rest of the class period, just sneaking side glances at you as you struggled to write with your quill. He rolled his eyes at your cluelessness with all things Wizards and wondered how on earth you got accepted to Hogwarts. I already hate this bloody school, he thought. 

Over the years, you found yourself creating a bond with Draco. Despite his terrible people skills, you seemed to be patient with him, not really taking offense to his words. You would laugh and say something kind to him, throwing him completely off balance. Draco didn’t mean to be rude, you see, he just didn’t know how to talk to people. So he acted like a little boy on the playgrounds, pulling the pigtails of the girl he thought was very pretty. 

Then one day, you returned to Hogwarts and puberty hit you like a truck. Draco almost didn’t recognize you. You walked into the Great Hall, yellow tie proudly around your neck, with your fellow Hufflepuffs. You threw your head back laughing at something Cedric said and having to take a moment before you could say something back.

Draco noticed that your hair grew longer and your features matured over the summer. Your lips were more plump and you sported a natural blush on your cheeks. He gulped, ignoring the banter of Crabbe and Goyle to his left as he watched you take a seat beside Cedric. You noticed his eyes and sent a smile his way, causing the boy to look down at his plate, embarrassed that he was caught staring at you. 

Cedric looked at what got your attention and let out a chuckle to see a flustered Draco, “That boy is so smitten with you, you know that, Y/N? It’s quite funny actually.”

You grinned at Cedric, “How’s that funny?”

“Because he’s crushing on you like a little school girl and it’s funny to see it not returned.”

“Who said I don’t return the feelings?”

He raised an eyebrow at your question, “Do you?”

“Maybe.” 

Draco was both irritated and relieved that he didn’t have classes with you this year. To say that he forgot how to speak when you passed by him, was an understatement. Every time he saw you even walk in his general direction, he would turn around and walk the other way. He didn’t know why but he did. You made him nervous all of a sudden and he didn’t like it one bit. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed your banters. His days seemed very uneventful without them. 

He was walking towards the courtyard when he felt someone grab his forearm, pulling him towards a secluded part of the castle. Draco’s eyes widened when he realized it was you, angrily huffing as you stopped behind a pillar. You let go of his arm and crossed your arms over your chest. He was mentally debating if he should just run now. Surely you wouldn’t run after him, right? 

As if reading his mind, you glared at him, jabbing your index finger in his chest. “Don’t even think of running, Malfoy.” 

He gulped, nodding slowly, “O-okay..”

Once you saw his demeanor, you cleared your throat, realizing you’re probably scaring him. You frowned, “Why are you ignoring me?”

“What?” he asked, acting clueless but he knew he was ignoring you. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, nervously looking everywhere but your face in front of him. Merlin, you were prettier up close. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/L/N.” 

“Don’t be daft, Malfoy,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re avoiding somebody. Remember when you got Pansy in trouble and she swore she would hex you the next time she saw you? She was so furious that you were absolutely sure that she would so you would hide from her. The same way you’re hiding from me now. So what gives, Malfoy?”

Panicked, he said the only thing he could think of, “I’m not avoiding you. Did you ever stop and think that maybe because we don’t have classes together anymore, that means I no longer have to talk to you?” 

“Oh.” You blinked. You swallowed down any feeling of sadness as his words marinated in your head. You looked down, hiding the stray tear that slipped from your eye from the boy in front of you. You wiped it away hastily, clearing your throat before looking up. “I-I’m sorry. I thought we were past being just classmates… I must’ve misunderstood, then.”

His face dropped, leaning over to touch your shoulder, “Y/N-”

“No,” you interrupted, giving him a sad smile before backing away. “Silly me, thinking that we were friends. You’re Draco Malfoy, you’re too cool to have friends. I’ll leave you be now. Sorry for the inconvenience.” 

Before he could tell you just how wrong you were, you already disappeared from his vicinity. You walked away, hurriedly, down the corridor, ignoring the sound of Draco’s voice calling after you. Draco groaned, punching the side of the pillar in annoyance. Why can’t he just be nice for once?

You and Draco avoided each other pretty much entirely after that day. You were too ashamed to face him and Draco was too nervous and scared to come up to you and apologize. You just felt stupid thinking that something was brewing between the two of you. It wasn’t until Cedric dragged you to a Slytherin party- for Merlin knows what- that you and Draco were forced to cross paths again. You huffed as Cedric rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand to lead you to the Slytherin common room. 

“I don’t understand why I have to go with you.” 

Cedric looked over at you, irritated by your attitude, “Y/N, you need to have fun. Loosen up a bit!”

“Hmph,” you groaned, following him anyway. He mumbled greetings to Slytherins that you passed by, not letting go of your hand. Cedric was one of your closest friends, this affection between the two of you was normal. It didn’t mean anything but a sign of your friendship. “I am very much a fun person.” 

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he stopped in front of the drinks, letting go of your hand to make the two of you some drinks. He mixed in random liquids, making you grimace because he was never good at proportions and you knew this drink would be horrid, before handing it to you. “I’m just saying you need to have fun.” 

Reluctantly, you chugged your drink, coughing after it burned your throat. You were indeed correct- the drink was terrible. “I hate you, Diggory.” 

Chuckling, he sent you a wink, “I loveee you, Y/L/N.” 

You wanted to say something back but Cedric suddenly stumbled over. Luckily, he caught his balance before he fell face first on the Common Room floor. Draco bumped into him, glaring at the Hufflepuff as he made his way to the group of Slytherins on the other side of the room. When he looked up to meet your eyes, his expression changed. His face became blank, eyes ghosting over your face. Draco gave you a small smile that vanished just as quickly as it came. He turned his back and returned to acting like you didn’t exist. 

Cedric snapped his fingers in front of your face, trying to get you out of your trance. You blinked a few times, now focused on your friend who had a shit-eating smirk on his face. You hissed, “What now, Diggory?”

“Seems like Malfoy’s jealous,” he sang, laughing behind his cup. “I would love to push his buttons and see him completely blow up at this party.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you sighed, stealing his cup and drinking the rest of his disgusting liquid. You grimaced, why did I do that? You continued, “And besides, how would we make him jealous?”

“Like this,” he started. Then, he leaned in your ear, dangerously close to your skin. In a breathy voice, he said, “Pretend I said something funny.” 

You giggled at his antics, thinking of how ridiculous your friend was being. But when you shot a look at where Draco stood, you began to reconsider your original opinion. He was standing there, uninterested by the story Blaise was telling him from beside him. Draco’s nostrils were flared and the cup he was holding was starting to lose its shape with how tightly he was gripping it. He didn’t even bother looking away when you cocked your head to the side to look at him. 

You thought he would’ve done something to get your attention but for the rest of the night, Draco kept his distance. After a while, Cedric gave up, shooting you an apologetic look that his plan didn’t work out. In fact, Cedric left you at the party a few minutes after Cho showed up. He said he was getting tired and was going to head up, but the two weren’t necessarily discreet when Cho left five minutes before Cedric did. You sent a wink his way and began to finish your drink, realizing that there was now no reason for you to stay. 

With a sigh, you tossed your cup into the bin and began to get ready to leave. Draco watched with a panic as you retreated to the exit. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, unsure of what to do. He watched you disappear into the darkness and slumped his shoulders. 

“Run after her, idiot.” Blaise chuckled beside him. “And hurry up, I’m tired of you sulking.” 

“What?” 

“Go on, Draco,” Blaise simply rolled his eyes and ushered his friend out of the Common Room. “You’ve been staring at her the entire night. I reckon you don’t even know what I’ve been saying all this time.”

Finally coming to his senses, Draco ran after you, getting a hold of your shoulder to pull you towards him. You looked at him, confused as to why he was out of breath and standing there like a deer caught in headlights. He stared at your face, taking in your beauty. He wanted nothing else but to tuck that strand of hair behind your ear or kiss your lips that seemed to be glistening under the glow of the lights in the corridor. 

“Draco?” you asked, removing his hand from your shoulder. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to seem defensive, but in reality, you just missed him. “What do you want?” 

Draco gulped, not realizing that he now has to actually talk to you. He didn’t think he’d get this far. He blushed, gaze averting to the empty hallway behind you. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, a sheepish smile on his face. You leaned forward a bit as if saying, “Well get on with it.” Draco sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Are you dating Diggory?”

“What?”

He grimaced, mentally face-palming. That was not what he wanted to say. He groaned, “I mean-”

“You’re a git, you know that?” you hissed, shoving him a bit. “You tell me that we’re not friends and make me feel so bloody stupid then all of a sudden, after not talking to me for weeks, may I add, you think you have the right to ask me about my dating life? You-” you paused, taking in a breath. “You-Draco Malfoy- have no right to ask me anything.” 

He stood there, unable to say anything back. What could he even say? What you said was valid, you had a reason to be upset with him. He has been such an arse to you and for no good reason! Draco knew he was just being stupid. 

You rolled your eyes and walked away, assuming that Draco wasn’t going to say anything else. You scoffed loudly, shooting him a glare as you turned to leave the boy alone in his loneliness. 

Draco called out for you again, “Y/N-”

“Oh and for the record-” you turned around to face him again, but not daring to walk closer to him. “Not that it’s any of your business but me and Cedric are just friends. He’s not the guy I fancy.” 

“Y/N! Merlin, please stop walking away! How do you walk so bloody fast?” Draco jogged towards you again, this time stopping in front of you to prevent you from moving any further. You still wore the same scowl on your face and he couldn’t help but stop and think about how cute you look. He chuckled, eyes lighting up when he saw your lips quirk up to a small smile before it vanished. “I didn’t mean to ask about Cedric. Quite frankly, I don’t care about your relationship, or erm, non-relationship with him. Well, I do b-”

Both of your eyebrows raised in amusement at the boy’s blabbering, “Why would you care about my non-relationship with Cedric?” 

“I just said I don’t, Y/L/N,” he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at you, growing more flustered once he saw the smirk on your face. “Okay, yes, I do care but listen… Blimey, how do I say this? I just, Y/N, I-”

“Spit it out, Malfoy.”

“Youbelongwithme.” Draco spoke quickly, almost making you miss what he said.

Mouth agape, you asked, “Come again?”

He sighed, “You belong with me. I fancy you. A lot actually. That’s why I avoided you all this time. I just… I don’t know, you know? I’ve never really fancied anyone before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Not run away from them,” you teased, laughing lightly at his cluelessness. 

“Alright now, no need to laugh,” he mumbled. “It’s already embarrassing enough confessing my feelings to the girl I fancy but for her to laugh at me is something else.”

“I’m laughing because you’re cute, Malfoy,” you hummed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “But run away from me again and I’ll hex you into oblivion.” 

Draco couldn’t do anything else but nod as your scent filled his senses. You were slowly inching closer to him, breath tickling his lips. He visibly gulped, snaking his hands around your waist to pull your body closer to his. His nose nudged yours, “Promise I won’t.”

“Good,” you whispered, eyes flickering up to meet his own and then looked down at his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. You pushed your lips together, sighing in content as he groaned into your mouth. His lips moved with yours in sync. Both of you were too caught up in the feeling that you didn’t hear the footsteps coming closer to the both of you. 

Someone cleared their throat, making you two jump away from each other, fearing that it was one of the professors. You shook your head, burying your head into Draco’s chest when you realized who it was. Draco wrapped an arm around you, smiling down at your retreated figure. 

Cedric chuckled before walking away, “Told you we could make him jealous.” 

Draco nudged you, “You were trying to make me jealous?”

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. To silence him, you pressed your lips to his again, “Shut up.” 

“Gladly,” he muttered, kissing you deeply.

TAGS:

@rexorangecouny

A/N: i bought cameos from the phelps twins and oliver’s video came in today and it was so lovely. i can’t wait for james’!!

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy drabble #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #harry potter imagine #frances writes #frances song fics #submission

[bosspigeon]

Adam versus that most evil of foes...the office printer?

two glass houses, twenty stones

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain Word Count: 1711 Summary: Having recently learned that he is the target of a power-hungry vampire who wants to experiment on him because of his “special blood” (oh, yeah, and vampires are real, apparently), Detective Arlo Priestley deals with the aftermath. The aftermath, of course, including one Adam du Mortain and his sparkling personality.

So... I don’t even know what to say anymore. I get completely innocuous prompts and they become something COMPLETELY different than what i had in mind. so, uh, hope you enjoy an Arlo Character Study with a side of Printer Shenanigans! This takes place in Book 1, shortly after the detective finds out about, uh, everything. I had fun playing the unreliable narrator with Arlo! And I have a fun idea for a sequel that’s Adam’s POV! Title is from Type O Negative’s “I Don’t Wanna Be Me.”

“You can, uh, sit down if you’d like,” Arlo offers, picking at the chipped polish on his thumb.

Adam hardly glances at him, keeping his attention on the window that overlooks the rest of the police department. “I am fine standing,” he says shortly. It almost seems like he’s determined to not look directly at the detective at all.

Arlo winces a bit, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine too,” he mumbles, looking down at his pile of reports. He brushes the accumulated black paint chips he’s shed in his anxious fidgeting aside. He’ll have to paint his nails again soon, they’re looking rather ragged, almost to the point he can bite them again. He’s been trying to stop, he knows it’s sort of gross, but still…

He furrows his brow and starts thumbing through reports, absently flicking through his color-coded tabs that help keep him marginally organized even when his “system” doesn’t really work for anyone but him. He calls it improvisational. Verda calls it “slapdash.”

 He frowns, chewing on his lower lip and clicking his tongue when he notes his color system is out of order, and that one of the red tabs is missing. His eyes flicker up when he hears Adam shift slightly, but the vampire still isn’t looking at him, so he focuses back in, counting through reports again. He sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to his computer and pulling up his group chat with Tina and Verda.

big-depeche-mood: Tina, did you take my copy of Mrs. Holt’s police report?

big-depeche-mood:  And why did you change my display name again?

BubblegumB!tch: how do u know i did it? why do u always blame me? 😥

big-depeche-mood: Because Verda has no reason to care about Mrs. Holt claiming her ex kidnapped the dog when they separated.

big-depeche-mood: And if you mean the display name, you’re the only one with admin privilege, because you made this chat.

BubblegumB!tch: i am being unfairly targeted 😭😭😭

BubblegumB!tch: im taking this to HR

DoctorDILF: HR has found no evidence to support this claim.

DoctorDILF: Really, Tina?

big-depeche-mood: Just tell me if I need to print another copy, please.

BubblegumB!tch: 👉👈

Arlo rolls his eyes and minimizes the window so he can start the task of going through his backlog to find the digital copy of the original report. Once he’s found it and sent it to the printer, he pushes himself upright, groaning as his spine pops in several places

Adam finally, finally turns to look at him. “Where are you going?” he snaps.

Arlo flinches, clenching his jaw to bite back the nasty retort burning on his tongue like acid. “To the printer,” he grits out, jerking his hand towards the window. “Literally twenty feet away. So unless you plan to go get that report for me, let’s just hope the megalomaniacal vampire that wants to use me as a lab rat doesn’t decide to snatch me from a police station in broad daylight.”

Seems he didn’t bite it back hard enough after all.

Adam recoils, like he always seems to when he realizes he's stepped directly on Arlo's nerves. He feels a little guilty for snapping, but he’s had more than enough of being treated like an unruly toddler. He wants to snidely suggest Adam see about requisitioning a bloody leash for him, but he snatches up a pen and starts furiously clicking it until he can calm himself down instead. Adam’s lip twitches, and Arlo clicks faster.

Adam turns sharply on heel and stalks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the window rattles. Arlo is just grateful it hasn’t broken.

He sinks back into his chair and rolls his eyes skyward, dragging his hands down his face and wondering what the hell he’s done to deserve this whole situation. It’s bad enough he knows there’s some mad scientist vampire wanting to experiment with his freakish blood, but being shut in the same room as Adam for multiple hours a day when the man won’t even look at him, much less talk to him, makes nerves squirm under his skin and sets his whole body on edge. Unfortunately for the both of them, when Arlo gets nervy, it gets much harder for him to temper what comes out of his mouth.

He melts into his chair a little more, ignoring the pings from his computer that are probably Verda trying to convince Tina to change his display name back, and Tina reacting by changing it to increasingly ridiculous things. He just closes his eyes and focuses on breathing for a bit, trying to remember a single thing from his anger management classes from years ago when his brain is still buzzing with a squirming twist of irritation and guilt, a desperate need to apologize warring with the urge to snap and unload every frustration this whole thing has got knotted up inside him.

It's some sort of cosmic joke that Adam occupies so much of his attention, when Adam seems like he can't wait until he can get as far away from Arlo as possible.

He's just pretty, Arlo tells himself. Remember the last time you let someone pretty get you all stupid? Maybe remember what you learned from that.

He almost falls out of his chair when he opens his eyes to see Adam in the doorway, his shoulders so taut they're making Arlo's hurt just looking at them.

Maybe stop looking at them, idiot.

He forces his eyes up and is confronted with perhaps one of the most bewildering things he's ever seen.

Adam du Mortain, stoic, no-nonsense, terminally brooding Adam du Mortain, is standing just outside Arlo’s office, looking almost... sheepish. Arlo has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not seeing things. He’d almost say he’s imagining things, but at this point he’s so familiar with Adam’s general stone-faced demeanor that any sort of change to it is almost glaringly obvious. The scrunch of his eyebrows, the twist of his mouth, the almost painful stiffness of his posture, as if he’s pointedly trying to look as unaffected as possible and failing spectacularly. Arlo’s a detective, and while he doesn’t consider himself an expert at reading people, he’s still fairly decent at it. Adam, from time to time, can be pretty easy to read, but especially when he’s trying not to be.

Maybe Arlo’s been watching him a bit too closely.

“Uh,” he starts, already cringing internally at himself, “what’s up?”

Adam is silent for a moment, and then he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he is trying to calm himself down. Arlo’s nerves immediately ratchet up a few notches. “There is an issue with your printer,” he says.

Arlo blinks. “Oh. Um, I didn’t think you’d actually—” He bites his tongue when Adam’s brows furrow harder. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?” he offers instead, standing up. He hesitates to approach the door until Adam takes a step back to allow him through unimpeded. He lets Arlo lead the way and Arlo tugs his braid over his shoulder so he can twist it between his hands, because there is something a bit unnerving about Adam behind him, silent but radiating a tension Arlo can almost feel. It’s likely his imagination, considering his annoying awareness of the man, but still.

Arlo sees the problem almost immediately upon arriving at the little alcove that houses the station’s printer. The top cover for the document feeder seems to have been pulled off entirely. He turns to give Adam a bewildered look.

“The paper jammed,” Adam says stiffly.

“Yeah,” Arlo replies, “it does that sometimes.” He lifts the cover and turns it over in his hands, to see that, yes, the little plastic hinges that attach the feeder to the tray are entirely broken off. He frowns a little. Adam is so tense next to him, so still, Arlo wonders if he’s even breathing. “I can just ask Verda if I can send it to his, then see about calling someone for repairs.” He snags a sharpie from Tina’s desk and pops open one of the other trays to pull out a blank sheet of paper so he can write a quick “Out of Order” sign and slap it on top.

Adam still hasn’t moved, staring at the printer as if it has somehow personally offended him.

“It’s fine, Adam,” Arlo insists quietly, stepping a bit closer with his hands raised, though he doesn’t dare to touch. “Really. It’s a shitty old printer. I bet the second I let Tina know, she’ll go pester Doug until he calls his dad about it. We’ll have a shiny new one in no time.” He offers a wry little smile. “Say what you like about nepotism, but it has its perks.”

That doesn’t seem to help in the way Arlo hoped it would, because Adam raises an eyebrow and gives him a sharp look that has him shrinking back. “I am surprised you have that attitude, Detective.” He doesn’t have to say he’s disappointed, Arlo can hear it loud and clear and hates that it bothers him so much.

He steps back and turns away so Adam doesn’t see the look on his face before he can smooth it over. “Well, it’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?” he can’t help but snark. “And it’s the only reason you’re here too. Explains a lot about your attitude, I suppose.” No wonder Adam’s been so bloody sour about all this. Must be a pain to have to babysit your boss’s kid because she said so. His silence on the subject speaks more than he could hope to.

More than anything Arlo wishes Rebecca could just go back to ignoring him. Things were a lot less complicated then.

Shoulders tight enough to rival Adam’s, Arlo heads towards the stairs to the basement. “I’m going to get that report,” he tosses over his shoulder, trying and failing to sound casual as Adam’s eerily quiet footsteps begin to follow him. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped on the way,” he adds under his breath.

The way Adam’s footsteps falter tell him he wasn’t quiet enough.

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #a du mortain #twc detective #twc fanfic #pidge writes #prompt fic #sort of hfdasjkhgkj #oc: arlo priestley #i got the title pretty easy this time! #arlo's playlist helps a lot lmao #its all goth shit #so ofc type o negative is on there #arlo's two biggest appearance inspos are peter steele and davey havok circa 2017 #before he cut off his hair and RUINED MY LIFE #sometimes i just watch the afi performance of just like heaven #and just... thirst #ANYWAY #i am sorry i tend to take prompts and go in a COMPLETELY different direction than they were probably intended for #I Do Not Control The Brain #i just live here #hhhhhh i hope this conveys what i want it to #my friend said it does #but im still anxious #so uh #here we go #proustianrecall

[lady-aescwyn]

Strange, Tender Things

Steve Harrington x fem!OC One Shot

Author’s note:  I was inspired by a prompt I found while perusing the Stanger Things fics tags.  This was originally intended to be a StevexReader fic, but I decided to give the protag a name.  It’s still pretty self-inserty and I encourage you to overwrite her name in your mind with your own if it pleases you.  My writing skills are rather rusty, but please enjoy.

Premise: Steve Harrington and his girlfriend are having a stupid fight, which is brought to an abrupt end.  Concern and gentleness ensues.

***

When it was over, neither of them would remember how it started in the first place.  It had started out as simple, easy conversation.  He hadn’t quite meant the words in the way they’d come out.  She’d had more venom in her tone than she’d intended. They were both little more than teenagers.  Though they were both whole in body, they were both traumatized by a series of recent events in Hawkins, Indiana.

Now, here they stood.  

In Joyce Byers’ small kitchen.  

Fighting.

The house was empty, save for the two of them; Joyce at work, the younger kids out under Jonathan and Nancy’s watchful eyes, reunited for the first time in months.  But here at the house, Steve Harrington’s hands were planted on the top of the kitchen table, his upper body bent forward as he traded barbs with Dawn.  For her part, Dawn was brandishing a dirty glass in one hand as if it were a weapon and giving as good as she got, her lips curled back in an almost feral snarl.  Her time as a street kid coming back full force, manifesting as a bitter, angry fight to make her point.

The small, cheap table creaked with the force of Steve’s anger, though his voice was low, “We can’t keep living in what happened back in Hawkins.  I’m not saying forget it, but we have to move forward.” His face was stony, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not over!  It will never be over, Steve!”  The empty glass swinging through the air between them like a saber.  Dawn’s voice was strained with manic desperation, “Hopper is alive.  El saw him! This can’t be over until we bring. Him.  Home.”  As if to punctuate her point, she brought the glass to a stop with a final thunk on the table.  

Unfortunately, that finality was too much for the old cup.

The glass shattered.

There was a beat of silence as they both took a moment to register the cracking sound of glass grinding against itself.

“Fuck!”  Dawn swore, fussing over the remains of the glass.  She began gathering the bits, heedless of the blood that was beginning to seep from between her fingers.

Steve was around the table like lightning, “Stop.  Hey-“

“I broke Joyce’s glass.”  Blood sprinkled the tabletop amidst the shards.

“It’s ok.  Just stop.” His voice was soft, a far cry from the intensity and clenched teeth of only moments ago.

“I need to clean this u-“

“We will clean it up.  After we clean you up.”

Dawn finally deflated, all of her fight burning off like fog on a summer morning.  

She let Steve take her arm and guide her to the kitchen sink. The air was still, humming with the sound of the refrigerator nearby and their breathing in unison as their anger ebbed away.  The quiet was punctuated only by the clink of bloody glass shards hitting the sink, each accompanied by a sharp intake of breath from Dawn as she winced.

As Steve turned on the water to clean the wound, Dawn stopped him, “Hold on, there’s still a piece in there.”  

She bent forward, trying to see in the dim light from the dingy bulb over the sink.  Her lip was clenched between her teeth as she dug into the wound with her other hand. Despite the surety of her voice and action, her breath was hitched with pain as she coaxed the glass from her hand. In his concern, Steve hadn’t realized that his hand had found its place on her lower back, steadying her.

Finally, that last piece of glass fell from her fingers and they both released the breath they’d been holding.  She gently flexed her hand and then nodded, sure that was the last of it.

He said, “Let me.”

And she did, her stance relaxing as she stood aside to let him wash the blood from her hands.

It was a deep wound, long and jagged across her palm and all the way to the bone at the base of her thumb.  If it had been anyone else, it would have necessitated a trip to the ER.

“I have a healing factor, you know.”  The words were without bite, her attempt at humor cutting the silence.  He knew very well her ability to knit her wounds together and if pushed, to channel that ability to heal others… at an exponentially greater cost to herself.  

She had used it to save his life only months ago.

“I know.”  His reply was simple, but one corner of his mouth hinted at a smile before his brows furrowed again.  “But I- I don’t like to see you hurt.”

The bleeding had stopped.  

No longer over the sink, he still held her injured hand cradled in both of his.  Dawn didn’t move, searching his face as he watched her flesh knit together.  The rumble of the furnace kicking on joined the sound of the refrigerator.  His warm thumb travelled down the skin of her wrist until it met the number 9 tattooed there.

Leaning closer to him, her voice shook, “I’m sorry-“

He shook his head.

She continued, “I know it’s not healthy to dwell so much-“

“I’m sorry too.  If there’s any chance Hopper’s alive, we have to find him.”  There wasn’t much to go on.  Just El’s dream of a ‘cold place.’  It could be grief, or El could be tapping in with her powers, none of them were sure.  They’d had no more success when they’d tried white noise or another makeshift sensory deprivation tank.

The last bit of tension, melted from Dawn’s body, “It doesn’t do him or us any good to fight.  I’m sorry.”  She reinforced her apology.

Steve’s eyes hadn’t left her wrist.

Moments passed in silence as motes of dust drifted lazily through the yellowed, old home.  Still, his fingers ran tenderly along the sides of her wrist.

The cut was nearly closed now; just a jagged, angry red line. Even the scar would soon fade. This was far from the worst injury she’d ever had and they both knew it.  In the buzzing still of the small kitchen, Steve seemed lost in the memory of before.  

With the fingers of her injured hand, Dawn brushed his forearm. “Hey.  Look at me.”

Steve took a deep breath, but his eyes and hands didn’t leave her arm.

After a moment, he spoke, “You told me once that Hawkins Lab created you.”  There was a pause.  When she didn’t interrupt, he continued, “You are so much more than that.  So much more than them.  You took what those assholes did to you and you did amazing things with it. And you’re gonna do even more.”  

The conviction in his voice was searing and Dawn wasn’t prepared for him to cut right to the core of her worries.  

When his eyes finally met hers, he didn’t expect her to look so stricken. Dawn’s eyes welled with tears as all of the emotion came to a head and spilled over. The uninjured hand went to her mouth, but once the tears had started, they couldn’t really be stifled and she stumbled forward into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I-“  Steve’s voice was mildly panicked; he hadn’t meant to make her cry.  As she fell forward, he held her, which was all she really needed.

These weren’t bad tears; they were a too long delayed emotional release and they would pass almost as quickly as they had come.  However, in that moment her shoulders shook with intense sobs as she clung to him.  And he held her as the waves crashed over them.  Damp fingers curled into the back of her shirt as his grip tightened and he buried his nose into the top of her head.  Steve’s own vision was blurred with tears.  This was the first time they had seen each other since Dawn moved away from Hawkins with El and the Byers’ and they’d almost ruined it with the stupidest fight.

Eventually, the sobs passed and once again the buzz of the kitchen appliances reigned in the soft atmosphere.  But the couple didn’t part.  They stood like that for a while, locked in each other’s arms, rocking gently side to side.  Finding comfort in each other again.

After a while, Dawn’s rough voice came from where her face was buried between his neck and shoulder, “M,sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  His voice returned from where he was still buried in her hair.

Dawn took a deep, cleansing breath and finally brought her head up, looking over his shoulder at the glass shards still on the table, “I have to clean up.”  But she made no move to leave his arms.

Steve didn’t move either, “I’ll help.”  

He was talking about more than the broken glass.

“Thank you.”  her ‘I love you’ wasn’t verbalized, but neither did it go unsaid as she began to pull away with a soft squeeze to his arm.

Before they fully parted, he caught her with a gentle hand at the back of the neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead.  Their breath mingled for a moment between them as they drew away.  It was his own silent, ‘I love you too.’

With that, they stepped apart. Steve turned to the sink and Dawn to the table and together they worked to clean up the mess.  Quick work was made of the blood and glass.  Words were unneeded as they worked around each other and in unison, the same as they had done before in Hawkins; though this was nothing like those battles with the beasts of the Upside Down.  It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last time they moved as one.

As the worn dish towel was at last hung back over the handle on the oven door, Steve caught her hand and began to pull her from the room. “I think everyone else has the right idea, let’s get out of here.”  His usual, charming smile dawning on his face like the rising sun.

That smile was infectious and Dawn couldn’t stop from meeting it with one of her own, “You know, I could show you our new mall up here.”

The response was swift and over dramatic, “Oh god no!  No more malls!”

Laughter followed the two of them through the home like light hitting a suncatcher and scattering flashes of rainbow across the yellowed wallpaper.  For now, all was well.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #stranger things fanfic #this was just based off of a quick prompt I found but Dawn is an OC I created a while ago #maybe one day I'll write the full fic #Ash writes

[set-phasers-to-whump]

just a little while longer

Whumpee: Will Riker

Fandom: Star Trek TNG

For: ValorousLeader on ao3

Prompt: outnumbered in a fight

hi folks whats poppin!! i hope u enjoy this fic :)

He was not going to win this fight. That was obvious. He supposed he should have just been glad that none of his attackers had a weapon. He didn’t like to imagine what would have happened then. 

As it was, though, it was just him, standing warily in the middle of an alley, wishing desperately that he had a phaser on him, or even just a communicator. But he had no such luck. It was him and his fists versus the six or so people surrounding him and their fists. It didn’t take a lot of thinking to work out what was about to happen.

“I’m a Starfleet officer,” he said, like this was going to change anything.

“Good for you,” said the man closest to him, grinning dangerously. 

He tried a different tactic. “I don’t have anything you’d want,” he insisted. This was true. He had nothing on him except for his clothes. 

“What makes you think we want anything from you?”

“The fact that you’re all advancing on me like you’re about to do something really stupid.”

“Hm.”

There was no further communication between them. Or, at least, no verbal communication. They made a hell of a point with their fists. And feet. And elbows, knees…

The first blow wasn’t so bad. He’d raised a hand to defend against a fist aimed at his face, stuck out his other hand to strike at the man closest to him, and gotten punched in the ribs before he could move his hands and defend against that attack. It hurt, of course, but it was the kind of pain he was used to. It was like nothing so much as accidentally stumbling into something hard. Painful, but not so bad. Maybe this won’t be so bad, then, he thought. 

Before he could do any further thinking along that line, however, he realized that this was, in fact, going to be bad. 

After the first punch, the hits just kept coming. One after another after another after another until they all blended into one constant pain. He defended himself as best as he could, quickly giving up on the idea of fighting back. But for every strike he blocked, four more would rain down before he had time to react. 

At some point, he felt something smack into his nose, accompanied by a very unpleasant crunching and a warm, wet feeling trickling down his face. At another point, someone kicked him in the stomach, and knocked what little air there was in his lungs right out of them, sending him unwillingly to his knees.

Once there, all he could do was curl up into a ball, wrap his arms around his head, and try to outlast his attackers, who kicked him over and over again, seemingly harder and harder every time. 

He’d become quite unable to think. Everything that he knew was pain. Sometimes the pain would intensify in a certain place, but it was constant and overwhelming. It burned, maybe, or it ached. It throbbed, vaguely, in time with his heartbeat, which pounded in his ears, nearly outdoing the painful sounds of his body being beaten to a pulp.

Later, he wouldn’t even remember when it had stopped. The pain was so constant that he just couldn’t tell. All he knew was that, at some point, the level of pain evened out - there were no sudden spikes as a particularly rough kick hit home, no throbs as an especially hurt place was hit again. Slowly, his mind emerged from the haze of pain, and he blinked open eyes that had been screwed shut against it. 

He looked around as much as he could in his current position. He didn’t see anyone around. It was getting dark out. He thought it had been light when he’d stepped into this alley, looking for a shortcut. He hoped he hadn’t been there for too long. He kept looking around. There were splotches on the ground. Dark ones. His blood, he figured, feeling a trickle of it drip down his face. 

As he continued to gather his thoughts, he realized that he had no idea what to do. He’d left his communicator behind in his room at the hotel, eliminating his ability to call for help. He had come into the alley off of a busy street, but he was sure he looked, well, awful, and he didn’t especially want to scare any of the pedestrians, even if they would be capable of getting him some help. 

However, unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in the alley, he was going to have to suck it up and get out onto the street. He groaned. He was not looking forward to that. It had to be done, though.

First things first, he had to stand up. This was a task much easier said than done. While the pain in his body had become almost bearable, movement of any kind sent it skyrocketing. Even pushing himself to his knees was an almost insurmountable task, and he nearly collapsed back to the ground again, fighting against himself just to stay conscious. 

He managed to stay up, though, somehow, and then very slowly stood up, closing his eyes as the world tilted and his head spun. What he wouldn’t give to beam up to Sickbay right now…

But Sickbay was off the table - the Enterprise itself wasn’t even anywhere nearby. He was supposed to be on shore leave while the ship made a routine delivery to an outpost. He’d thought it would be fun. Himself, Dr. Crusher, Data, and Geordi, exploring a new city on a planet he hadn’t visited before…

Dr. Crusher! She would be able to help him, somehow. He knew she’d at least brought some basic medical supplies. Maybe she had something that would stop whatever injury it was that was leaking blood down his face. Maybe she could make the pain go away. He had to find her. He just had to find her, and then everything would be okay.

He stumbled his way out onto the street, ignoring the shocked looks and offers of help from the pedestrians around him. He looked around, trying to remember which direction he’d come from originally. 

Eventually, his eyes landed on a small shop with a brightly colored awning. He remembered walking by that shop! He must have come from that way, he decided. 

He started off down the street, very slowly. Every step was pure agony, and he barely managed to keep himself moving, motivated only by the thought that as soon as he found Dr. Crusher, everything was going to be alright. All he had to do was keep going. He could do that. He always kept going.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he finally reached the friendly building that was the hotel his little group was staying in. He’d been walking for what felt like forever, dizzy and hurting and just hoping that he was going the right way. He very nearly collapsed the second he was through the door, and was saved from that fate by the surprised shout of a man sitting in the lobby, which brought him back to his senses.

“Sorry,” he choked out, the words tasting of blood. He ignored the man’s suggestions of finding a doctor, and stumbled off to find Dr. Crusher. He remembered where her room was, because it was right next to a painting that Data had talked about for half an hour over dinner the previous night. He found himself suddenly very glad for that conversation. 

He located the painting, and then the door, and knocked on it, wincing at the jolt to his arm and the pain in his fingers, glancing briefly down at his knuckles when he realized he’d left a bloody smear on the wood.

The door opened, and Dr. Crusher peeked her head out, smiling. Her face changed the second her eyes landed on Will, who stumbled forward into the room, collapsing at last onto the soft carpet. 

“What happened?” was the first thing that she said to him, as her hands fluttered carefully over his body, examining his many injuries.

“Dunno,” he said, trying to remember whether there had been any clear motivation behind his beating. “Lot of people,” he decided, vaguely recalling a jumble of fists and a man with a terrible smile. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Crusher said, her voice soft. 

“S’okay,” Will told her, wincing when her hand touched an especially painful spot.

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do,” she continued, a hand coming up to lightly touch the side of his face. “I’ll comm the Enterprise, of course, but in the meantime, this planet doesn’t have much in the way of medical capabilities. They can’t do much more than I can, right now, and all I can do is clean you up, patch up some of these cuts, and give you something for the pain. I can’t heal you the same way that I could if I had access to Sickbay.”

“I just want it to stop,” Will told her, honestly. “Don’t care about anything else.”

“I know,” Dr. Crusher said, sympathetically. “I’ll do my best to make it stop.” She gently helped him into a sitting position, easing him back to lean against the end of the bed. 

“I know you probably don’t feel like moving, but you might be more comfortable on the bed,” she suggested, turning away to grab some supplies.

Will shook his head at her back. “Don’t wanna move,” he said. His head was spinning far too much for that to be wise, and he was feeling dangerously close to passing out. Just a little longer, he told himself, to avoid that outcome. Just a little longer, and it will all stop.

A hypo pressed into his arm. 

“This is for the pain. It’ll take a few minutes to settle in. In the meantime, I’d like to work on some of those cuts, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Will said, closing his eyes. He didn’t much care what happened now. The important thing was that the pain was going to stop. 

He faded in and out of reality as something wet and vaguely cold touched his face. It stung slightly, but that was absolutely nothing compared to the magnitude of pain he was in, and he didn’t even react. He felt something press against his forehead, and then the blood stopped dripping down his face. That’s nice, he thought. Something else touched his knuckles, then, and then his shirt was being pulled away from him, and he heard a sympathetic hiss. 

“Will…”

“I know,” he mumbled. He didn’t know, really. He hadn’t looked at the injuries beneath his clothes. But he felt them, at any rate, and could imagine how bad they must have looked.

The cold and wet thing passed over his entire torso, but nothing pressed up against it. No bleeding to stop, he knew instinctively. 

“There’s nothing else I can do for your injuries that aren’t bleeding,” Dr. Crusher said, voicing his thoughts. 

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. The hypo was starting to kick in, and he found he didn’t care about anything else. 

“Feeling better?” Dr. Crusher asked, evidently noting his slight relaxation.

“Think it’s working.”

“Good. I’m going to finish cleaning you up, comm the Enterprise, and have you in Sickbay by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Will said, the word dropping heavily from his tongue. He was exhausted, and now that the pain was fading, he was finding it very difficult to stay any level of alert. 

“You can sleep, Will,” Dr. Crusher said, putting a hand back on the side of his head. “Just get some rest, and when you wake up, you’ll be in a nice, comfortable bed in Sickbay and I’ll be telling you that you can’t get up for a few hours, and you’ll be insisting that you’re fine…”

As Dr. Crusher continued to talk and patch him up, Will finally let himself drift off to sleep. The pain was gone, and tomorrow everything would be alright.

thanks a ton for reading this!!! anyway now it is time for Me News: i quit my job the other day lol and today i gave a speech to my whole school (admittedly online which was not so scary) and it went well which was nice!! i’ve been kinda swamped lately with school but after this week i should have some free time between writing college essays if anyone wants to req a fic!

#bad things happen bingo #outnumbered in a fight #will riker #star trek tng #beat up #my writing #i say things #i did not feel like doing a ton of editing so sorry for any mistakes

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.27

[Masterlist] Editor: [Yoongisauce] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers  Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS. until the anticipation kills us all… Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.5k Announcement: I am also updating my 365 prompts this evening, if anyone is interested in them.

[Part 1]  [Part 26] [Part 28] [Tag Yourself Here]

“The car park!”

You snapped your head up searching for the parking lot your brother yelled of. 

“It’s the one with the cheap parking! Remember?” Thomas continued over the walkie, “That’s where I left my car the morning of the alert. Go there. The passenger door doesn’t lock, remember!” 

Seokjin kept repeating, car park, over and over again. Your head pounded, heartbeat just as loud and heavy, and as quick as your boots on the pavement. 

 “And you told me to get a new car because the passenger door doesn’t close properly,” Thomas got  out. “We parked there and walked a couple of blocks to work and got coffee,” he stammered, “-but that’s not the point. Go there and hide in the car.”

Pulling Seokjin into the parking lot, you searched for the correct number and letter sequence among the plates. Finally, spotting the rusty green mess of a car. It looked beaten up, littered with dents.

Pushing the fatigued Idol towards the vehicle. You ripped open the door, forcing him inside. Shutting the door behind the both of you. 

You panted as you tried to catch your breath. You could hear the men coming. Their footsteps echoing through the underground lot. Yanking down the back seat you shoved Seokjin into the boot and climbed in after. Moving the seats back up to their original position, you hoped to hide from prying eyes. 

Silence washed over the both of you as the adrenaline wore off. You ripped off your helmets. The air in the trunk was fairly clean, since the two of you hastily scrambled to get there. Clothing and cd’s sharing the space with you. 

Seokjin’s body awkwardly curled around you, stuck simultaneously under and over you . 

He tried to manoeuvre out from under you but ended up digging his knee into your thigh. You couldn’t help but let out a scream from the burning searing sensation.

Seokjin’s hand snapped to your mouth muffling your screams. He frantically reached for his phone to use as a light source. Scanning down your body his eyes widened. The two of you looked like you belonged in a horror movie. Blood covered both your legs, soaking the thin carpet padding of the trunk.

On closer inspection, Seokjin spotted a hole in your suit. He wiggled his torso down until he was almost bent in half. His fears were confirmed. You had been shot, directly in the thigh.

Turning to straddle you, Seokjin frowned and unzipped your suit. If you weren’t in this situation right now, under different circumstances, you may have thought this action was sexy. But the blood loss made you feel hot and nauseous.

Seokjin opened the suit, exposing your thigh, and grabbed one of the clean shirts that littered the back. He tied it tightly around the wound. He waited as he heard the men walk by, their footsteps moving quickly and voices calling out. 

The pain was bearable if you laid completely still but every breath and heartbeat was pure agony. After waiting as long as he could, Seokjin moved slowly so he was laying reverse. His head at your feet and your feet at his head. 

“I had a dream like this once,” He chuckled, opening the medical bag and searching for things that could help you.

“We were in a sixty-nine position in the boot of my brother’s car as bandits tried to kill us and I bled out. A classic, Who hasn’t had that one yet?” 

Your dry laugh was cut off by a groan as he bumped your leg. You reached between your bodies grabbing the bag and pulling out the last dose of morphine and a clean syringe. You have given injections in the past but you had a big fear of needles. You weren’t sure if this would work. 

“Not quite that old gem, cause you weren’t dying but I still took you to heaven if you know what I mean?” He snickered, “You were moaning a little differently too, it was more like Jin-ah don’t stop.”

“Check if there is an exit wound,” You spoke, getting down to business. Jin felt around the back of your leg. “If not this might get a little more complicated.”

“Like it wasn’t complicated enough,” he muttered as he continued to feel up and down the back of your thigh. 

“This isn’t foreplay Jin. There is a hole in my lower body”

“That sounds awfully a lot like foreplay.”

“You’re right, that does sound like foreplay.”

“Found it!” 

You hissed painfully as he indeed found the exit wound. He looked down between your bodies and gave you an upside-down grin. “I am nothing if not an attentive lover.”

You began directing Seokjin on how to treat the wound as you slowly tried to give yourself the morphine shot. It was the scariest thing but you got through it with gritted teeth and bruised arms. 

Relaxing against a soft pile of clothes in the trunk you looked up, eyes following Seokjin’s long legs in the puffy suit. You couldn’t resist and found yourself patting the roundness of his bottom. 

“Are you serious right now. You could lose a leg if you bump me.”

“You’re wrapping gauze around my leg Jin, not performing open-heart surgery,” you muttered, “Plus I am going numb from either the blood loss or the drugs. I am not sure. So take the whole leg off if it’s less trouble.” You giggled smacking his butt again, “You know I think you look better this way. If you looked like this you would truly be talking out your ass.”

Seokjin liked this side of you, it reminded him of the time you all had drinks after dish duty. You both talked exaggeratedly about the male and female lead and the plot holes in the drama storyline. 

“Shush I am working, no more touching or talking about my glorious behind.”

As the morphine took the searing pain from your head thoughts and images filled the space. The man you shot, his face there gasping as he bled out. A sick feeling bloomed in your chest like a drop of food coloring in water. It spread making you feel incredibly ill.

You hadn’t realized you were crying, a complete mess of broken sobs and thick sniffles. Seokjin took one of your hands and squeezed it, having finished the bandage and held you to his chest, “Let’s take a quick rest and then we will think about moving okay.”

Unable to answer you buried your face into his broad chest trying to muffle your screams. As the gunshot rang out over and over again flashes of a bloody hand reached out to you. The wet gasps as he choked on his own blood and the fear he expressed as you physically saw the candle that was his life slowly burn out. The panic was hitting you hard and you couldn’t breathe. 

Jin didn’t know what to do to help and in his own panic he started singing.

It’s not that I believe it But that I want to try holding out Because this is All that I can do

The words, desperate and quiet, tickled your ears in a whisper against your hair. There was nothing else he could do, there was no inhaler in your bag. This was his moment to prove he changed, he won’t shy away or run anymore, not from you, or life, or his military enlistment. He was going to push further until finally, he wasn’t scared anymore.

Yeah it’s my truth It’s my truth I will be covered with wounds all over But it’s my fate It’s my fate  Still, I want to struggle and fight

Your body slowly relaxed against his and you fell asleep, exhausted from the events and the physical pain your body was in.

~

Jungkook kept running until he reached the meeting point. The soldiers caught up and sighed in annoyance. Their walkie was glitching and they haven’t received the last few transmissions.

“Captain Won-Shik, we don’t know if they returned?”

“Cadet Tae-U. We got to keep moving. Y/N isn’t dumb. She would have led Seokjin home.” 

Captain Won-Shik huffed, “Come on we risk more lives staying out here exposed like this. This isn’t some soap or drama. This is real life and you know we follow protocol. We don’t risk more lives than necessary, and right now we are risking lives.” 

The Captain walked off, “We just saved this young man and you want to endanger him yet again on an assumption that they aren’t safe.”

Jungkook hated how right the captain of the squad was, telling himself not to risk his life so foolishly. It felt weird being protected and not being the one going above and beyond. The old him would have sworn it was his duty to go out there and find you, to bring you back safe. But he finally felt like he was nobody and had no obligations.

It killed him not knowing whether you were safe and yet he has finally given himself the choice. Not what was expected of him, not what he thought people wanted him to do. No longer trying to push, to lead, to make a good impression. He was free of the burden. Free of expectations.

He turned that burden onto himself to bare alone. Everyone expected him to pick up any slack. Jungkook knew deep down that this wasn’t the case but the realization now hit him full force. He understood now how much he stretched himself thin for others.

[Part 1]  [Part 26] [Part 28] [Tag Yourself Here]

Tags:  @hi-itstt​​  @bubbletae7​​ @lovemusicandotps​​ @taetaebq​​ @seveniefive​​ @w0lfqu33n​​ @anaiss97​​ @moccahobi​​ @maddymal​​ @lilacdreams-00​​ @lethargicalyssa​​ @knjkitten​​ @pieislife​​ @bunnyboyenthusiast​​  @vividwoosan​​ @seesawsmin-flower​​ @tinyunknownflower​​ @gguksfilter​​ @fawnzilla​​  @passionate-love-57911​​ @btrombley13​

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts quarantine #bts covid19 #bts covid2020 #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #jin x reader #suga x reader #jhope x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

[rufousnmacska]

Hope u dont mind the prompt idea but how about Dorian being the one to hold off Maeve and Erawan during the final battle at Orynth

Since I kind of put this prompt into a different fic, but also didn’t, here is quick, little fic with the original version I was going to write. Sorry anon, but this still doesn’t completely answer your prompt. Partly because I feel like Dorian already played a big role in defeating Erawan (Yrene rightly gets credit but without him, Lysandra, and Elide, it wouldn’t have happened). And I just remembered I wrote something like that already. So this really only deals with Maeve. I hope you like it! :)

*****

Dorian stared at what used to be Erawan. The black, inky stain would be a permanent reminder on the stone and his sword. The sword bothered him. The way it looked defiled and filthy. A sign of victory yes, but also an ugly mark on a beautiful object of truth. But, the truth could be ugly, he thought. Like war. Perhaps it was fitting then.

A rustle of movement sounded from behind and he turned to find Manon, bloodied, dirty, and exhausted. He glanced upwards for Abraxos, for the Thirteen, but the sky was empty. They were alone on the highest of the castle’s terraces.

She smiled, a mixture of relief and... something else he couldn’t quite decipher.

Dorian realized he’d been waiting for her to say it, and he smiled back. “Hello witchling.”

Silent, taking slow steps towards him, Manon’s expression grew darker. Not in the seductively predatory way she sometimes looked at him, just before one would give in and pull the other into an urgent kiss. This look held anger, not desire. His smile faltered.

“I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did,” he offered, unable to control the uncertainty in his voice.

“You should be,” she said. The light dancing in her eyes was not playful. Neither was her tone. Both had taken on a sheen of blackness.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he had the urge to reach for the collar. Instead, he gripped Damaris tighter. It had warmed when she spoke. But that only meant she was telling the truth. Of which he had no doubt. Her hawk eyed gaze and harsh words proved it.

“Where is Abraxos? Asterin?” he asked.

He caught her eyes flash to where he held the sword. “Not here,” she said with a slight grin.

Heat. He felt it clearly through his glove.

“I see you fared well in Morath.”

Accusation dripped from her lips, leaving him filled with guilt. She had every right to be angry. Why he’d expected anything else, he didn’t know. He’d hoped she’d understand.

She stopped a few feet away, and it made him wonder why he hadn’t moved. He stood anchored next to the remains of the valg king, having not taken an inch towards her. And that felt wrong. Normally, he was drawn to her. His eyes, mind, body. But now, in this moment, his body felt... repulsed.

“Does your offer still stand?” he asked. The barest hint of confusion crossed her face. “To provide me with an aerial legion?”

“I’m afraid I’ve reconsidered.” Manon took a step closer, her hand resting lightly, casually on a dagger fastened to her belt.

Forcing himself to look unconcerned, he asked, “And my offer of marriage? Have you changed your mind about that as well?”

She laughed. “My apologies, but it seems I have.”

“Well, witchling,” he said, seeing no reaction to the name. “I’m sorry too.”

A familiar boom sounded, followed by the flapping of wings and iron talons scraping the stone wall behind him. Dorian didn’t take his eyes off her though. He heard Abraxos growl, heard the true Manon dismount. When she came to stand at his side, he felt that pull that had been missing when he’d wanted to flee from Maeve in Manon’s form.

Risking a glance towards her, Dorian found Manon looking more battle worn than Maeve’s interpretation. She’d seen real battle. And survived. He almost loosed a breath of relief to see her unharmed, but he couldn’t afford to distract himself. To her credit, she showed no sign of confusion, as if she knew exactly what was happening. Dorian’s focus was threatened again as he realized how much he’d missed her.

Not needing to bother with the disguise any longer, Maeve shifted into her normal shape. “You lying, little bastard,” she snarled. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to me. What you’ve stolen from me.” Whip fast, she flung the dagger, aiming for his chest.

With a shield already conjured around himself and Manon, Dorian didn’t waste time wondering why she had resorted to a non-magical attack. He ducked and lunged forward, just far enough to get into range. Slashing Damaris with all his strength, he continued to spin through the stroke, coming to rest with the sword tip pointed at Maeve’s head.

Manon was next to him, Wind Cleaver at the ready. But it wasn’t until he saw her drop it to her side that he realized what had happened.

Maeve clutched her stomach, where Damaris had gutted her, where viscera and blood poured between her fingers.

He felt her magic then, sluggish and struggling to manifest. No doubt weakened by whatever attack of Aelin’s she’d managed to escape from. She was trying to heal herself, trying to shift, trying to do anything. But the blow had been too deep, too damaging. And with her world walking power destroyed, she had nowhere to go.

As she collapsed onto the freezing stone floor, he and Manon walked over to stand above her. Maeve pursed her lips and spat thick, black blood at them. Black, not red. She was no longer able to maintain any illusion of her valg essence.

“I hope Orcus finds a way through,” she said, choking back blood. “I hope he finds you and that fire breathing little bitch.” She was wracked by coughs before adding, “I hope he collars you and makes you kill everyone you love. You will rot away in misery and die alone.”

Manon, who had said nothing this entire time, radiated pure anger and raised her sword. About to bring it down in a death blow, she hesitated, looking to him. This was his kill.

Dorian’s stomach turned, though he wasn’t sure if it was from Maeve’s words or the prospect of killing her.

“Not if she can help it,” he said, looking at Manon. She held his gaze as flame pulsed from his open palm. It consumed Maeve in a white hot inferno, reducing her to ash that blew away with the breeze, just like Erawan.

With his magic well and truly expended, Dorian sagged, using his sword to keep from falling over. But Manon was there, helping him back to sit down against a wall. She knelt in front of him, looking just as exhausted as he felt. When he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, she didn’t resist.

“Hello witchling,” he whispered into her ear.

Slowly, so slowly, she put her arms around his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Hello princeling.”

The sound of her voice was like a balm, easing every ache left over from the battle. As she sank against him, letting him hug her, Dorian’s breath skipped. His heart joined in a moment later with a painful shudder as he became aware of the disquieting absence of Asterin, or any others from the Thirteen. Tightening his grasp on Manon, Dorian vowed to hold her for as long as she needed. Even if that meant a lifetime.

*****

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If you’d like to be tagged/removed, let me know :)

fanfic master list (includes the link to my fics on AO3)

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #manorian hc #kingdom of ash #anon ask #tog #throne of glass fanfiction #kingdom of ash fanfiction #this was a quickie #not my usual obsessive amount of editing and rewriting lol #my writing

[himluv]

Devotion

Oof. This is my last one. And, uh... it hurts. Solavellan for Dragon 4ge Day, for the prompt “Endings”.

I’m sorry...

TW: Major Character Death

Also: This is my interpretation/expectations for where we’re headed as a ship. I’m going down with this ship y’all, and where I’m going, there won’t be enough tissues in the world to dry my tears. Buckle up.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Why did his plans always veer so tragically far off course? He was meant to be the savior of Thedas, of Arlathan, of the People. He would right his wrongs and reset the course of history, restoring order and balance to a world impossibly off-kilter. He was meant to be the martyr, the sacrifice to atone for sins he had not foreseen.

But, yet again, his foresight proved faulty.

He knew the Inquisitor would find him. Knew there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing all she could to stop him. Despite it all, his proclamations, his obvious intent, his pleas that she leave him to his dark endeavors, she still believed she could win. She still believed she could convince him to abandon his purpose.

He just hadn’t realized the lengths to which she would go to save him. How could he? In all his years, the millennia spread out behind him was a tapestry of judgement, foolish pride, and betrayal. He could never have fathomed that someone could care for him with such depth, with a devotion so pure it proved reckless.

Fatal, even.

Her hand on his cheek pulled him from those thoughts. Her eyes, wide and wet with pain, anchored him in this terrible moment.

“Vhenan,” she said. The word struck him deep enough that he flinched. She rarely used the term, preferring to simply use his name. Now she said it with regret for all the times she didn’t. All the times she wouldn’t.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against him as he rocked her. “What have I done?”

She shook her head, but it was a feeble gesture. She was losing strength quickly. “You don’t get credit for this one.” She smiled and it fractured into a wince. “You carry enough guilt without borrowing mine.”

“Riallan.” He stroked her hair, searching for words but all of them turned to ash in his mouth, weightless. Impotence, cloying and clinging, boiled up in him until his shock turned to anger. “That blow was meant for me.” He closed his eyes, unable to look into the vibrant green of hers any longer. “I could have withstood it.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it was far more likely that he would survive the attack than she would.

As ever, she saw through him. “Perhaps,” she said. Her voice grew frail, the words like glass on her lips. “But I could not withstand watching you die.” She shrugged and hissed with pain. Like it was so simple a thing, the decision to sacrifice herself in order to save him.

Around them, the Crossroads were a blur of chaos. The Agents of Fen’Harel fought against the remaining forces of the Inquisition, a stalling tactic on his part. A distraction on the part of the Inquisition. Busy the troops so that Riallan and her team could get close enough to stop him.

He supposed it had worked, though he hoped to every spirit in the Fade that this had not been her plan all along.

Throughout the Crossroads the Eluvians flared and roiled, the magic within them snapping and crackling, demanding release. He was so close. All he had to do was steal that gathered power, take it into himself and then step through the Veil and into the Fade. The Seal would be there, and behind it all the ‘Gods’ he’d locked away. The Eluvians’ power would eat him up, much like his mark had gnawed at the Inquisitor, but he would release it. Bring it all forth to bear on the Seal and release those Old Gods on the world. They would ravage and remake it, bloody and terrible and new.

The time had come. All his planning led to this moment. He simply had to go to the nearest Eluvian, put his hand to its glass, and absorb the magic. The fight was over. He had won. All he had to do was let go of his vhenan and finish what he had started.

Her hand was still on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone to wipe at his tears. With what little breath she had left, his vhenan sang to him, her voice hitched and shaking.

“Melava inan enansal, ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas.”

It was not the first time he’d heard her sing. She’d done it often in the early mornings, soft and sweet in their tent when she thought he still slept. But, he had never heard this song before.

“In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na.”

She might as well have written it for him alone. A fresh wave of grief rolled through him, washing away his anger and leaving him powerless. He could no sooner leave her now than he could have stopped Corypheus all those years ago.

“Tel’dan’latha, vhenan.” She brushed away his tears even as she shed her own. “Ame dirthem ane, var lath vir suledin.”

He nodded, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “And so it did.”

The blood blossomed crimson on the emerald fabric of her Keeper’s Robes, and though his strength had returned, it was spread too thin. He could not heal her with his power alone, not while the Eluvians seethed around them.

The Eluvians…

He blinked, surprised at his own sudden inspiration. He looked down at her, at the waxy pallid skin around her eyes, and the too red color of her lips. But, despite the feverish shine to her eyes, she still saw him. She hadn’t left him yet.

“You’re right, vhenan,” he said. The words poured from him, confessions he’d hidden from for too long. “I was wrong. Again. Still.” He shook his head. “I see that now.” He kissed her and he was surprised at the force with which she returned his affections. “I know what I have to do.”

“Solas?” Her eyes widened, panicked as he gently moved her off of his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you. The only way I can.” He knelt over her and pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. Never doubt that.”

She hissed in pain but nodded. “Ar lath ma, Solas. I never have.”

He smiled at that, and somewhere in the expression she saw his plan. By the time she called after him to stop, he had already strode away from her. He reached the Eluvian, tall and furious with glacial blue light boiling in the frame. All he had to do was put a single finger to it, and he would consume the magic that connected them.

It would be enough.

He pressed his palm to the pane and hundreds of magical mirrors fell silent simultaneously. The Eluvians glowed, but the roiling energy calmed once more. The sudden change brought the fighting to a halt as confused Inquisition Agents and his own forces turned to look at him. But he hardly noticed.

Solas’ entire awareness shrank to where his palm trembled on the Eluvian. He screamed, the sound shattering the unnatural calm, as impossible amounts of power flowed into him. It burned, like the fires of Elgar’nan himself, up his arm and into his chest, consuming and overwhelming his own well of magic. Then it froze, icy and sharp, at first blissfuly numb and then aching. Then lightning, crackling and shocking, explosive in his veins.

Every sort of magic the Evanuris had used, pooled together to forge the Eluvians in the early days of Arlathan roared through him, scorching and searing and sundering him from the inside out.

He expected it to fade once he’d absorbed it all. Instead the Eluvians just shut down, going dark and leaving the Crossroads lit by the pale, preternatural light of the Fade. The Eluvian he touched fell dormant and repulsed him with a shock so violent he was knocked to his knees.

Still no one moved.

He stood, blue smoke curling up from his skin as he turned to look at Riallan. She wasn’t moving, the stillness clenching at his heart. Was he too late?

His eyes glowed with power, the fury of the contained magical forces a hurricane within him. Every moment he held that power was agony, each step a unique misery, like a thousand giants were pulling him apart and crushing him at the same time.

But he took those faltering, torturous steps to fall on his knees beside her. Dimly he noticed she spoke to him, her lips barely moving, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of energy that thrummed in his ears. He knew her well enough that he didn’t need to hear her words.

“It’s the only way, vhenan,” he said.

She winced away from him while around them soldiers and agents flinched and covered their ears. Even as the power ate away at him, he marveled at the fact his voice had rendered his foes useless, until her hand found his face. Her touch was a balm to the feverish heat of his skin, sweet relief that he leaned into.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. Her brow furrowed, her green eyes wide and frightened. Not for herself, but for him. Her adversary, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. Solas.

Because in the end, that was who he was to her. In the end, it was her refusal to see him as anyone or anything else that saved Thedas.

He pressed his hands to her abdomen, ignoring the warm, sticky sensation of her robes. Though the magic clamored to be released, he only let a trickle pour through his fingers and into the Inquisitor’s failing body. He feared that too much at once would destroy her, just as surely as it was destroying him.

It was slow, excruciating work, holding the magic back and forcing it to do his will. The original plan had only called for him to gather the energy and then unleash it upon the Seal. This… this was harder.

He grit his teeth, fought to keep his hands steady, and still sweat beaded on his brow. But color returned to the Inquisitor’s cheeks and her breathing came easier beneath his palms. He watched as his vhenan revived at his efforts, and knew that the pain and struggle would be worth it. For once in his life, he’d managed to do something right.

He took a step back from her, putting distance between them, committing her shocked and relieved, face to his memories. Just in case he would still have them wherever his spirit would roam. It would be no small comfort to see her face, alive and proud and shining with love, for the rest of his eternity.

Then he released the remaining power of the Eluvians. First came the lightning, streaking through his blood and into the air, colliding back into mirrors across the Crossroads. Then the glacial cold, fogging his breath and threatening to bring him to his knees once more. Last came the fire, hot and burning like a sun behind his eyelids as the power soared back to its home. There was more screaming, his again, before he collapsed and the Crossroads burst into action.

“Solas!” Riallan’s arms caught him before he hit the hard ground. She sank down with him, her voice blessedly strong in his ears. Whole. Her hand on his face again, anchoring him as his focus dwindled. “Stay with me, vhenan,” she said. She cradled him, their roles suddenly reversed.

He smiled. “Say it again.” His voice was his own once more. The pain from a moment before was gone, and the nothingness that followed it was perfection. On some level he knew he should be concerned, but she was alive, holding him again, so he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Dorian! Help me!” She looked down at him, new tears filling her eyes. “Say what again? Vhenan?”

He nodded.

“I’ll never use your name again, if you’ll just stay with me, vhenan.”

He chuckled at that. He felt light, thin in her arms. There was no more guilt to weigh him down, and nothing hurt. For the first time since before he entered Uthenera Solas was at peace. It’d been so long he almost didn’t recognize the sensation.

Dorian appeared in his line of sight, the mage checking his vitals. He gave Riallan a confused look. “Nothing seems wrong.”

Because nothing was, Solas thought. He recalled her face at the moment she realized he’d healed her, brought her back from what should have been guaranteed death. That he chose her life over the rebirth of the world. How awed she’d looked. How pleased and scared and proud of him she’d been. When was the last time someone had been proud of him?

“Dirth ma, vhenan,” she said, calling him back to the present. “What’s happening?”

He had to think about it, which he noted should also be troubling. What was happening? Right, the Eluvians. “I used the gathered strength of the Evanuris to save you,” he said.

“The Eluvians?”

He nodded. “I was going to use it to release them and the Old Gods but,” he tried to adjust in her arms, but found he couldn’t move. That was concerning. He swallowed back the fear, for her sake. “You made me see.”

She glanced at Dorian, who shrugged. “See what, vhenan?”

“That, despite all my worst efforts, this world was better than anything I could have made.” He blinked, the numb nothingness turning to an uncomfortable chill. He was running out of time. “You cared more for this world than anyone in Arlathan ever did.” He swallowed at the emotion caught in his throat. “You cared more for me, as well.”

She bit back a sob. “But what’s happening to you?”

He cleared his throat, his voice going frail on his tongue. “The power is too much for any one being to contain. Even one such as me. There is a cost, one I am happy to pay.”

Her hand tightened around his, and he was glad he could still feel it. “The Eluvians took your power,” she said.

He smiled. “Clever, vhenan. Always so clever.”

“So, you’re mortal now?” Dorian asked.

Solas tried to shake his head, but couldn’t. “No,” he said. “It’s not like severing a connection to the Fade. My magic was sacrificed. Removed. Without it, my spirit cannot remain.”

His breath came shallow, his lungs failing as his body died around him. They were out of time.

“Vhenan,” he said. “Go to Skyhold. I sent,” he gasped, “a gift. Explains everything.” He gave her a shaky smile. “Just in case.”

She made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held him close. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she chanted, rocking him as he had rocked her only moments ago.

He looked up at her, unwilling and unable to look anywhere else. That her face would be the last thing he saw, he arms the last he felt, her voice and those words the last he ever heard soothed his soul.

The last thing Solas did was smile.

He did not die alone.

Elvhen Translations: Melava inan enansal  ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas in elgar sa vir mana in tu setheneran din emma na Time was once a blessing but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from the long ago but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.  (From the Elvhen song “Suledin”) Tel’dan’latha, vhenan Do not grieve/weep, vhenan Ane dirthem ame, var lath vir suledin I told you, our love will endure/last/survive Ar lath ma I love you

Dirth ma Speak to/tell me (lit. Speak you)

#dragonageday #dragon age day #solavellan #dai #riallan lavellan #ow #I cried when I wrote this #I love it and I hate it

[elena-reina]

Torture - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Prompt: Draco is forced to torture you

Warnings: Violence, added some of the original torture done to Hermione

Y/N: Your name

Your breathing was ragged and unstable. You'd let yourself be captured by the Death Eaters so that your best friend Harry Potter could escape. You thought that it was better you than him seeing as he was the chosen one. The famous Boy Who Lived.

At first you didn’t recognize where you were, but it all became familiar the moment you saw portraits everywhere. You were in the Malfoy Mansion and currently, the Death Eaters were trying to get as much information out of you as possible. Draco’s parents were here, along with Bellatrix eyeing you up and down, with a smug look on her face. She twirled around you, waving her wand around.

"Oh, I know you," she sang, "You're Draco's little girlfriend aren't you? A filthy mudblood.”

Another Death Eater whispered something in Bellatrix's ear, making her eyes light up. She began to cackle. "That's such a wonderful idea. Let's get my dear nephew in here. Oh Dracoooo!" she called. You widened your eyes. She’s Draco’s aunt? Draco is related to her. No. There’s no way he is related to her.

Soon enough, Draco entered the room and he gasped when he saw you. Your petrified eyes met his worried ones.

“Hi, Drakey!” Bellatrix cooed, and followed with an evil laugh, “Look who we found! Don’t worry, our Dark Lord shall be here soon enough.”

“Let her go,” he spat through gritted teeth. You could see him clenching his fists. He wasn’t only scared for him, but also for you.

“Oh no.. no... there will be none of that. Let’s have a little bit of fun, shall we!” she giggled and jumped onto you, tackling you to the floor.

“Lucius, restrain our dear Draco will you.”

Lucius grabbed onto Draco and held him back for whatever was about to happen. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you stared at Bellatrix pinning you to the ground. You turned your head to the side and looked at Draco, pleadingly.

“Stop!” he boomed, “Leave her out of this!”

“Now, all I want is a little information on your little friend, Harry Potter,” she hissed, “Can you give that to me and all of this can end right now.”

I rolled my eyes. “Go to hell!”

Bellatrix, smirked and pulled out her wand, turning her gaze towards Draco.

Draco’s eyes widened, and his eyes turned black. He started to run towards you when he saw what she was about to do, but Lucius restrained him, allowing her to continue. As you were laying on the ground, she grabbed your arm and spread it across the floor.

“Wha-What are you doin-”

You let out a loud, shrilling cry of agony. You clenched your fist, trying to pull your arm closer to you, but her grip was too strong. The pain on the underside of your arm was unbearable. You couldn’t hold back your screams. The pain caused your vision to blur and tears to cascade down your face. With every scream, you pleaded for her to stop.

You were screaming your lungs raw and began to give up fighting. Sobs were wracking up your body due to the excruciating pain in your arm. The pain felt endless. She never stopped, never showed some sort mercy, and never quit shouting curses and insults towards you. You were growing weaker by the minute and soon you were seeing black spots dance around in your vision. But then all of a sudden, the pain subsided. It was still very much there as your body ached all over, and your head was spun from all the screaming you couldn’t hold back.

You weakly managed to open your eyes and see Draco roughly push his aunt off of you and across the floor screaming at her. You looked over at your bloodied arm and looked at what was written.

M-U-D

She didn’t get the chance to finish writing mudblood.

“CRUCIO!” he shouted with tears streaming down his face, his wand pointed at her. She began to writhe in pain, “If you ever touch her again, I swear, I WILL KILL YOU!”

And in that moment, the one and only Dark Lord appeared, Voldemort.

“My Lord,” everyone around him began to say except for Draco and Bellatrix. Draco’s body grew stiff the moment he heard those words. He slowly put away his wand up his sleeve and clenched his fists. Bellatrix’s suffering ended, and she stood up quickly, brushing her hair with her hands.

“My Lord,” she cackled, seeming unharmed as she looked between you and Draco with a smirk.

Voldemort noticed you on the floor. “Ah, it’s been nice of you to join us today...,” he began but didn’t know who you were.

You couldn’t respond due to your weakened state.

“Y/N!” Bellatrix finished for him, “She’s Drakey’s little girlfriend!”

“Oh.. is that so?” he drawled out, “Is this true, Draco?”

Draco’s jaw was clenched as he stared at Voldemort with both fear and hatred. “Yes.”

“Well!” Voldemort clapped with malicious joy, “Isn’t this wonderful! Young love... what is she doing here? Has she come to join us?”

“Why no, my Dark Lord, you see as we tried to capture Harry Potter, she got in the way and we ended up catching her instead. So we tried to get some information out of her but she wouldn’t budge,” a Death Eater spoke up.

There was nothing else you could do or say, other than still feel the throbbing pain on your arm.

“What a terrible turn of events. We can’t simply let this go, now can we, there has to be some sort of order,” he hissed and then turned to Draco. A devilish grin appeared on his face, “We’ll just have to do some persuading. Draco, seeing as Y/N is your girlfriend, why don’t you do us the honors.”

A lump formed in your throat.

“Wh-What?” Draco stuttered.

“Draco. Do it,” Bellatrix spat, “DO IT!”

You weakly looked into Draco’s eyes. You knew he had no other choice. You knew he would be killed if he didn’t follow his orders.

“I-I can’t,” he said, turning towards the Dark Lord.

“Draco!” Lucius hissed at him.

Draco turned back towards you and took his wand in his hand. He took a few steps back hesitantly and pointed it at you.

“Cr-Crucio!” he cried.

An indescribable feeling of pain and stinging washed all over your whole body. All you could do was scream in agony.

“Again,” Voldemort smiled.

“Crucio!” Draco sobbed.

Louder and louder your screams became. It was unbearable, there was nothing you could do.

“Dr-Draco!” you wailed, knowing that he couldn’t control it.

“AGAIN!” Voldemort screamed, laughing like a maniac.

“NO!” he screamed, turning around to face the Dark Lord with his wand pointed at him.

“Draco! What are you doing!” Narcissa exclaimed, worried for him.

“How dare you disrespect our Dark Lord!” Lucius gasped, completely furious with Draco.

He couldn’t hurt you anymore. He couldn’t be the one behind all of your pain. So he did as Voldemort asked.

Draco took a deep breath. “CRUCIO!” he shouted, but this time, at the Dark Lord. Voldemort quickly took out his wand and whipped the curse away. But while he did that, Draco quickly plunged for you, sweeping you up in his arms. His eyes were full of tears and rage. He quickly ran out of the house he had once grown up in and apparated away. Tears were still streaming down your face as blood was spilling out of your arm, staining his clothes. He brought you to Hogwarts and quickly ran inside. He brought you up to his room and held you close to him.

“I’m so sorry my love. I’m sorry. You’re okay, everything’s okay now. I’m never going to let anything or anyone hurt you ever again. I’m so sorry... I’m sorry,” he began to sob, repeating his apologies over and over. By now, you had already passed out from exhaustion.

"My beautiful Angel," he sobbed pulling you into his arms, never wanting to let you go. "I love you. So much," he choked and placed a kiss on your cold lips.

The next morning, you could barely open your eyes. You tried to move, but your body ached all over. You winced in pain, the moment you tried to sit up.

“No, no stay laying down, my Angel,” Draco rushed the moment he noticed you awake, looking into your eyes. He held your cheek with one hand and brushed the hair out of your face with the other. You stared back at your boyfriend.

He looked unruly and his hair was everywhere. He had dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were all ruffled.

“H-How,” you coughed from your dry voice, “How long have I been-”

“A couple days,” he answered for you, “Don’t worry, I have not left your side once.”

You believed it with his current state. It didn’t look like he bathed or ate. You held onto his arm for support, and forcefully pulled yourself up. You sucked in a breath, from the pain. He held onto you with sad eyes. You looked down at your arm and noticed it wrapped up in bandages. You frowned, remembering the night that felt like yesterday.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, my love. You shouldn’t have to had gone through all of this pain,” he began to cry. You shushed him and pressed your lips onto his to quiet him.

You knew he was also hurting. He felt guilty for all that has happened to you and it broke your heart. You knew that he would be beating himself up for it for the rest of his life.

“Draco stop, you know you had no control over any of this. He would have killed you-”

“Stop trying to make this all okay! It’s not, it’s all my fault,” he muttered. You weakly, wrapped your arms around him and he hugged you back desperately wanting you to feel better. You winced and his noticed, immediately regretting it. “I-I didn’t mean-”

You shushed him. “You’re okay. I’m okay. I love you,” you whispered into his ear. He shook with tears. “I love you so much.” You kept repeating that until he calmed down.

He pulled back and hastily pressed his lips onto yours. “I’m never going to leave your side ever again.”

“I know you won’t,” you breathed and pulled him back for one more kiss.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy one shot #draco imagine #draco #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #imagine #one shot #tom felton

[a-beast-of-prey]

Give us three worst memories

As u command, Anon. They’re not in any particular order, and under the cut for length.

-

“Subjects K’ and H-73, step forward.”

The pair did as they were instructed, shuffling forward so the scientists hidden above could get a better look at them for note-taking purposes. Exhausted, hollow blue eyes settled on the other kid; skinnier than he was, and missing patches of hair. Standing was difficult for both of them. They tried not to sway - to show more weakness - but there’d been too many successive fights with minimal rest. And too many cocktails of drugs and experimental formulas pumped into their systems to test their endurance, try to boost their powers, and probe for weaknesses (in order to create countermeasures, in case they lived long enough and stupid enough to attempt rebellion). K’ didn’t know about the other boy, but the last thing they’d injected him with was really messing him up. He felt sixty shades of sick - mostly like he was burning up and freezing at the same time - and frankly, it was a wonder he even had the strength to stand, let alone prepare to fight. Judging from what he could make out of H-73’s expression and pallor when his vision didn’t blur and waver, he was probably experiencing equally bad, if not similar, symptoms.

NESTS’ scientists didn’t care for such trivialities, though. They wanted results, and they expected them to be produced one way or another. And if one or both of these subjects happened to die in the process, it didn’t matter anyway. Because there were always more children they could conduct their experiments on.

“Begin.”

K’ didn’t remember much of how that fight played out - and what little he could recall came in disjointed snatches - though it certainly hadn’t been pretty or graceful by any stretch of imagination. There were lots of stumbles and falls, hits that were so sloppy, the damage was negligible… He also recalled throwing and being thrown, and unstable lashes of flame and water that hurt the wielders just as much as they hurt the opposition. At some point, H-73 had managed to pin K’ to the floor.

The memory became really patchy here, due to his wavering consciousness and sheer, blind panic because he didn’t want to die, didn’t wanna die, no no no nononnonono! but a few bits stood out, haunting him to this day. One moment, H-73’s expression had been grimly determined as he sat on his chest, throttling the life out of K’ as he bucked and thrashed weakly beneath the other boy… The next, his eyes were wide, mouth slack, and K’s flaming fist was rammed through his chest. Droplets of crimson rain slipped from H-73’s mouth to kiss his cheek with warm wetness. K’ wasn’t sure how or when it happened, but in his next moment of awareness, he was curled in on himself, shaking and clutching his bloody hand to his chest. Over the faint excited clamour of the scientists speaking over one another, someone - him? - was making a long, thin keening sound. The stench of blood and the contents of his own stomach scorched his nostrils.

-

He and Maxima had been storming NESTS bases for almost a year now, in search of answers. Generally, frustratingly, the fruits of their efforts only amounted to abandoned buildings with everything useful long since stripped and moved. Or deathtraps. Or Ikari Squad ambushes. This time, however, had seemed to be off to a more favourable start. The power was on, for one. And for another, the computer monitors were still in their places. K’ tried not to get his hopes too high, but it was difficult, given that this was the first break they’d caught in some time. However, when the pair made it to the main room, where all the power was being funnelled, what they were met with was nothing like they had expected. Row upon row of tanks, their occupants floating in green fluid in a state of suspended animation, stretched out on both sides of the room. Something about them filled K’ with a sense of déjà vu that he struggled to place.

“K’, don’t go near them,” Maxima hissed at him in warning, except he sounded mildly… panicked? Or distressed, perhaps? He found that odd, but his curiosity and that nagging déjà vu got the best of him, prompting his cautious approach of the nearest tanks. “K’!”

He got about halfway there before stopping dead in his tracks, eyes wide. K’s skin crawled. The feeling paired nicely with the churning of his stomach. “What the hell… is this?” He managed to choke out. Took another wavering step forward, catching sight of even more tanks, stretching towards the back of the room. More bodies suspended in green liquid. All of their faces the spitting image of his own. Clones. His clones.

A million thoughts, a million half-buried doubts, swarmed to the forefront of his mind. All of them terrified him, further quickening his breath until it was the only thing he could hear other than the frantic tempo of his heart.

Oh god… What if one of them is the original and I’m the fake? What if Krizalid actually was the original? FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFU-!!!

“K’!” Maxima barked directly into his ear. He startled, becoming instantly aware of the cyborg’s near-crushing grip on his shoulders. When did he get there…? “Dash-man, look at me, partner.” K’ swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. Slowly, and with no small amount of dread, his eyes shifted from his feet and trailed upwards. Maxima’s hulking mechanical body and concerned face blocked his immediate view of the tanks; a small relief. He offered K’ a thin smile. Loosened his grip, but didn’t let go of him. “That’s it. Just breathe, ok? Nice deep breaths.”

He tried, though it was difficult. His breath kept hitching, and it felt like there was something jammed in his throat. His vision was also suspiciously watery. Eventually - the exact time it took, he wasn’t sure - K’ managed to calm down enough to muster a couple of words. “We need to…. They shouldn’t…”

We need to get rid of them. They shouldn’t exist. Because NESTS would keep putting these copies through the wringer; mess with their heads, continue messing with their bodies…. just generally screw them over, like he’d been. He didn’t want them to have to endure that. More than that, all those copies of his own face…. A shudder ran through him.

Maxima squeezed his shoulders gently. Comfortingly. “I know. Do you want to go outside while I do it?”

He shook his head. He was staying here. He had to make sure they were gone with his own eyes; that they wouldn’t become spectres to haunt and hunt him later on down the track, reducing him to that same vulnerable, panicked state. “I’ll be fine.”

“Partner…”

K’ slapped one of his hands away, though there was a distinct lack of bite, of power, behind the action. Maxima released him anyway, taking a step back to give him some space. He was bathed glowing green around the edges. K’ tried his hardest to suppress another shudder. “I said I’ll be fine. Let’s just… get it over with quickly.”

So the poor bastards didn’t have to suffer anymore.

-

“Your name is K’,” they told him. Constantly. Always in that same monotone.

“No it’s not!” He’d insist back, gritting his teeth in frustration. They’d taken his childhood away from him, separated him from his sister some months ago (How was she? Was she okay? Please let Seirah be okay…), planted some other guy’s DNA into him and slapped a glove over his hand to keep his newly gained (and presently still painful) flames in check. And now they wanted his name? No fucking way. “I keep telling you, it’s-”

His words became a scream as an electrical current ripped through his body. It’s brief - a few seconds at most - but it’s absolute agony. They’ve barely stopped the current to allow him to choke down air when they start up the irritating statement again, still in that same monotone. “Your name is K’.”

K’ - “Kay Dash” - another serial number to replace the last one they’d given him. Not a person but a product… an object. He managed to spit at the nearest person-shaped shadow. “F'ck off,” he gasped out. “’S not my name.”

Another jolt of electricity, and more hoarse screaming. They’ve been at this for hours now. And been going through this same routine for days. He’s tired. Hurt and tired and scared, and it’s finally catching up to him, breaking him. Tears slip through the cracks of his tough-guy façade, visibly sliding down his cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered when the current finally stopped again. “N-no more. I want to see my sister. Where is she?”

No answer is forthcoming. Instead, the hated words are repeated at him: “Your name is K’.”

“It’s not!” He tugs uselessly at his restraints, voice steadily climbing higher and louder. “That’s not my damn name, and it never will be! Tell me where my sister is!!”

A disapproving tut from one of the figures. “Put him under. We’ll try a different approach.”

There’s the by now familiar prick of a needle in his arm, and the cold rush of the drugs it contains entering his system. On instinct, he thrashes, holding onto the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he’ll be able to break the restraints and escape. No such luck though; instead, sluggishness sets in, and everything starts darkening and fuzzing at the edges. His head lolls back against the cool steel of the table he’s strapped to, too tired to keep fighting.

“Want m'sister.” He slurs at the encroaching shadows. More tears slide down his face, but he’s too numb to feel them now. “Give… give Seirah back.”

#♱ [OOC] all bark no bite #♱ [HEADCANONS] fragments of memory #♱ [ANONYMOUS] a faceless spectator #{{that last one came from a prompt-based Drabble I haven't touched in a while}} #blood mention